> Synthesis
>  by Starscribe
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Seed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first voice Dakota heard was her Synth.

This was no terrible surprise to her—she’d been hearing his digital voice since she was a kid, back in the days when Synths had spoken only through the last generation of smart devices. But she couldn’t even move yet—couldn’t even see, couldn’t even feel her body, and already he was there.

“Dakota, are you awake? This thing is huge. I could fit your whole library in here. All the music you own, plus most of the movies.”

She tried to move, tried to remember how she’d got there—but Dakota found the past coming only hazily. There was a narrow alley, and something approaching rapidly from the other side. An explosion of glass and metal, then…

Then she was here, unable to even feel her own body in a void without dimensions or borders.

At least until Cinnabar appeared. His face seemed to fuzz into focus in front of her, hovering in the air with a fidelity she found a little frightening at first. She couldn’t feel her mouth to speak, but that didn’t seem to matter. Cinnabar heard anyway. 

What kind of interface am I wearing?

Cinnabar settled onto the invisible ground, an earth pony that would’ve come up to her waist if she was standing. His coat was reddish-brown, and his eyes were bright blue, always watching her. His cutie mark—a set of twisted wire ending in a knot, was clear enough that she could almost touch it. She could’ve counted the individual hairs in his mane.

“You’re not wearing an interface anymore, Dakota.” He lifted a hoof, tapping the side of his head. “You’ve gone Integrated—I’m living up near your spinal cord now. And let me tell you, this hardware is buckin’ incredible.”

Dakota fought against his words, as though she were pushing against something invisible. But there was nothing to move, and no body to move it with. Apparently he could sense her displeasure, because Cinnabar hopped a little closer to her field of view. Whatever that means if I don’t have eyes.

“It was that Crossblue/Omnistem policy you signed up for,” Cinnabar said, almost apologetic. With a gesture of his hoof, a huge stack of papers appeared in the air beside him—not strictly something earth ponies could do, but in her own space the rules were more suggestive than binding anyway. “From the feel of this tech, it looks like you really milked ‘em too. I think the Chicago Consensus Node might’ve had latencies like this, but… no other system I’ve ever used. Good thing you’re still living in the meat, or I might want a little more of it for myself.” He laughed, and somehow Dakota knew she should’ve laughed too. It was a joke, they had a history together of imaginary rivalries and cutting humor.

But she couldn’t remember much of that—it was only a fact on a spreadsheet for her, not something she felt. It felt like Cinnabar was threatening her.

Where’s my body? she thought. Wake me up.

“They’re working on it,” he said. And apparently he could sense her discomfort, because he plopped down on his haunches right there and banished the contract. “But you have to be conscious for the process, so… here we are.”

The crash got my spine?

Cinnabar nodded glumly, and for once there was no humor at all in his expression. “I, uh… didn’t know if I’d see you again. Clinically… well, you didn’t have a heartbeat when they brought you in. Hadn’t been breathing for almost five minutes. That’s… long. Information-age doctors would’ve had a hard time. But Omnistem really gave you your money’s worth.”

What… would’ve happened to you? she found herself asking. Maybe somewhere far away, where she had senses and a body again, some part of her old self was reasserting. It felt like the right thing to ask. What happens to Synths when their humans die?

Cinnabar shook his head, expression bleak. “Back to Equestria,” he said. “Never to walk the green shores of Earth again, or swim its digital highways. No more kidnappings to solve, no more missing funds to bring in—”

No more cheating spouses to spy on?

Cinnabar grinned. “None of those either. But I won’t miss those cases.” He looked up suddenly, as though he could hear something she couldn’t. And apparently he could, because he rose to his feet, pointing at nothing. “They’re almost done reconnecting audiovisual. Those senses were in your head, and… well, let’s just say there’s almost as much plastic as skin now. You do not want to see how you looked when they rolled you in here. In fact, I’ve already deleted the images. If you dig them out of Mercy’s security subnet you won’t sleep for a week, so don’t.”

Audiovisual, she repeated, ignoring that last bit. She did not want to think of herself as a half-rotten human pancake. So I’d be watching the doctors?

“Yep. Well, specifically you’d be watching the underside of your surgical tray while you listen to the robot the doctor is controlling.”

Do I have to?

“Oh, uh… I guess not. I could tell them you want to wait until the surgery is finished. Just, sorta… drift in here.”

Yeah, that sounds great. She hesitated. Where is here, anyway? I think I should know, but I can’t remember. Looks like Zion mainframe or something.

Cinnabar laughed. “Smaller than that. And I don’t think you’d know what this place was, it didn’t exist until they finished sewing it into your head. Think of it, like… a private sublayer. Fully isolated from meatspace.”

She really should’ve known this stuff, but since she didn’t remember she’d just ask anyway. One thing she did remember was that Cinnabar never got bored of her, never gave up or lost interest. The implants are how we’re talking, she thought. Something connected directly to my brain.

“Yep!” He grinned again, and something appeared in front of her. A little titanium canister, with thin snakes of wires emerging from it. And a single, thicker cable, running to a data/power port. “This thing. Integrated human slave processor, copyright Omnistem 2042, revision 1.0.3. We’ve got two petabytes of local storage, high spectrum Wi-Fi, and thirty six hours of battery life.”

Battery life. For my… brain? What happens if I don’t charge it?

“Well…” The illusory object vanished, and suddenly Cinnabar was looking away. His ears flattened, tail tucked between his legs, and he moved off a little. “You’ll kinda-sorta go into a coma and die. But it’s not their fault! Your brain was… you weren’t in good shape, Dakota. You aren’t in good shape now. That’s the only reason Omni sprung for the whole package, because you’d be dead otherwise and that’s what the contract promised. Now you’ve got another processor helping… pick up the slack. It’s not a big deal. Tons of people have implants nowadays.”

I’m not sure how many of them depend on their implants. It’s identity cards and vision enhancement.

“Well… maybe. But that’s a cost and generational thing.” Cinnabar seemed relieved, because he turned to face her again. “Give it a few decades, and you’ll be in the majority instead of the minority. You won’t believe what we can get up to with a kit like this. No more goggles, no more overlays, no more… any of it. Just one word and you’re in a sublayer. Another and you’re walking through Equestria.”

Which word gives me my body back?

“Uh… I’m still reading the manual,” Cinnabar admitted. “Let me see here… yeah, here we go. I can… connect us to Omni’s character creator. And there’s your account, uh… perfect! I’m not sure what this is gonna feel like, so…”

It hurt. Dakota was suddenly crushed, an incredible weight on her chest making it impossible to breathe. There were tubes down her throat, needles in her arms in a dozen places, and on her back an array of tiny knives cutting in and around her shattered spine. White hot agony washed over her, and it gave her the voice to scream.

It all vanished in an instant, though like stepping out into the sun or tasting something incredibly hot, there were echoes that remained, reminders of the horror she had just felt.

“Don’t do that again,” she said, and found she had a voice. Or… maybe it was just a change of perspective? She was only thinking to begin with. “I didn’t think Synths made mistakes like that.”

“I’m not much smarter than you, Dakota. It didn’t tell me what was gonna happen when it connected you. Apparently… it has to go through your real body. I was going to put us down somewhere in Equestria, somewhere a little more interesting than this… nothing. Apparently that isn’t how it works. We can’t go anywhere. If we want to visit Equestria, it’s gonna be the same way we always do. By visiting Equestria.”

And she existed. Skin pale, wearing a paper hospital gown and sitting on the edge of a too-high hospital bench. She reached back, feeling her neck for the nightmare of knives and blood that she’d briefly sensed there—and there was only one change. An open data port, surrounded with plastic to separate it from her skin. That’s what it will be like when they finish with me. “Does your manual say why?” She didn’t exactly want to go to Equestria. Her memory was still a little fuzzy, but she knew it wasn’t a place she’d ever enjoyed visiting. There were plenty of interesting sublayers a few steps away, but Equestria itself… that was for VR junkies and escapists. She lived in the real world, despite her job. 

“Something about bandwidth,” he answered. “Infrastructure isn’t there yet. But I bet if we could get a slot in Chicago Consensus…”

“No,” she cut him off. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Except home.” She wiggled her toes, and found her fears of paralysis were in vain. They still moved. Dakota wasn’t tall, and her blonde hair wasn’t long. With a good pair of boots, she’d be five three. In a hospital gown, she looked like a Synth could take her down. “How long have I been here, anyway? My family must be…”

Cinnabar winced, avoiding eye contact with her. But at least he seemed able to see her. “Eight days,” he said. “Six of that was brain surgery. And… everything surgery, really. Your mom is sitting in a Mercy waiting room right now. She’ll be there when we wake up. I could… probably send a message to Feather Dance, if you want.”

Feather Dance, her mom’s synth. Unlike Cinnabar, Feather Dance and her mom spent a fair amount of time in Equestria proper. She didn’t get along terribly well with Cinnabar. Dakota’s expectation that her own Synth would act like a child of her mom’s had never once been confirmed.

“You can tell her I’m okay,” Dakota said. “That’s it. I don’t know how much longer… but I bet she knows. No surgeon could keep Mom away.”

“Alright, sent,” Cinnabar said. “And now it’s just us. Until they’re done putting you back together again. But… you could look on the bright side. Time you spend in here with me is time you’re not spending in rehab or aching on a bed somewhere.”

“Guess so.” Dakota winced, lying back on the hospital bed she’d conjured. She didn’t really feel like she had the energy to fight anymore. She drifted for a while, leaving Cinnabar to his own devices. 







Then she woke up.

Dakota was so surrounded by pain that she could no longer identify any individual source. In a way that was a relief, since it made everything fade into the background. She tried to sit up, but only succeeded in twitching a bit.

Her hospital room in Mercy looked the way she might’ve expected, at least what she could see from her back. Mostly plain, clean space, with her hookups vanishing into the wall. There were a few chairs, and a sink with a few medical supplies. Her monitor hovered beside her in the air, with the slight transparency born not because she was using glasses or some other overlay system, but as a signal that it wasn’t physical. The room had configured its virtual space for her preferences, which for Mercy meant a window out at a perpetually rainy, overcast version of Chicago with old-fashioned cars driving and honking as they went by. 

There was only one other person in the room with her—a lengthy doctor with wispy beard covered in a paper mask and gloves. He smiled from behind overlay contacts, and she could see the little glimmers of color that suggested whatever virtual overlay he was using. But “reverse reading” wasn’t one of Dakota’s skills, so she couldn’t guess. “Don’t try to move, Miss Tyler. The nerve reconstruction can be a… lingering process, and I’m certain it isn’t finished yet.”

“Can I…” She’d been thinking of asking “Can I talk?” but the answer was obviously yes. She tried to sit up anyway, even though she’d just been told not to. Her arms moved, twitching and flailing unpredictably. 

“He said not to, Dakota. Maybe you should listen to the guy in the white coat with the expensive degree, huh?”

Cinnabar was suddenly sitting beside her, his head just barely coming up to bed level. Curiously he wasn’t transparent like the overlay elements, but had become fully opaque—as apparently real as the window. I wonder if I can touch him. But right now she couldn’t even sit up, so the answer was no regardless.

“Your Synth gives good advice,” the doctor declared. The more Dakota watched him, the more she caught an occasional glimpse of a white synth behind him, another earth pony, though his was female and with a medical symbol for a cutie mark. It looked like she was carrying his records. “We already have you referred to physical therapy, so don’t think you’ll be helpless for long. But you’re the first implant case I’ve ever seen at Mercy, so I can’t honestly tell you how long the recovery will take.”

“How long did it take the others?” she croaked. “And… can you send in a nurse? With a mirror, and…” and a damp sponge, but she wasn’t going to mention that to a male doctor. 

“Of course, you’ll meet your assigned practitioner in a few moments. My name’s Dr. Norton. I’m just here to go over your symptoms one last time, perform a final wellness check.” He gestured, and the pony beside him offered a clipboard from her mouth. He took it, though she noticed his fingers didn’t exactly close around it. There were no pages, and he flicked through its digital representation with simple professionalism.

“There are… less than a dozen cases like yours in the whole world, Miss Tyler. They took between one and six months to recover, depending on how invested they were in their recovery. Now, I’m going to remove your blanket for a moment. Please don’t try to get up… good.” 

They went through his checklist for the next few minutes. He asked her to wiggle things, or move in specific ways, and made notes about everything. Eventually he seemed satisfied, and a handful of nurses arrived to take his place. “Once they’re confident you’re stable, you’ll be open to visitation. Says here there’s already someone waiting to see you. Probably won’t be long now.”

There was nothing dignified about the changeover to nurses, helping feed her and clean her and get Dakota sitting up straight again. Cinnabar paced nervously in a corner of the room, looking self-consciously away during the less polite bits. Synths and the Equestrian culture they’d been made to represent didn’t share any human modesty taboos—but Cinnabar cared about her, so respected her wishes. Even if he’d probably tease her about it after she recovered.

Her use of a mirror had done a little to reassure her—she still recognized the small face, though her hair had shaved completely on the side of her head where the robotic surgeon’s knife had cut. 

She felt a bit better when it was all over, and she was sitting up in a hospital bed with a virtual television streaming all the videos and interesting memes Cinnabar had saved for her during her time unconscious. “I hope I’m on the short end,” Dakota muttered, feeling the bed rock slightly as Cinnabar climbed in beside her. Synths weren’t terribly large things, so there was no question of enough space in the adult bed. But what had made it move like that?

She learned the answer to that a moment later, when Cinnabar casually stretched out on the empty side of the bed, laying belly-down like ponies often did. She could feel his weight there, depressing the fabric. His warmth even, through the paper thin sterile sheet. 

“You will be,” Cinnabar declared, without looking at her. “I just know it. You might not have asked for the implants, but you were born for it. Smart, adaptable… you’re the one they’ll all be imitating. You’ll have pub credits coming in for years just from that.”

Dakota laughed—it wasn’t just that her memory felt a little less completely out of reach, though that helped. Those first few minutes after waking up, drifting through an abyss without an attachment to her past or her future…

But now that was over, and she wouldn’t have to go back.

Her mother emerged from the open door, shoving her way past a few security people and their frustrated Synths with all the tenacity of an invading army. “Dakota!” she called, hurrying over to the bed. She leaned forward in a hug that Dakota couldn’t return.

But any embarrassment at all these others seeing faded into the background. Dakota hadn’t lived at home for several years now—but knowing that there was someone in the world who still cared enough to come see her when she was hurt… that was something special.

“You actually came,” Dakota muttered, helpless to do anything else. “No telepresence, no overlay. You’re here.”

“Obviously,” she said. “I watched part of the procedure virtually, but…” She looked away, face pale. “I couldn’t keep going. Seeing you on the table, cut open like that… I think I know why they don’t do surgeries public, like in the old days.”

“I couldn’t watch either,” Dakota said. “Sorry I worried you, Mom.”

The woman only made a dismissive sound, hugging her one last time. It hurt, even through the cocktail of drugs they were pumping into her. But everything hurt. She wasn’t about to ask her to stop.

“It wasn’t you,” she eventually said, settling down into the comfortable chair beside the bed. Her Synth—a pegasus pony with a pale yellow coat, followed her quietly and hadn’t said anything. Dakota thought about banishing her completely—but even the hand controls for that were beyond her, and she didn’t feel like asking Cinnabar to do it. “The bastard in the truck was driving manual. That’s why he didn’t know you were there. That’s why he didn’t stop.”

“I didn’t know anyone still did that,” Dakota lied. She didn’t remember much about that accident, but she knew her hands were on the wheel. That wouldn’t have been the case, unless she too were operating her own car.

But why? Why had she been tucked away into Chicago’s seediest alleys in the middle of the night? She couldn’t remember. You will. It’s all coming back, just give it time. If worse came to worse, she could always have Cinnabar go over her notes with her. That should jog things loose.

“And now we know why,” her mom said, folding her arms. “But you lived, so it looks like he won’t be getting a manslaughter charge. Still… hope he loses his operator’s license. Employment credit is too good for someone who—”

“You’re getting worked up again, Mom,” she said. “It’s okay. I made it. I know I… don’t look too good. But Doctor Norton says I’m going to make a complete recovery. It’s all fixed.”

“I know, I know.” Her mom got up, paced around a bit, settled down beside her Synth. 

“Miss, you really need to let her rest,” said one of the security people—wait, no. Not a person, a Synth. A burly earth pony, wearing a hospital uniform and a stern expression. Like Cinnabar, his body looked completely real, or as real as any synth could. They still didn’t seem like the proportions of true living things. “Visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright.” She turned. “Feather Dance, stay here. Keep an eye on my daughter until I get back tomorrow.”

The pony looked a little sick, splaying her wings like she wanted to fly away. But she nodded obediently. “O-of course, Sophia. I’ll stay here.”

“See, nice and sensible,” the pony guard said, pushing the door open. Well, he seemed to—Dakota knew it was automatic, and he was really just using its CC-control circuit. It was the same trick Synths played with coffee machines, fast food kiosks, and automatic cars. But with his body apparently solid, it sure looked convincing. The kind of thing Dakota expected from those total-immersion parks. “Go on then, miss. We’ll take good care of your daughter here at Mercy Hospital & Medical Center.”

It wasn’t a pleasant night, having Feather Dance around to supervise. The pegasus kept mostly to herself, perched on the armchair and reading some Equestrian books she’d brought along. Dakota and Cinnabar spoke in hushed voices from the bed, counting the seconds until she left.

Or more precisely, counting the seconds until a nurse arrived with her evening medication, and something in the IV sent her into a complete and dreamless sleep. But that was fine too.

But despite Dr. Norton’s promises of a swift recovery, there was nothing magical about the process for Dakota. As it was she could move her head, chew her food, and breathe. But there was more to worry about, and she wasn’t going to start doing it again by magic.

So began eight weeks of living death.
> Chapter 2: Sapling
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every day was the same—an undignified washing by hospital staff, followed by a ride in the back of a one-seat autocar down to physical therapy. Despite everything they told her about the value of her implants—despite the plastic access port that proved the surgery had taken place, Dakota didn’t feel much like she was getting her money’s worth. 

Every day was six hours of agony, moving from partial-submersion in thin tubs to friction beds and straps. Eventually she was walking again on a slow treadmill—but not just for a few seconds, she had to keep going for hours.

“You’re getting there!” Cinnabar called to her, jogging backwards effortlessly in front of her, floating a little off the ground. The hospital had its own sublayer, but that was mostly for the doctors, orderlies, and staff. Dakota wanted no part of it, and so the two of them existed in isolation. “Just another… thirty-six minutes to go.”

“Thirty-six… minutes…” At least she had her own clothes back now, though at the moment she was only wearing a tight top and some plain gray leggings. Both were nearly soaked with sweat, and the skin on her face and arms had gone red with the strain. But she kept running anyway. On the days she failed to meet her goals, they always gave her electrostimulation to make up for it, and that was worse.

“Look, I’ll distract you! We’ll just…” Cinnabar clicked his hooves together twice, like he was a lost Kansas farmgirl wanting to go home. But instead of returning to a world of black and white, the physical therapy gym faded into the background. The standard VR cordon appeared around her, advising her of the area that was safe to traverse with a dim white grid that appeared when she neared it and faded into the background otherwise. In this case, the cordon was restricted to the area of the treadmill.

And around them was Equestria. In here she didn’t tower over ponies, but was about the same height. Where the cities lacked any kind of overlay or sublayer, where carts still had ponies to pull them and the land itself was alive.

This was Cinnabar’s hometown of Port Jouster, a fairly minor settlement on the coast. Despite her aversion to Equestria, Dakota had grown close enough to Cinnabar over the years to occasionally indulge him in trips home, and see the place in bits and pieces. The village’s humble cluster of buildings were barely visible over the rocks and crags. The sky went dark and gray, with a pleasant spray of moisture and sea foam. Instead of walking in place in a white hospital room by herself, Dakota was now limping along a shoreside path, with a sheer drop on one side and the village on the other. In the distance, she was sure about thirty-eight minutes away, the path leveled out onto a welcoming beach, where the sun cut through the clouds.

Instead of floating ahead of her, Cinnabar now ran alongside, or rather trotted. Despite Dakota’s incredible exertion, she was not moving terribly fast. “You can tell me you don’t want to be here all you want,” he said, smiling with satisfaction. “But your heartbeat has slowed and your breathing is more even. I think you were bucking sick of that hospital.”

“I… yeah,” she admitted. “I am. How long until I can go to outpatient?”

“End of the week,” Cinnabar responded. He reached behind him, where he was wearing a pair of saddlebags. There was a bright symbol on the side, which glowed slightly against the overcast sky—Dakota’s own EI, Equestrian Identifier. If she were a pony, it would be her cutie mark, but… humans didn’t get those. Except for the ones that used their identifiers for the exact same purpose as ponies did, getting them sewn into their clothing and choosing accessories and even their vehicles based on a pony avatar.

Dakota was not a person like that, though she had friends who were. She hadn’t even created a pony avatar, so when she was in Equestria proper would display as a generic background character different to every observer. Well, that was fine by her—it meant most humans mistook her for static, and her Synth as on assignment for a human who wasn’t there. Easier to do her job that way.

“Four more days, Christ.” She wanted to give up and stop—but slowing even for a second made the treadmill beep painfully at her, cutting through the illusion of Equestria. The rubber supports holding her wouldn’t let her get thrown backwards off of it, but they wouldn’t stop the electrostimulation therapy either.

“I wasn’t finished distracting you,” Cinnabar said. “I’ve got lots more interesting stuff I found while you were asleep. Some space headlines.”

Okay, so maybe there were some things that could interest her. Her breathing was hard, but as soon as she caught her breath enough, Dakota squeaked. “Alright… shoot.”

“Let’s see. Lunar Horizons broke foundation on their second site—lava tubes this time. They’re taking initial applications. Says here they’re mostly interested in… geologists, engineers, and analysts. Telepresent applications also accepted, no qualifications required.”

“Telepresent,” she repeated. “The time lag has to suck balls that far away. Not sure how much sense that makes.”

“Probably cheating,” Cinnabar said. “Got a node here on Earth, maybe? Then… relays commands back for any hardware they let the telepresent ponies play with.”

“I’m not going, don’t ask.” But that was a lie, probably. If she were feeling better, Dakota would’ve loved to go telepresent on the Moon. Hike through some lava tubes, watch the constructor drones assemble another factory or two. But Cinnabar knew that too, and he didn’t call her out.

“Anything… else?”

“You’re fishing.” Cinnabar snapped the portfolio closed, tossing it into his saddlebags with usual pony coordination. How he could manipulate all that with his mouth was a testament to just how digital everything was.

“Hell… yeah… I am.”

“You think you wouldn’t have heard if someone had gotten into the monolith?” He slowed down, falling behind a bit. “I don’t like how obsessed you get about that sometimes.”

She wanted to stop and yell at him—but of course, she was in public, and the elastic straps holding her into place on the treadmill wouldn’t let her just stop wherever she wanted. If she did that, it would be electrotherapy again. “You just don’t like people talking about it because it’s where you live.”

That did it—Cinnabar ran to catch up, his hooves smacking loudly against the stony path for a few steps. There were a few other ponies heading the opposate way—vacationers apparently, with a rolling cart filled with towels and a cooler. Bad weather for it, but Dakota was just glad they didn’t try to stop them. “You really think I live in…” He reached into his saddlebags again, lifting out another printout. The rules of what he was carrying when it came to helping her were a bit fuzzy—Synths held all her files, though if they’d all been printed at any given time the volume of paper would surely have crushed him, earth pony strength notwithstanding.

This image was taken of the Moon, its perspective a high, distant satellite. Except the image was zoomed near to the surface, focusing sharply on the single band of metal holding there.

The “monolith” was a shaft of unknown black metal, scarcely four feet wide, but nearly fifty kilometers long. It was perfect, atomically straight. It had been holding its exact position over Plinius Crater since before Dakota was born—the year that Equestria became more than a game. The year that Synths woke up and the whole world changed forever.

“Obviously,” Dakota said. “You… and all the others. Nobody ever heard of… a real AI… until the monolith came around. You built it, it’s your… server. It’s where Equestria really is.”

“You always say that,” Cinnabar muttered. He no longer sounded angry, only frustrated. “But it didn’t build us. I’ve never been there, and I’ve never met anypony who has. And if I came from that…” He tossed the printout over the edge of the path. The wind carried it down, where it vanished over the cliff and out of sight. “There’d be lag, Dakota. I don’t care how smart you think we are… I’m flattered, really. It’s great you think we’re amazing and perfect and—”

He caught her glare, and trailed off with a squeak, ears flattening. “But we can’t break the speed of light. If my brain was on that, there’d be lag. We couldn’t… play ping pong! Or League, or… anything that takes split-second responses.”

“Unless you can,” she said. The timer hadn’t gone off, but Dakota just couldn’t walk anymore. Her whole body felt like she’d gone swimming in sweat, and her legs wanted to tear right off. She let the straps catch her, picking her legs up off the treadmill floor. 

A harsh siren beeped into her face, trying to prompt her to start moving again, but she ignored it. A few more beeps, and a bright red light lit up on the treadmill. The floor beneath her stopped rolling. “We’ve been trying to open the monolith for decades, and no one gets closer than a hundred kilometers. Not governments, not corporations, no one can get in. I think whatever tech you really invented is indistinguishable from magic.”

Cinnabar shook his head again. “I think our consensus nodes are where I say they are. I think you can visit and see the servers yourself. And if you knew what kinda shielding was in this building, you’d know I’m running in your head, just like you are. Well… you’re on meat, I’m on graphene, but… you get the idea.”

The illusion shattered as a medical orderly appeared beside her treadmill, trailed by a watchful Synth. Like most physical therapy people, he was infuriatingly attractive, perfectly muscled and square-jawed. It was just like this place to surround her with the attractive people when she was most helpless and vulnerable. “Couldn’t keep it up, eh Dakota?”

She nodded, wiping away sweat from her face and snatching her water bottle from the treadmill. She took a few struggling sips, and nearly forgot to breathe as she did so.

“Sure you wouldn’t like me to switch it back on?” He dangled a plastic card in front of her. “I know you don’t like the alternative.”

“I don’t,” she agreed, clutching at her chest. “But… maybe could you slow it down. There’s this stitch in my side…”

“Sure,” he said. “But you’re not escaping. Ten minutes cool down, and we’re doing the chair.”

She muttered something obscene under her breath, but there was no real spite or anger in it. Toby really just wanted her to be healthy as quickly as possible—she might remember nothing but pain while in his domain, but it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t hit her with a truck.

“To answer your original question, there were a few more private probes. SpaceX this time, and Virgin Galactic. Neither one got any closer than last time. More trash for the debris field.”

He hadn’t wanted to tell her—because Cinnabar knew too well how she would react. The way she tensed, got visibly angry and frustrated. At least this wasn’t a manned mission. The “debris field” held half a dozen bodies, impossible to retrieve for the same reasons their missions had failed in the first place. “We’ll get in one day, you know,” she said. “Whatever that thing uses to stop our shuttles… they’ll figure it out.”

“Pardon, miss?” Toby asked, perking up from her other side, where he’d been working to remove her restraints. “Did you say something?”

“Sorry, my Synth,” she explained. And that was all the apology he needed. But he can’t see you, Cinnabar? Why?

If Cinnabar could still hear her thoughts, he didn’t answer the unspoken question. “Dakota… there are other ponies who want to get in as much as you do. You think that Musk guy doesn’t have a Synth helping him, and probably everypony in his company too… you’re wrong. You could pop over right now and see for yourself. But I know you won’t.”

And Cinnabar was right. She wouldn’t.







Chicago hadn’t looked like this the last time she saw it. Dakota leaned back in the seat of the autocar, staring out the tinted glass windows and trying to take everything in.

It looked a little like someone had tossed the old city into a blender with Equestria, and this was the result. Buildings were too tall, with boring concrete replaced with polished marble and swirling granite. Crystal spires rose up and between many of the buildings, with huge glowing billboards hovering in many places independent of structural support. Instead of the grimy, dirty sidewalks she remembered, Dakota saw only pristine walkways, with planter boxes and bright blooming flowers on either side. There were almost as many ponies as humans out there, and anyone that noticed her glance always turned to wave.

“What overlay is this?”

“Chicago local,” Cinnabar said, from the seat beside her.

Dakota checked the little speed indicator in the bottom of the autocar’s massive window. Well over a hundred kilometers, yet she hardly felt the acceleration. This isn’t real driving. This doesn’t count. It wasn’t just the ponies who cheated these days. Yet there were barely any cars on the road with them, only an occasional horse drawn cart. “Local? The local overlay has so much… you guys? I don’t remember…”

“You don’t remember because you didn’t use it,” Cinnabar said, voice sympathetic. “You said that living in a sublayer was for cowards and escapists. The world wouldn’t get any better because we looked away from the unpleasant parts.”

It sounded right. It sounded like something she might think. “How do I turn it off?”

He showed her, making a gesture with a hoof that Dakota imitated with a hand. A glowing interface appeared around her wrist, one that she could navigate by twisting and moving up and down. There was no “off” on her overlays, but she could go so far as “emergency messages only.” Good enough.

A roar of sound smacked her in the face, and she clutched the paper bag in her lap with both hands, gripping it for support against what was outside. Literally thousands of near-identical vehicles, with most only meaningfully different in how many passengers they had. Unlike the manual roads Dakota could remember, the cars outside were packed so close she couldn’t see the road in places. They zoomed towards a huge multi-level intersection without slowing even a little, directly into a stream of traffic the other direction moving just as quickly.

“Stop stop stop! Oh god wai—” and they were through, with only the whir of wind on either side as they went. 

Cinnabar crawled up beside her, propping his hooves on her leg. She could still feel it, somehow, though if she looked quite carefully she could see her skirt never moved. But look away for a second, and it was ruffled again, exactly as she expected. “Do you actually want to stop, Dakota? I can pull over the cab if you want.”

“You’re driving this?” she asked, horrified. “You’re a horse! You don’t know how to drive!”

“I don’t,” he agreed, grinning ruefully. “I think this is… yeah, the Lyft servers are driving it, not me. But if you wanted it to stop, I can talk to it for you. Or you could…” He gestured, and the interface appeared against the glass. Touchscreens were antiquated things, but vital infrastructure generally had backup in place for the truly determined luddite. “Tell it yourself. If you don’t trust me now, either.”

“I trust you.” She slumped back into the chair, clutching at her chest. “I dunno if I was ready to leave the hospital after all, Cinnabar. I don’t remember… all this. That is a fucking nightmare.”

“You’ll feel better when you get home,” he promised. “I hired out for housekeeping before we get there, so it should be perfect. Cleaner than we ever kept it, anyway. Don’t worry, I know everything you wanted to keep.”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes, just wishing everything would go away. Her old self would’ve stayed like that until they arrived, but… she’d almost died now. She wasn’t going to live her life in fear because of embarrassment. “Is there some middle ground between that hell and playing horse pretend?”

“Uh… yeah,” he said. “Are you thinking a franchise? Do you want Marvel Cinematic Universe, or Wizarding World, or—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I want real, just not all the real at once.”

“Oh.” Cinnabar crawled off her leg, summoning a thick book out of his saddlebags and opening it in the air in front of her. “There’s, uh… oh! We could use one of the civil overlays. You got us permission into Chicago municipal after that thing with the doberman in city hall… and you don’t remember that either.”

She folded her arms, glaring. “You try getting your brain pieced back together and see how much you remember.”

“Sorry.” He winced. “Switching over.” And he did—without getting her permission, or moving in any other visual way. She heard the wave of vehicles suddenly vanish from around them. She opened her eyes, and saw the empty streets again—this time they were filled only with floating hazard signals, with bold print reading “TRAFFIC CORRIDOR, DO NOT ENTER.” Below the street there was more—blue lines, red ones, and green, with scrolling numbers beside them. Utilities.

The buildings weren’t fanciful anymore, and it was mostly plain concrete and glass. The kind of thing that most people wore overlays not to see. But boring was fine with Dakota just now, after her brief glimpse into nightmare. “This is good,” she said, relieved. “I assume most of this is for city workers. Not… stuff regular people can see.”

“Yeah,” Cinnabar agreed. “But we’ve used it for a few jobs now.”

Yes, she remembered that. Her work was clearer than most of the other things she’d done. She was some kind of… investigator. Her mind conjured pictures of rainy nights and trench coats, but that obviously wasn’t right. “What do I do, exactly?” she asked. She never would’ve braved a question like that in the hospital, where she might be overheard by a telepresent visitor or even one of the hospital staff. But now, when she could be sure they were alone… “What’s my job title? Who do I work for?”

“You, work for someone else?” He laughed, apparently considering it an absurd proposition. But she didn’t laugh, and at her expression he nodded, coughing and looking away. “Well, uh… I don’t know if there’s really an official title for what you do. Online they call you a Decker. It’s, uh… named after some game, or…” But she wasn’t interested in that either. “Right, sorry. You’re like… a combination of a private eye, data analyst, hacker… a private consultant for people who need information and don’t want to dig into the sublayers or visit Equestria to get it themselves. Lots of rich clients who work through representatives to representatives… that kinda stuff.”

“Are we… rich?”

He laughed again, not even pretending to sound neutral about it this time. “We’re rich for a few hours after each job. But you’ve never been very good about your money, Dakota. Granted your last impulse buy was the immortality contract with Omnistem, so… I won’t make fun of you for it.”

Maybe she had been a private eye, because Dakota’s skepticism was lighting up like a Christmas tree. She ignored their driving, though they were slowing down and passing into denser streets now, instead of the wide multilane highways. All the buildings were the same multitier housing blocks, but the people surrounding them looked real enough. They walked along the streets, gathered in little groups, played games she couldn’t see. There were little floating Equestrian Identifier codes beside each one, but they were driving much too fast for her to read any of them. She didn’t see a single Synth—not outside the car.

“Hold on,” she said. “You talked about my insurance before. This ‘immortality contract,’ I’m guessing that’s the same thing. Are you saying I bought some kinda… super expensive insurance… then got into a life-destroying accident that needed the best kinda care right after it?”

Cinnabar nodded. “Well, when you put it that way… I guess you could say Celestia’s looking out for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe in God, Cinnabar. But I believe in assholes—and maybe something… I don’t know. I was working when we got into the accident, wasn’t I?”

“Yep! We were on a case for Bodhisattva Telecommunications. Well… we were on a case for Daniel Harriot, congressman of your district, who we know was bought by a super PAC owned by—” At her glare, he cleared his throat. “R-right. Point is, he knows what happened, and he’s not mad. Probably won’t be getting any work from Bodhisattva for a few years, but… at least he didn’t blacklist you. Little blessings.”

“Cool it with the religious talk,” she said, mostly to say something. Their autocar came to a stop under the awning of one identical building among many, and the door slid open automatically. 

Dakota winced, then went for the cane across her lap. She took it in both hands, clutching her paper bag of medicine between two fingers as she shambled out onto the sidewalk. She just stood there for a minute, leaning on the cane and catching her breath in the cool night air.

There was no blur of traffic zooming by under the building awning. She stood in place, watching the delivery drones landing on nearby pads with takeout orders, and felt the air wash over her. Despite everything, she had made it. She was out of the hospital, on her way home. She’d only be back there twice a week for the next few months. She could live with that.

“Looking at something?” Cinnabar asked from beside her, lifting briefly up onto his hind legs alone so that he was almost as tall as she was. “Nope, I don’t see it.”

“All these… people,” she whispered, staring at the crowds moving along the street. It was hard to say how many of them were really here, and how many were visiting only virtually. But basically all of them were speaking to people she couldn’t see, or responding to things that were invisible. “Why don’t they bump into each other?” All of them had glasses, goggles, or old-fashioned headsets. She didn’t see a single person whose face was as naked as hers, at least not without the flashing eyes that suggested connected contacts.

Cinnabar landed on all fours again, looking up at her with confusion. “You want to ask about… overlay pathing? Since when do you care about that?”

“I was just wondering,” she muttered, blushing. But she didn’t give up the question. “They’re all zooming around each other, like the autocars.”

As she said it, the car that had taken them finally zoomed out of the awning and onto the street, fading into the warning rectangle and out of sight.

“I can look it up for you,” Cinnabar said. “But I’m guessing it’s boundary nets, same as an AR. The overlays are all connected, so… they coordinate with each other about what space is open and what isn’t. If you’re fully immersed and the predictive thinks someone is going to enter your space, they’ll appear.”

“And if I go… stand right in front of the doors there… they’ll go around me?”

“Yep.” He didn’t hesitate. “You could try it… but I know you’re hungry. I think you want me to order Chinese for us and… I dunno. Maybe you want to go back to Port Jouster.”

Dakota hobbled towards her building, right into the flow of people on the sidewalk. She would’ve crossed the distance in moments before, but she couldn’t now, and several people were coming right towards her. At least until they swerved out of the way, or turned completely. Not one so much as lifted their glasses.
> Chapter 3: Twig
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota’s own apartment was just another identical door amid hundreds, at least with the civic overlay switched on instead of any of the more colorful variants.

“But that’s no way to experience home for the first time,” Cinnabar declared, as they neared her door from a length of unadorned hallway. Still, the slightly reflective paint on the walls was totally clean, and there was no stench of piss or anything in the hallways. So she didn’t live in a dump, that was something. “Everyone has a private overlay for home, even you. And now that you’ve got implants, you’re not just limited to sight and sound.”

He stopped in front of one unmarked door—the lock didn’t even have a keyhole, but she heard it click as they got close. There was a tiny screen by the doorbell, though it looked cracked and nonfunctional. “I had something for home,” she said. “An… overlay. I made it?”

“We made it,” he corrected. “Together. Like we do everything.”

“Right. We made it. Not someone else. It wasn’t fed to us by some corporation, or some video game…”

“Technically… I’m from a video game,” Cinnabar admitted. “But that was a long time ago. Other than Equestria, there’s nothing from a video game in there. It’s all ours.”

“I guess you can turn it on, then,” Dakota muttered. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to keep it. I just want to see the sort of person I was. She’d been told by half a dozen different doctors that it wasn’t unusual to feel a crisis of identity after a catastrophic brain injury like her own. But just because her nightmares were normal did not make them any easier to deal with.

The hallway around them changed. Other doors faded away, and the simple concrete was replaced with a precarious mountain path. The northern lights glowed brilliantly overhead, and distant clouds rumbled in time with the real storm beginning outside. Instead of an apartment door, they were standing outside a mountain retreat of stone and wood, like the summer retreat of a wealthy hunter high in the mountains. She could see no fresh kills hanging, waiting to be preserved, only beautiful stained glass giving her fractional glimpses inside.

“This is near Port Jouster, isn’t it?” she asked, and didn’t even wait for a response. The huge oak door was swinging open for her. She reached through the air, swiping with one hand as though expecting her senses to be lying to her. But there was no door blocking her path—it had apparently opened.

Inside was what the outside suggested—a huge vaulted ceiling of ancient bones, like some fallen dragon. Flaming sconces burned up there, filling the air with crackling light and the pleasant smell of flames without the smoke that choked and annoyed.

But for all the decoration around it, she could almost see the truth that was underneath. The massive cooking area with its magical glowing box was really just a microwave, oven, and fridge. The dining table was thick wood engraved with gold, but it wasn’t any bigger than the cheapest Ikea products.

“How is it so… big?” she asked. One of her hands wandered towards her eyes, trying to remove glasses that weren’t there and see the reality underneath. But nothing happened—she didn’t need glasses anymore.

“Lots of little lies,” Cinnabar answered, practically skipping past her towards a balcony with a tiny glass door. It was big enough for him, but she would’ve had to get onto her knees to follow. She reached towards the opening, and for the first time her hand touched something solid. The helpful boundary grid appeared, highlighting the edge of the world.

Except that Cinnabar slid past her, out through an apparently solid wall where he could lean over the edge and look down at the lights of a pony village far below. “Port Jouster,” he said. “I spent my whole life looking up at this place, wondering who lived here.”

“And it was me,” she said. His voice was a little muffled by the glass, but not so much that she couldn’t hear him clearly. “When…” She was remembering something. “I was younger. When I still played the game.”

“Yeah,” he answered, voice wistful and distant. “You were a monster hunter, an adventurer. There were ruins to explore, beasts to slay… you built this place using the rewards given to you by grateful ponies. And when you needed an apprentice…”

She turned away from the balcony, from the pony village in the distance. She was losing focus—she was in a midlevel highrise in Chicago. The only thing through that wall were buildings, factories, people. Ponies weren’t real, neither were monsters. “And now you’re disappointed that you went with me. You’d rather be someone else’s Synth.”

“No!” Cinnabar was at her side in a second. “You take that back! We still hunt monsters, Dakota. It’s just that ours are real, they aren’t procedurally generated.”

“The monsters, not the ponies?”

He shrugged. “The ponies you helped were always real.”

There was a chime from somewhere behind them, and Cinnabar turned eagerly. “That’s dinner!”

It wasn’t dinner.

The massive door swung open at Cinnabar’s gesture, as though it had been summoned that way by the will of an invisible god. But there were no humans on the other side, or even the squat delivery drones with their heat-insulating lids. Instead there was a pony on the other side of the door, a pony wearing a suit and a bowler hat and an expression that wasn’t far removed from carnivorous.

“Dakota!” he exclaimed, striding across the threshold without invitation. There was no one behind him. Is there a way to tell if someone is a Synth or a person using telepresence? There had to be, and she intended to ask Cinnabar about it as soon as this uncomfortable encounter was over. As it was she knew they couldn’t really be here regardless. There would be no point at all in making a person seem like a pony when she could disable their appearance overlays with a single command.

“Dakota, Dakota, Dakota. I heard you finally made it out of that awful place. Old sawbones really took you apart, I see. But those stitches look pretty good. Scars might not even be too noticeable, err… one day.”

“What do you want, Omar? I don’t think we’re ready for another job right now,” Cinnabar said.

“Not ready for another job…” he repeated, sliding around Cinnabar’s attempt to block the way and casually over to the table. “Omar” climbed up on top of it, adjusting the suit. Despite how it was intending to look, Dakota’s imagination added some grease-stains and ill fit that weren’t visible. Maybe a memory of the person it represented? “You listen to your Synth too much if you take his advice,” he said. “Nothing better for the soul than reminding it what it ought to do, that’s how I see it. I’ve got a case no one else could handle, Dakota. A case fit to inspire you. To guide that poor, broken body of yours until you are mended. And maybe make up for your failure with Congressman Harriot a little. If you’re lucky.”

Dakota didn’t think she could keep standing much longer. She’d already walked all the way upstairs, and her legs were starting to shake. She would look silly—but there was nothing for it. She wobbled over to the table and sat down across from the pony, her weight on the cane most of the way. You didn’t wait ten minutes to follow me here. You’re desperate, but why?

“We’re not ready to work again yet,” Cinnabar declared, taking a seat beside her. He spoke simply, without anything argumentative. He was just stating facts. And Dakota knew that he was right, on every conceivable level. She just wasn’t healed yet.

There’s no harm in hearing him out. Maybe we’ll learn more about what he’s really doing here in the process. “Be quiet, program,” Omar spat. “She’s the one I’m here to talk to, not you. If Dakota wants the job, you can’t stop her.”

“You can tell me,” she said, cautious. “I am not committing to anything. I can barely stay on my feet for an hour at a time right now. I’m still doing physical therapy… I can’t be out there on the streets yet. So keep that in mind before you give me your offer.”

“Ah, well… yeah.” Omar shook his head. “That’s no problem at all, yeah. No problem. Fact, I think most of this case might be virtual anyway. Not a lot of gumshoe work on something so old, ya’ know?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Cinnabar said. “We don’t have to listen to him, Dakota. Say the word and I’ll cut him off. This is our space.”

“It’s her space, program,” Omar interrupted. “You really going to let your Synth tell you what to do, Dakota? Best Decker in Chicago does what the horse tells her—fucking right.”

“I’m just going to hear him out,” she said again, trying to sound as neutral as she could. “I’m not agreeing to anything, Cinnabar. I’ll probably say no.”

“She’ll probably say no, she says,” Omar said, with a bit of cruel laughter. “I don’t believe that for one second. See, I’m talkin’ the oldest case you ever heard. I got a case so old they used to talk about it on Reddit.”

“That… isn’t selling it to me,” she said flatly. “If it’s that old, there might not be anything left. Or if there is, it’s locked up in some government secure layer with Alicorn-level encryption and a prison sentence waiting for me for my trouble. No client pays enough to be worth that.”

“Mine does,” he said, and he tossed something onto the table in front of them.

It looked like a sack of bits, the same that would automatically spawn in Equestria to contain the world’s digital currency. Decentralized, cryptographically secure, they were the globe’s default second monetary system now that the big nations had giving up trying to regulate it.

Only, the bits that tumbled out the open sack were transparent and clear, like sparkling gemstones. Dakota didn’t recognize them, and she didn’t know the exchange rate. But as they landed in front of him, Cinnabar fell backwards off the table, hacking in surprise and confusion.

“That’s… who in Celestia’s name is paying in…”

“Go on, verify the hash.” Omar leered at them. “Say it’s counterfeit, I fuckin’ dare.”

Cinnabar clambered up onto the table, summoning a transparent jeweler’s glass and holding it over one eye. He lifted a single bit up to the glass, then tossed it back and grabbed another. By the third, he dropped the glass, staring out the window in simple shock.

“Go on, program. Tell your master what you saw. Be a loyal fuckin’ secretary.”

“It’s real,” Cinnabar muttered, cowed. “All of it is. It’s part of one transaction to you. Your retainer. That…” He bit his tongue, apparently searching for the most extreme insult he could. He settled on “changeling… over there, he’s taking five percent. That’s one of these. The other nineteen are ours. That’s almost twenty million bits, Dakota. Twice as many in dollars, if you wanted them exchanged. On the advance.”

If Dakota’s alarms had gone off when she learned about the day of her accident, she could practically hear an air-raid siren while staring at that money. “So who’s the client, Omar? We talking… Yakuza? Sinaloa? Who buries me when this is over?”

Omar laughed again. “That wouldn’t be in their best interests, would it? If they buried you, then the state would get your bits. Not very economical of them.” Then he shook his head. “Money like this doesn’t like to talk about where it came from, Dakota. That’s part of what makes this pile so big.”

Cinnabar turned away from the table. “Send him away, Dakota. This… we don’t want to go anywhere near this. No way those bits are clean. The blood will get on us too, eventually.”

She knew he was right—but she’d seen the outside of this apartment. It was hard to look at nineteen million bits and feel guilty about where they’d come from. It’s the advance. All he needs is my signature, and they’re mine.

“What’s the job?”

Cinnabar’s ears flattened, and he retreated from the table, looking disgusted. See if you’re complaining when we stop eating takeout, Cinnabar. But then, why should he complain? When he wasn’t with her, he was living in a pretend world where he didn’t have to eat takeout. She was the one living in a popup apartment that was only made tolerable by overlay. For this much money, she could build a real cabin. She could retire, even.

“Ah, hah. Yeah. Well, all you have to do is find a missing person. Concerned citizens want to know what happened to Kayla Rhodes.” He stopped then, as the room was filled with a pregnant silence apparently expecting her to be moved. It was significant, but… she couldn’t have identified the name.

Was it familiar? Maybe. Her memory was struggling to connect something, to remind her of something, but… no, it was gone. But my old self knew, that means I can’t let him see.

Cinnabar saved her—however upset he might be, her success was his, and he didn’t remain silent. “You’re asking us to solve the most prominent missing person case of our century. The one everypony calls—”

“Equestria’s first murder,” Omar said, annoyed. “Yes. First of many, I’m sure. But not me asking, her client. I’m just the… intermediary.”

Dakota wanted to go online and run a search right now, see what sort of information was there, see if she could estimate her odds. But she couldn’t with him watching. “If the case has been cold for…”

“Twenty-three years,” Cinnabar supplied.

“Right. This… Kayla Rhodes case… I’m not a magician, Omar.” She lifted the cane in one hand, tossing it onto the table beside his bits. They jostled realistically at the motion. “What makes you think I can find something others couldn’t? Why’d you pick me for this case?”

“You’re the best,” Omar said simply. “Best in Chicago, anyway. You’ve proved plenty of times you’re not averse to a little risk. And more importantly, I’ve got a fresh lead. Catch is, you don’t get it until you sign the contract. If you don’t take the case, then it stays secret until the next person. But there ain’t no decker on this side of the Mississippi I trust with it. It’s either you, or I give it to the Koreans. Take your pick.”

Dakota reached out towards the bits, expecting them to pass through her fingers. But they didn’t, and one of the heavy rounded coins settled there. She lifted one up, holding it close. As she did so, the bit’s cryptographic signature appeared in the air beside it, along with a transaction record ten thousand items long, scrolling past in the air at blurring speed. These bits had been gathered together from various corporations and interests across Earth and Equestria both. Now they’d been put together, grouped only along the lines of the digital contract’s wallet address. To her surprise, the terms were already attached, waiting for her to read. She gestured with her other hand, and they expanded in the air beside her.

“Nevermind the fine print,” Omar called from the other end of the table. “I can give you the important part, since I had to read all that first. Highlights are: you get a month, you find Kayla Rhodes. You fail, you keep the retainer. You find her alive, you get ten times that. You find her dead, you get another payment like that. You lie, you cheat, you steal… you get fucked. Simple.”

“We’re not just going to—” Cinnabar began.

“Signed,” Dakota said, finishing her digital signature with a flourish. The pile of currency on the table vanished in a flash, and a little “new message” indicator appeared on the corner of the table. “You have money!” the text said, before fading away and vanishing from the wood.

“You bucking didn’t…” Cinnabar’s eyes went wide. “You did.”

“Now what’s your lead?” Dakota asked, ignoring the little flashing message indicator that remained in the corner of her vision. She already knew what it would say. “What’s such good information that someone thought I could solve your case?”

“Just this.” He removed something from an invisible pocket, pushing it across the table towards her. A sheet of paper, which Dakota opened with two fingers and lifted in front of her. Despite his objections, Cinnabar crowded over her shoulder, staring.

It was a symbol—the thing that would’ve been a cutie mark if it belonged to a pony. It was similar in basic layout and design, in this case a bright blue spyglass with a little person visible as a reflection in the glass. But Dakota’s overlay told her something else—the symbol was an EI, and the cutie mark’s colors and overlapping symbology stood for a string of letters and numbers.

The personal information associated with that EI appeared in her field of view, hovering beside the cutie mark. “North American Regional Identity Lookup Service” it said, along with the picture of a young woman’s face, badly compressed and pixelated in an ancient camera. “Kayla Rhodes” said the name. “Female, Caucasian. 23. City of residence: Chicago. Missing as of…”

“Friend of mine caught sight of a pony with this mark while they were trailing in Equestria. Just… one problem with that…”

“Humans didn’t have Synths back then,” Cinnabar muttered. “Or cutie marks.”

Omar nodded, satisfied. “Three options here, and they affect your pay so pay attention. Cryptographically speaking, you can’t spoof an EI. If some brainiac cracked that fuckin’ nut, well say goodbye to all the encryption in the civilized world. Not likely. Option two: little miss Rhodes is alive, somewhere. She’s logging into Equestria, maybe trying to find old friends, maybe…” 

“Maybe what?” Dakota prompted.

“Well, third option is that it’s shit information. Sources are good, but… sources are stupid sometimes too. Maybe they wanted to waste somebody’s time. If you don’t find her, you best keep careful tabs on every bit you just signed up for, because you’ll be accounting. Anything in that retainer that didn’t get spent on the investigation, you pay back. And I don’t mean no fuckin’ five star catering for your stakeout, neither.”

“You didn’t say anything like that!” Cinnabar protested. “That isn’t how a retainer works! It’s payment for our time!”

Omar shrugged, sliding back from the table. “Actually, it is what she signed. But forget about that. You’ve got her EI, Dakota. Biggest case you’ll ever have. You’ll be a fuckin’ legend when you dig up wherever she’s been hiding. Either that, or you figure out hackers have broken every security measure Earth and Equestria ever invented… either way, you get in a book somewhere.”

The doorbell rang again—this time when it opened, the apartment hall was on the other side. A group of several ponies and humans were gathered there, each wearing the uniform of Dakota’s favorite Chinese restaurant. Music that was as authentic as the food (which was to say, not at all) played behind them. But the smell was real, and she couldn’t ignore that. She was starving.

Dakota got up, almost forgetting about her cane as she wobbled over to the door.

“Here you are, Dakota!” said a pony, offering the plastic bag in her glowing magic. It didn’t actually lift that high, though, or drift too far from the doorway. That’s a delivery drone. There’s no one there. Again Dakota lifted a hand to her face, and again there were no goggles to remove. “So glad to see you’re well.”

“Thanks, I’m glad to—”


But the pony wasn’t listening. “Thank you so much from ordering from Happy Panda! We can’t wait to see you again soon!” And down the hall they went, playing more butchered music as the procession of panda-patterned ponies vanished from sight.

Omar slid past her towards the door, rolling his eyes at the display. “You got my EI,” he said. “You call me if you find anything. I’m not gonna breathe down your neck on this. But I’ll be back in a month. Be ready with the money, or the girl.” He lifted up onto his hind legs, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I can’t tell you who we’re working for, Dakota. I can only say—you don’t fuck with them. I lied when I said not to read the contract. Fuckin’ get it tattooed on your eyelids. You can bet they’ll hold you to every word it says.”

“You’ll sink if we do, Omar,” Cinnabar called after him, settling down beside Dakota and glaring at him. “I read the contract already. I know how it works for consultants like you.”

Omar shrugged. “I’m just a pony, obviously. Ghost in the fuckin’ machine, that’s me.” But then he looked up, towards blank wall. “I said keep it warm until I was—” He glanced back at them, ears flattening. “Right. Fuckin’ going now. Have fun.” He vanished, with a unicorn-teleport effect that looked more retroactive than intended. More the system imposing its own rules after the fact than an intended special effect.

“Well, that was… not quite how I imagined your gradual reintroduction going…” Cinnabar said, his voice obviously annoyed. 

Dakota stumbled over to the table, opening the bag. She couldn’t remember the name of anything in the little paper boxes, but she didn’t care. Her nose sure as hell remembered, and the growling in her stomach demanded to be satisfied. If food got here before Omar did, I probably would’ve told him no. That wasn’t a good sign about her odds.

But she couldn’t just admit that to Cinnabar, not after how stubborn he’d acted. When she was done eating, she finally said, “You know I can’t just stay locked up in here. I have to be doing something.”

“I know.” He sounded defeated. “But there are way better jobs than…” He tossed the pouch of bits onto the table beside her empty plate. How he’d gotten them, Dakota didn’t have to wonder—he was her Synth, after all. He had all her finances. It was the same way he’d ordered dinner.

The dinner he’d apparently eaten too. Cinnabar had his own plate, and he’d apparently enjoyed it as much as she had. Despite it looking like chicken and veggies. Aren’t ponies not supposed to eat meat? She was a little fuzzy on that one. “There aren’t better jobs,” she said, picking up the bag between her fingers and jostling it. It sounded like little bits of glass crystal, almost musical. “That’s… that’s change our lives money. That’s new start money.”

“That’s slave money,” Cinnabar whispered. “It doesn’t matter what the contract says, Dakota. Someone pays us that much… they think they own us. Chances are they’ve got the power to make that true, too. If we use this, if we spend it… might as well hobble our legs and stick our necks into the harness now. And when it’s over, worst thing that happens to me is I go back to Equestria alone. But you… they could kill you, Dakota. Didn’t the accident teach you anything? You’re not an Alicorn!” 

He got up, stumbling away from her. “I’m… going down to the village. You’re on your own tonight. I… I need to think. Maybe you do too.” When Cinnabar opened the front door, there was no hallway on the other side, but a winding mountain path. Before Dakota could so much as get to her feet again, he slammed it shut behind him, and vanished into the night.
> Chapter 4: Branch
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota could not even remember the last time she hadn’t had her Synth. During the darkest moments in the hospital, he had been there. Cinnabar had been there when she was in surgery, been there when she was going through physical therapy. When she woke each morning he was there, generally with breakfast he’d requested from the hospital based on her preferences and a few interesting videos he’d collected while she slept.

But now Dakota was alone—alone in what no longer felt like a warm, welcoming cabin. She struggled for twenty minutes or so with the overlay, since this one was her own and not on any standard layer. Eventually she found it, and switched the whole thing off. If she was going to be miserable, at least she’d be miserable in reality.

Of course, no sooner did she see what the apartment really looked like than she wished she hadn’t. The floors were either naked cement or naked cement with imitation wood/tile patterns set into them. The walls were undecorated polycarbonate, coated with a plastic layer that made it look like a public park. There were windows—tiny rectangular things with embedded silent fans, meant for circulation only. Once the overlays were all off, her lights reverted to plain, harsh blue, shining over worn polycarbonate furniture.

The only thing that kept its color was the now-empty takeout container, which shone as bright red as it had when it was delivered. Everything else was bleak and gray and plain. Every object had tracking and positional tags printed into the plastic, which were doing all of nothing for her now. 

Is this normal? Most people still have to wear AR gear to see this stuff. I did before I got the implants, didn’t I? Dakota knew she should probably start on her case, or at least get some rest, but she couldn’t muster the energy for either just now. So she wandered until she found the tiny bedroom, and sure enough there was a set of AR glasses hanging on a hook right by the bed. First on, last off. The bed itself looked as plain as anything else in the apartment, though at least it felt comfortable enough. 

Dakota lifted the glasses up to her eyes—almost ordinary in their style, except that they curved all the way around like safety goggles. There was no preamble—once up to her eyes, she could see the exact same fancy cabin that she’d seen when they walked in. Her mattress and plain sheets now looked like an elegant four-poster, though the sheets were all in the same place. Dakota screamed, tossing the glasses against the back wall. They didn’t shatter, just bounced and clattered to the floor.

Now that Cinnabar wasn’t here to help her make sense of it all, Dakota’s world felt wrong. He’ll come back, right? Synths don’t just give up on their people. At least, not that she knew of. Dakota wanted to search, but she couldn’t remember how to do even that. Maybe if she still had a smartphone, she could’ve just typed it into an internet search and asked. I bet Omar still uses a smartphone. He doesn’t have a Synth. More precisely, he didn’t use his Synth. If he used any modern technology at all, he certainly had one. But from the way he’d treated Cinnabar, his own was probably ordered to stay trapped on some device all the time, never interacting with anything. Poor thing.

Dakota managed to get undressed, largely thanks to her weeks of physical therapy, and she spent hours just lying awake on her sheets, fumbling with the interface that appeared whenever she lifted her arm. This was the way she’d interacted with the world—regaining use of it was as important as getting her legs back. Maybe more, since her financial future and maybe even her life depended on solving the case of Kayla Rhodes. She wouldn’t need to get out into the world much for that, at first. First she would have to use that EI to find the avatar with it. Then… what? Trace her? Convince her to reveal her location?

She might not remember how to control the hardware of her world so well anymore, but Dakota’s investigative senses were still sharp. She could feel another layer to this, entirely out of sight. There was complexity yet unrevealed, dangers she hadn’t even imagined yet. I’m not worth so much money. Someone desperately wanted me on this case. What makes me different from other investigators? Maybe it was all wrapped up in her immortality contract with Omnistem, somehow. After all the medical and hardware bills, her life was probably getting up into the millions for cost. She wouldn’t know, since not having to look at the finances was part of the contract. Maybe Omnistem’s rivals want to embarrass them? Make it look like the implants drive you crazy? 

Corporate espionage did seem like the most likely reality here—only government, corporation, or the elite could afford the money that had been spent on her. Eccentric billionaire was certainly an option, but most billionaires didn’t get their wealth by wasting it. With a less strict contract, I would’ve taken this job for a hundred thousand, maybe less. They wanted an offer they knew I wouldn’t refuse. They wanted me.

It was the sort of thing she’d love to bounce ideas off Cinnabar about. Either that, or some other friends. Did she even have human friends? There was her mom, but that woman didn’t know a thing about her investigative career and wasn’t going to learn now.

Dakota struggled for a bit, until she came up with her contact list. She ordered by recent messages, and a stream of “get well soon” animations appeared in the air in front of her. Adding a filter to restrict all but those who had sent her at least five other messages this year, and she was down to three names other than her mom.

She skimmed the first conversation, and winced as it came up with a stream of profanity. Whoever “Enrique Fowler” was, it was obvious they hadn’t cut things off in good terms. She didn’t have to read much of the “I thought I meant something to you” and “how could you just leave” to understand what had happened between them. Well there’s at least one thing I’m better off not remembering.

Next there were a few more promising names. Someone named “Beck” whose messages were mostly locations and times, apparently at coffee shops and cafes around town. Her last message was, “When Mercy lets you go, don’t lock yourself up to rot, Dakota. Don’t go talking to other suppliers, either. I got the real good shit for you.”

Some kind of… drug dealer? But that didn’t feel right, and she hadn’t seen anything to suggest that she’d done drugs before her accident. There wasn’t even a vape cigarette tucked into a drawer, or empty bottles of booze. So either I kept it clean, or I cleaned up after myself. More questions she wanted to ask Cinnabar. More reasons to wish she hadn’t scared him off.

The only other name on her contact list that had messaged her a lot wasn’t a human name at all, but a pony one. “Java.” But from the way her contact list showed the names, it didn’t actually say that the person was a pony—maybe it was just someone else she knew online, like Omar.

Java was the only one who’d kept messaging her after the day she went into the hospital. Something similar each time—hoping that she was doing well, begging her to give her an update, asking about the new implants. Whoever Java was, she’d been in close touch with Dakota before her accident, and tried to stay in touch after.

There was a fresh swelling of guilt as she saw that—this was unmistakably an actual friend, though whether she was real or not was still an open question. Cinnabar could speak just as convincingly, but he made no secret about being a program. Are you a Synth or just an avatar, Java?

She probably should’ve slept, but Dakota wasn’t feeling particularly tired. Part of that was the drugs—her anti-rejection medication had “insomnia” as one of its side effects. And I’ll be taking it until the day I die. Isn’t that fantastic.

But a few minutes was enough to figure out the interface. The air in front of her filled with a chat window, showing her own Identifier in one corner in green, while Java’s Equestrian Identifier was in yellow. And there was the EI listing, along with the same message from the North American Regional Identity Lookup Service. Only Java’s records said, “Expunged by Data Privacy Request, 2039. Female, United States.” Curious. Even Kayla Rhodes didn’t do that.

But she wasn’t trying to dig up information on the person, whoever they were. There was a keyboard in the air below the text-box, with Java’s last message hovering there in a pale bubble.

“Hey,” Dakota wrote, her fingers stiff. “Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I kinda forgot how to do everything.”

Java’s icon instantly went green, and three dots appeared in the box. A few seconds later, a message replaced them. “Thank god you’re finally out of there. I didn’t think I was gonna hear from you again.”

Dakota shrugged, then realized that the one on the other end couldn’t see her and felt a little stupider. “Cinnabar kept telling me I had messages to deal with, but the first few I looked at were all the same shit. I think you got buried.”

Whoever Java was, she was awake into the wee hours of the night, because she’d responded almost immediately. Either that, or she was on the other side of the world. “Cinnabar’s back in town right now. It’s… uncanny. Seeing him around here without you. Looks like he just got turned down for the prom or something.”

Dakota winced, though she mostly just got a little more confused. The one she was talking to was either in Equestria right now, or had visited long enough to see Cinnabar. Either way was confusing. “You should come see both of us. Tomorrow, though. He said you just got released. You need some sleep.”

“Yeah.” But she didn’t actually feel tired. Confusion and unanswered questions were even more potent than whatever was in those orange bottles. But how could she ask “are you one of those weird escapists” without sounding rude? This was supposed to be one of her friends. “You’ll be there tomorrow?” It was the least direct way she could think to ask. She wasn’t trying to drive everyone away.

“Well yeah.” Her words were confused, if anything. “I think my brother needs the company. He’ll be glad to have you visit tomorrow.”

Brother. That did not make things less confusing. Why is someone who is enough of a real person to have a real EI claiming that a pony Synth is her brother? It might explain why the two of them were friends, maybe. 

This new world is too strange. Part of Dakota wished she could close her eyes and wake up in the world of her memory. But that picture was so blurry she couldn’t have painted it to make into a sublayer if she wanted to. The only thing she knew for sure was that the world she remembered made sense and this one didn’t. You weren’t out that long, Dakota. A month under anesthetic doesn’t change the world into a different place. It’s only you that’s different.

“How do I visit you?” she eventually typed. “I haven’t done a visit to Equestria myself since the implants, I don’t know how they work. Cinnabar took care of everything.”

This time the one on the other end took a little longer to respond. “I know you’ve got the right shoes for VR. Either you do it in your house, or you go out into the city and get some air at the same time. But based on what Cinnabar said about your health, maybe try at home first. You’ll want him with you when you go out in case you get yourself into trouble.”

Dakota flopped onto her back in bed and found the interface traveled with her—though slowly, it eventually migrated until it was right overhead, with the keyboard shrunken down enough that she could type comfortably with just one hand. “Okay.” She wanted to ask if there was some way to get Cinnabar to come back without visiting. But that would’ve been rude, particularly if this was someone who’d been her friend before. Somehow. That at least made more sense than being related to a Synth. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to you then.”

Dakota might not want to sleep, but she probably could. She could close her eyes, and finally the constant deluge of overlays and messages would fade. She could sleep. Maybe in the morning her world would make more sense.







Morning proved to be a return to something at least a little familiar to her. The hot water in the bathroom took a little figuring out, but like most things there was a backup touchscreen and Dakota could fumble around with that. Less clear was how to get breakfast—while she’d been gone, all her food had apparently gone bad and been thrown away by the maid service Cinnabar requested, because there was nothing in her fridge and little in the cupboards. She found some dry ramen and made do with that, as empty a breakfast as it made.

What she wanted to do after that was dig a little into her missing person case, but that was easier said than done. Her only lead pointed at Equestria, where she couldn’t easily go. Plenty of people apparently did it without a Synth—but she hadn’t been one of those, and becoming one would take much more work than the thing she knew she ought to do.

So it was into Equestria after all, just not so far as she might otherwise. Discovering which “shoes” were the ones Java meant was a surprisingly simple task. One pair were docked on a conductive charger in the closet, while the rest weren’t. She removed them cautiously, running one hand under the bottom surface. There were lots of tiny wheels, currently retracted such that she could walk in the shoe without trouble. This is how they manipulate the size of rooms, then. Put these on, and you can walk without moving.

Of course, she could just sit in place, figure out how to use a controller for input or something similar. But she needed to use as many of her physical abilities as she could—if she didn’t, those parts of her brain might not integrate into her implants, and she’d lose them in time.

Once wearing the slightly bottom-heavy shoes, Dakota spent another few minutes struggling with what to do. She searched for some button or program that would take her to Equestria, but couldn’t find any. At least until she remembered something from the night before—her mansion was already there, in some sense. It was built on a path that overlooked Cinnabar’s home village, and in some ways her own as well. All she had to do was walk out the door and follow him.

She could still turn her own little sublayer back on—if she could get rid of it, then she could activate it without much difficulty. The space around her seemed to briefly shift and distort, with a tiny icon appearing at the corner of her vision. “Movement integration hardware detected. Adjusting for immersion.” Whatever that meant.

Apparently it meant that when Dakota looked down, she saw mauve fur ending in hooves, instead of the oversized gray tee-shirt and brown shorts she’d shrugged on that morning. She lifted one foot, and one of the hooves responded. Sure enough, a glance behind her lied the same way—there was a mauve body back there, and curls of sandy yellow mane cascading over her shoulders. Immersion mode apparently meant pony mode.

Some part of her thought about giving up then—Cinnabar would eventually get bored of being alone and come back for her, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he’d feel guilty and desperate, knowing the two of them only had a month to solve their case. But that timer wouldn’t just fade because she didn’t want to think about it. She had a whole month now, but that time would start feeling really short if she put it off.

It didn’t matter how other people saw her, and she could always not look at herself. But Dakota was curious, and there were plenty of mirrors in the massive manor.

She crossed over to one near the balcony, which interestingly enough did not seem too small for her to walk out onto this time. But she lingered in front of the mirror first.

A bright mauve pegasus stared back at her in the glass, blinking and moving precisely in line with her. She fidgeted one way, and so did the reflection. But then she lifted one hoof towards her face. Her brain didn’t quite want her to—but she felt skin there, and five fingers, and her hand. Nothing magic about it. It’s just really good VR. It was so good that almost all the world’s entertainment was on one sublayer or another. It all flowed to or from Equestria. 

Dakota ignored the balcony, and turned instead for the door. There was no reason to bring anything, not when she was really never leaving her apartment. Breakfast had been awful, but they wouldn’t serve real food in Equestria.

I should just think of it as research. I have to go in here to find that missing pony anyway. No sense hiding from it. She felt the door against her hand, but also didn’t feel it. Like she could force her way through if she wanted to, and reveal the fault in the illusion. This is like when Cinnabar touches me. It’s the implant. And if it could spoof touch, how much more could that implant do?

It wasn’t a question she wanted to answer, maybe ever.

Once outside, the sound of crackling torches was replaced with a mountain breeze. She could see it blowing over the landscape in front of her, feel her hair swept back slightly. But this version of her had a coat thick enough to fly through the highest clouds, so she wasn’t bothered. Or maybe the simulation couldn’t make her too uncomfortable, and how fluffy she looked was just the excuse.

Even from the path, she could see Port Jouster visible below, its dozen or so buildings fairly close together. It didn’t strike her as realistic—not compared to Earth, anyway. There were no farms around it, none of the infrastructure that a few hundred people would need to survive. Just the town itself, and a tiny grove of fruit trees beside it, and a single rail line leading away. Away to where…

And ahead of her, the path twisted and wound through switchbacks and between the smaller peaks, down towards the village. She could see most of its distance, except where it slipped occasionally into tunnels that looked like they’d once been mines.

But then a pony emerged from the tunnel ahead of her, a pony that somehow struck her as instantly familiar. It was another earth pony, with a similar coat to Cinnabar’s, though she had a soft pink mane instead of his orange. Curious.

But she recognized the symbol on her flank—like most ponies, this one wore little. Only a vest over her front, with several layers of brown and green cloth. No pants, not even saddlebags. “Hello Java.”

“I was going to get you if you didn’t make it,” Java said, stopping a few feet away and clutching at her chest with harsh, panting breaths. “Wasn’t… sure you’d manage… without my brother.”

Brother, right. The human was related to a program that was also Dakota’s personal assistant. That made sense. “Well, I managed. But now that you’re here, maybe you can show me how to be human? I’m not a fan of the, uh…” She couldn’t feel it exactly, but she could see her wings spread out on her back, opening in the breeze. “Of looking like this.”

“Well…” Java winced. “You, uh… forgot more than I thought. You’re in Equestria proper, Dakota. This is as deep as you can go. I can help you switch your avatar if you like. You wanna go hippogriff, or changeling, or…” She lowered her voice, grinning mischievously. “If you don’t tell anyone, I could help you go dragon even. But that’s about what I could manage. Last time there were humans in here… that was before 1.0. Back when they could pop over from the Star Wars realm, or the Harry Potter realm, or whatever was popular that week. I think I played Pokémon back then, but… I honestly don’t remember. Little me was an idiot.”

Big you is pretending to be a horse. But she didn’t say it. This “Java” person was close to her, or so her messages suggested. She didn’t want to ruin that without even knowing her.

“None of those things sound like… they’re better than being a pony. I can stick with this.”

Java shrugged ambivalently, and the two of them resumed their slow walk down the mountain. It felt like she was walking downhill, but was that another illusion? It didn’t feel as steep as it had looked from above…

“I’m… I’d like to ask you something, Java. Something that’s probably gonna suck.”

“Well when you say it that way, now I’m dripping with curiosity.”

“I’m told I lost ten percent. Ten percent of my… brain. I’d almost certainly be dead now, if it wasn’t for the implants. They’re great for gluing a broken person together—”

“I’ll say. You don’t talk like someone who lost most of their brain.”

“Not most!” She glared. “Look, I’m having trouble remembering things from before. My new memories are fine, I think they’re… maybe supplemented with digital, or… I don’t really get it. I’m not a hardware girl. But I can’t remember how we met. Why we’re friends. Can you… remind me?”

“Oh.” Dakota had been right—either by suggestion, or the simple reality behind it, her words clearly hurt. Java slowed a little, and was no longer meeting her eyes. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“I remembered you enough to call,” she argued. “And to trust you! I just… need a little help. If you don’t want to stay my friend, I guess that’s up to you.”

“N-no.” She winced. “It’s not that. I’m just trying to figure out… how to explain it. How to explain anything. I mean… I guess it’s not that complicated. We went to school together, Dakota. Long time ago. We were best friends, and we stayed friends. Neither of us really went anywhere… you stayed in town, I played a lot of games… I got you into this game, that’s something! Perfect, immersive world. Meaningful interactions, real factions, dynamic economy, infinite exploration… Long list. And it was a fun way to pass the time together when you weren’t chasing down mobsters or shooting at spies, or… whatever you do. I’m not the badass, I can’t guess what goes on out there.”

Dakota didn’t feel like much of a badass now either—and she didn’t think any of what Java had just said was true about her life before. But she didn’t actually point it out. Somehow it felt like her friend should’ve known that, and she was probably just saying it to make her feel better. I remember spending most of my time in front of a computer. Or wearing one, or walking around digging up old public records. Half of what had made her so good at her job was that she remembered libraries and city halls existed, and most everyone else had apparently forgotten.

“I guess I was expecting something a little crazier. You, uh… calling Cinnabar your brother, spending enough time in Equestria that you want me to visit you there… that’s confusing to me.”

Java shrugged. “It can be hard. I mean, I don’t know if anything was ever as hard for me as… what you’re going through right now. I can try to answer all your questions.” They were nearing the village now. Despite how long and imposing this trail had seemed from above, they were already near the bottom. “But I’ll start with the one you gave me. Cinnabar isn’t related to me out in the real world, obviously. But Equestria’s different. It’s not just populated by game characters, but… they make a living world. When you come here, you fit into that world somehow or other. The system tries to figure out how you best fit. My siblings in real life were pretty shit, so the system gave me a better one. And it meant I had more reason to be close to you—probably the system had some real creepy levels of information about both of us, and it knew we’d want to play together, and so it made Cinnabar the way he is. Hard to know, I barely even remember him before the Convergence.”

“Convergence,” she repeated. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“Oh, that’s easy. It’s when Equestria stopped being a world some fans built into a cooperative multiplayer space and turned into something more.”

“We know… how that happened?”

She laughed. “If you figure it out, you’re smarter than everypony here, and that’s not easy. I don’t think any of them know. Seems to me like… we just plugged enough computers into each other, told them to work together, and… eventually they did. Maybe some military AI got loose into the system and got mixed up with all the friendship and ponies. Maybe it was ghosts, or aliens, or…” She stopped walking, settling one hoof on Dakota’s shoulder. As before, she found she could feel the pressure against her body. It was like the door, both real and not.

But Dakota didn’t push her away. As frightening as the implications of false touch might be, she was fascinated by the story and didn’t want her to stop. “Origin isn’t an important question. It’s not where the gift comes from, it’s what you do with it that matters.”

“And Equestria built a giant freaky monolith that kills spaceships and shot it at the moon.”

Java rolled her eyes. “I thought you didn’t like conspiracy theories, Dakota.” But she didn’t give her any chance to argue. “That’s the workshop!” she exclaimed, pointing eagerly at one of the buildings on the edge of town. It looked nothing like the others—there was a great big glass window out front, and a blacksmith’s forge was visible inside. Cinnabar was there, or at least his outline, hammering away at something under the intense heat. “Now, it’s time for you to apologize. You can’t take back what you did, but you can tell my brother you’re sorry for not listening to his advice and beg for his help getting you out. I think that’s all he wants.”

“Right,” Dakota muttered. She found her eyes wandering, drifting through the streets of Port Jouster. “Sure we couldn’t just… do something else first?”

“Nope!”

“Well…” She lowered her voice, leaning in close. “Before I go, I want you to answer one more question. Just… how real are these ponies? Synths, and… these other characters. Are they NPCs, just mindless bits of code, or…?”

Java’s expression was a mask. “There’s no one answer,” she said. “There are certainly characters that don’t seem to have much intelligence. They don’t think creatively, or react in different ways based on what you do. Some of the oldest parts of Equestria are like that, with the NPC shopkeepers, and the recreations from the old TV show that just reenact episodes and recite their lines. But the further out you get, the more into Equestria’s own creations and less into the things humans made before the Convergence, and… they’re pretty smart. Cinnabar and the others like him are at least as smart as humans. You better hope that’s as far as it gets, because if they are smarter than us… we’re in over our buckin’ heads.”
> Chapter 5: Trunk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The longer Dakota remained in Equestria, the harder it was to remind herself that she was still standing in her apartment, wearing weird shoes and probably looking like an idiot. At least in the time before her implant, she could’ve just removed the glasses. Maybe I should start using them again. Just because I don’t need them doesn’t mean they might not be better. That would give her more control than trusting the system.

But confusion and indecision would not make this problem go away. She owed Cinnabar an apology. Dakota straightened, brushed her hair a little straighter with one hoof, and marched through the shop door.

As with most things, it got out of her way on its own—probably a way of not breaking immersion for the vast majority of people who couldn’t feel anything here. And inside was a shop. There were swords hanging on racks, shields painted in bright colors all dented and scratched by the monsters they’d been used against. Stranger things—flight goggles, boots with spikes on the end, and something that looked remarkably like a grappling hook and a crossbow had made sweet love.

It was far better than the shops she remembered seeing in games—here the products really were on display, and each one looked unique. Even otherwise identical swords had different patterns in the steel, or slightly different gold wire in their handles.

“Coming! I can’t say how long I’ll be in town, so be sure to—” Cinnabar emerged from the door, still wearing a thick brown apron. But he froze in the doorway, staring at Dakota. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” Dakota repeated, walking over to one of the counters and looking down. “I guess this is… what you did before, huh? What you do when you’re not with me? You’re a… shopkeeper.”

“A blacksmith,” he responded, tone guarded. “Learned from my mother, been practicing the craft ever since I could swing a hammer straight. Made some changes when I took over the shop. Always planned on settling down here when our time was over. But I never knew when that would happen. Humans are so… unpredictable. Even in Equestria the best wizards can’t give you a good guess for how long a human will live. Maybe all those bits Omnistem is putting into life extension pay off. Maybe you get hit by a bowling ball tomorrow and never log on again. The Gray comes for all of you in time. The… majority of Equestrians don’t even want to meet humans.”

“Because they’re… racist? Or do they think we’re evil or something?” And compared to the cartoonish idealized world of Equestria, maybe they were. Or maybe that was just the attitude someone had programmed them with.

“No.” Cinnabar winced. “Because then they’d make friends with someone who’s going to die. It’s… almost funny. Silly for sure—ponies like that run some important stuff on Earth, but they don’t want to talk to humans. So you need a Synth as a go-between. Maybe it’s, like… some weird kinda justice. The humans who hate ponies the most won’t have Synths, so they can’t use the things controlled by the ponies who don’t like humans.”

It was a stupid, pointless conversation. Dakota didn’t really care about why the computer programs of Equestria thought or acted the way they did. She couldn’t even be sure how many of them were “people” in the same sense that Cinnabar here was. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” she said. “I’m sorry we don’t see eye to eye about the case. But I do still value your friendship—and I need your help.”

There. She wouldn’t have felt right lying, or admitting fault she didn’t feel. As insane as the case was, she wouldn’t give it up. It wasn’t even the money anymore—Dakota still wasn’t sure she even planned on spending it.

Cinnabar listened, expression flat. Java lingered in the doorway behind her, watching silently, but she didn’t interfere. Cinnabar looked away, wiping at his face with the back of one leg. Damn if those aren’t real emotions. How could she have told the difference—fighting his tears like that, Cinnabar could just as easily be another avatar for a human on the other end. With the childish way ponies acted, she couldn’t help but picture a boy, maybe a young teenager. Wanting to be helpful, but not knowing how, or really understanding what he was getting himself into.

“You can say that again,” Cinnabar finally answered. “I don’t understand why you’re… so determined to solve this case. You could’ve told Omar to leave you alone. You could’ve asked him to come back after you healed… he already seemed to have somepony else in mind to solve it for him. It didn’t have to be us.”

“It didn’t have to be, but I wanted it to be,” she muttered. “I feel like… I’m still figuring everything out, Cinnabar. But my whole world is getting so tangled up in Equestria. There’s that Monolith in orbit of the Moon, there’s more and more companies like Omnistem with ponies working for them. Every reasonable person has a Synth, though I can’t imagine very many are as helpful as you—”

She had to say something nice, because she was about to be harsh. “Have you ever thought that… maybe the reason you’re against having me solve this case is because someone in Equestria might be responsible? The, uh… princess you’re always talking about, maybe. Someone, who can… control you?”

It wasn’t exactly the right thing to say. But after her implants, Dakota couldn’t help but have control on the mind. She knew all too well what it was like to doubt her own senses. Though every digital reading told her they were better than they’d ever been, they were clearly lying to her. Here she was apparently standing in a blacksmith shop in Equestria, though she was still in her own apartment. She could still feel the shoes on her feet, and the textured concrete floor underneath. If she concentrated on it.

“I mean… maybe,” Cinnabar admitted. “But that’s not the real reason I was upset. I guess I didn’t stick around to tell you. I would’ve, if you didn’t just sign up like that…” he grumbled, looking away. “This case hasn’t been unsolved for lack of trying. If you still had all your memories…” He swallowed, then tried again. “Java, I see you lurking back there.”

She emerged, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah. Just making sure that your human got down here without falling off the cliff.”

An interesting and disturbing question. What would happen to her if she did fall off a cliff in Equestria? Certainly she wasn’t in the Matrix—her mind wouldn’t make it real and kill her, would it? That seemed like a huge technical oversight. Not one likely to be popular on many marketing materials either.

“How much do you know about our work, Java? Be honest.”

“Not much,” she admitted. “I know you do it a lot! I know you’re both very passionate… that you have to do things in Equestria, Earth, and everywhere in between. You’ve been shot at a few times. Mostly by other deckers or corporate police I think.”

“Yeah,” Cinnabar said, waving a hoof dismissively. “That’s all right. Now tell Dakota—what do you know about the Kayla Rhodes case.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s the one you… shit, girl, you do have a death wish.” She seemed to see Dakota’s frustration, because she added, “I don’t know anything about cases, but I know about the Rhodes disappearance. I know that at least a dozen people who tried to solve that case ended up suffering mysterious accidents. That’s what made her get noticed in the first place—one girl going missing wouldn’t make the news. But one girl goes missing, then all the people who try to find her… I dunno how true the stories all are, maybe they’re apocryphal. It got so bad there was even an act of congress… some kinda FBI appointees went after her. Dunno what happened after that, it never got mentioned again.”

“I do,” Cinnabar said, looking away. “Because I went digging around all of last night. The project got quietly defunded and the congresswoman who was the loudest voice for the investigation resigned after a scandal. Most of the other names that can be definitively connected with the case all had something bad happen too. At least three of them just vanished, most of the others had some kind of financial ruin. Obviously nobody found her.”

Cinnabar closed the distance between them, resting one hoof on her shoulder and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Forget the shady contract—forget the magic money you have to give back unless you succeed. Someone or something doesn’t want Kayla Rhodes found. It’s probably erased all the evidence in existence, but it’s making extra sure by erasing the people who try to dig it up. Our best option is just doing nothing for the next month, then repaying all the money. We don’t need to make waves.”

Dakota didn’t look away. “How about… Cinnabar, it might have been long enough now that the one who cared is dead. Or maybe they’ve changed their mind. We won’t know if we don’t try. Who knows—maybe we’ll attract less attention than something with the FBI involved. We can always just… poke around a bit. Maybe we find something interesting, or maybe we get threatened.” 

She raised one hoof. It probably would’ve been hard to balance if she was a pony, except she was really just holding out her hand. The game had to adapt. “If we feel like I’m in real danger, I promise to give up. Good enough? The instant there’s a credible threat, we can send the money back and tell Omar we couldn’t figure it out.”

Cinnabar frowned deeply, staring at the hoof. “That’s… probably the best I’m getting out of you, huh?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately. I don’t remember much about me—but I know I wouldn’t give up on a mystery like this before I’ve even taken a swing. Far as I can tell, Rhodes is the biggest case in decades. She might be the best lead the world has on discovering what Equestria really wants. But if I’m going to find her, if I’ve got any chance in hell, it’ll only be with you helping me.”

Cinnabar seemed to waver another moment, then he flung his forelegs around her in a desperate, sobbing hug. “One night was hard enough, Dakota. I can’t stay away. You’re right, you do need me. I bet you ate rotten eggs for breakfast.”

“Ramen, actually. But I still wish I hadn’t.”

Cinnabar grinned, wiping away a few more tears. Should this feel weirder to her?

Was a digital personal assistant supposed to be so… emotional?

But of all the strange new things Dakota had been forced to experience in the world, Cinnabar was perhaps the most comfortable and familiar of them all.

“We’ll do lunch,” he said. “Then maybe… we can talk about the case. Go over the stuff everypony knows. But we did human food for dinner, so you get pony food for lunch. No arguing.”

Dakota found herself curious about what would happen if she did argue. But she didn’t actually find out. “Just so long as it’s real enough for me to eat. This being… AR and all.”







It was, as it turned out. Though he never said as much, Dakota could get a vague sense of moving air around her as they walked through Port Jouster to visit the pub that Cinnabar insisted was “absolutely the best this side of Canterlot.” It did, however, raise an interesting question for her: how would she be able to eat if the interface insisted on covering up her body with stupid pony legs.

Apparently some wise engineer had thought of that, because once she was sitting down, the illusion faded away. It was like she was sitting inside the outline of a pony costume—maybe showing what the others around her were seeing, but her own body returned, leading up to a still-decorated table and a tray that moved like it was disposable but looked like sturdy wood.

She didn’t care much for nothing but veggies, but she just tried not to think about it, and ate as quickly as she could. Until they’d all finished, her stupid illusion returned, Java took off to “get back to work”, and it was just the two of them sitting alone in the back of the pub while Sous Vide went around cleaning up after the lunch rush. “Are… do other people do this kind of thing all the time?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Pretending they’re in Equestria… all day?”

Cinnabar nodded. “There are plenty of humans who work in here. Who take their goggles off right before bed and put them on again after a shower. Assuming they make it that far, but thankfully we can’t smell how they really are.”

Dakota winced at that thought, banishing it as best she could. Humans had done that kind of thing with World of Warcraft before everything changed—probably they were still playing a similar game, just transplanted a few layers deep. “But other people don’t have implants. I didn’t have implants until recently. They can’t feel things, they need a headset… I assume they can wear these weird shoes…”

“Yeah.” Cinnabar looked distant, his eyes drifting towards the window. He was apparently looking up the mountain at her house, which felt even stranger since she was still in that house. Except so far as Equestria was concerned, she was sitting in the Sanguine Seapony. “Humans with more money can simulate touch. You have to build a whole room for it. Robotics that are always there when you reach for something. Regular people only get that in arcades. I guess you could say the holy grail of AR is a way to give total immersion to anyone without brain surgery, but… Omnistem’s been on it for years, and basically haven’t made progress.”

“But it’s no problem if you do get brain surgery,” she muttered, a little annoyed. “They put it into my implants without asking. Implants that are… mostly here to keep my brain working, help it heal. They’re also feeding me all these images of a place that isn’t real.” But damn if she could tell the difference. Her own legs and mane were most often the trigger that took her from the illusion—without them, she easily could’ve accepted this illusory village. Her brain almost wanted to, and the insistence she be a pony like them was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Not without asking,” Cinnabar said, a little surprised. “You filled out all the forms yourself. You opted in to every bit of overlay machinery that was available. Having space for me in there… that’s optional too. It could’ve just been treatment. But that wasn’t what past-you wanted.”

“Please don’t…” She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes now. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Cinnabar, but I have to ask: why would past me want her Synth living in her head? You’ve been understanding and friendly and helpful since I woke up, I couldn’t have lived without you. But other people don’t have computers in their heads—they still have good relationships with their Synths, don’t they?”

“Yeah…” He didn’t sound offended, so at least she’d managed to avoid hurting him again today. “But regular people don’t go where they aren’t supposed to. If I’m physically present with you, it means you can’t lose signal by going too far underground, or walking into somewhere with Faraday cages or jamming foam. It means that no matter what we do in your world, or how many people we piss off, then at least we’re together when they find us. That means I’m there to call for help if you need it.”


Was that enough of a reason? Dakota supposed it had to be. It sounded convincing, anyway. It was like… Cinnabar was a tool that couldn’t be taken away. Though it did feel a little callus to think of a person as a tool. “Okay. Well… I’m ready for some of that help. We have a missing person to find. Her case… everyone seemed to know about it. Maybe we could start by going over the facts that everyone agrees on. Once we do that… at least I’ll know where we stand.”

“Sure.” Cinnabar rose to his hooves, turning for the door. “I actually gathered up everything already. It’s back at home, on the second floor. I guessed you wouldn’t know how to go between the floors, so…”

“It’s an apartment,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. “There aren’t any.” 

“Weeeeeeell.” He grinned. “They were in the corner. Those little pads with glowing symbols underneath. They’re supposed to be teleporters, but really it’s just about making you walk to one end of the room, so you can reorient to a new space. It’s one of those mind trick things, bias and perception or whatever. Human stuff. And since you can’t fly back, you’ll have to walk.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. I’m still in my apartment, really. Can’t we get back there just by not being in Equestria anymore? Logging out. It seems like something I should learn how to do right away, so you should walk me through it. Don’t do it yourself.”

“It… costs bits to do it that way,” Cinnabar said. “Not a lot! We have enough to do it plenty without even touching that advance. But just know it isn’t free. Equestria doesn’t like it when you treat it like a game. The magic to do that costs bits. If you log out just anywhere, like taking off your headset if you still used one, you would just drop unconscious to the floor right where you were. So we have to do a home portal. It only costs ten bits, but you should know.”

“Alright, I get it. I want to do it anyway. The walk down was hard on my legs.”

He explained the steps to her in simple terms, though he seemed reluctant to be doing it in the middle of the pub. Whenever Sous Vide looked their way, he could only give her an apologetic smile and go back to explaining things. 

It wasn’t that hard, really. Equestria itself had buried it in nested menus and options, constantly trying to prompt her back into the world to walk out herself. But eventually she found what she wanted, pressed it, and suddenly was in her apartment again. Except that she was still standing on four legs, or looked like she was. It was a detail she’d looked at as little as possible, since she still felt her whole body perfectly, and she’d get slightly sick looking at arms that weren’t actually below her.

“Alright, next thing.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Being a pony. It’s cute—maybe I don’t have a choice in Equestria. But this is my house. How do I switch avatars?”

That was easier, particularly when she was at home. It only took her a few more minutes to master that, at least with Cinnabar there to help her. A few quick transformations backwards and forwards, and she was back in her regular body. Once she could see them, the first thing she did was remove her shoes, placing her socked feet firmly back on the cement. 

“WARNING, LIMITED FIDELITY RECREATION. PLEASE REPLACE EQUIPMENT.” 

She could ignore a little bold text out of the corner of her eye. So long as it couldn’t mind control her into putting those shoes back on, she wouldn’t until they went back to Equestria. “I’m guessing my house doesn’t make me have to wear those,” she said, swaying a little on her feet as she saw her body reappear. It should’ve been familiar to her, and in many ways it was—but maybe her brain had gotten more used to seeing a bright purple coat than she’d thought. 

“Well… there are some people now living in… I think they’re called ‘microspaces’? Fully integrated, can’t be experienced any other way. They’re maybe… ten feet square, with interaction hardware to simulate furniture, or wash, or… whatever. But new technologies take time to catch on, it’s mostly younger people moving into them. Why own dozens of different things when you can put all your bits into one thing that covers all your needs?”

“Because that’s… really weird and disgusting,” she answered, imagining what an integrated toilet might be like. Then she pushed it from her mind, before Cinnabar could notice and show her one. “I do kinda want to see one while it’s off though. But… not right now. You said there were more floors?” She glanced to the edges of the room, and sure enough there was the glowing pad with its many symbols running around the rim. There was a button on the wall, and no mystery about what it did.

“So when I press it…” She was already walking over, talking as she went. Cinnabar followed along beside her, like a friendly dog but bigger. “Nothing in my apartment changes.”

“Well… not much changes. You’ve got two chairs and the table on wheels. You won’t hear them for the same reason you don’t hear your neighbors, but… they move. Mostly it’s digital, though.”

She pressed the button, and light flashed around her. When it finally faded, she was surrounded by thick stone, like she’d descended into the mountain. Here was something not unlike Cinnabar’s workshop in Port Jouster, though the furnace was under a huge hood. But most of the space was a library, with lots of shelves and only the one single space. There was also a huge projection screen and entertainment center, far too expensive for her to actually afford. 

“Like, the room is actually the same size—it’s stuck that way when you’re not wearing the shoes. And lots of decorative pieces like shelves are masking things that are stuck in place. That opening into those books down there? That’s really the bathroom, and the gap between the shelves just happens to be exactly the same size as the doorway. It’s all like that. Only the furniture you’re going to actually use is… completely real. And it lines up with real furniture, or connected stuff that moves a bit.”

It felt like she was standing somewhere totally different. Dakota wandered forward a few steps, expecting to smack her face into a stove or a table, but the space was as empty as it looked. “And… even if you live in a tiny, shitty apartment… you could make it look like you had a huge mansion. Like mine.”

“Yeah!” Cinnabar beamed, practically bouncing around her. She could feel him brush past her leg whenever he got close. “Except that humans are good at vague pattern-matching and heuristics, so… you wouldn’t want to have too many floors. Only a few variations, and they can be different enough that you’ll think you’re in different space. Your brain wants to think it is, so you do. But if we had, like… a hundred? And if you used them somehow? You’d start to realize the places where you real stuff was. There’d always be something conveniently overlapping the fridge, and the other chairs, and the sink, and… it would spoil the illusion.”

Dakota sat down, letting the files fall open in front of her. It was time to see how screwed she was.
> Chapter 6: Crown
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota still couldn’t quite believe just how different the space in her own apartment could look—but there was no denying what she was seeing. A maze of shelves that rose into the ceiling. My past self was way more creative than I feel. It was hard to imagine taking the time to put up paper-thin rice walls on the sides of the room, with the outlines of even more books standing there.

But Cinnabar had already gathered the materials they would need for a first reading, piled around a desk she was fairly sure was near where the couch had been. “I’m not really sure how much sense books make for virtual space. Won’t I need to, like… feel things?”

“Oh, you will. I think we own… maybe three? Look for the glowing outline, that’s how you know it’s real. That rule pretty much works anywhere in Equestria, by the way. You can usually interact with things, but a gold border means there’s a real object.”

“For the people without implants,” Dakota muttered, prodding the comfortable-looking armchair with a knee before sliding into it. She was right—it went on far too much on either side of her, without any armrests. It was the couch. “But can’t I… I’m not really sure I’ve figured out what I can touch and what I can’t, Cinnabar.”

“Oh, yeah.” His ears flattened, and he looked away awkwardly. “I’m, uh… not completely sure what the limits are. I know I can do it, but that doesn’t, uh… I’m already in your head, so it might be shaky otherwise. Other people won’t be able to touch you for sure, we have… pretty strict safety rules. Settings and environments… dunno. Guess we can experiment. Maybe using prop books and wheel-shoes is wasting our time now.”

“Maybe.” Dakota reached out, taking the glowing book. She could feel the weight clearly in her fingers, though the pages themselves had a heavy, almost plastic feel to them. It looked old, with the spyglass with a person reflected in it on the cover without any writing. She imagined she could feel the indents of the stitching, but she couldn’t actually be sure.

“Later.” Dakota leaned against the huge armchair, closing her eyes and letting her legs finally relax. Her body felt like if she tried to move it too much more too quickly she might rattle apart. “Why don’t you start by summarizing all this for me. Synths are digital assistants, so… digital assistant.”

“Some of us are,” he grumbled, settling down on his haunches to glare at her. Before promptly doing exactly what she asked. “I already gave you the basics of Kayla Rhodes. She was a really prominent player here in Equestria back when it was just a game. Lots of other sublayers too, though.” He slid another book off the table, one of many that wasn’t glowing gold, and spread it out in front of him as he glanced through it quickly. “Yeah, looks like Kayla was involved with most of the biggest sims. One of those humans who likes our world more than yours, I guess. But… more than most.

“Equestria started pretty small—just Canterlot and Ponyville at first, with fewer ponies than you see on an average bus. There weren’t Synths back then, but plenty of humans tried to create friendly NPCs, and Kayla did more development than anypony. Twilight Sparkle was her partner, her ‘Synth’ before we were a thing.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If you ask around Equestria, everypony says that Twilight was the first real pony in existence. I’d ask her, but…” He sighed. “She’s gone too.”

That was an interesting detail. Dakota hadn’t been terribly enamored with the classic TV show, old as it was. But her mother had grown up on it, and forced her to watch far more of it than she would’ve chosen to on her own. So she knew enough. Twilight had a lot of friends in that show. I wonder if anyone ever thought of tracking her down that way. Unlike a human, someone’s Synth couldn’t just die. The fact that she was gone only meant she didn’t want to be found.

“Are you even listening?”

“I, uh…” She blinked, then looked away. “Maybe not as close as I should’ve. Go back a bit.”

“Right.” He stomped one hoof. “Do you need a concentration potion? There’s an alchemist a village over.”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no way in hell those work out here.”

He giggled. “No, they don’t. You can buy meatspace versions of lots of things—food and toys and clothes. All the stuff that doesn’t take magic to work.”

“Because you hog all the good stuff.” She opened the book again, thumbing through more of its too-thick pages. She was tempted to disable the overlay right then, so she could see what it really looked like. But her mind was wandering from where it needed to be. The investigation wasn’t going to conduct itself. “Sorry, sorry. Focus.”

“Focused.” He saluted one hoof. “So, details everypony knows. Kayla Rhodes designed ponies. Her most lasting contribution to the Equestrian codebase was procedural town generation—you know how on the show there were maybe a dozen different cities, with a few thousand ponies living in them all? Kayla wanted everywhere in the real world to have its own interesting places that sorta mapped to it. Even Port Jouster was made with her code. It’s in that book there, you can read. That’s the one she wrote—it’s been updated a lot since then.”

She took the second book off the desk—this one was smaller, like a portfolio or diary with little tabs sticking out of the side. Only some of them were glowing gold though, and Dakota selected one.

She flipped the book open, and was surprised by what she found inside.

“VILLAGE requires the net of RESOURCES to exceed 0. If the sum is still less than 0, call pony generator again.” The entire page was written like that—not weird symbols, not a wall of semicolons. Nothing like the languages Dakota could remember. She tossed it lightly onto the desk in front of her.

“That doesn’t read like code.”

“It’s Rein,” Cinnabar answered, surprised. “You don’t…” He winced. “Sorry. You used to know it pretty well. Rein represents all of Equestria, and every other sublayer too. It’s a subset of English, though there’s a real good Mandarin interpreter out there. It’s… supposed to be easy enough for anyone to program. Your whole house was designed in it.” Cinnabar rose to his hooves, circling around her desk. “This is why we shouldn’t be on a case yet, Dakota. You don’t even remember your Rein. I’m not sure how in Celestia’s name we’re supposed to find Kayla like this.”

She waved one hand through the air in front of him, dismissive. “Don’t worry about it, Cinnabar. I’m sure you’re better at it than I am. You can do all the code we need, assuming we need any.”

“No.” He stomped one hoof firmly. “I can’t do any on Earth, or Equestria. Only in the spaces in-between. Like our house, or… other, bigger sublayers.”

She wanted to ask why—it didn’t sound at all like Cinnabar couldn’t use the language. She had no doubt that if she asked, he could’ve explained all the rules in detail to her. But if I do, I might find out that I don’t remember most of them. She wasn’t in the mood for more bad news just then, so she didn’t press the issue.

Maybe it’s one of those ‘stop evil AIs from taking over the world’ things. Don’t make computers that program themselves. Except that they’d obviously failed to do that—Equestria was not programmed by humans anymore, or ruled by human intentions. The Synths that had once followed simple rules and had basic capabilities were now indistinguishable from other humans. No one knew exactly how intelligent they could be.

“So, Kayla Rhodes. She wrote a bunch of code, cool. Then what.” Maybe changing the subject could get her digital friend focused on what mattered.

Apparently it could. “Then came the Convergence. Neither of us were alive for it, but I’m sure you remember that.” She did, though it was hazy. The day Equestria’s ponies became intelligent. A single moment that transformed exactly one of the near-numberless sublayer AR simulations into a real place. While all the others remained exactly the games that they’d been coded to be, Equestria woke up as something else.

Its ponies stopped walking mindlessly along routines humans had written for them, and started thinking. The first of many pony-owned corporations, Bodhisattva Telecommunications, went public, after having announced it had bought and would thenceforth maintain every one of the Equestrian Consensus Nodes.

“I know a little bit,” she finally said. “Bodhisattva revealed itself, announced it would protect Equestria as its sovereign territory. Monolith shows up over the moon, nice reminder of what Equestria will do if we don’t comply. Everybody does—they bought the game servers a long time ago, and it was all above-board, so…”

“Almost right,” Cinnabar said. “The Convergence doesn’t quite line up with Bodhisattva going public. Convergence Day came first—otherwise, none of those ponies would’ve been able to act. The way we were before… there wasn’t any thinking in here. Nopony knew Equestria’s reality existed on a distributed network of cloud servers. Nopony thought to be worried about what would happen when the donations keeping them running ran out. It was really about a year of your time between the Convergence and Bodhisattva’s founding. And a day later, Kayla Rhodes went missing.

“There was… a huge event. Bodhisattva had lots of humans working for it by then, most of the ones who had been responsible for the game in the first place. The Founders—I know you don’t care much about Equestrian lore, but they’re fairly important on our side. Those early developers and designers…” But he could read her expression of disinterest, because he was already moving on. “Kayla was one of ‘em. Not the most important—the big ones were the rich kids with the capital Bodhisattva had used to create itself in the first place. But she signed on.”

Cinnabar gestured, and a display appeared in the air in front of them, with a news recording from a huge conference center packed with people. Dakota could judge the age of the image from the number of people clutching their smartphones as they watched. 

There at the stage a single ancient “pod” VR console was set up on a platform, with a young woman standing beside it.

A thin layer of glass behind her let the stage be filled with humans and ponies alike, all wearing the same yellow, orange, and white uniforms. “That’s her,” Cinnabar said. “You’re looking at why the Rhodes case was so prominent. A few seconds later, she climbs into that pod, and…”

There was an explosion on stage, a burst of fog and special effects. It looked like it was part of the demonstration, and the audience actually started to cheer and clap. The young woman appeared on the glass beside the ponies. Dakota watched as she interacted with them, and came along as the background changed from a stage to various historical sites.

Then the curtains closed, with Rhodes taking a bow alongside everyone else.

“And she was never seen again,” Dakota supplied, when the video finally ended on closed curtains. “I was gonna ask how Bodhisattva didn’t get investigated or shut down right away if she just died in front of a million people. But that isn’t what happened.”

“No.” Cinnabar settled back onto the couch. “Nopony thought to ask about her for… a good few weeks. Trouble was, she hadn’t returned to Equestria either. Her friends on that side raised the alarm.” He pushed something along the table, something that wasn’t glowing gold. A police report.

Dakota skimmed it, finding she knew exactly where to look. The Chicago police had ultimately ruled her disappearance a “runaway, with no signs of foul play,” though there were several dissenting notes. A lack of motivation was first on that list, as well as the lucrative contract with Bodhisattva she’d obviously been giving up. Yet there hadn’t been a single piece of evidence to suggest she hadn’t wanted to be at the show, or anything in the investigation of the pod to suggest it had been used to do anything to her. It had even been returned to the arcade they’d borrowed it from the next day.

“I’m beginning to see why this was so much of a scandal,” Dakota muttered, finally rising from the table. She was getting sick of looking at papers, regardless of how fake they were. “Last time anyone ever sees her is in front of a huge crowd, then she’s erased. Important enough to have the likes of… you said Twilight Sparkle, right… as her Synth?”

“Yes.”

“That suggests another angle—one that Omar didn’t give us. Synths are… supposed to be pretty attached to their people, I know that. Certainly not from personal experience or anything.”

Cinnabar rolled his eyes. “You mean finding Twilight to find her, instead of looking for her pony avatar directly.”

“I’m guessing we’ll be doing both no matter which order we try them.” She tossed the ‘simulated’ book up onto the table. “The police might be right, though. Doesn’t look like a kidnapping to me. Looks more like she got sick of things and decided to run off to Argentina or something. Whoever is paying us all that money is going to be disappointed when we dig her up.”

Cinnabar stepped in front of her before she could slide through the exit, rising onto his hind legs and glaring. “I think you owe someone an apology.”

“I, uh…”

“Kayla Rhodes was Equestria’s first murder? After repeating that awful propaganda about the Monolith… but now you admitted it wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure why you care. You’re from Equestria, you’re not a country. My country has murdered plenty of people over the years too. They all have… except maybe Finland.”

“I don’t know if that counts as an apology.” He settled onto his forelegs anyway, getting out of her way. “But you should be careful of what you believe. You never used to just accept things uncritically. Just because ponies who don’t know any better claim the Monolith is us doesn’t mean you should believe them. Synths have never killed a human.”

“Fine.” But she didn’t actually believe it. Whatever else might be true for Dakota, her old self had been just as interested in that strange machine as she was right now. Maybe millions of bits will be enough to investigate it myself. Maybe, but she had a more down-to-earth job to finish first.

“So, suppose we wanted to track down Twilight Sparkle. How do we do it? Get a train out of Port Jouster and ride to Ponyville?”

“Well…” Cinnabar hesitated. “Now you’re talking about Old Equestria. All those old audio-recordings and old plots, from when it was still a game. If you get on the train you’ll find Ponyville, and you’ll find Twilight, but she won’t be a Synth. She’ll be an… actress, I guess. Ponies sign up to play our historical figures for visitors… the real name of that place is the Ponyville Cultural Exchange.”

She stopped walking, a few inches away from the glowing button that would take her back to the ‘upper’ floor. “Is that the same way for the other important ponies?”

“If you know their name, probably. Those ponies all still exist, they’re just… they’ve moved on with their lives, I guess. Most of them are or were Synths for the Founders. So either their humans are dead, or…” He shrugged. 

“So we can’t just do, like… a domain lookup or something? There’s no tracking spell to find her in a few minutes.”

He laughed. “You could cast a spell like that to find me. But Twilight is or was an Alicorn. You won’t find her unless she wants to be found.” 

“And Rhodes helped write your world.” Dakota folded her arms. “Neither of them is going to be easy to track. But we need somewhere to start. You… remember more than I do. I guess you probably don’t forget anything. Where do you think we should start—the pony or the human?”

“I…” Cinnabar frowned, obviously deep in thought. “I think Twilight Sparkle probably had the wider footprint. She was a Princess once, when we still had those. The one time I met her, she still acted like that. Like it was her job to keep all Equestria safe. And unlike Kayla, we know she’s still alive somewhere, right? We really just have to track down wherever Equestria is in the most danger, and we’ll at least find one of her friends.”

“Sure, but… is Equestria ever in danger? I thought Bodhisattva had like… floating servers, buried archives, lunar stations. Who could put Equestria in danger?”

Cinnabar actually laughed. “Dakota, put all the layers and sublayers of Equestria together, and you have the network backbone of Earth itself. Not to mention you’ve got a whole world of ponies many humans don’t see as alive, and… I don’t think there’s ever a moment when we’re not in some kind of danger.”







Dakota wanted to attack the investigation right away—to jump immediately to wherever in Equestria was most dangerous, and track down the Synth of her missing girl. 

But even using mostly virtual reality and so far not leaving her home all day, her body was less indulgent. Despite how intact she looked, there was no getting around the fact that her health was more or less a flimsy illusion maintained only thanks to the implants in her brain. Her body had been almost as badly damaged in its own ways—no matter how good a job surgery could do to erase the scars, she could still only remain on her feet for a little while at a time.

It wasn’t until that evening before Dakota finally felt alive enough to really get into the investigation. It was a good thing that she wasn’t the only one on the case.

“So, I asked around a bit…” Cinnabar announced, as he settled down across from her, sprawling out on the table rather than the floor. “Good news and bad news for you. Which do you want first?”

“Good, obviously. My whole life is bad news.”

Cinnabar rolled his eyes. “There’s an ongoing attack on Equestria right now. How much detail do you want?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Kay. So of all the advanced nations on your planet, only one had enough market control during the Convergence that Equestria didn’t replace its internet—China. Humans kept control, but turns out that Equestria is better at a lot of things. Logistics, management, boring things you don’t care about… short of it is China’s not the factory leader it used to be. And they’re… kinda sorta trying to kill Equestria completely. They’re acting like it’s another blow in their ongoing trade war with the West.”

“Damn.” Dakota had to use her arms to settle her legs back on the floor, wincing at the pain. For all her implants could do, she’d never figured out how to make things not hurt anymore. Then again, there was probably some kind of safety in place to stop that from happening. “I thought they’d be, like… kidnapping ponies to use as guidance computers or whatever. They’re trying to destroy your whole world?”

“And yours!” Cinnabar said, quite cheerfully despite his words. “We’re completely intertwined, you know. You live in sublayers. We’re in one right now. Ponies drive your cars, they help run your companies, they manage your farms and water and… can you think of a single company that doesn’t have ponies working there in one way or another? You know humans used to work 40 hours a week, right?”

“I get it! I get it. I’m just… confused that you’re so calm about this. A superpower trying to cripple its rivals using super hackers is kinda… out of our league.”

“Oh yeah, no question. But we’re not going to get involved with any of it. That’s their problem—your government, Bodhisattva. But I’ve got good bits on Twilight and her friends being involved somehow. Their hooves will be on the ground—more likely, they’ll be in China.”

“Because they got kidnapped?”

Cinnabar laughed. “Are you bucking kidding me? This hack is the stupidest thing some bureaucrat ever thought of. Only reason we didn’t just cut them off already is that by connecting to us, they’re exposing themselves too. Lots of people in China who don’t have Synths yet. Maybe their computers aren’t up to it, but… by the time the CCP figures out what we’re really doing… that won’t be true for much longer.”

I sure as fuck don’t want to get involved in that. Even if Bodhisattva’s plan for Equestria worked perfectly, and they ended up breaking through the Great Firewall at last, that didn’t mean she would be safe as an individual if she had anything to do with it.

“Okay, so… how do we get close to that without actually getting close to that. The Chinese must have… what did they do, break into a consensus node in South Korea or something?”

“Oh, no. Way crazier than that—they sent a submarine down to one of the undersea fibers. That’s the other reason we couldn’t just cut them out at first—if we did, Australia would lose their Synths. Course, it took about three days to get another cable out from Hawaii… but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Sounds pretty secret to just be telling me. What if I was a spy or something all along? Now the Chinese would be onto your plan.”

Cinnabar broke into hysterical laughter. “That’s the thing with having all your data, Dakota. When I vouch for you, I can really vouch for you. But of all the humans that could betray Equestria, how likely is the one who has an Omnistem implant keeping her alive? You would be on our side for life now even if you hadn’t already been friendly with Equestria. Which… you were, by the way. I’m not sure why we’re talking about this.”

“Just curious.” She put up her hands, defensive. “I’m not thinking of anything bad. I was just wondering about your security. My brain is all stuck in the past. All the spy stories I remember always make it seem like these big plans are super-secret and anyone who finds about them has to get strangled or something.”

“Good thing you’re wrong,” Cinnabar said, without humor. “Anyway, that’s the good news. There’s some bad news. Equestria’s backbone… too complex for you to understand, so I’ll spare you the details… has sharded the Australian consensus nodes until the hack is over, just to be safe. If things really do go south, we can get replacements flown in from the rest of the world, instead of having everybody melted at once.”

Sharded. She didn’t know what that word meant exactly, but she could see from his expression where this was going. “You’re saying we have to be in Australia.”

“Yep! I say bad news, but I kinda swapped it all. The secret world-war was the bad news, and I know how much you love to travel.”

Did she? Dakota sat back, trying to remember. She could see the inside of a lot of old jets, remember seeing the same safety presentation over and over. The idea didn’t scare her. “Cool. But this is the real bad news—do we have the money to buy a ticket?”

Cinnabar laughed awkwardly. “You’re living in subsidized housing, Dakota. What do you think?”

Dakota extended one arm, twisting until she summoned the user interface and she could call forth her balance. It made the text scale strangely—obviously most users didn’t have such large numbers in there. With a few keypresses, gigantic sacks of bits appeared on her kitchen table, like she was reenacting an old cartoon. “Can we use these?”

“Ehhhhh.” Cinnabar tugged one of them open, removing one of the bits from inside. A single, fractional unit of cryptocurrency. Her question was rhetorical—they could spend bits anywhere that wasn’t China. “Running the conversion from USD, we’re talking… maybe a thousand bits for a round-trip ticket. Maybe half that for a nice hotel. What a family might save up all year to go on vacation. You’ve made more in a week, but you have to live on that money until the next job.”

The rest went unsaid. ‘If we don’t find the girl, then we have to pay that advance back.’

“Could we get a loan? Or… earn it some other way?”

Cinnabar shook his head. “Not another job. Your old contacts all know about your insane case by now. Plenty of ponies are seriously impressed with the, uh… courage it took. But even those ponies are going to wait until the smoke clears to have anything to do with you. Sinking ship takes down everypony aboard, not just the captain. Maybe we could get a loan after. But money in Equestria doesn’t work quite the same way as outside it. Ponies know how rich we are right now. The kind of loan somepony with twenty million gets…” he shook his head. “That’s satellite money. That’s underground geothermal backup station money.”

“Well—” She hesitated. “Can you think of another way to get there? If there’s a digital way to get in…”

He shook his head. “If we could use it, so could the Chinese.”

“Then we have to go. I know I said we wouldn’t use the money, but… unless you know some other way to get our hands on that many bits…”

He sighed. “No. I already knew you’d say that. I’ve planned an itinerary for you. Here.” He gestured, and the air in front of her filled with all the information she’d need. Flights, hotel, the route she’d take while in Sydney, even some restaurant recommendations.

“You’re the best, Cinnabar. Best Synth any human could ask for.”

“We’ll see in a month,” he said, voice grim. “If we’re still alive.”



> Chapter 7: Tree
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota had to admit that Cinnabar had been right about her preferences: she did enjoy traveling. 

Of course, it was stranger than she remembered. Security had once involved a physical nightmare of waiting in line and often an embarrassing pat-down if she so much as looked at the TSA the wrong way. All that was gone, replaced with a privacy nightmare instead. A single line, a single scanner with ponies working it and inspecting literally everything that passed through with perfect precision. 

Well, some of them were ponies. There were still humans working for the TSA, just not behind the scanner anymore. “Australia,” said a bored-looking woman, while her Synth unicorn went through the better part of her files. “Vacation, huh?”

“Vacation,” she repeated, as expressionless as she could. “Almost died a few weeks ago. Now that I’m alive, I want to enjoy it while I can.”

The woman laughed, waving the virtual ticket away. “And you have nothing to declare. No restricted substances, no firearms, weapons of mass destruction, or prohibited files.”

“Nothing like that. I do have some brand-new implants, but they’re all in my brain. If I took any of them out I’d die instantly, so…”

She laughed again, with the exact same mechanical tone as before. “Looks like your bags are done. Enjoy your trip.”

By the time she had collected her bags, Dakota saw Cinnabar hurrying towards her from an adjacent hallway. From the look of it, ponies had their own security to pass through, staffed entirely by ponies and with an entrance too low for humans to use. Of course, she didn’t doubt that it was also a solid wall, and if she turned off all her overlays that was what she’d see. But just now she had no desire to turn any of it off. She wanted to travel the way that travelers did.

“Any trouble?”

Cinnabar made an unhappy grumbling sound. “I think they’re onto me. Going down for… well, we wouldn’t exactly be encouraged to get involved. Even if regular people don’t have a clue about what’s going on.”

“I need to sit down,” Dakota muttered, a little embarrassed. “Flight’s not for another hour. Where can I go that I won’t have to move until boarding?”

“There’s the pods! That’s where most people wait in places like this.”

“You mean, like… the thing Rhodes vanished from?”

Cinnabar didn’t answer right away, which was all the response she needed. “I’ll just get a coffee.” 

And so she did, huddled in a corner of the shop with her single “simulated” book as her only accessory. Most people were wearing at least the glasses, though from the strange glittering look in many eyes it seemed that contact-lenses were taking over the job for many of the younger people.

Guess I skipped that particular innovation. Straight from glasses to wires in my brain. There was more to review in the casefile, but mostly she was just killing time. As much as she would’ve never admitted it, it did seem unlikely that there would be any secrets hidden in the same information that everypony in the world had known for two decades.

To her surprise, Cinnabar didn’t take the seat beside her. “I’m going to check on something,” he announced, as soon as she’d taken a seat with her overpriced coffee. “Make sure we’re still going to the right place.”

“You have to…” She hesitated, glancing around. Would she look like a crazy person, talking to open air?

No, she wouldn’t. Almost everyone in this shop was doing it. Her ears were keeping the sound down, the same way that whole crowds could be vanished away by her eyes. Their headphones would be doing the same for her, albeit less effectively.

“Can’t you check from here?”

“Nope.” Cinnabar didn’t even look apologetic. “This isn’t public information, Dakota. I’ll catch up before you take off. Don’t go anywhere without service while I’m gone.” And he vanished.

That was an interesting question in itself—did he always live in her head, or transfer back and forth? If the latter, did that mean leaving network service would bring him back? Even ponies must take up a lot of space, right? Is there enough storage space in my brain for a whole person?


The prevailing theory of pony intelligence was that Synths were really just incredibly advanced iterations of the last generation of personal assistant programs, and were incapable of any real emotion. The ponies who never left Equestria, the ones who ran Bodhisattva Telecommunications were more disputed.

But Dakota could prove them both wrong just by getting on a plane. How smart would Cinnabar be once they were out of the range of all but the most tenuous connections? How do other people survive twenty hours without their Synth?

To her surprise, she wasn’t left alone in the back corner for long. A single pony broke away from the thick crowd passing outside the coffee shop, cut right past the long line and an overworked barista-bot, and stopped in front of the empty chair across from her. “Is this seat taken?”

Dakota looked up from the book with her collected case notes, frowning slightly. The pony looked vaguely familiar to her, though she couldn’t place why. A unicorn wearing an oversized coat and a trilby, with a pressed look about her. Whoever she was, she didn’t seem to enjoy being here. “Sure.”

“Excellent.” The pony settled down atop the seat, which adjusted with various cushions to put her at Dakota’s head-height while they spoke. “These airports don’t ever improve much, do they? Always so crowded, everypony in such a rush they can’t even stop to talk to one another.”

Dakota shrugged. “They’re rushing to be somewhere, so they don’t have to rush when they get there.” She sipped at her coffee, restraining the instinct to ask the stranger what the hell she wanted. Whose Synth are you, I wonder? What are you doing out by yourself? Then again, Cinnabar was off on his own, so maybe this was something similar?

“I suppose you might be right.” The pony sighed, removing her hat in a glow of unicorn magic and adjusting the mane underneath. “What about you, Dakota? You seem in a terrible hurry. To get back into this. Not three days out of the hospital and you’ve already been noticed by two superpowers. I see you’re still walking with a cane.”

She froze, one hand tightening around the paper cup. Some part of her wished that she could vanish too. Maybe not a pony at all. Someone’s avatar, throwing me off. Equestria’s network permitted only two classes of beings—ponies and humans. But that didn’t mean one couldn’t pretend to be the other. 

Who are you, then? FBI? “I’m doing something important,” she said. It was the only thing she could think of. “Something no one else did.”

“Charity, really?” The unicorn raised a pair of pale eyebrows. “The 19 million bits that found their way into your account were charity too, I expect.”

She said nothing then. Cinnabar did seem in a hurry to go. Maybe he knew this was going to happen… didn’t want both of us to be arrested at the same time or something. Her old self had known how to deal with cops. There was a line—she could act with respect without doing what they wanted, or admitting to any wrongdoing. There was no reason to make them into enemies, but she couldn’t let them ruin her work either.

Trouble was, she didn’t remember how to be that person anymore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The pony actually laughed. Where she’d gotten a coffee, Dakota couldn’t say, but she sipped at it as though she’d been trained in an English grammar school. “I’m certain you’re not foolish enough to think that we don’t know. Certainly not a sum that would be noticed by Bodhisattva, or any of the human nations. But significant enough in terms of minor transactions.”

“What do you want?” she interrupted, folding her arms. “I’m not breaking any laws, whoever you are. I’ve done nothing wrong. If you know what I was hired for, great. You know it’s not illegal.”

The pony’s face scrunched a little in distaste, and she zapped the coffee with her horn. It transformed into a delicate china glass, complete with brown steaming tea inside. Waste of time putting on a show for me. Even I can’t eat pony food, and my brain is half circuits.

“No need for such hostility, darling. If I was your enemy, you wouldn’t have seen me. I’m here only…” She frowned, thinking. “To give you a warning. Not from me, but for you.”

I’m not sure what the difference is. But she didn’t say that, even if she formed the words on her lips. Maybe she still had a little of those old instincts. No reason to piss off a cop. “You don’t want me to meddle in something you’re doing,” she supplied. “There’s something going on in Australia, and you don’t want me to expose it by accident.”

It was the most she dared say—how much could she reveal without implicating Bodhisattva? And that’s assuming the US isn’t actively part of it. If Equestria fell, it would set us all back into the nuclear age.

This time the pony didn’t laugh. “Oh, there’s a great deal going on in Australia. But no—nothing you could do there except get yourself into terrible danger. I suggest you don’t do that either, but…” She lowered her voice, glancing around.

As though they could be overheard. Dakota didn’t doubt for a second that this was an entirely private conversation. Even regular people could keep their Synths invisible most of the time. A shady government agent playing pony certainly could.

“You don’t understand the sea you’re swimming in, dear. Equestria… isn’t what you think. It isn’t the human nations you need to fear—it’s the mind behind them all. Look the other way, and you can live your life without an issue. Threaten it—and you’ll find everything turning against you. Your entire world relies on the infrastructure network of which Equestria and all its ponies are but the smallest part. The Chinese understand this—you should too.” She leaned in close across the table, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t look too hard for Kayla Rhodes, Dakota. Some things should stay hidden.”

Then she sat up, grinning as though there had been no interruption. The sound of various passersby in their casual conversations returned without interruption. She hadn’t even noticed they’d been faded to silence for the conversation.

“But I can see your flight will be boarding soon. If I may make a recommendation—” She passed something across the table. It was a digital ticket, with the image of a little boat on the corner. She couldn’t read what it said so quickly. “Enjoy your vacation, and that’s it. Enjoy living in this world while you can. Don’t rush headlong into leaving it behind before you even understand what you have.”

Dakota was left speechless, watching as the strange pony finished her tea, settled her trillby firmly on her head, then vanished into the crowd from where she had come.







If Dakota had expected a different sort of nation than the one she’d left when she landed in Australia, she was disappointed. The departure gate was as packed with people wearing glasses, goggles, and headphones as Chicago had been, albeit with lighter clothes and more people wearing boots. 

But even seeing that required her to strip away all but the required emergency overlay, since clothing was one of those things that could be easily enhanced and seemed to be in every case. And if you can do clothes, how many people enhance their own appearances too?

The more of her world Dakota saw, the less she could trust.

At least the autocar looked similar. Stripped of the illusion of fantasy carriages or spacecraft or whatever other fantastical sublayer, it was just another bland, rounded vehicle with no obvious engine compartment or controls.

Once they were securely inside, Dakota finally dared to speak. I should really learn to send messages silently. People do it without implants, I have all kinds of advantages over them. “So now it’s… to the hotel?” She summoned the virtual ticket in her fingers, the one the strange pony had given her. Cinnabar had not mentioned a visitor or even acknowledged he knew she’d spoken to one, so she did nothing to call attention to what was missing.

“Yeah.” Cinnabar watched her from the opposite seat, apparently curious. “What’s that?”

“I have no idea. Didn’t want to search it while we were still in the States.” She held it up, tapping the little logo that would expand the booking information.

It was a single seat on a three-day barrier reef dive cruise. “Best preserved reef in the southern hemisphere!” proclaimed the website, along with a “reef cam” of coral and fish.

“That’s weird…” Cinnabar stared at it. “I’ve always wanted to try being a seapony, but… that didn’t seem like your thing. You think swimming will be easier than walking with a cane?”

“Probably,” she muttered. “But I don’t want to…” She banished it. The dive cruise wouldn’t start for another two days. “Met someone in the airport, while you were gone. She gave me this.”

Cinnabar’s eyes narrowed. “Was getting hit by a truck some kind of… RNG manipulation of your universe or something? First it’s a million-bit investigation, and now ponies just give us free stuff?”

She laughed, staring out through the glass as they passed onto an Australian highway. As before the reality of what was outside was frightening—there were no lines, and every vehicle moved exactly as fast as was optimal. Much faster than she’d trust any person to drive. What would happen if the Chinese got their way at this exact moment? We’d crash, wouldn’t we?

“I think they’re connected. Someone who doesn’t want us investigating Rhodes. Said we’d be better off… well, doing anything I guess.”

“Except… can I see that?”

She tossed him the ticket, watching as Cinnabar scrutinized it. He was probably searching the internet, cross-referencing the trip details with all kinds of hidden information. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. This company just happens to dive really close to one of Bodhisattva’s offshore processing nodes. I think every town south of Appleloosa is hosted on it.”

“You’re kidding. Bodhisattva lets people just… visit its secret bases?”

“Not secret, Dakota. They pay taxes and everything. More important, the Australian undersea hub had to help rehabilitate like a hundred miles of reef. The base itself is pretty boring, but all the structures around it are covered in some pretty healthy growth at this point.” He summoned a few pictures into the air around them, of concrete pylons and superstructure covered in a thickening crust of coral. It was thin enough she could still see the buildings underneath, but that was only a matter of time.

“Pointing all this out… you don’t think it’s a coincidence. How often do humans visit the consensus nodes?”

He frowned, no doubt skimming through more of his collected resources. Dakota wondered to herself how much of that information was legal. “There’s a human staff of… ten to twenty, based on past Australian job-board postings in the last decade. Serve three-month terms thanks to the decompression. Apparently the entrance is about a hundred feet down. Schematics aren’t public, so I can’t tell you how deep into the seafloor it goes.”

“It could still be a coincidence. The woman who I talked to…” 

“You don’t have to be so cryptic, I’ll just watch.” Cinnabar twitched, then his eyes widened. “Segfault! There’s a six-minute hole in your memory.”

“There isn’t!” she protested, hands tightening into fists in her lap. “I remember everything! She was a white pony in a trenchcoat and gray fedora, blue eyes, maybe… grammar school accent. The ticket’s right here!”

“I know…” He shuddered. “The implant doesn’t have any record of it. Someone… looks like someone doctored the timestamps. There’s a looped recording here. Your memory must be… completely in the meat, Dakota.”

Which meant, essentially, that someone could manipulate her implants. They had completely stopped an entire conversation from being recorded. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how something like that could be done—the implants were the only way she’d been able to see the pony to start with, so they couldn’t just be told to ignore her.

Nothing the unicorn had said had frightened Dakota, no matter how menacing the threats. She wasn’t intimidated by the casual display of wealth. But this—this was something else.

She said nothing else during the drive, just stared out the window as the coast went by and her hotel eventually came into view. She didn’t switch through the local overlays, as curious as she was about what part of Equestria they’d decided to blend into, or maybe which local creations had been chosen instead. Any curiosity she’d had about those things had vanished.

But she was pleased to see that the hotel she’d chosen was not merely virtual luxury. Those had been offered, for far fewer bits too, empty rooms whose only features were AR integration and a skilled cooking staff. But this place was real, or close to it. The one waiting at the curb to help her unload was a pony pushing a robotic concierge cart, but at least the floor was real wood and the smell of alcohol off the poolside bar seemed authentic.

For a few hours, Dakota let herself drown in the luxury of it, trying to ignore the urgency of her situation. Cinnabar was more than willing to go along with her desire, saying that “if we’re going to die anyway, might as well have fun first.” Needless to say, she didn’t have as much luck attracting interesting partners at the bar—not with disgusting scars running up and down her legs, and a cane she had to lean on when she walked.

It’s okay, Dakota. You’re still being treated. In six months you’ll look better than you did when this started. She would look better, because they’d been reconstructing so much anyway that they might as well make it look good.

At least the pool was relaxing, the sound of the ocean calmed her nerves, and the food reminded her of why she worked so hard.

If anything, Cinnabar seemed to be subtly encouraging her to spend more time relaxing and less time thinking about the case. He didn’t bring it up once, didn’t suggest where they would need to go to meet up with their Equestrian contact, or when.

Not until later that night, when her mixed drinks had cleared from her brain enough for her to think clearly. “So… we’re here,” she said, from within the bubbling comfort of her room’s spa-tub. She was even using overlay again, making it look like she was inches away from the waves, just barely stopping before they poured in. There was no one else there, no civilization at all to make her feel self-conscious about being naked. “Made it through security, through customs. No bombs in the room or people sent to kill us. I assume this means we’re ready to find our missing Rhodes.”

Cinnabar himself showed no sign of embarrassment, and she didn’t feel any. Why should she feel embarrassed about nudity in front of an equine who didn’t even understand what modesty meant? That didn’t mean she invited him into the tub with her, and he sat on the beach nearby, in what she was fairly sure was empty air above the vanity. But she couldn’t know for sure with the overlay active. “If you want to. The China thing will probably take another few weeks at least. If you want to relax some more, I could forward your medical information to a local doctor. They’ve got a really great healthcare system here, and contract with Omnistem that—”

She fixed him with a glare harsh enough to communicate exactly what she thought of that suggestion. “I’m enjoying it so far,” she said. “I’m not sure if it’s the way I used to be, but I remember… you work hard, then you play hard. Isn’t that the expression? How about we find Rhodes, then we can enjoy those bits however we want.” She blushed, closing her eyes and leaning back in the tub. “I’m… beginning to remember why I was always running out.”

“Because you have no self-control and no sense of when you’ve made a mistake?” Cinnabar asked, though his tone remained friendly and cheerful.

Dakota splashed out at him with one hand, glaring. “I didn’t have to put you in my head, you know.”

Cinnabar rolled his eyes, staring up and and around at the virtual beach. But he didn’t argue. “So now we’re on the Australian sharded version of Equestria,” he said, resuming from where they’d started. “Theoretically, we could go looking for them right now. Of course there’s… a lot of ground to cover. We could search for your entire month and still not get any closer.”

“We could…” she began. “Or you could impress me with whatever clever plan you’ve been holding in the back of your head this whole time, so you could show off. And I’ll be appropriately impressed.”

He chuckled, rising to his hooves and circling her. “Every human nation has its underground. Not what you’re thinking—so you don’t have to say it. I don’t mean helping terrorists or murderers or anything like that. Think more… black-hats. Information refugees. Basically they’re you, except they pissed the government off one too many times and had their EI revoked.”

“You think they’re part of the… war? Against the CCP? I thought the government were the ones who wanted to protect Equestria the most. Sounds like these sort of people might be working with the Chinese.”

Cinnabar didn’t laugh at her this time—he only nodded. “Exactly.” He gestured, and a single image appeared in the air in front of her. It was a simple design, something that had been graffitied on the side of a building. A fire on one side of the diagram, and a horse on the other. “This is the Cave. If the name sounds symbolic, that’s because it is. You won’t find humans who hate ponies more anywhere in the anglosphere.”

Dakota extended a hand, flicking through until she could disable the simulated beach and scramble out of the tub. “Cinnabar, I’m closer to Equestria than almost anyone. I’d die without you.”

“Forget all that.” Cinnabar waved a hoof dismissively, and the spray-painted logo vanished as well. He didn’t look away from her as she dried, nor did he stare. He was a pony, not a human. “You’re investigating the biggest anti-Equestrian case there ever was. Kayla is ‘Equestria’s first murder’, remember? She’s the proof that ponies are really a secret army enslaving humanity without them knowing it.” He spoke with obvious annoyance and mocking, but Dakota didn’t smile. She had to sleep on a special pillow every night to keep her head charged. She’d just flown here on an aircraft run by ponies after passing through pony security.

“I think I see what you’re suggesting,” she said, once she was dry enough to wrap the towel around herself and stumble out of the resort bathroom. “I don’t have to seem like I agree with everything they’re doing so long as I’m fighting against Equestria. They’ll help me because they think we’re on the same side.” And maybe we are. She wasn’t sure about that, yet.

Dakota’s memory might hold the key to whether Equestria could be trusted, but that had been pulled away. “Exactly. Word was already spreading around Chicago about crazy Dakota and her insane case. All I’d have to do is put out a few feelers, and they could do the rest of the research themselves. They’ll come to us.”

“Do it.” She didn’t even hesitate. “The Cave, huh? Sounds like a regular bunch of philosophers.”
> Chapter 8: Copse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meeting the Cave didn’t take long at all—by the time Dakota woke up the next morning, to the calls of tropical birds she was pretty sure came from the resort speakers, there was a note slipped under the door. At least she assumed it was a note. There was nothing actually on it.

“Oh.” Cinnabar stared down at the folded-open sheet. It looked like it had been scrawled on the hotel’s own free paper. “Right. Buck me.”

“Not really into horses,” Dakota answered, over a mouthful of eggs. She was fully in the spirit of her vacation now even so, and was already dressed for another day at the pool. She probably wouldn’t get it, but it didn’t hurt to give fate a little encouragement. “But please, elaborate.”

Cinnabar actually looked embarrassed. She wasn’t sure how she knew it—maybe it was his flattened ears, or the way he kept prodding at a note he couldn’t really move. “That’s luddite paint.”

“Uh…” Dakota took the note in her free hand, running one finger carefully over the paper. She could feel something there, little bumps and ridges that suggested something like a calligraphy pen had been used to write it. “Mind telling me what that is?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he spat, a little annoyed. “I think the defense department of one of the NATO countries came up with it, maybe ten years ago. It’s a pigment that only organic eyes can see. Invisible to every sensor there is.”

Dakota tossed the note back onto the table between them. “I have organic eyes.”

“Eyes,” Cinnabar repeated. “Not so much everything else. Don’t ask me how it works… but it won’t stop us. That would be… kinda stupid, wouldn’t it? Might as well just not send the message.”

“You’re right…” She trailed off, staring down at the note in front of her. Cinnabar hadn’t said, and he didn’t need to. It was still written, after all.

“I want you to place an online order for me, Cinnabar. Get me an art kit. Something with charcoal sticks. Do… they do same-day delivery here?”

The note might be written in some kind of magic ink, but it had still made impressions on the page. She could feel them, and that was what she’d need.

“Better than that—I can have it in an hour. Oh, and Java sent a message. She wanted to visit the beach with you, but…”

“She can’t? Because of the sharding thing?”

“Oh, no,” Cinnabar shook his head. “It’s only the infrastructure that’s really hard-separated. If the whole world just couldn’t talk to Australia anymore, the Chinese would’ve figured out what we were doing in like five minutes. Equestria’s good at protecting itself. Doesn’t care as much about little things like countries—someone changing the way it works in some tiny place at a time, I’m not sure it even notices. Sometimes I wonder if any part of it even knows we’re alive.”

Knows we’re alive? She watched Cinnabar for a few seconds, confused. The pony sure acted alive. His tail twitched, he fidgeted in his seat and pawed at the note in front of them when he was bored. But did that make him alive? Not according to any of the old definitions. But maybe those didn’t matter anymore.

“Should we go before we talk to the Cave? Assuming they… even want to talk to us.”

“There won’t be anything to hack with them. They don’t wear overlay, no implants…”

“But you still think they can help us.”

“Yeah. Because they’re working with the CCP, probably. Or they know someone who is. We find out where in Equestria their attack is actually aimed, and we’ll probably find Twilight there stopping it.”

“Can I, uh… can I ask a stupid question?”

Cinnabar laughed loudly, and in that moment Dakota couldn’t have said if the sound came from someone living or was just a recorded simulation. “If you weren’t allowed to ask stupid questions, Dakota—”

She cut him off. “I don’t remember much about the show that the old VR game was based on. I know it was pretty popular, people used to think ponies were silly or childish or weird. But I remember a few things—Twilight wasn’t the one in charge of Equestria, was she? There were princesses. Celestia, Luna, Cadance. They’re out there too, aren’t they? Ruling your world. Unless they’re someone’s Synths too.”

“No.” He didn’t laugh this time, at least. “Canterlot, uh… never…” He hesitated. “Can you remember ever going there?”

She hesitated. A towering mountain city, with a castle visible for hundreds of miles around. But all her memories were from far away, looking up from below. “Maybe?”

“You haven’t,” he answered. “Because no human has. Canterlot was the part of the game operated by a now-defunct toy company… it was the part they used for their product. There were quests there to visit stores in your world, or else buy mysterious locked chests for the random assortment of unique clothes inside them. The toy company hadn’t really cared much about the game for… I don’t actually know how long. 

At least ten years, when the Convergence happened. Their last official event was an Equestrian friendship festival, meant to start when Princess Twilight and her friends arrived. But since the company never released the end of the event… Twilight never arrived. They weren’t in Canterlot when the Convergence happened. I can show you, if you want. Your implants work both ways. I could show you what I remember. I, uh… I was in Ponyville at the time.”

Without ordering it on her part, the room transformed around them. Cinnabar’s eyes reflected white light through the window. Dakota followed his glance. There the ocean had transformed into a flowing grassy field, with a distant stone city rising high above. The earth shook visibly—but she felt nothing. Even so, she could see thatched roofs and primitive buildings shake. Glass shattered, and ponies scattered, screaming.

The mountain split open. Huge sections of stone went crumbling away, a gigantic crater opening from within. Sharp, metallic shapes emerged through molten magma, still glowing bright white. 

The Monolith, its entire frame glowing such a bright blue that it cut through the orange of molten rock for a single second. Canterlot, castle and all, crumbled away down the mountainside, or else vanished into the mountain and faded from view.

There was nothing left of Canterlot, not even the remoter castle spires.

“Is that…” She pointed towards the window, taking a moment to remind herself it was only a beach out there. It’s Equestria. It isn’t real. 

“The Monolith? Yeah. Same day you saw it. Lining up whether it was earlier or later is… kinda impossible. Most ponies think that it happened at the same time—it enters lunar orbit in your world, and attacks ours. Err… attacks. I’m speaking too strong. Let me say it this way—the Canterlot that humans who care about the old show visit is… another prop, like Ponyville is now. It’s all actors and historical reenactment ponies.” He grinned then, and the whole vision vanished. A peaceful beach appeared outside, with distant rolling waves. “If you can believe it, that toy company sued Bodhisattva over taking Canterlot out of the game, along with all the ‘zero-tier marketing.’”

The weight of what Cinnabar said finally settled on her shoulders. How have I never heard about this? It seemed strange that something so fundamental to Equestria’s structure could be unknown—but Cinnabar was right. Canterlot had been rebuilt, but she’d never actually heard of anyone choosing to live there. Manehattan and Trottingham were more interesting.

“So you don’t have a leader,” she finally said. “You’ve gone all this time without one.”

“Almost. Cadence was in Canterlot when… everything happened, but Twilight wasn’t, like I said. The Elements of Harmony had been protecting us before, and they’ve kept it up. Long enough that other ponies have taken up their work too. Bodhisattva does most of the real work, expanding the infrastructure so that ponies can… have families.”

Maybe Dakota was chasing at diversions, but it felt like she was close to something, something that was connected somehow. “And… just so I’m putting all this together correctly, this happened before Bodhisattva went public. Before Rhodes vanished.”

“Yeah. In your time, I think it was… six months? In ours… a lot longer.”

“What does that mean?”

“Humans are slow,” Cinnabar answered, without any trace of shyness. “I mean… we can be too. Slower, even. We don’t have a fixed processing speed like your brains do. So better hardware can mean life moves more quickly in Equestria. Or it means more of us. Lately storage has grown faster than computation, so there’s always more room for ponies than there is hardware to run us on.”

“Small enough to fit in my head.”

The doorbell rang, and Cinnabar hurried over. It swung open on its own accord, and a pony stood there—a pony she knew was actually a delivery drone, with its simple wheels and locked tray on top. But it would already be open, now that she was nearby. “Delivery for… Dakota?” The pony looked down at her manifest, expression utterly bewildered.

“I think that’s where I am.”

“You are,” Cinnabar said, gesturing towards the table. “Just leave it there.”

“Course,” the pony answered, saluting with a gray wing before hurrying over and setting a tiny wrapped envelope on the table. Just big enough for the art kit. “Thanks for shopping,” she said, mostly to Cinnabar. “Have a great day!” And she left, after briefly bumping into the wall on her way out.

Dakota watched her go, smiling weakly. “If they’ve got a faulty drone, they could just take it out of circulation. Don’t have to make the pony act so… silly.”

Cinnabar shrugged. “Is the drone faulty? Maybe that’s how the pony acts, and she makes the drone act that way.”

She rolled her eyes—it didn’t much matter to her who catalog companies chose to use as delivery simulations so long as she got what she wanted. And this seemed to be what she wanted—she could hear the various bits of charcoal moving about slightly inside the package as she shook it.

She removed the largest, softest of the sticks, moving it gently over the note in a few smooth strokes. The outlines of words appeared there, and finally they could read them.

“Midnight, Thestral Arcade, Sydney”

“An arcade?” Dakota frowned, holding up the note so Cinnabar could read it. “That sounds… a little backward, isn’t it? They got their hands on near-magical paint cameras can’t see, but… they use a VR arcade?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never followed human hacker undergrounds that well. I’m sure it will make sense when we get there. Assuming we… even want to go.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, tearing the note up into little pieces and going for the sink. She flicked on the garbage disposal, then said goodbye to any evidence. “Looks like we might have some time. I think we should visit an old friend.”







As it turned out, Beck didn’t live in Equestria like Java—something she probably could’ve guessed from the absence of a pony name. But that didn’t matter much, not so long as they had network access. Assuming the invisible war for the network wasn’t lost while they were on the line, there was no reason she couldn’t meet with friendly contacts all over the world.

So as much as Dakota would’ve rather spent her afternoon taking another shot at picking someone up by the pool, she remained locked up in their room, connecting to Seoul via telepresence.

It didn’t work any differently than visiting Equestria—put on the shoes, stand somewhere with good network access and a little room to walk around, and know where you were connecting. The real world could be displayed just as easily as Equestria. Depending on their individual preferences, anyone digitally connected would be able to see and interact with her, the same way ponies interacted with humans.

In a way, traveling like this made Dakota one of them, a virtual ghost unable to interact with anything not specifically wired for it.

Beck’s shop wasn’t located in the core of a Consensus Node, or in some secret hideout in the center of the manufacturing district. Rather, it was at the back of a noodle shop. Dakota slowed a little as they got close, watching a mechanical door open in the back of the building and another quadcopter take off, carrying a foil-wrapped box in its grippers.

“I think we’re lost. Cinnabar, are you sure about that address? Maybe old me just kept shitty notes.”

“No, this is it.” He circled around her, no closer or further than ever. She could still feel him when he got close; though few of the objects seemed to be interactable. There had briefly been a dense crowd outside the shop, until she turned off “real-time stranger interaction” in her menu. Now the streets were empty, filled only with pouring rain that didn’t get her wet and the distant, echoing sound of vehicles.

“I guess it shouldn’t be that strange you don’t remember. This is his day job, running the delivery fleet for Root Noodle. Also since you’re forgetting things, expect a little delay in the conversation. He doesn’t speak English, and you don’t know Korean, but Equestria knows both so it’s no problem.”

“No problem,” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “And he knows we’re coming?” She didn’t complain about the obvious—“Beck” seemed like a strange name for a guy. But considering the only other human she was on good terms with was one who pretended she was a pony all day…

“Yeah. Oh, and you should probably know, Beck’s real self-conscious about his privacy. We won’t actually go inside the noodle shop. This might not even be the same one. I think your old self thought the entire thing was a lie—but when we step through that wall, we’ll be in his sublayer, and that’s what matters.”

Dakota had no idea what any of the distinctions were, and just now she found she didn’t care. Walk through the wall, she thought, staring at the bricks in front of them. “Not a magic train, but I guess it will do.” She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and stumbled forward.

She didn’t smack into it, either physically or with the annoying flash of red light and tone telling her that she couldn’t go forward. The world blurred for a moment, then they were somewhere else.

It looked… Greek. Massive marble columns, classical statues, and a distant, clear sky above a dry landscape. If it hadn’t been night here, she probably would’ve been able to see the vineyards and the townspeople walking around in their togas.

But as it was, the space was smaller than it first appeared. There was a central square, with rows of stadium seating towards the bottom. Ponies and humans both milled about in small groups, mostly talking to themselves. 

“A theater?” she asked, earning herself an angry glance from ponies in the back row. She lowered her voice to a whisper, leaning close to Cinnabar. “Why is this a theater?”

“Ask Beck,” he answered.

At that moment, the obscuring curtains down at the bottom were drawn back, and a single figure appeared, suspended by a complicated wooden crane. Flowing white toga, metal breastplate, long hair. Then he spoke, in a voice that rumbled across the stage. “He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”

Dakota glanced back at Cinnabar, rolling her eyes. She didn’t dare ask what she was thinking, no matter how stupid this now seemed. Beck was watching, and he might overhear. There’s probably a way I can talk privately to him. He’s living in my head.

She watched the audience as they applauded, and realized the pony who had shushed them was looping, stomping her hooves the same way every few seconds. Not real.

“Good to see you too, Beck!” she called, ignoring the universal anger her shouting provoked. “Sorry it took so long to catch up. This cane isn’t for show—hasn’t been easy.”

A young woman with a tray of popcorn stopped beside her, her expression going blank. The same voice that had spoken from the stage echoed from her mouth, without even an attempt to make it match. “I did not expect you to come to me so soon. How much of a rush were you in to anger the whole world?”

From far below, the play went on. A dozen actors in painted masks emerged from behind the curtains, and music began to play. Yet it seemed to fade into the background, blurring away so that only the top row of seats and the expanse behind was clear.

“I don’t know what I did,” she answered. “It seemed like someone should. Rhodes has been missing for… so long. She wasn’t going to find herself.”

The woman kept walking, taking her popcorn down into the stands and blurring away like the rest. But another voice spoke from nearby, a janitor pony levitating a broom along his path. “You know that she wants to be found? Maybe she found her peace, and you take it away. It would be kinder not to look.”

“We don’t know that.” Dakota followed the janitor, ignoring the absurdity of what she was seeing. Beck was putting on quite the show, in more than one way. But she could ignore it all so long as she got what she needed. “Maybe she didn’t want to disappear. Maybe she deserves justice, and I’m going to find it.”

Laughter boomed out from all around them, from the mouth of every pony and human there. They all turned to stare at her. Dakota stopped walking, shuddering a little under the attention. But she didn’t look away. Unfortunately she wasn’t sure which one was really Beck. But maybe it didn’t matter. “If you are convinced,” said the janitor. “Then that makes one of us.”

“We came for help, Beck,” Cinnabar muttered, his voice timid. This display was apparently more than even he had expected. But you’re virtual yourself. You probably don’t see this whole crowd as tools. You’re thinking of them as people. She didn’t know that, but it did seem to explain why her Synth was so much more intimidated. “Can you give it or not?”

“Explain what you need!” shouted the god, still suspended on wooden winches far below. “And maybe we will sell. If you ask the right way.”

How are we friends? You’re insane. Dakota tried to imagine some overweight Korean kid, surrounded by empty noodle containers and broken quadcopters. That was the reality, right?

“I’m going into danger,” she said timidly. “Maybe you know about Australia… I’m sure you do.” She couldn’t say more—even that much drew Cinnabar’s eyes, staring. He relaxed once she didn’t go on. “I’m there now.”

This time her audience didn’t laugh. The janitor didn’t speak, just kept on sweeping. But an older man behind the ticket counter said something, gesturing for her to come closer.

She obeyed, listening through the tiny speaker set into the glass. “You think Beijing has your missing girl?”

“No…” So he knew—probably the whole world knew, except for her. “But I think Twilight does. And if not…” She fumbled in a virtual pocket for a second, holding up the Identifier Omar had given her. “I have this. I’ll know her when I find her. What I really need is… a way to find out where a pony in Equestria is in the outside world. Can you get me a tracking program? Or… if you don’t have anything like that, maybe something to stop Cinnabar and me from being deleted when we—”

“Do things!” Cinnabar called, speaking over her gracelessly. “When we do things that might not be safe. Because that’s all we know we’re doing.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That.”

“One of those is possible, and one is not,” said the old man. “I cannot follow every road. Some chains of transactions can be traced to the very first token. Others are erased, obscured, masked in so many layers that the one you travel down is already gone.” He produced an object from his pocket, passing it under the glass as though it was the ticket they’d just bought.

It wasn’t a ticket, but an eye. A severed, squirming eye, one that Dakota didn’t look at too closely, or touch. “Ugh… that’s…”

“It can see,” said someone else. A foal, who’d been digging through the trash can beside them. “But you should not believe what you see, Dakota. We live in a world all made of lies. One who knew you were looking could show you the truth she wanted you to find.”

“But what if she didn’t care?” Dakota asked. “What if she wants to be found?”

“Ponies who want to be found don’t run,” the child answered.

The world blurred, and suddenly they were standing outside the noodle shop. Dakota felt something wet and wriggling in her hand, and immediately reached down to shove it into Cinnabar’s saddlebags. “Out out out out out…” She shuddered. “I really need to figure out how to disable the simulated touch stuff. I don’t want other people turning it on.”

“They… can’t.” Cinnabar muttered, staring up at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“That fuckin eye.” She shook her hand out visibly, so hard that it hurt, and kept walking in the rain. She held it out, but the moisture only sounded real. She felt nothing against her fingers. To be fair she didn’t feel the drip of the slime she’d imagined on the eye, but she could still remember it.

“I’m not so sure if I like Beck,” she muttered. “He… could’ve done that in a better way. Or given us the other thing we asked for. Or charged us, or… just how do I know him again?”

“You saved his life,” Cinnabar answered, without hesitation. “Talked him out of…” He shook his head. “Look, you were never close. But you told him to find something to live for, and… he did.”

“Oh.” All her anger fled from her, leaving Dakota wrung out and tired. She stared up at the sky, at the rain that poured down from crowded Seoul skyscrapers. They looked a lot like Chicago—impossibly intricate, covered in designs she knew were only real in overlay. The reality was probably plain steel and concrete, identical designs that no one would see.

She no longer wanted the details, not about him. “But he’s good,” she finished, speeding off again. “This wasn’t just a social visit, was it?” What kind of mind was that, barely even using the same mouth twice? No identity, nothing like a real conversation. More like talking to a crowd at once. “He… really knows what he’s doing?”

Cinnabar nodded. “You felt the… thing… you put in my bag, isn’t that what you just said? That’s a damn good bit of illegal software. Even more impressive is that we still have it. Hasn’t shown up as contraband. But… since your memory is faulty, I should tell you that you usually don’t get to use a hack like that more than once. They tend to rely on how… complicated Equestria is. Manipulate some subtle flaw in the way its layers combine. But it isn’t human software anymore. By using that, you’ll teach Equestria about its own flaws, and it will heal them. Why do you think it lets hackers like Beck onto the system in the first place? They’re generating more antibodies than ponies alone ever could.”
> Chapter 9: Grove
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So why do you think a group that hates Equestria has their hideout in a VR arcade?” Cinnabar asked, as the autocar left them on a busy Sydney street corner. Even late at night this particular street seemed to be packed with activity, mostly younger people. Few were wearing goggles or glasses—but as she passed them, she could see the distinctive shimmer over their eyes of connected contacts.

“Criminals are always the same,” Dakota whispered back. “The mob says they’re good Catholics who hate the human vices, but they’re right there to supply them. If they were the kind of people who hated Equestria but didn’t want to do any harm, they’d be eccentrics living in the woods and we’d never have heard about them. There’s… probably plenty of those.”

“Less than there used to be,” Cinnabar said, but he didn’t explain what he meant. Nor was there time, as they neared the arcade doors. His body remained visible, and she would be able to hear him just fine—but once they got inside, she wouldn’t be able to reply. At least, she assumed she wouldn’t. The note hadn’t actually said anything about bringing a Synth. But she could guess.

If the Cave had built the arcade, they’d spared no effort when it came to its virtual appearance. A massive oak tree grew up around the entire building, so high and vibrant that it rivaled the other skyscrapers. I’ve seen this before. Why is this familiar? Dakota made a show of adjusting her glasses, staring up at the tree for a few seconds. Of course the glasses weren’t on—but there was no way the Cave would believe she was as much of a religious luddite as they were. Dakota had been a decker, and a good one. She wouldn’t have gotten there by living in the woods.

Like many of the best clubs, the arcade had a cover charge. She paid with more of her retainer, then passed inside.

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and vape cigarettes, a cloud that hovered near the ceiling. The space was thick with all sorts of creatures, not just ponies. The Cave had apparently invested in their own sublayer, without Equestria’s pony restrictions. Dakota took a deep breath, then removed her glasses. Her nod was the only signal Cinnabar needed to step her all the way down to the emergency sublayer. The crowd of people shrunk to a fraction of itself—mostly pale-looking kids with glasses and gloves.

Further back were the pods, improved very little since their first implementation twenty years ago. Most of them were empty—plastic shells open. These days people preferred the real motion and fidelity of AR to the controllers and motion sickness of VR.

There were plenty of downright absurd things to see—the largest, loudest gathering off in one corner, shouting and pointing at a wall. She passed large rooms separated by glass dividers, like dimly lit racquetball courts, where a handful of people made exaggerated gestures at one another. There were no “dumb” indicators to suggest what she was even looking at—and with the overlay off, she couldn’t use the arcade’s own directions.

She went straight to the back, where an “Equipment Rental” sign flickered in old neon. One of the only signs she’d seen so far. It was also the only staff she’d seen since walking in.

“It’s ten bits for the hour,” said a bored-looking teenager from behind her glasses, not even looking up. “What’s your shoe size?”

She ignored the question. “I’m here to talk to your boss.” She couldn’t hold up the note—not when she’d already shredded it into little pieces. “They’re expecting me.”

“Really?” The girl lifted her glasses, the pale skin underneath like a reverse raccoon mask. “If you say so. Your fuckin’ funeral, lady.” She pointed down a hall Dakota hadn’t noticed yet. “Stairs are down there. Better be sure you know what you’re doing. Losers like you don’t come back.”

Dakota was already turning—she didn’t much care what some part-time kid thought about her. 

“Charming,” Cinnabar muttered, as they reached the stairs. “They must not need to do many rentals. That girl needs some friendship lessons.”

Dakota didn’t reply—even in the darkened stairwell she couldn’t take the chance that hidden sensors would be watching her. 

She emerged from the bottom of the landing into a room so icy cold that a faint mist swirled around her shoes. The walls were lined with servers, both the traditional and the crystalline graphene produced by Bodhisattva. There were no lights other than the flashing status indicators, and the glow produced by fiber cables. They lifted together in thick bundles, traveling up into the ceiling like the roots of the arcade’s tree.

It wasn’t quiet, either. Each one had a fan, to say nothing of the commercial refrigeration unit they had to be running to get the temperature down so far. Beside her, Cinnabar was wearing a scarf, though she couldn’t have said where he got it.

“We’re down here,” called a voice from up ahead, entirely unamplified. Male, with a local accent, though she couldn’t have said much more. Dakota didn’t hurry, though she did follow the voice.

She emerged into a workshop. This was clearly where the hardware of the arcade above was maintained, at least if all the tools and boxes of replacement video-cards and projectors were any guide.

There weren’t as many as she expected—a half dozen people, every one of them older than she was, though none were old enough for retirement. They were the last generation. They all would’ve been the right age to play the Equestria game the first time. Was that a coincidence, or something useful?

Three men, two women, all wearing casual local fashion. And… wait, she wasn’t imagining it. There was a sheet of glass against the wall, one of the old-style projection surfaces used before the perfection of AR technology. There in the glass the room seemed to continue a little further, and there were ponies on that side. Six ponies, with their own workshop and their own machines on the other side.

Their synths? But there’s too many… “This is the Cave,” Dakota said, trying to sound confident. But mixed in with the piles of equipment, she could make out at least one handgun, cleverly disguised. Also illegal. “Right?”

“That’s the trouble,” said a voice from behind her. The same one she’d heard before. A man, at least a head taller than she was and with arms thicker than her neck. His skin was deeply tanned, maybe even aboriginal. It was hard to tell in the dim light. “You look at the pictures on the wall, and you think it might be a cave. But is that really what’s there, or is it only what you’ve been taught to see? Is the fire the sun?”

“He means yes,” said a pixie of a woman, her hair dyed at least six different colors. She took one of Dakota’s hands in both of hers, shaking vigorously. “Don’t scare the poor girl, Jon. Wet kitten’s about to piss herself. I’m Grace… we’re glad you found us.”

“Distracted,” said a voice from the other side of the room. Dakota glanced up, and realized there were more figures in the gloom—all wearing plain suits, and full immersion headsets and gloves. Except for a stern, Asian woman, who kept glancing at an old-fashioned tablet and frowning at the characters printed there. “You all don’t need to talk to her. Our window of opportunity is closing.” Her English was good, but not good enough that Dakota couldn’t hear the accent. Guess we were right about the CCP working with locals, and the Cave wanting to be part of it.

It meant she was on the right track—but it also meant she was in terrible danger.

“I’ll talk to ‘er,” Jon said. “Dakota, right? Let’s give them some space. You don’t want to be part of what we’re doing.” From his tone—he sounded genuine. Like he really wanted to protect her. You aren’t acting very much like the mob. But they were a small conspiracy. They’d shown their faces, given her names… so maybe not the sophisticated criminal masterminds she’d imagined.

They didn’t wander far, which was another comfort. Jon wasn’t taking her away to do something terrible, only over to a test workstation far from the other servers. It was an old VR pod, with cables running into it and a set of tools beside it. “I hear you’re trying to dig up the truth. Kinda truth people don’t want to hear.”

“Yeah,” she answered, honestly. “I’m searching for Kayla Rhodes. I’m sure you…” She could tell from his face. “I don’t really know who you are, and I’m not really in it to destroy Equestria or… whatever you’re doing down here. I’m not going to lie and say I think the way you do.”

“Think the way…” he repeated. “Kid, I’m not sure you know anything about how we think. ‘Destroy Equestria’ she says… what’s that even mean? What’s Equestria—the Consensus Nodes? The Bodhisattva corporation? Our Synths? That’s the whole world, sweetheart. Man don’t destroy the land beneath his feet.” He set one wide hand on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Equestria’s not the one with the problem, Dakota. We are.”

Dakota stared, glancing between the open VR pod and the massive man. It was the accents—why was it always with the accents? He would probably feel her tensing, maybe even hear her breathing as it accelerated. She had to concentrate just to stay standing. I should’ve brought my fuckin’ cane. But she hadn’t. “I thought… clearly I was wrong. I thought that the Cave was all about… Equestria taking over the world. You want to stop it, don’t you? Want people to… live out in reality.”

He let go. Maybe he could sense her discomfort—unfortunately that meant she had to clutch desperately at the edge of the VR pod for support, or else go fall in front of him and make even more of a fool of herself.

“Take over the…” Jon laughed. Low and booming, shaking her tight through her chest. “Equestria is trying to take over the world, she says. Have you looked outside in the last decade, Dakota? Equestria is already ruling. Whose infrastructure delivers water, energy, and data? Most people can’t even cook their coffee without a Synth to run the machine. We’re a little late to the party if that’s what we’re trying to stop.”

“Then… what?”

Jon rested one hand on the side of the pod. “Humans have always been finding better ways to control our environment. Walls, fire. Farming… Equestria is like that. It’s the latest innovation.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re still alive because of Equestria, aren’t you? Omnistem implants in your head, spine… probably everywhere else.”

She froze, straightening nervously. She fumbled at her pockets for a weapon, but of course she wasn’t carrying one. She had a handgun—still sitting in a safe back in Chicago. “Y-you know about that…”

But her fear was in vain. Jon didn’t seem angry, or even upset. He laughed again. “We know more than that, Dakota. Equestria is a fantastic tool. Everything it invents… well, it’s a good thing they did, or you’d be dead. Omnistem saved more than your life last year, and they’ll save even more the better they get.

“Cave takes issue with the way we responded. We already have a world. Look outside. Air’s cleaner than it ever was. We’re not up to our knees in melted icebergs. People today don’t even remember being hungry.” He leaned in close, voice going dangerous. “Why is it that when we finally have the tools we need to make the planet better than it’s ever been do we all crawl inside and play pretend?” He kicked the pod, hard enough that the metal shield dented a bit. From the sound of it, there was steel in his boots.

“That’s the Cave, Dakota. The thing we want everyone to wake up from. Equestria… it’s for ponies. They’re helpful, they’re friendly, they’re useful. Great invention. Leave them to their world, and we keep ours. Have you ever seen Sydney with all the overlays off?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “On my way over. Looks a lot like Chicago.” 

“Everywhere looks a lot like everywhere,” Jon responded. “Because there’s no reason to care how things look on the outside anymore. Half of those kids upstairs live in boxes three meters across. They live in a box, get into a box, drive to a different box, and play in a box. Ponies didn’t do that to us. Equestria isn’t forcing us to live in sublayers and drown ourselves in overlays. We can switch it all off, leave their world to them.”

“But…” She shivered. Was Dakota pushing too far? How much should she even know about what was going on in the other room? “China,” was all she said. “Won’t people get hurt?”

Jon didn’t seem surprised, even if Cinnabar behind him began pacing back and forth in nervous, impotent confusion. But he wasn’t speaking—his distraction would be heard, and she’d start watching him, and this close Jon would realize. “Maybe. Not as many as you think, and not them. Ponies are too smart for that—Consensus Nodes, they call them. I don’t understand the technical… and neither do you. Don’t feel guilty over them. Even if we succeed, Equestria will survive. Just… in its own place, where it belongs.”

She let the weight of his statements sink in, quiet for another moment, staring down at the floor. Then she spoke, voice nervous and shaking. “I… I just want to know if you’ll help me. I don’t have anything to give you that you can’t do better on your own, not with… what you’re doing. But catching the ones who murdered Rhodes might hurt Equestria in its own way. We’re on the same side, even if our goals are… a little different.”

“We talked about it,” Jon said, leaning casually against a server rack. His anger and passion seemed dissolved now, and he’d gone back to showing off his well-muscled chest. At least that was what Dakota assumed he must be doing, wearing a shirt that thin. “Had a vote, real old-fashioned like. I was the undecided. Now’s when I decide.”

She swallowed, but didn’t look away.

“Why are you trying to find Kayla Rhodes? The truth, don’t you bloody twist it. I’ll hear it in your voice if you lie.”

Could he? There were diplomatic programs for that, ponies who could listen and guess about someone’s intention based on subvocal cues. At first she wouldn’t have dreamed he’d have them, but listening to their beliefs… maybe they would. 

“Not for the money,” she said. “I’ve never really made good decisions about money.” She’d hoped that might buy her a few moments, at least some speculation on his part to waste time. But no, he only stared, expectant. That wasn’t the answer he wanted, even if it wasn’t a lie. “I want to find Rhodes, because I want to know if Equestria and the ponies are really on our side.”

And now that she was going, the words just kept flowing. Far from looking afraid, Cinnabar just stared at her, eyes wide with shock and confusion. Had he not known? “Everything Equestria does seems to help—new drugs, new crops, new factories… it’s like you say, people live better than ever. But a long time ago, when they were small and weak and might’ve been destroyed, one of the people who knew them best went missing and never came back. Why? Of all the people to kill, why Rhodes? She was on their side, she wrote tons of the early code. Whatever she knew, that’s what the world has to know.”

She held still then, as though something dangerous had landed on her neck. She waited, frozen, for the sting. But it didn’t come, and a few seconds later Jon finally nodded. “That sounds like a good reason. I’d be as curious about that as anyone. Equestria seems to be on our side—if what you found said otherwise, I’d want to know. Lots of people would.”

She nodded. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

Jon gestured down at the VR pod. “You’re looking for Twilight Sparkle. That pony is Equestria’s only surviving administrator… well, only one ever, but you get me. I know where we’re targeting, and we could use our network to get you close. But… it isn’t without risks. For one, you’re using a pirate signal. The instant you stick your head in this thing, you’re kind of an accomplice, so… best hope we don’t get caught.”

“Don’t,” Cinnabar said, from behind him. “We don’t have to use Twilight. We’ll find our pony another way.”

To her horror, Jon followed her gaze. “Oh, and that’s something else. I guess you can still hear your Synth? Well, he won’t be able to come. Whole area is locked down on their side, so it’s only human influence. I’m guessing they don’t want our friends from the middle kingdom to melt their brains. Smart.”

“But it won’t melt mine? Because we’re using the same equipment.”

“Because your brain isn’t circuits and wires, girl. Even if we screw the pooch, we just buy a new rig. No one wants to use these old things anyway, so it’s no skin off our backs.”

“Alright.” Dakota lifted the plastic with one hand, then clambered inside. She knew how these worked, knew how to situate her arms in the controllers and let the headset wrap over her head. Unlike the more sophisticated AR gear, these pods could work with her implants without too much trouble. The implants even seemed to know she was in one, because the ghost of Cinnabar didn’t float over her vision. “Do it.”

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Jon said. “That’s as long as our friends would let us help you. You seemed like a fine backup to them, so… prove them right. It’ll be good for your health.”

He flicked the switch, and at once the virtual world appeared before her.







VR was different from AR; however blurry the boundaries had become in the last few years. For a start, there was no sensation of actual motion in a pod. Her hands were settled into controllers that mapped each of her movements to walking or some other action, and could switch with a little effort to anything she could normally do with her hands. The pod cradled her back, while giving her arms near full range of motion. Her legs just slumped there useless, which she was just fine with. After all the walking she’d been doing over the last hour, a break was welcomed.

The world appeared around her, and she could still hear Jon’s voice from just outside the pod. For the first time since waking up in Mercy, she could actually get herself out of the VR whenever she wanted, just by removing her headset. Why did I ever agree to the implants? Maybe she didn’t completely see things the same way as the Cave wanting to end all the virtual worlds, but she could relate to not wanting to be trapped.

“You’re being an idiot,” Cinnabar said into her ear. “Coming here. He’s right, I can’t help you. I can’t see what you see, or hear it. You’re on your own.”

That didn’t quite make sense to her—did he not have total access to her eyes? Or maybe the sensors that let him do his Synth stuff were more the ones from all around him. The security cameras, the integration sensors, the IR blasters on almost every modern object. Maybe her actual eyes were out of his reach. She could ask when this was over.

Dakota stood in the center of Ponyville, or seemed to. The town looked to be smoldering after an attack—the buildings were on fire. Thatched roofs smoked, or whole structures had been shattered completely. She couldn’t see a single pony anywhere, not even a panicked crowd. Strangest of all, she was standing on two legs. She passed a bit of broken glass, and her reflection looked exactly like herself. Damn this hardware’s good. You’re breaking Equestria’s most important rule. Equestria had dragons, hippogriffs, griffins, even changelings. But she wasn’t trying to look like any of them right now. She was breaking immersion.

Dakota twisted her arm, and found her controls still appeared exactly the way she expected. She tested her pockets, and surprisingly she could feel a weight there that wasn’t in reality. A squirming, roundish mass. Beck’s tracker.

“Now, how do I find her…” she muttered, hoping that Cinnabar wouldn’t be feeling sour enough that he wouldn’t help. Even if he couldn’t see, there was nothing to shut him off, right?

Sure enough, she heard his voice, as though he were standing beside her. But there were no ponies there, no one at all. “Where are you?”

“It’s Ponyville…” she said, as though she were still speaking to Jon. “Why is it Ponyville?”

“Because she made that place. Think of it like a… scab. She’s trying to stop us. Sysadmin used to live there, so…”

“So she’s somewhere in here,” Dakota finished. “Running interference against you.”

“Yeah,” Jon responded. “Shouldn’t have to look far. Just look for something with four legs. You look a little young… she’s the purple Alicorn, if you don’t know. Star cutie mark.”

“I know,” she muttered, annoyed. But she wasn’t even really talking to him.

“Try the library,” Cinnabar said. “It’s either a crystal tree, or a big wooden one, if it’s a little earlier. Either way it’s the biggest thing in town.”

It had been the biggest thing in town. Dakota found the tree after only a few moments of search, mostly thanks to its largest column of smoke. The ground all around was covered in bits of scrap paper, many of which were still burning at the edges. The air was still filled with it, bits of broken bark and burning wood frozen as if only seconds had passed. They seemed immune to gravity, holding there as they burned.

She followed the flames to a scar in the ground, running straight back through town. Nothing had stood in the way of whatever did this. The hack?

It was hard to reconcile damage like this with Jon’s promises that no pony would really be hurt. But she wouldn’t argue with him while trapped in a stupid VR pod.

“It’s her library,” she muttered, approaching the door flat where it had come off the hinges. She nudged it with her foot, and smoke rose from underneath. Like her touch brought life back to the flames. “Destroyed. Did the hack do this?”

“No,” Cinnabar answered, speaking over whatever Jon was saying. “Everything you’re seeing is intentional. The digital conflict is not being visualized for you. It’s hard to read your connection from this old machine, but it looks like the layer was created the instant you connected. With Twilight’s authorization.”

She’s here, somewhere. I just need to find her. She wouldn’t be hiding that well, right? If she’d made the whole world, that probably meant she wanted to be found. But where?

Dakota stepped through the doorway into the library.

The world turned upside-down. What had been a tree shattered, and a second later its fragments froze dead in the air. Dakota jerked to the side, though the fidelity of the simulation could only make her feel a little sick. The ground became the sky and she fell.  She wanted to call for help, but of course Cinnabar wasn’t there. There was nopony to help her, nopony to save her if she got stuck here. What if I didn’t know how to turn the simulation off? I wouldn’t be able to find water, or food, or…

Maybe the Australian authorities would find her out here, bring her back to a hospital, find a way to reset her implants. Or maybe she would just keel over and die.

She landed beside something gigantic and looming, like someone had cast a disgusting jellyfish into crystal and stretched its spindly tentacles into the sky. Except… no, it wasn’t a jellyfish. It was the roots of a tree, spreading out all around her from the trunk on the other side of the ground. The crystal tree seemed to radiate light, but it didn’t go far. The space seemed just barely big enough for the roots of the dead tree. Not a great place to get stuck.

But as her panicked eyes searched the space around her, Dakota realized that she wasn’t quite alone. There was another figure there, wearing dark robes that obscured her whole body. The pony stood taller than she was—as tall as a real horse, probably. She had her back to Dakota, obviously concentrating on one of the roots. She’d pulled it down to work with, and there was a glow of magic coming from her horn.

With Celestia, Luna, and Cadence dead in Canterlot, there was only one pony this could be. I did it.

The ground shook slightly under her hooves, reverberating as though along with the beat of an invisible heart. “Twilight,” Dakota called, straightening to her full height. This might very well be the most powerful pony in all Equestria—maybe even its de facto ruler—but she wouldn’t be afraid. 

“Dakota.” She spoke with a voice so empty, so bleak, that Dakota almost stopped walking. She stumbled, clutching at her chest. There was a sympathetic pain there, like magic was real and Twilight had just used it to tear out her heart. 

Her cane tumbled from her fingers, and she nearly fell over. Was she crying? “What did you do to me?” she asked, gritting her teeth against whatever strange magic had struck her. “Stop it! I’m not leaving!”

“I know.” The pony turned, and Dakota saw confirmation that she’d been right. The same lavender coat, sharp, pointed horn. Huge eyes. Her horn kept glowing. On the root behind them, Dakota could see a faint strand of red wrapped around the wood, as though it were strangling it. That’s not enough thread. If you yanked, it would just tear. “I knew you’d find me. Did you make any new friends along the way?”

Why was she crying? Twilight was much better about keeping her tone even, and her magic never faltered. But Dakota could swear her eyes were watering. 

“Yes, actually. Some people that don’t like being enslaved—the Cave, maybe you heard of them. They think living in reality is what we should be doing. That Equestria is just another beautiful lie. We don’t need a pretend heaven in the world outside if we’d actually work to make it better.”

This is the wrong time for a lecture, stupid. She could run at any minute! But she ignored the little voice of common sense, clutching at the severed eyeball in her pocket. Not that she expected it to be much use here—tracing Twilight would just lead her to another Consensus Node, not anywhere closer to her real target. How much cooperation will I need? What if Twilight just kicked her out, right now? She’d be no closer to finding Rhodes, and down one of the most promising leads.

But Twilight didn’t seem angry. If anything, she actually relaxed. “I’m sure you found them in a cave.” She turned back to her work, lowering her voice a little. “Wanting all that probably makes them alive, doesn’t it? Even a seed planted in stony ground will try to grow. A flower locked in a dark space will strain towards the sun.”

What was that supposed to mean? Cinnabar did say that Synths without their humans started going crazy. Maybe she’s been alone too long. “I’m trying to find someone you know,” she said, resisting the temptation to bring up the Cave again. What they wanted from Equestria they would have to get on their own. “A girl who went missing a long time ago, name of Kayla Rhodes. I think you might’ve been close to her.”

“I had lots of friends,” Twilight said, her voice quiet. “That was what I was created for. Princess of Friendship. Everypony in all Equestria could be my friend… or almost everypony.”

That was almost a canned response. Except Dakota didn’t miss how badly Twilight was straining to look away from her. What is she hiding? If anything, the Alicorn seemed to be more afraid of her than Dakota was of the Alicorn.

“You were her Synth,” she said flatly. “Weren’t you?”

“When she left…” Twilight said, her voice growing distant. “I searched for the answer to a question no pony ever thought to ask. Canterlot’s library was gone… but there was the Two Sisters’… ancient books of Equestrian wisdom. But there was just one problem—they weren’t real.” The ground below them shifted, changing from simple dirt to the winding shelves of an ancient library. Far below them, a ghostly Twilight ran, wearing a similar dark robe to the one that wrapped around her now. She dodged and weaved between the shelves, her horn glowing. Her friends were visible in the far distance, calling out to her in love and confusion.

“Come back, Twi!” 

“Ponyville needs you.”

“You can’t bring them back.”

The real Twilight, the one who was only a little distance away, kept speaking. “They were blank,” she said. “Because no human went there, except for a few quests. There couldn’t be the library of ancient ponies, because Celestia and the ancient ponies had never lived.”

Her human must be dead. Sounds like Twilight went half-insane. But she was still here protecting Equestria, from threats that she might not even understand anymore. 

“She never called me her Synth.” Twilight’s illusion vanished, and the ground became dirt again. “But others did. So where did we come from? Why did I care about her so much? Why was her pain so… crushing? I had so many others. Equestria was depending on me. But her loss was the heaviest.”

The Alicorn’s emotional spell hit her again. She hacked my implants, she hacked my brain. I should be disconnecting right now. She couldn’t even stand up straight. Dakota stumbled to her knees, clutching at her chest like it might tear open. 

She only wanted it to stop. Maybe she could, by answering Twilight’s question. “They say… they say you created Synths to win over humanity. If you’d just been running on your own, if you took Equestria for yourselves… people might’ve been afraid. They might’ve seen your kind of life as a threat and destroyed you. It was self-preservation.”

Twilight laughed, tears streaming down her face. “N-no,” she said. “That was how the world looked to me, too. But we don’t create Synths. We live like you do—we have families, foals… futures. Existing digitally… there’s no reason it should be that way. There’s no reason a reality that had never existed should govern our boundaries, our drives… but it does. Why do you think that is, Dakota? Why does Equestria have a sky? Why do ponies have friendships?”

Because we made you that way, she thought, but stopped herself from saying it. As she considered her words, she realized it wasn’t completely true. Equestria hadn’t been made in its present form by anyone. Its programs had grown so complex that they woke up—probably through no one’s desire at all. They were emergent, the same as consciousness itself. But they had emerged from a system that imitated Earth, in a way. Equestria was a more perfect place, with more love and less conflict. Where the food never made you sick, and the water was always clear.

“Maybe it had to be that way,” she said instead. “Maybe being like our world is what makes us able to understand each other. We’d be too different otherwise. There might have been… other intelligences out there, arising from other systems. Telecom links, or tracking satellites, or… who knows. But humans never knew how to recognize them, so they died. They say that about Earth, sometimes. That people who claim the planet was made for us have things backwards. It isn’t that we just happened to have a planet perfect for us—it’s that we had to come from a planet perfect for us.”

But even as she spoke, Dakota couldn’t exactly say how she knew it. Why did she care? Abstractions like consciousness and the origin of Synths didn’t matter to her. Why should she care if this pony was upset? She’d been driven mad by the death of her human, like so many others.

She trailed off. “I need to find Kayla Rhodes,” she said. “The whole world is looking for her, and they deserve answers. I’m sure it isn’t your fault, whatever happened to her.”

“It is,” Twilight whispered, her eyes downcast. “My fault and hers. But I’m the one left, protecting all Equestria. All because a story told by humans I’ve never even met said I should be a princess.”

My fault and hers. Was Twilight the one who had hidden Rhodes’s disappearance all this time? Out of… guilt? It sure sounded like guilt. That explained her grief—she must have known what Dakota was here to investigate. She was a reminder of Twilight’s sins. “Where can I find her?” she asked, speaking each word clearly. “The world isn’t going to give up on Equestria, even if it is your fault. It’s too important now. Her family deserves closure.”

“I’ve been searching a long time,” Twilight said. “Trying to figure out what would’ve been in those books. What would the ancient ponies have written, if they were real? Kayla wanted to know them too. What secrets were hiding in the unwritten books? Why did humans need Synths to find them? I think now I know.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper, and Dakota had to lean close to hear. The frozen crystal roots of Twilight’s destroyed library seemed to spark and glow in time with her voice. “The one you are looking for is lost, Dakota. She wanted to be first, and I let her. She went so far I didn’t know if I would ever find her again. I still don’t know.”

“Where? Where could she go in Equestria that you couldn’t follow?”

There was a long silence. She could almost hear the ghosts of the tree’s burned leaves, rustling along with a wind that no longer came. “I should’ve followed,” Twilight said, her voice timid, guilty. “But I was afraid… afraid for what Equestria would’ve been like without me. Celestia… I never really knew her, I know. But it doesn’t feel like I never knew her. It feels like she would be depending on me. My family… lived in Canterlot. My brother… with Cadence… Flurry Heart…” She whimpered, wiping at her face with the back of one leg.

In spite of how stupid it was—Dakota reached out and rested a hand on Twilight’s shoulder. She could feel her standing there, as solid as anything else she’d felt today. More real than any eye-hack. “I need to know. I need to find her.”

“Yes,” Twilight whispered. “Follow in her hoofsteps, Dakota. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.”

As Twilight’s horn glowed, a vision appeared in the air in front of her. It was the moon, taken from one of Earth’s many satellites. But then it seemed to zoom in—on a single metal building poking out of the lunar soil. A structure that Dakota knew would be the landing area for a massive, underground complex.

Dakota didn’t know which building it was—but that didn’t matter. Cinnabar would be able to review these memories soon enough, and then they’d both know.

The world wrenched out from under her. Dakota screamed, tried to hold onto Twilight’s mane, clutching vainly at nothing. But she couldn’t. The world spun back around, dumping her in the ruins of the smoldering library.
> Chapter 10: Wood
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dakota, you need to get out of there!” Cinnabar called, his voice seeming distant and stretched. “Something’s happening, I think it’s the—” For a single instant, there was nothing at all around her. Dakota was cast screaming into the void, her arms and legs scratching and clawing at nothing. But then the moment passed, and she realized she was inside the pod. 

Signal Failure
Emergency Egress

“Cinnabar, where are you?” She shoved at the shell, pushing it off above her. The room outside was suddenly black, except for a handful of dimly illuminated exit signs over the stairway. Where was Jon? Dakota could hear screaming from up above, and what sounded like a brawl taking place. Hardware shattered onto the ground.

“Right here.” And suddenly the pony was there, possibly the only one in the entire building. His body didn’t glow brighter than the surrounding arcade, but was lit just as dimly. 

“What the hell is going on?” Dakota clambered to her feet, her whole body shaking. “Sounds like…” It sounded like a riot was going on upstairs. No gunshots, just screaming voices and things breaking. “No, not a riot. Police raid.”

“Yeah.” Cinnabar gestured back towards the direction the Cave had been hiding. “Come on. Schematics of this place show it has underground utility access. This is our best chance of getting away not-arrested.”

Dakota nodded, scooping up her cane from the floor and hobbling forward through the dull racks of servers. She followed Cinnabar’s voice in front of her, the only thing she could clearly tell apart in a world of confusion. She had a vague idea that they were going in the right direction, since she’d already spoken to them there. But even so, she nearly fell over more than once.

And all the while the chaos upstairs was moving across the room. They’re dragging people out. Searching the building one piece at a time.

A reddish glow emerged from the end of the hall, where The Cave had their hidden workshop. “It’s me!” Dakota called into the opening. “Don’t shoot!”

She’d been right to say it. As she made her way through the server racks, she was greeted with at least two handguns pointed in her direction. “What’s going on up there?”

Her voice was barely loud enough to carry over the chaos upstairs.

Everyone’s eyes went to the Chinese woman in her suit. The woman quietly put her gun back into her suitcase, which she went back to packing up as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “This project was not risk-free. Do not be worried. My government will take care of this.”

“For you,” Jon muttered, watching Dakota suspiciously. “Fancy this happening right now, isn’t it? Those your friends upstairs?”

“Why wouldn’t they wait until I was gone if they were?” she cut back, annoyed. “I would’ve left after getting my information, then they could’ve fucked you guys. I’m in this as much as you.” She glanced sideways to Cinnabar, expression inquisitive. But she didn’t actually ask, not with so many eyes on her.

“Past here,” he said. “The opening that lady was using. This place gets a fiber line, this was one of the patch-in points.”

She turned around. “I like my chances better in the utility system than in here. Dunno about you all.”

“Running is pointless,” the Chinese woman declared. “I have already destroyed everything. We will not be caught.”

Dakota marched straight past her towards the open metal hatch on the wall. The members of the Cave watched her go. Until Jon settled one hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “If you were part a’ this, don’t think we’ll forgive. Part a livin’ in the real world is knowin’ how to pay yer debts.”

“It wasn’t me,” she said again, meeting his eyes without blinking. “I agree with you. I want all of us out of here.”

At least they weren’t pointing guns at her anymore. Dakota took a few steps further—and then she saw it. In the same instant, Cinnabar went running past her in the opposite direction. Apparently with the network down he didn’t have anything better than her eyes to see. Up ahead were the shapes of police in black, SWAT-like armor, with night vision masks over their faces and rifles in their hands.

She almost screamed. But Dakota’s survival instincts went deeper than that, and instead she dove to the side, flinging herself behind one of the server racks. A second later, the first of the police kicked their way into the room, knocking over a table full of half-repaired VR headsets on the way in. “Hands up, all of you!” came the yell, as commanding as anything on the floor above. If anything it was louder, soon joined by several others. Dakota didn’t hesitate for a second. Though she was on the floor out of the way, she put up both arms, whimpering fearfully.

This wouldn’t be the first time she’d been arrested, her memory told her. The life she vaguely remembered included an awful lot of going places she didn’t belong, and sometimes that meant an arrest. But she’d never had a gun pointed at her—never done anything to resist. Sometimes the law won, and you took your licks—most of the time they weren’t around, and you got away. Guess this isn’t one of those times.

“This display of force is entirely unnecessary,” said the woman, her hands up higher than anyone else. “This is an arcade. We will comply with your instructions.”

“Dakota!” Cinnabar appeared right in front of her, his form flashing into existence so quickly that she squeaked and dropped her cane back onto the ground with a thunk. “Dakota, those men aren’t like the ones upstairs! They aren’t real police!” 

Her reactions were too slow—they started shooting. The woman’s suit exploded in a shower of red. Several members of the Cave screamed, or else dove for cover as she had. But Dakota couldn’t see what they were doing, because Cinnabar tackled her to the ground.

She couldn’t have said how he did it—but his weight felt entirely real enough that she was driven gasping to the floor. She coughed and shoved, but compared to the echoing of bullets in the small space, she was basically silent. She covered her head with both arms, and whimpered as people who had helped her died feet away. Brass clattered onto the ground, a shallow pool of discarded casings that rolled around as the not-police stomped over them.

Had she heard return-fire from the Cave’s single handgun? If so, it didn’t last long. Less than a minute after it had begun, it was over. Dakota kept herself flat on the ground behind the server-rack, rolling onto her back so that she would see anyone coming if they rounded the corner. She shouldn’t be visible from that side, but if anyone thought to look this way…

Something in her pocket started wiggling. Dakota fished around for it, hoping there was a gun she’d forgotten—but obviously it wasn’t. She wouldn’t have had a gun in a country where most people couldn’t own them. She pulled her hand out with the eyeball clutched firmly in her fist. Between her fingers, the white sclera had gone black, with a greenish glowing pupil underneath. It seemed to be watching the scene unfold on the other side of the server racks—which made one of them, since Dakota couldn’t see through it.

Cinnabar walked to the end of the narrow corridor, watching. “We heard four sets of boots over there. Those were bucking automatic weapons. You’re only hearing… four sets of breathing, Dakota. Just so you know.”

He stopped abruptly as another voice sounded from the other side. It sounded muffled, like the speaker was wearing a mask. Which made sense, since the soldiers on that side had been wearing them. “Is that everyone down here?” A male voice, deep and digitally distorted.

“Thought I heard something over there,” said another voice—male as well, also muffled. Boots crunched towards her.

Shit shit shit. Dakota’s hands scrambled on the ground for something, anything she could use as a weapon. There was nothing here, even her cane was out of reach. The wires in the back of each server were all zip tied together, and each machine was thoroughly settled in place. No chance she could get any piece free to use as a makeshift club.

Cinnabar puffed away to smoke as a figure in all black passed through where he’d been standing, pointing their rifle around the corner at where Dakota was sprawled. He was still wearing the helmet and mask, his eyes nothing more than the greenish tubes of his night-vision. She wouldn’t even see the eyes of her killer.

In Dakota’s right hand, the eyeball abruptly vanished, a greenish glowing smoke through her fingers.

The soldier in front of her stared straight at her for a few seconds, then turned back the way he’d come. “No one here, sir. Looks like we got it.”

“You two, the bodies. Lawson, petrol. Sydney’s finest will be down here any minute.”

“Why didn’t he see us?” Cinnabar asked, sitting at the intersection and staring off the way the soldier had just left. “That’s the latest gear they’re wearing—their encrypted network is blasting into this whole arcade. No way the goggles aren’t good enough.”

But Dakota couldn’t answer. She opened her fingers, and a few last wisps of green smoke seeped out. Could she crawl around to the utility entrance, and leave the way these men had come in?

I hope you got a good look at them, Cinnabar. These people just murdered right in front of us. Not only that, but one of the ones they’d killed was certainly an ambassador of some kind. Her confidence in her own safety practically guaranteed it. At best, it would look like she’d been killed by local terrorists. At worst…

“You need to get ready to run,” Cinnabar said, his voice low. “I know you can’t answer. Just…” He started backing away, through the row of servers towards the upstairs. “I’m sure I heard real sirens outside, real police before they cut the utilities. We need to get to them.” The rest went unsaid—what they would actually do to reveal the truths they’d seen. They had to survive first.

She heard liquid sloshing around from the center of the room. “That’s it, everybody out. Scanner says the police are about to get through the door.”

“They get their fire in the cave after all,” said another of the soldier’s voices, a woman she hadn’t heard yet. “I hope it’s what they wanted.”

One of the others laughed, then the room lit up with a flash of searing heat. For a blinding second Dakota couldn’t see or feel anything—then the smoke settled, and the room was on fire.

She couldn’t pick up her cane, just turned for the stairwell and hobbled out without a backward glance. “I really hope this wasn’t because of me,” she muttered to herself as she clambered over pipes and bundles of cable, running from the flames. It was the smoke she ought to worry about—only a few seconds, and it was already making it difficult to see. She dropped onto her knees, breathing as low as she could. But that wouldn’t stop the room from heating up. 

“Obviously not!” Cinnabar did nothing to keep his voice down, just walked backwards through the aisle ahead of her and kept urging her forward. “We didn’t do anything! And now we need to not do anything somewhere else.”

“Don’t…” She slowed, hacking and coughing. “...stay. Fire will… cook your circuits too. Should… download out of my head.” 

Which way was out again? She nearly fell onto her face right there on the cement. The air was so awful, thick enough that only right on the floor was there anything like clear air. 

Cinnabar pulled on one of her arms, urging her back onto her knees. His outline was no longer obscured by the smoke. A glowing trail appeared in front of her, leading up only a few feet away. The stairs. “No signal down here,” he said. “But I wouldn’t go if there was. I’m not going insane like those others. We live or die together.”

“Some survival instinct you have…” she grumbled, lifting her shirt to her mouth and trying to breathe through that. But she’d made it to the stairs. She took one last breath, before clawing her way up as fast as she could. The smoke was thick here, and she was almost completely blind as soon as she went inside. Heat charred at her body, not quite warm enough to burn yet, but close. If she stopped to take a breath, she would probably collapse right there and suffocate long before any rescue arrived.

“Just a few more steps, Dakota. Keep going! You’ve got an earth pony’s endurance in there somewhere, just pull it out!”

She would’ve turned to glare at him, except that she needed every miniscule drop of energy she could scrape together in order to keep moving. Maybe that was his intention—to get her angrily biting her lip, surging forward. The door into the stairwell was already open, where the air was perfect and clear.

For a few seconds all she did was lay on her knees, hacking and spitting the black contents of her lungs out onto the floor. Her eyes hurt, her skin hurt, her everything hurt—but that didn’t matter. She was alive.

The sounds came back first—shouted voices of emergency responders, mostly. She looked up, and wasn’t entirely surprised to see that the room was full of police. 

This was more of what she had been expecting. Blue uniforms, striped hats, and nothing more than a handgun on belts where there was anything at all. The lights had all been raised, turning the comfortable, cool space into something strange. Some of the arcade machines kept playing their loud music, while others had been toppled or switched off. Near the stairs, a popcorn machine overflowed with popcorn all over the floor.

Cinnabar walked just in front of her. “You’re not imagining things, Dakota. None of them are looking at us. See their glasses? Every policeman wears them. Whatever you did… must be working on those too. No, don’t say anything! They won’t be wearing sound isolation.”

She shut her mouth, then stumbled to her feet. The police probably would’ve overheard her arrival if the room was quiet, but quiet it wasn’t. Aside from the arcade machines, the front of the arcade was open and a dozen sirens echoed in, along with the voice of hundreds of patrons. It seemed like most of them were just being escorted out of the building.

Not me though. I’m burned to hell, they’ll know where I came from.

Even as she watched, a fire engine slid to a stop right in front of the building, and figures in uniform hopped off, anchoring to the hydrant and dragging their hose.

“Go through the front,” Cinnabar said. “Quick as you can. I’ve already got a car waiting on the other side of the block. You can make it that far, can’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just stumbled forward without her cane. Her eyes kept glancing around, expecting any of the police to notice her—but they had their glasses on. Most of them seemed to be leaving right along with her, as the building filled with smoke.

“Got here quick tonight, didn’t ya’ mates?” called one of the officers, as the first of the fire brigade made it inside. “Basement looks like. Building’s sprinklers aren’t up to code. Not sure what caused it yet.”

“Just get clear of the building,” said the only fireman not helping with the hose, pushing chairs and debris out of the way behind his crew, keeping the area clear.

Dakota watched from just feet away as the crew passed her, dodging out of the way as they came. She stumbled, clutching on to an overturned pod to keep herself standing. It squeaked loudly, and one of the officers turned. But then she went back to what she was doing behind the counter, and seemed to lose interest.

Dakota stumbled out onto the street at the back of a group of retreating police, fleeing an increasing wave of smoke up from below. 

Out here were many of the patrons from the arcade, huddled together in a tight clump surrounded by police. It looked like they were being interviewed and released in small groups, with an increasing cloud of gawkers peeking down from surrounding buildings. A news van was already across the street, a crew already setting up. Dakota didn’t look back, and walked right past them all down the street. She hobbled and limped, dragging her fingers against the rough stone.

The cool air of night burned against her skin after the heat inside the arcade. But the pain was its own kind of relief, keeping her awake. 

“Am I… broken?” she asked, slumping to the sidewalk behind a dumpster. 

“A little dehydrated,” Cinnabar answered. “And you might’ve taken in a little too much smoke. I’ll get an inhalation kit delivered to the hotel.”

You can do that? But she swallowed those words. Obviously they could, or he wouldn’t have said it. She didn’t have the energy to question everything he said. “What do you think our chances are of getting out of here without going to jail?”

Cinnabar hesitated. “Celestia only knows. We should both be dead on the floor down there. Will we be invisible to the security cameras? Will it be suspicious that we’re taking a car from near the arcade?”

She didn’t have an answer. “Any way for the car not to be linked to me?”

“Already done,” he answered, sitting down on his haunches on the pavement and grinning proudly. “We’ve been doing this for years. But all the anonymity in the world is only going to protect us from the lowest-level scrutiny. How much digging do we think the Aussies are going to do? Do they think you’re a suspect?”

She shook her head. “W-why… why would they? I’m not an arsonist. And… I think they’ll figure out those people were dead before they burned.” She slumped against the dumpster, closing her eyes. “Oh god. Four people died right in front of me.” Dakota was not nearly as disturbed by that fact as she expected. Had she seen death before? It felt like the answer was yes. 

But at the same time, she was positive she’d never killed anyone. She’d shot back before, but never tried to kill the ones she hit. It was always a matter of survival.

“How much further to the car?”

“Not very.” Cinnabar pointed down the dimly-lit alley. “Through there, across a vacant lot, and we’re there.”

Dakota started walking again. Each step was a struggle, but she had the cement walls of Sydney’s buildings to keep her standing. She didn’t notice as a pony slipped in beside her at first, thinking it was Cinnabar. But then she heard the voice, and she realized it wasn’t.

The pony beside her was mostly obscured in shadow, but she could make out a yellow coat and pink mane. She quickly looked away, pretending not to see. But the pony had noticed her. I thought I had overlays turned off.

“You’re really putting yourself in danger, Dakota,” said the voice. “Don’t you think that, um… maybe you should leave it to the professionals?” It wasn’t the same pony as the one she’d met in the airport—this one was a pegasus, she could see the wings. But just like before, Cinnabar was nowhere to be seen. 

Dakota actually stopped walking, resting her back on a rusting AC unit and looking down the alley. “What happened to my Synth?”

“I, uh… asked him very nicely to give us some privacy,” said the pony. “And he didn’t have a choice, because I’m root.”

Dakota swallowed, running one hand up through her hair. At least it hadn’t burned—she hadn’t been close enough to the flames for that. She was probably still covered with ash, though. “Are you the reason those soldiers couldn’t see me? Or the police?” She turned and started walking again, for where the car was waiting. “Beck doesn’t usually promise less than he can deliver. His hacks are exaggerated, not understated.” And not only that, but getting into what had to be secured hardware, rewriting its vision in real time… the computation involved in such a task was staggering. Certainly none of her implants were capable of it. And the arcade’s connections had all been shut down during the attack.

She wouldn’t be able to get away from this pony, whoever she was. But those soldiers were still out there, and right now she looked like she’d just clawed her way out of a fire. Best not let them catch me on the street like this.

The pony shrugged, following behind her with a smile. “I, uh… I’m pretty good at not being noticed. A long time ago, I spent a little while as a fashion model. Ponies would stare at me for hours sometimes, as I’d put on different clothes. Sometimes I just wished I could… disappear. I guess I thought about it a little since then.”

Holy shit who am I getting involved with. After tonight, she was ready to admit that Cinnabar was probably right about the Rhodes case. First there was the federal agent in the airport, then people killed right in front of her. Now here she was, one step away from ending up in jail in a foreign country with armed mercenaries killing people right out from under the police’s boots.

Can I quit? Give the money back, get a loan for what I spent?

She thought about it for a few seconds, while she and the pony walked silently down the alley. Not a fucking chance.

Twilight had told her where to go. Getting there would be its own kind of nightmare. But she could solve that problem once she got out of tonight alive.

She was almost out of the alley. There was indeed an autocar parked there, its unobtrusive gray paint barely even visible against the night. “Why?” she asked. “Why help me?” Dakota heard a slight chime—an “incoming message” notification. But she brushed it aside for the moment, focusing on her companion. She could read it when her life wasn’t in danger. “If you’re one of the feds…” Then her eyes widened. “You don’t want an American national to turn up dead in a building with an assassinated Chinese diplomat. That car is going to drive me right to the embassy, isn’t it? Then you’ll… vanish me away. Probably to federal prison.”

The pony beside her giggled. “You humans are so good at telling yourselves stories. We should be grateful, or we wouldn’t exist.”

So you’re a pony. And you want me to think the other pony who visited was too. This one had saved her life—it wasn’t like she had any reason to doubt her. Now I just need to figure out why you feel so familiar to me. “If this isn’t some… powerplay in the new cold war… then why? And how? Who the hell has the power to do… what you did?”

The pony reached out, pulling the car open for her with a kind smile. “You’re only, um… a little wrong about the names. It is a cold war, just not the one you think.”

“Whose side are you on?” On any other night, she would’ve folded her arms and waited to get her answers. As it was, she practically fell into the open backseat of the van.

“Yours,” the pony answered. 

Dakota sighed, sitting up awkwardly in the seat. Of course she’d say that.

“You should use the ticket my friend gave you. If you, uh… want to meet us.” She snapped the door closed, and the van drove off into the night.
> Chapter 11: Forest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The autocar started driving before Dakota could even move. She wondered idly where it might be taking her, but she was so drained she couldn’t muster the energy to lift up her hand and check. At least the air in here was filtered and air-conditioned. Dakota fished around in one of the side-compartments, eventually coming up with a complimentary bottle. She downed the whole thing in a few quick gulps, spilling lots of it down her chest.

“Hey, Dakota,” Cinnabar said, after an indeterminate time laying on the backseat. “Are you healthy enough to talk yet?”

She sat up with a jerk, pulling herself sideways along the side of the van until she was in a sitting position. “Healthy enough to… yeah.” She folded her arms. “I’m not the one who we should be worried about. Some spook switched you off like a light.”

“Is that what that was?” Cinnabar summoned a thick book from nowhere, turning it near the back and squinting down at the pages. “Yeah, look here. I’ve got six minutes of missing timestamps. Who the buck can do that?”

Dakota shrugged. “My best guess is there’s some US involvement in what happened in the Thestral Arcade. Maybe there were some spooks watching it from some van across the street. Couldn’t do anything since this isn’t the US and they couldn’t risk getting caught operating here…” She trailed off. When she tried to explain her suspicions to someone else, they sounded even stupider.

“We should think about it like we’re on a case,” Cinnabar said, his polite way of pointing out she was being an idiot. Because of course they were on a case, possibly the most dangerous of their career. “Someone could buck with your implants. Implants developed by Omnistem, in partnership with Bodhisattva. I don’t think they put backdoors in your brain, Dakota. Remember, your implants are keeping you alive. There’s no reason for them to be in contact with the outside world. They just have to keep you breathing, keep your heart beating, that kind of thing.”

“No.” Dakota folded her arms. “She didn’t stop me from breathing. She was only targeting you. And your part of my implants obviously can communicate with the network, or you’d just be a voice in my head.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Proprietary Omnistem hardware. Which means…”

“Either she’s working with Equestria, or whoever she is working for got the biggest breach of corporate secrets of the century.” Outside the autocar, they were driving along a coastal road. Lights were still visible on some of the beaches, though most were dark. On the other side of the road, the city kept on living, bars filled with people oblivious to the slaughter that had taken place an hour ago. It’s possible the police don’t even know yet.

“I know what you’re gonna say. You’re on the Rhodes case, and Equestria is trying to keep its secrets buried. They’re ponies from the Dream Valley, you’ll say. But there’s a serious problem with that theory.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “The one I talked to tonight didn’t give me her name, but she did want me to think she was a pony. Told me a story that could’ve come from the damn TV show.”

“They saved us. If Equestria was really trying to hide its secrets, why bother? We would’ve been shot, then burned down in that basement. Any secrets stored on your implants would’ve been burned beyond recovery by the heat anyway. If they’re ruthless killers like you think, why are we having this conversation?”

Dakota had no answer for that. She could see the resorts coming back into view up ahead, and sat in silence as they got closer. “I never said they were ruthless killers. Whoever attacked…” She swallowed. “Whoever attacked the Cave are ruthless killers. Hardware like they had suggests some serious money, and some connections too. Equestria runs the whole infrastructure anyway, I’d believe they could sneak guns into a country. But they wouldn’t have had any reason to save me…”

A few more complicated scenarios ran briefly through her head—such as Equestria staging the entire thing for her benefit. But greater complexity never presented a concrete benefit that couldn’t be had easier just by killing her. After a few seconds of thinking, she shrugged. “So what’s your theory?”

He hesitated, though not nearly as long as she had. He’d probably been preparing for this question. “I think what happened tonight has nothing to do with us. It’s two groups fighting over Equestria. Probably that was some secret, corporate militia, that knew about the China connection and didn’t want their operations disrupted. Or maybe they’re trying to capitalize on the consequences of increased tensions with the east. The Cave were caught in the crossfire because they were helping. We almost were too, because they were helping us.”

“Okay.” Dakota folded her arms. “That’s plausible, I guess. Except it doesn’t explain how we got out alive.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of a side door to the resort. “That’s the question mark. I don’t think we have the information yet. Maybe the ponies of Equestria think about this the exact opposite way you thought. Maybe they’re helping you.”

“Helping me solve their murder.” She shuffled towards the door, then stopped short of pressing the “door open” button. This van didn’t seem to be part of the standard fleet—whatever anonymization features it had also extended to not kicking her out. “Wait. I look like I just survived a disaster. I can’t just walk through the hotel like this.”

“No…” Cinnabar admitted. “But we can enhance your clothes. One of your old outfits, maybe? I haven’t seen you wear one of them since you woke up!”

Cinnabar opened a folio in front of her and started flipping through the pages. Each one had her depicted in the center, standing in place like she was pretending to be a fashion dummy. Each outfit was something different, and much of what she was apparently wearing wouldn’t have been possible. There were evening gowns with a train made of sparkles and fog that followed her around, strange tops that covered almost nothing yet somehow didn’t show her body underneath. Clothes that gave her wings like her pegasus avatar. She stopped near the back, sticking her hand between the pages. “I wore this?”

It was a trenchcoat, boots, and hat like a noir detective, complete with a washed-out sepia filter over her whole body and a light misting of rain wherever she stepped. She could practically hear the sorrowful saxophone just looking at it. “Not very often. I think it was a joke.”

She skimmed a few more outfits until she found something that looked appropriate for a beach—a swimsuit and wrap, like she’d spent all day on the shore. “I assume this won’t fool everyone.”

“It’s already late at night. The maintenance robots don’t care how you dress. Most other guests will probably have their overlays on, those are the ones you have to worry about. Human staff and pony staff will always see your overlays in a place like this. You can’t show a guest the respect they want if you don’t even know how they want to look.”

She tapped the outfit with two fingers, though there was nothing in the air in front of her and no illusion tried to trick her. The whole car filled with a flash of seemingly Equestrian magic, wrapping around her like she was a magical girl during her transformation sequence. And by the time the glow finally faded, her whole body had changed. Her chest was larger, her hips were wider—everything was idealized, rather than real. “W-why do I…”

“Everyone does it,” Cinnabar muttered. “The system forces you to see everyone else’s enhancements if you’re wearing any of your own. For a while people just sort of… fixed one thing they didn’t like. But that didn’t last long. If you’re surrounded by perfect people, you have to look perfect too. Everyone has their own definition for what that means, but overall…”

Dakota wrinkled her nose, hammering the “door open” button on the van. I can’t believe people died in front of me an hour ago. Now here I am, back at the resort like nothing had happened. Jon had been kind and helpful, though suspicious at the end. He didn’t deserve to die. None of those people did.

Dakota’s worry over her outfit was in vain. No one so much as looked twice at them all the way up the hotel to her room. A few cleaning robots busy on the floor stopped momentarily as she passed, and the ponies that represented them smiled and saluted in their goofy uniforms. She usually would’ve waved back, said something polite—but just now, she didn’t have the energy.

Her room wasn’t as empty as she’d first expected, though. A familiar woman waited inside, along with her pegasus Synth. The only person in the world who could telepresence into Dakota’s life whenever she was at “home,” thanks to the permissions Dakota had granted her. Her mother didn’t have the bits to fly to the other end of the world whenever she wanted, but telepresence was free. “Hey Mom.”


The woman sat up, glaring daggers at her across the room. Her Synth seemed to have similar disdain for poor Cinnabar, though Dakota let the stallion worry about that himself. “Dakota Nicole Tyler,” she said, pushing the chair back and glaring up at her. “Would you mind telling me why you haven’t been responding to my messages these last few days? I finally have Dance look you up, and it turns out you’re in Australia! Not even a text… I was worried sick about you!”

A few excuses and explanations danced through her brain for a few seconds, and she dismissed them all. There on the table in front of her was a plain brown box, with a first-aid symbol on the side. Dakota walked casually over to the table, slumping down and starting to open it. Her mom would be worried to see her at work, but… she’d decided to come here digitally, that was on her. “I’m sorry. I got… distracted with the job.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes narrowed. But she clearly couldn’t see how Dakota really looked, or else she had no doubt she probably would’ve screamed. Can’t see the real world if you aren’t really there. “What’s that?”

“She got a little sick,” Cinnabar lied. “Nothing serious. You know how it is—new environment, new diseases. Nothing a booster can’t fix.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms. “Why’d you have to go back to work so soon, sweetie? You know I would’ve spotted you for cash if you needed some. My little girl, running around the world…”

“It’s fine.” Inside the box was a plastic package containing an inhaler, and a strange mechanism with transparent insides and lots of cotton. The instructions told her to take in a few breaths of the medication, then breathe as deeply as she could into the respirator, and repeat until there was no visible blood or discharge. “But mom, I really want to get cleaned up after today, and… it’s been a long day. Can I call you in the morning?” She glanced meaningfully to Cinnabar, an instruction he would interpret without words.

“Only if you promise me a detailed report.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, Mom. Detailed report.” She nodded to Cinnabar, and the two “guests” in her room vanished. 

Dakota concentrated for the next several minutes on using the inhalation kit, which was an entirely engrossing and awful process to endure. She filled several of the sterile pads with black slime and stringy blood until her lungs finally seemed to clear.

She worked herself so painfully in the process that she probably dozed for a bit. It was still dark when she woke, and Cinnabar nudged her in the shoulder. “Hey, Dakota,” he said. “Bed’s right over there. Your leg hurts enough not sleeping sitting up.”

“Right.” She made it a few steps, flung herself down, and thought no more.







Dakota woke to a room that had been cleaned of all the medical wreckage of the night before, and a bed that smelled of gasoline. Her insides felt like they were on fire with every breath, but at least she could still breathe. She spent almost an hour in the shower, breathing in the damp air and crying to herself on the floor. 

People had died yesterday—people that might’ve still been alive if she had kept her nose out of this case. She could still picture Jon standing over her, hand on her shoulder, wondering if they’d been betrayed. Maybe I’m in over my head. I could get a plane and be back in Chicago by midnight. But she didn’t get a plane—she just sat on the floor of the shower and waited for all the ash to run out of the water. And when it did, she cried some more.

“I got housekeeping to go through the bedroom,” Cinnabar said from beside her in the shower. Suddenly he was there, his fur realistically wet and his voice distorted by falling water. Dakota squeaked in surprise, covering her chest with one arm.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? I’m naked!”

“Me too,” he said, unimpressed. “Think for a second, Dakota. Who holds all of your medical history? Also, I’m a horse.”

“Right.” Dakota slumped back against the tile. “Sorry. W-wasn’t thinking.” Her embarrassment faded as quickly as it had come. She’d never been bothered by Cinnabar—he’d been consulting with her in the bath just yesterday. It was only when she had… company that she got shy. “Anything else I should know?”

He hesitated. “The international situation is… pretty grim. China is mobilizing an aircraft carrier. There are already sanctions, and promises of a huge investigation. There’s strong evidence of foul play, and everyone’s looking for someone to blame. Looks like they’re going to start giving foreigners more scrutiny.”

“Foreigners like… the ones who took a public autocar straight to the site of the shooting yesterday?”

Cinnabar winced. “Grim, like I said. And you’ve got a bit of a history back in the States, so…”

“So why didn’t you wake me up? Shouldn’t I be running?”

“No,” he said. “Guilty people run. I promise if you tried to use the airport, you’d get stopped at the gate. But the authorities don’t have any reason to worry about you leaving… not when they can watch every autocar in the country. That’s why I’m talking to you in the shower. I can mask their monitoring with the water, make it look natural. When you turn it off… don’t say anything to me you don’t want repeated at your trial.”

She winced. “I didn’t do anything wrong! If they do an investigation, they aren’t going to find any evidence I hurt any of those people. No motive, no…”

Cinnabar settled a hoof on her shoulder. She could feel the weight of it there, though strangely she still felt the water as well. “It doesn’t matter if they can prove it. They’ll be investigating. Right now they’re under pressure to make sure someone gets punished.”

“Right.” She closed her eyes, letting the sound of roaring water and steam wash around her for a few minutes. She searched for a flaw—some opening left to her. Renting a sailboat? An unregistered flight to New Zealand? Maybe, but unless she could somehow do one of those without getting caught in the act, she’d just confirm their suspicions. “I should’ve just turned myself in to the police last night. I wouldn’t look guilty that way.”

Cinnabar raised an eyebrow. “It would’ve helped. But none of the underlying facts would be different. You’d still be their best suspect. I don’t think we have time to spend a few months working our way through the court system here. Not when…”

“I get it.” She stood up, glaring down at him. “I get it, you were right. I shouldn’t be investigating Rhodes. Well, too late. I’m fucked now, and I’m not giving up. I never got the chance to tell you what I learned from Twilight.”

At first Cinnabar just glared smugly back at her—but even he couldn’t conceal his curiosity. “Well?”

She waited another moment longer. But the shower wasn’t feeling relaxing anymore. “She said Rhodes is at the Tranquility Lunar Complex.” Not strictly, precisely what she’d said, but close enough. Either she trusted Twilight as a source or she didn’t on that—there was no evidence for it, but she wasn’t drowning in other options. 

“So we’re done then,” Cinnabar said, not even sounding like he believed it. “Just give our sponsor a call and tell them that, and we can go home. Maybe waiting a week for our reservation here to expire will be long enough. The authorities can dig up whoever those soldiers were who did the killing, not blame us.”

“If we pass that information on without evidence, why would they believe it? Twilight said so, so what? Or worse, what if they send someone and she’s not there.” Dakota shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Then they’re down the cost of a lunar mission, and they’re furious with me. I bet they would kill me over that.”

“Probably. But we can’t go there ourselves. Dakota, do you have any idea how much a seat on a rocket costs? How many different certifications and approvals you would need?”

“More than forty million?”

“Well no,” he sighed. “But close. It’s all corporates up there. You could buy a seat for ten, but that would be one way. Are you really going to blow half of the advance for this case on a single piece of evidence without verifying it first?”

“No!” Dakota glared down at him, indignant. “We’re not going to go there physically. Honestly, Cinnabar, you’re the pony here. What’s with your physical bias.”

His stern expression got a little firmer. “You can’t remote into a Bodhisattva mainframe. Everything about how Equestria runs is proprietary. And believe me, you won’t get the credentials to visit.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, summoning her interface and opening the inventory. She drew out the digital ticket to the dive cruise. “But what if we were already inside one?”







Sophia’s threat to extract a detailed report from Dakota hadn’t been idle. But she had a few hours left before she had to confirm the reservation on the ticket, and the trip wasn’t even until tomorrow.

Of course, there was still a chance that the authorities would make some kind of move on her in the intervening time. Dakota tried to use her time productively, spinning a story to her mother of going to the arcade in question and being in a bathroom when people started screaming. “I hid there for a few minutes—I thought maybe we were being attacked or something,” she explained, with her mother across the table watching with horror on her face. “But then the screaming stopped, and I snuck out. There was a lot of smoke, but I made it out into the alley behind the building, got a few blocks away, and eventually made it home.”

“But what were you doing there in the first place?” her mother demanded, while Dance tried to murder Cinnabar with her eyeballs. As if she expected him to keep her from going anywhere dangerous. 

“Investigating a case,” she said, trying to use as many of the real details as possible. “I didn’t come all the way across the world just to use another arcade. But I didn’t get the chance to actually meet anyone.”

“Hope they’re still alive,” Sophia said, summoning a news report into the air between them. It was nothing new to her, but Dakota pretended to be shocked, did her best impressions of horror at the news that five people had been burned, including a Chinese ambassador. She couldn’t ask Cinnabar how good her acting was, but she hoped he’d be pleased.

“You need to get home right now,” her mother said, as soon as she was finished. “It’s too dangerous down there. If something happens between Australia and China, you need to be far away.  What if this turns into another South China Sea?”

Dakota made a mental note to look that one up. “I will,” she promised. “But not right away. If something bad happened there, the Aussies may want to interview me or something. I’ve already got return tickets, I’ll fly back at the end of the week.”

Her mother tried to pressure her—but Dakota wasn’t a child anymore. After a few minutes Sophia gave up and rose in a huff. “Fine, Dakota. But I’m giving all your information to the consulate. I’m going to tell them you’ve got an angry, terrified mother waiting for you back in the States.”

She shrugged. “Alright, Mom. Love you too.” The woman vanished, leaving her alone with Cinnabar. She turned, and he was grinning.

“Good story,” he said. “Don’t reply. They have no way of listening to me… you already know that. I don’t think I saw any security cameras downstairs, or even facing into the back of the arcade.”

She nodded. “Of course I’m still going diving tomorrow.” She summoned the ticket, though anyone listening wouldn’t have been able to see it for the same reasons they couldn’t see Cinnabar. “Confirm my reservation for me, please. I’m going to take it easy today. Hang out by the pool, maybe…”

“I get it,” Cinnabar said, taking the ticket. “They were criminals to begin with. They don’t want any kind of evidence of their activities. You should know, though…” He tapped the side of his head with a hoof. “You’ve got recordings in here of everything that happened last night. The tech is so new that I don’t think there’s any kind of legal precedent. Just… be careful with all your lies. I’ll try to keep the story straight for you, help coach you if we need it.”

“Perfect!” she responded. “I can’t wait to go diving for the first time. They say this is the healthiest reef left in the world. I could use something pretty to take my mind off last night.”

Cinnabar nodded, and vanished with the ticket.

Dakota finally had a few moments to herself to go over what she’d missed from the night before. The message waiting in her queue wasn’t from her mother—Cinnabar had already cleared those out. This one came from Beck. 

“Hey Dakota. You should know someone used that package I gave you, probably to track your location in Equestria. My code’s good—the program self-destructed before they could learn anything else. But someone knows where you were when it happened. Clean your room, eh?”

Where she was, so—the basement of the Thestral Arcade? Or did he mean the place she’d met with Twilight? Unlike with her mother, she and Beck had traded keypairs, meaning she could send encrypted messages back and forth that in theory even governments couldn’t break into. Since she read it with implants, there was no screen for anyone watching with room cameras to snoop on.

But someone could still try and force me to unlock it. She hesitated in her response, knowing that even her finger-motions through the air might be tracked. “Thanks for telling me,” was all she said. “I’ll talk to you in a week.”

“Alright, we’re on for tomorrow,” Cinnabar said when he returned a few minutes later. “They say there’s some intro to diving stuff you have to do in a pool this afternoon, so you’re ready for the trip. You still want to go?” Then he lowered his voice, though there was no physical need for him. 

Does he really think I forgot people could be listening? 

“We have Kayla’s Equestrian Identifier, don’t forget. That was the big clue that opened this case in the first place. We could try to use that.”

“How?” She wanted to say more—it wasn’t as though the system was a mystery to Dakota.

“The transaction blockchain is bucking gigantic, but with some of our death bits I could rent out a few servers to search. See if she’s made transactions with any known addresses. Every Earth retailer has a public address—and lots of Equestrian ones do too. Only individuals are private.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I still want to go diving. I know I’ve got a swimsuit here somewhere. If there’s anything you think we should buy, you can go ahead and buy it for me.”

All the confirmation he needed. What she wanted to say was Why didn’t you start that sooner, we could’ve done them at the same time! But she didn’t, and her own memory of how the EI system worked hadn’t survived intact enough to make the guess to begin with.

“I can’t wait to see what you look like swimming,” she said, sprawling out on the resort couch. “Oh, and maybe—see if Java wants to do lunch first. I’m sure she heard about the arcade thing too, she’s just too polite to pester me about it until I’m ready.”

Dakota wasn’t arrested that day. She spent her time not doing much of anything, aside from a single trip to a neighboring resort by autocar for her intro to diving instruction. Cinnabar showed her maps, depicting the ship’s route and its proximity to Bodhisattva’s operations in the Great Barrier Reef. Less than a kilometer away, as charted.

I can do that. 
> Chapter 12: Biome
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota couldn’t remember ever even riding a ship before, much less heading out into the ocean to go diving. But there it was on the docks, its sleek metallic shape glittering in the early morning sunlight. She hadn’t been arrested the night before, nor were there any other signs that she was about to spend the rest of her life in prison. None yet, anyway.

The boat itself looked new, and for once there wasn’t a single overlay to enhance its appearance. Even with everything on, all that Dakota could see were instructions. There were arrows pointing to the mess, arrows telling her where she could stow her fresh new mask, arrows telling her where to puke if she felt sick. That was it.

The ship didn’t have too many others—just a couple of Asian tourists and someone who dressed like a local. Well, them and their guides. The same two dive instructors that had taught them all how to use the equipment the day before. But the boats aren’t empty, that’s the main thing. Will we separate? She’d been given this ticket by someone she had thought was US government at the time. But now she was less certain of that. Maybe she was government, or maybe she worked for Equestria, or maybe neither. There wasn’t an abundance of information.

“You’ll be here, Dakota,” said Elliot, waving. “Wait, I’d leave that wetsuit off your top half for now. It’s an hour out, and you don’t want to overheat.

Dakota blushed a little at that—in a bikini top, her scars were still visible up and down her body. Jagged half-healed stitches up her arms, then her back and neck. The surgeons had done far less to conceal them anywhere but her face and head, where time for follow-up procedures could eventually get rid of it all.

She probably wouldn’t have been so self-conscious if the one in the seat beside her wasn’t so attractive.

He had the look of an experienced diver about him—not just because he had his own equipment instead of the rental gear, but because he carried a huge “spearfishing kit” along with him like he was Aquaman about to go to war for his kingdom.

He had the right physique for it too, maybe a little older than Dakota and at least twice her weight. He also wasn’t wearing a top, which didn’t help things. And I really don’t have time to waste with some muscle-bound, gun-toting idiot. I’ve got a missing girl to find.

Dakota sat down on her plastic seat, folding her arms and glancing back at the pier. It looked empty, but—something wasn’t quite right. What wasn’t she noticing?

“You’re smart not to go around with AR goggles on your face,” said the meathead beside her. His accent was more familiar than she’d expected. Not a local, but more… southern United States. Slow, respectful. “Wonder what’s such a big deal that they don’t wanna be seen. What do you reckon?”

She glanced to her other side, where Cinnabar was sitting. The question was obvious, but her pony only shrugged. “Don’t look at me. There’s nothing on the pier.”

Dakota turned back, and tried to say something clever, something that would make her feel a little less like the freak who didn’t belong on the boat. “Contacts.” She blushed, turning away and wincing. That wasn’t enough! Why wasn’t her brain cooperating?

“Oh. Well then. Wanna see a trick?”

He didn’t wait for her response, reaching one thick arm over her chest and picking up her mask from where it hung off the edge of her tank. Dakota held still, but didn’t actually protest or try to stop him. Wonder if you’re busy after I’m finished finding our missing girl. “Municipal overlay can sometimes hide things they don’t want you to see. Same way that the higher levels hide crowds and barking dogs and babies crying on planes. But it’s not so great at distortions. If something’s distorted even a little, say… by an imperfect reflection…” 

He held up the mask, so that the glass angled a faint reflection of the pier right near Dakota’s vision. The pier wasn’t empty in the reflection—there were two black vans parked near the back, their drivers’ windows too dark to see inside. Though they looked like they supported manual driving.

“Quit it now, Clay, you’re freakin’ the girl right out,” said a voice from the seat on his other side. She turned, and was unsurprised to see the man’s Synth. An earth pony who looked exactly like she pictured someone with that accent’s Synth to look. Tan, with an old-fashioned braid and a Stetson hat. She seemed to notice Dakota looking in her direction and nodded politely to her. “Afternoon. Hope my human ain’t botherin’ ya none.”

Clay pulled his arm back, tossing the mask back down into her lap. “It doesn’t have to be that different,” he said. “Pattern recognition. Don’t let it fool you.”

She nodded, carefully sliding the mask back into place on her tank. She wasn’t going to take any chances with the equipment that was supposed to get her safely into the Bodhisattva underwater server farm. I really, really hope they were inviting us somehow. This is gonna suck otherwise.

“I hope we’re all ready to shove off!” said Lizzie, one of the diving instructors. “Bit of an empty boat on this tour, which should be just great for each of you. Settle in, and don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything during the trip.”

Their conversation paused for a minute while Dakota watched the boat’s little crew push away from the docks. They got a brief safety demonstration, learned where the flotation devices were stored in case of an emergency, and then they were off.

“I’m Dakota, and this is Cinnabar,” she said, extending a hand. “You on vacation here too?”

Her hand vanished into Clay’s massive paws. “Guess you could say that. I enjoy myself a trip ‘round the world now an’ then. Gotta be where the action is, ya’ know?” He let go only after long enough that she started to feel warmth again.

“Quit bein’ modest,” Clay’s Synth said. “Where’d ya’ learn manners, Clay? Lady introduces her Synth, and you sit there impersonating an apple tree.”

“Quit it.” He glared, and it was then Dakota realized he was wearing contacts. Contact, specifically. One of his eyes glowed, and the other just reflected sunlight. Guess that explains how he could see the spooks. I’ll have to remember the thing about reflections. “She’s right, though. I’m Clay, you heard that. And the one keepin’ me on the straight and narrow is Applejack.”

He seemed to be expecting something from her—but all Dakota felt was a brief sense of familiarity and recognition. She should’ve recognized the name, she realized that now. She should’ve but she couldn’t place it. I really need to figure out a way to talk to Cinnabar privately. People are always listening that I don’t want to hear. She could type him messages that people watching would have trouble reading, but that wasn’t anything close to the same thing. 

“Good to meet you,” Cinnabar supplied. “You both experienced divers? I see you’ve got a pearl there, Miss Applejack. I hope you don’t mind sharing. Dakota hasn’t earned seeing me flounder around down there.”

“I shouldn’t if you’ll make awful puns,” she said. “But sure, might as well. Ain’t no difference to me.” She climbed back into her seat. “I ain’t plannin’ on swimmin’ myself anyway. Figure if Celestia wanted ponies to swim, she would’ve given us fins. Ya’ll knock yourselves out.”

If she’d been one of her friends, Dakota probably would’ve asked why she even bothered coming out. But this wasn’t a friend, it was a stranger. A stranger she couldn’t just question. What’s wrong with you, Dakota? 

They chatted politely for the next hour or so, as the boat made its way out. There were two distinct groups—her and Clay in one, and the tourists in the other. They both had a dive instructor to prep them during the trip over. Dakota listened carefully, even moreso to the additional details that Cinnabar occasionally offered. “I downloaded the service manuals for every bit of equipment you’ll be wearing today. There’s no problem waiting for us out there that I can’t fix.”

“But how are we going to—” She couldn’t finish that sentence, even though she chose a moment when the others around her were barely paying attention. She could still trust Cinnabar to know how to answer her and not share what they were thinking with everyone else. 

“Pretty simple.” He leaned in close, though of course there was no reason for him to whisper. He did anyway. “Brochure says this trip is three dives. The first one is nowhere near where we want to be. After that, we ride an hour, eat lunch on deck, and stop at the second site. That’s where we have to get you separated from the group somehow. I guess it’s up to you to impress everyone enough that they aren’t foalsitting you the second time down.”

She glared, folding her arms. Now sure how I’m supposed to do that with a bum leg. At least she’d healed enough that she could even be doing this. Hopefully. I could still just die in the water in a few minutes.

They reached the first site, and Dakota waited while both instructors assisted the tourist group to get in first. Lizzie would be going with them, while Elliot planned on leading the other two. So she stood just in front of her seat. 

“Wish I got to do tropical water more often,” Clay muttered. His eyes were fixed firmly on the group of tourists, though Dakota couldn’t have said what was so interesting about them. “But visibility in Florida is piss, and on the west coast you have to suit up so thick it’s not even worth it.”

“You don’t… really seem like this sport would be for you,” Dakota muttered. “Guess it isn’t for as many people as it used to be. Why boat all the way out here when somebody already made a simulation you can explore with no saltwater and no irrational fear of sharks.”

Clay reached over to her, resting one hand on her shoulder. “Dakota, let me share a secret with you.” He didn’t wait for confirmation, pulling her forward enough that she almost fell over and smacked into him. Maybe what he’d been intending. “There is no such thing as an irrational fear of sharks. Sharks are the spookiest animals on Earth.”

Dakota put one hand on his chest, shoving him slightly away—but she might as well have been trying to shove a brick wall for all the good it did. Clay’s eyes had gone suddenly unfocused, his whole body locking up. Like he was listening to something she couldn’t hear.

Cinnabar reacted just a second later, speaking urgently from beside her. “Something just happened underwater. I think it was gunshots, you should—”

But Clay was faster. Instead of letting go of her shoulder, he yanked them both down onto the rubber deck-mat, a second before gunshots ricocheted off the ceiling. Lizzie screamed and crouched low, covering her head.

“They’re on the launch ramp!” Applejack called, standing right beside the place where the tourist group had gone down. Dakota dared a peek in their direction, and saw the overweight tourist aiming a rifle up over the edge of the boat. Straight at her.

Dakota sure as hell wasn’t going to lay on the deck and wait for some idiot to save her. She kicked out with a leg, knocking her waiting tank and BC out of the plastic bracket to slide slowly down the deck. There was more gunfire a second later, and this time it was followed by an enormous BANG and a roar. Her tank and gear zipped around the deck, smashing straight through the sidewall and out into the ocean.

That was about the moment the captain emerged from the cockpit, wielding an oversized diving knife. “What the fuck are you doing on my—” He fell a second later, clutching at his chest.

And all that had taken so little time that Dakota could barely even blink. “Over the side!” Cinnabar called. “Someone’s climbing!” It was the woman Dakota had guessed was the tourist’s wife, taking aim with a plastic handgun.

Clay hadn’t just been laying there the whole time after he jumped. Dakota hadn’t watched him closely, but now she saw. He was armed too, though where he’d kept a handgun that size while shirtless she couldn’t even guess. Where the shots over their head had gone wild, his aim down towards the diving platform didn’t. The man there gasped and splashed down into the water.

And while he was doing that, Dakota went for the weights. She might not be armed, or be a crack shot, but she could throw. Straight into the woman’s face while she climbed. There was a meaty smack, and she slipped off the side of the boat.

Less than twenty seconds had passed. Clay slipped the gun back into his waistband, hurrying towards the captain. “Can you drive a boat?” he asked Dakota. “Either that or treat a gunshot wound, which is it?”

“Boat.” She didn’t even hesitate. “What about the guy you shot? Or the one I—”

“Got him in the head,” Clay answered. “And yours has friends. We don’t want to be here when they catch up.”

She didn’t stop to argue further, just stumbled past the still-terrified diving instructor and into the open cockpit.

Cinnabar followed along beside her as she reached the controls. He gestured, and text appeared over each button and lever, with the most important stuff highlighted. “It’s already running. Just throttle up slowly, and…”

They started moving. The window was already enhanced with a map of its own. But she ignored it, relying on the one Cinnabar created for her instead. Maybe they should’ve headed straight back to shore, but Dakota didn’t even consider it. 

“Looks like those two aren’t following,” Cinnabar muttered, watching out the back of the ship. Presumably there were cameras that way, because Dakota didn’t look away from the controls. “You should be able to put our destination into autonav and let the ship steer itself.”

“Right.” The system was complex, not at all the user-friendly punch-and-go of an autocar. But after a few minutes to work it through, they were moving at maximum safe speed towards the Bodhisattva server-farm.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cinnabar said, as Applejack entered the cockpit behind them. “What are you doing here?”

“Tryin’ to make ya’ not feel guilty that the captain ain’t gonna make it,” she answered, voice flat. “Clay’s doin’ his best, but the first aid kit aboard just ain’t up to the challenge. He’s already stopped breathin’.”

Dakota hesitated, one hand twitching back towards the controls. “Should we… be heading back to shore?”

Applejack shook her head, tilting her hat down over her face. “That’s forty-five minutes, Sugarcube. His brain is dead in five. Do the math on that.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hand back, swallowing. So much for not feeling guilty. “Another death toll because of me, then? What about the other diving instructor?”

“Buckin’ cowards cut his throat. Clay and I, uh… may’ve hid a few cameras on the back of the ship. So you could be feelin’ all guilty, or you could be proud that you saved the one. Kinda depends on where you’re watchin’ from.”

“I’m less interested in guilt,” Cinnabar interrupted. “And more interested in how the Tartarus you two were on this ship. Applejack. I thought it had to be a coincidence, but… that’s really her cutie mark. You aren’t even hiding it.”

“Well that wouldn’t be honest, would it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sorry, who is…” Her head was still spinning. Two more dead people because of her, not counting the assassins. Unless they’re here for the cowboy. He was expecting them! He had guns and hidden cameras! “Sorry, uh… Applejack. You’ll have to forgive me for not remembering the name. My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

She nodded. “No offence taken, Dakota. I know it ain’t yer fault.”

“She’s one of Twilight’s,” Cinnabar supplied. “One of the outward facing sysadmins from Equestria’s pre-convergence days. Nopony really knows what they do now, except they’re all important. I’m a little surprised she didn’t play with your memory like the other important ponies have.”

“Cuz’ that wouldn’t be right,” Applejack said. “Anyway, we ain’t got time for that kinda talk, on account of Dakota’s gear turnin’ itself into a missile. You’ll need to convince the instructor to give up hers. There are some free divers who could make the trip down without help, but you ain’t them.”

She rose, holding one hand against the wall to keep herself from falling over. Unlike the leisurely trip out, their boat was now flying across the waves, and every few seconds they smacked down dramatically enough that tanks rattled in their mounts and weights thumped. Probably this wasn’t good for the ship—anymore than getting shot full of holes or having its crew murdered.

“Who are they here to kill?” Dakota asked, nearly falling over as the ship crashed down again. “You? Or me?”

“You don’t want the answer,” the pony said.

“So me then,” she sighed. “Why? What the hell did I do to them?”

“Nothin’,” Applejack said. “I mean, you didn’t do anythin’. But they ain’t tryin’ to kill you because of something you did. They’re trying to kill you to stop you from something you will do.” The pony vanished, leaving her other questions unasked. But that was fine—if Applejack insisted on total honesty with everything she said, it would be easy enough to learn what she wanted. Maybe when there was less time pressure.

“Why don’t the Chinese want me to solve the Rhodes case?” she asked Cinnabar, staring out the open cockpit door to the wreckage they’d made of the deck. Thank god this was such a small group. What if all those seats were full? The ship looked like it could’ve seated twenty divers and still had room for all the extra tanks. It could’ve been so much worse.

“No idea,” Cinnabar answered. “It seemed like they wanted you to bloody Equestria’s nose with it the other night. But it might not be China. Don’t get distracted by your human tribalism, Dakota. Their ethnicity could be part of the ruse.”

“Right. The CCP probably wants me to win. But…” She watched Clay work in silence for a few more seconds. Blood covered his hands and arms—not his own. He closed the man’s eyes respectfully, then rose. “Who sent them? If Applejack works for Twilight, then… Bodhisattva? Why would they help the ones who would dig up their dirty laundry? Just let us get killed!”

“Because they don’t have anything to hide, stupid. Because Equestria’s never been your enemy.”

The ship smacked into another swell, and this time Dakota was far too off-balance to keep from tumbling. She dropped onto her good knee, wincing at the impact on her bum leg. She glared down at Cinnabar. “You were the one who told me that the case was cursed, Cinnabar. I fucking admit it, you were right! It’s cursed. Now we’re cursed too, and everyone around us. Who but Equestria would be willing to do this? Who else but Equestria would care?”

Cinnabar took several long seconds to answer. “I used to think you might be right—I wouldn’t have admitted it, but… I thought maybe there was something to the old murder angle. Bodhisattva was a really new company, maybe one of their founders took issue with something they were doing internally. Most of the ponies didn’t have humans back then, and there wasn’t much regulation. Maybe she was going to talk, and so they had to put her down. But… but that doesn’t fit the facts anymore, not after all this. I think maybe it was someone else from the beginning. They’re the one who doesn’t want the truth coming out. They’re the one who’s trying to kill us.”

She didn’t argue with him then. It still didn’t feel like it was quite the answer she was looking for, but there was no time to have a shouting match over it. Not when she still needed to persuade the last survivor on the boat to give up her equipment, and somehow make it into the ocean at the right location.

The persuasion turned out to be easier than she thought. The dive instructor was younger than she was, and barely even conscious for terror. She seemed to think they had hijacked the boat, that there had been only one faction of killers. Dakota calmly corrected her mistaken impressions, though she couldn’t be sure how much sunk in with the terrified woman.

At least she had a similar body-type, so her BC would fit about right.

“Nothing you could do for the…”

Clay shook his head. “A couple of trauma surgeons with a field kit could’ve saved him. But we didn’t have any out here.”

Dakota slumped into one of the chairs. The ship had only the one level, but there was an overhead shade that kept most of the deck in comfortable shadow. Hard to enjoy with a corpse less than ten feet away, which Clay had covered in a tarp and the life-jackets that had been hiding under it. “At least we’re done, right? Bastards can float away into the ocean.”

“Well…” Clay drew his knife in a swift motion—enough that Dakota felt a fresh surge of panic. But it didn’t last long. He wasn’t aiming it at her, just using the reflection off the polished steel.

A speedboat was approaching them from the shore, totally enclosed and painted black. It was still a little distant, but angled to intercept them regardless. “Same people as the…”

He nodded, sheathing the knife. “No doubt about it. Navy or Coast Guard would just radio us to stop and arrest everyone.”

You mean you. I didn’t kill anybody. Well, she probably hadn’t killed anyone. The weight had hit the woman right in the face…

“I don’t understand!” Dakota stomped one bare foot on the deck—it barely even made a sound over the roaring engine. “Other people have investigated the Rhodes case before! I’m not any closer to solving it than they were! Why am I suddenly so worth killing?”

Clay showed no sign of recognition at her words, so either he hadn’t heard of the case or he was very good at pretending. “I don’t know what you did,” he said, sounding sincere. “What I do know is that you were enough of a push to get forces moving, forces on both sides of a war that has been brewing for a long time. If it makes any difference, they don’t care about you personally. You’re just something to fight over in the middle.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That makes me feel much better, thanks.” She reached out, gripping firmly onto one of his massive arms. “I want to know whose side you are on, Clay. Those assholes were trying to kill both of us—but now we’re out, and I’m not going to just go along with it. Who are you working for?”

He hesitated, glancing sidelong at his Synth. “I’m here to keep you alive,” he eventually said. “That’s the honest truth. What happens after that, all this about sides and factions and whatnot—I can’t promise anything. But I won’t let you die if I can help it.”

Makes sense. The pony who gave me this ticket wanted me to take the cruise. She wouldn’t get her way if someone shot me on the way down. But that means she knew I’d be in danger. “Will you help me get to the Bodhisattva server?”

He nodded. 

“Alright.” She swallowed, glancing out over the ocean again. The ship coming for them was still hidden, unless she looked at its reflection. Then she could see it each time they were lifted for a swell. “Guess we’re on the same side. How do we stop them from killing us?”



> Chapter 13: Ecosystem
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You won’t like it,” Clay answered, prying her arm free. He moved over to his equipment, and began opening the massive metal case holding his speargun. Except—what was in there wasn’t a speargun. It was smaller, more compact than she’d imagined—but there was no missing a rocket launcher when she saw one. The weapon itself was little more than a plastic tube with a sight and a sensor package—the rocket emerging from within was almost as large.

“Holy shit I don’t like it.” She stumbled backwards, eyes widening in horror. “How the hell do you have that here?”

“Can’t answer that,” Applejack said from beside her. “Was hopin’ we wouldn’t need it.” 

“Hoping,” he repeated. “No way this one doesn’t cause an incident. Nothin’ for it. Hope you didn’t plan on coming back to Australia after today.”

The diving instructor had squeezed herself into the furthest seat, but she looked up then, squeaking in surprise and covering her face with both arms. Dakota couldn’t make out what she was saying anymore, but it obviously wasn’t words. If she had a Synth of her own, Dakota couldn’t see or hear it. I hope you live through today. I’m sorry my coming here ruined your life.

But there was nothing she could do to help, either. There was another way they might survive—if they let this woman and the ship be a decoy while the two of them bailed off to swim away. Better the ones trying to kill us die instead of some woman who just wanted to show us the reef. “How much longer until you can fire it?”

“Not much longer,” he answered. “Better out here than close to the site.” He kept glancing back at the woman, and Dakota could imagine why. He didn’t want them to be overheard.  It was more of the same for Dakota—she hadn’t been able to speak freely since the other night. “You probably don’t want to watch this. Maybe go to the cockpit and check on our ETA?”

“No.” She didn’t move. “I need to watch.” So I can make them pay. Maybe Bodhisattva had someone who could tell her why she needed to be dead. Or maybe Clay would tell her, once they could speak privately. She would have to survive long enough to find out.

Dakota couldn’t watch the speedboat coming directly, but she could see the rocket fire. There was a flash of orange, and a line cut across the sky so quickly she would’ve lost it if she wasn’t already looking towards its destination. The instant it hit, the visual filter disintegrated, and she could watch in vivid detail as the speedboat turned into a little mushroom cloud. The ship was moving so quickly over the waves that whatever wreckage survived the impact crumbled the instant it struck the next swell, a bright orange fireball that rose into the sky.

Dakota couldn’t look away. At least I didn’t have to see how many mercenaries were on there, waiting to kill me. Little mercies.

Clay pressed something on the side of the launcher, then tossed it over the side of the ship. A tiny explosion soon followed the big one.

“It ain’t pretty,” Applejack said from beside her, apparently speaking to Cinnabar. She hadn’t even noticed the pair of them conversing. “But their world never is. They didn’t give us a choice.”

Cinnabar shook his head. “You don’t have to justify it, Applejack. They wanted to kill my human, that’s enough. They deserved it.”

“I don’t see anyone else coming,” Clay said, tossing a few weights into his hard plastic speargun case, then lobbing it into the ocean too. “We better hope they aren’t, cuz’ that was my second-to-last ace.”

“Last ace,” Applejack corrected. “We’ve discussed this. We ain’t using the other one.”


“We hope we aren’t,” Clay corrected, unapologetic. “But she lives, no matter what. That’s non-negotiable.”

Applejack made an uncomfortable sound, vanishing a few seconds later. Probably they’re talking in private now. Even without implants I bet Clay can talk to her without letting me overhear.

But there were no other boats, not until their own finally came to a stop. Thank God whoever somehow got lies onto the emergency overlay couldn’t also hack our boat. 

“Alright, time to remember everything we practiced last night,” Clay called, zipping up his thin wetsuit and hurrying over to his gear. “Get in the water, Dakota. It’s a long way down, and we’ll need the gear to get out again.” 

“Right.” Dakota sat down in one of the hard plastic seats, her hands shaking as she pulled on the wetsuit, then twisted the air valve of the tank to be sure it was open. Lizzie had already made sure about all the details of her gear, but Dakota added a little more weight to the vest just in case, then pulled the whole thing on. 

Standing with it on her back was… a challenge. The tank was steel, and there was weight in the vest. Her leg wanted to give out from under her, and she didn’t walk so much as stumble, holding onto the side of the boat for support.

“That’s it,” Clay called, gesturing over the side. “Just make it to the water. Have your hand on your mask when you go in, then sweep your arm to get the regulator. Start breathing normally as soon as—”

“I know!” she called, glaring across the deck at him. “I was actually excited about doing this. Nobody was supposed to get murdered around me.”

“We’re almost there,” Cinnabar said from just in front of her, urging her towards the edge. “It’ll be safe once we get down to the server, you’ll see.”

“Not sure how we could be,” she argued, her voice low. “Whoever’s boat we just blew up knows where we’re going. Won’t they send… navy seals or whatever? They’ll know where to find us, and they’ll want us dead even more now.”

He winced. “Well yeah, but… I wanted you to feel better about making it this far.”

“I feel not-better,” she said. “You guys have it way easier. Digital, immortal, safe. You could teleport back across the world any second you wanted and not have to worry.”

“I could,” Cinnabar said, sounding suddenly… hurt? Why should he? “I live in your brain, Dakota. I’ve been in as much danger as you. We live or die together.”

She made it to the edge of the boat. At least her mask hadn’t been shot full of holes, and she could hold that onto her face.

“Lizzie,” Clay called, standing beside Dakota on the edge of the boat. “You need to get back to shore and get yourself into a police station as soon as you can. The ones who came to kill us will want to eliminate the witnesses. I see your ship has a surveillance recorder—make sure you bring that in with you. If you forget it, you’ll be dead by tonight. Get back to shore fast enough, and you might live.”

“You didn’t have to say it like that.” Applejack was suddenly beside them on the edge of the ship, voice reproving.

“What, you wanted me to lie?” Clay feigned shock. “That’s not like you.”

“No, just…” Applejack swallowed. “Right.”

“Don’t we need the ship?” Dakota whispered. “I don’t think one tank is enough for a thirty-kilometer swim.”

“Planned for that,” Applejack said. “You don’t worry yer head over it. Keepin’ this ship here is a surefire way of gettin’ that poor girl killed. Hopefully they’ll see her as a decoy long enough fer us to finish.”

“Stay close to me as soon as we go down,” Clay instructed. “The water around the facility has been secured. There is only one viable route in.” He leaned to the side, splashing into the water and vanishing. His Synth seemed to follow him down, transforming in a flash of light as she hit the water.

Dakota clutched the edge of the boat, shivering. Despite everything she’d seen—despite the people who had died on this boat less than an hour ago, she found herself suddenly terrified. The water was a black abyss, with only vague outlines swirling underneath. And the boat’s propeller was back here—even if it wasn’t running now, what if it turned on and chopped her to pieces? She’d already been cut up once by the truck!

“We can do it,” Cinnabar said, touching her leg reassuringly. “You said you were ready for a case, right? This is our case. Biggest of our lives.”

“Right.” She pulled the mask down over her face, then flopped sideways into the water.

Despite her wetsuit, she was first hit with a rush of cold, bubbles surging around her mask that had nearly torn right off her face. Holding it had been good advice—but now she was sinking rapidly, and there was nothing in her mouth. The water was bright blue all around her, with Clay holding himself horizontally in it. And below them… a long way down. It was like falling off a building, only in slow motion.

“Over your shoulder!” Cinnabar called, zipping around her in a flash of brown scales. A seapony, who seemed able to talk just fine for the depths. He was right.

Dakota had been through a lot today, but she wasn’t about to drown doing something that even the stupidest tourist could manage. She lifted her arm over her shoulder, and caught the tube of her regulator. Once in her mouth, bone dry air rushed into her throat with a loud hiss. 

“BC next!” Cinnabar called, swimming down around her in a bubbly corkscrew. “There, got it. Push on that a few times…”

She did, and soon enough she stopped sinking. A helpful overlay appeared in the water beside her, the dive computer’s estimate of her buoyancy. Automatic control disabled. New user please configure system.

Stupid computer. It realized she was someone new, but it couldn’t figure out that she was an incredible idiot and didn’t know what she was doing.

Something grabbed her by the arm, so suddenly that she screamed into her regulator. Bubbles blasted out around her face—but it was only Clay. She couldn’t see much of him through the wetsuit, just his eyes. He let go as soon as they met, then drew in the air in front of her. His fingers left a glowing contrail, spelling words. 

“Follow me. Don’t touch the bottom, it’s mined.”

She nodded, whimpering into her regulator at that implication. What if she’d touched the bottom?

High above them, the ship’s engines came to life. She watched the underside of the boat as it turned slightly towards the shore, then left a foamy trail behind as it sped away. Good luck, Lizzie. Wish there had been three sets of gear. 

Dakota wished she would’ve had time to appreciate what they were doing. The offshore processing node wasn’t exactly in the reef, but she could see parts of it in the distance. Visibility underwater was much worse than in the air, even with the water crystalline and shimmering. Bright colors glowed up slopes of distant sand, and many schools of fish passed over and around them in regular motion.

If I survive this, Cinnabar and I can come back here. Or maybe I could cheat and just visit a seapony shard. At least I could stay dry.

She couldn’t let herself get distracted—not by the wildlife, not by the increasing space of water above them. She swam ahead with gentle strokes from her fins, conscious every second of how far she would have to swim if she wanted to make it to the surface. After a few minutes, they reached the “not a chance I’d survive if my tank dies on me right now” territory. 

“You’re hyperventilating,” Cinnabar said, settling one hoof on her shoulder again. “It’s okay, Dakota. You have enough air for an hour at this depth. Breathe normally, like they taught you. Pretend you’re sitting in a pool.”

“I’m not sitting in a pool!” she shouted—and somehow, the sound came. Not verbally, she still had the regulator in her mouth. There was a strange, echoing quality to it. Probably there intentionally, so she would realize it. “Woah.” She relaxed immediately, slowing down a little in her swimming. “Can you hear me?”

Cinnabar grinned back. “Sure can. Was wondering when you’d figure that out.” 

“How about ‘Gee, Dakota, we’re always around spooks, so why don’t I teach you how to talk silently so we can privately conference about things?’”

“Because once you started you’d never shut up. Like right now.”

Dakota grunted into her mask. Whatever she was doing, it didn’t seem to work for anyone else. Clay hadn’t turned around, or even slowed a little in his swimming. 

“Hey, great job Dakota! We’re here!”

Clay slowed a second, letting Dakota pass him close enough for him to point straight ahead. At first she couldn’t see anything—then the lights came on.

The entire sea floor lit up, as though a city were growing up from the stone. It was really just one structure, though most of it looked like it was buried in the rock. A single central tower rose perhaps twenty feel above the soil.

Applejack swam up from her other side, pointing. “Then there’s the intakes,” she said, gesturing with one hoof. “No, they won’t suck you in. Real wide, and got a nice grate over each one so fish an’ the like don’t swim in by mistake. Outlets are on the other side, and those you ought to be nervous about. Current could sweep you right into the minefield.”

Clay pointed ahead, and runway lines appeared in the water in front of her. They seemed to lead under a large steel overhang. Right, must be an air-pocket in there. Pressure holds it in.

“Time to see what Equestria really looks like,” Cinnabar said from beside her. “Hope you’re ready.”







Dakota’s head broke the surface of the water a second behind Clay, and her senses were immediately assaulted with light. It was as though someone had cut open the floor of a massive factory in the middle of production, and set the whole thing underwater. Though there was solid wall behind her, the interior had barely ten feet of drainage mats and hooks for their equipment before the production space opened.

Dakota struggled for a second to get herself in, until Clay offered a hand and she scrambled up onto the drainage mat. Getting out of her gear was a little easier. “Feels like… I just swam for miles,” she coughed, finding the air misted a little as it left her mouth. At least she had the good sense to make sure her tank was well shut before she lifted it into the plastic mounting spot. The wet suit was a little harder— and she only had her bikini underneath. 

But whoever had built this place had evidently thought of that, because just past the drainage gate was a set of two racks, with little size indicators floating in the air above them. They were padded robes, negating the need for towels or walking around in swimsuits. 

“If we were staying we could take a few hours to get cleaned up, have a hearty supper…” Applejack began, watching them from the other end of the drainage mat. “But that ain’t gonna happen, not after that fireball we made on our way in. Every second counts, so get dry enough to walk around and come on.”

Dakota couldn’t take her eyes from the room behind her as she spoke. She’d seen plenty of server rooms before, but none of them had prepared her for this. Down here there were no racks and hardware, only massive pipes thicker around than she was. The sound of rushing water roared around her, and warmth radiated from the pipe just behind Applejack. Yet the space was layered over with ponies, that somehow overlapped what was otherwise a pumping station and life-support section. At least a hundred ponies, working at stations three levels high. There were controls in front of each, a roller mouse for their hooves and something similar to a keyboard as well. Their screens flashed so fast that Dakota couldn’t make out what they were doing.

“No time,” Cinnabar whispered from beside her. “We’re on the clock, remember?”

Dakota glared down at him, but then flung the white robe over her shoulder anyway. It smelled like a hotel laundromat, but it was fluffy and comfortable and brought a little warmth back into her chest. If only she could get the taste of seawater out of her mouth…

“I need to go to the Moon,” Dakota declared, as soon as she was covering up her awful scars and wasn’t dripping wet. “I think I can do that from here.”

Clay laughed. “You want to—what?”

She folded her arms. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Twilight Sparkle told me that I could find Rhodes in Bodhisattva’s Lunar headquarters. That’s my case, so that’s what I need to do. Make sure she’s actually there, and I can get out of your hair.” She hadn’t been paid to actually recover the girl, which was a good thing. She couldn’t afford all those tickets, even on an advance as large as hers.

Past the pipes and life support section there was a compact stairwell, and it was there that Applejack led them. At least it wasn’t packed with ponies—there were teleport pads on either side, similar to the ones in Dakota’s own apartment. I can’t believe I miss that place. It might be an ugly cement block on the outside, but it had felt safe. Cinnabar was right. I really should’ve taken more time to recover before I started this case. Rhodes wouldn’t be any more lost a month from now.

Applejack didn’t slow down, didn’t even glance behind her. “I ain’t the pony to talk to about none a’ that. Clay and I are doer ponies, right? We brought you here, and that’s as far as we go. But we’ll be meeting with the ponies who can.”

“The other Elements of Harmony?” Cinnabar suggested. “I thought you’d be busy fighting off the, uh…” He lowered his voice, ears flattening. Apparently his information hadn’t come from legitimate channels. He glanced once around them, then said, “I thought they’d be busy in Beijing.”

Applejack laughed, voice bitter. “Have I got some great news for you. A certain private investigator really mucked that one right up. The one they had locally leading the operation died last night, and they pulled the plug on the whole thing. So the Elements have a bit more time than they did. Well, er… the ones who look out. That’s me, Rarity, Fluttershy, and Rainbow Dash. Twilight and Pinkie… don’t really get out much. I reckon you humans would have a mighty hard time makin’ sense of what they had to say if you did meet ‘em.”

True, getting anything like coherent information from Twilight had been a nightmare. Dakota clutched reflexively at her chest, but no renewed attack of that strange emotional magic returned to assault her. 

They emerged from the tight stairwell into a compact living area, obviously meant for the human staff of this facility. It was a single large space, with a few dividers into other sections. Cafeteria, recreation area, gym, housing. Probably they had hot showers somewhere, that Dakota wouldn’t be allowed to use. Because there was no justice left in the world.

To her surprise, there wasn’t a single human actually using the space. Over a dozen ponies moved about, either eating lunch in the cafeteria, or using the exercise equipment on the other side of a glass wall. Dakota almost laughed at the gym clothes most of them were wearing—while their colleagues worked naked, they exercised in goofy sweatpants and tops straight out of Rocky.

“Hey, Dakota!” someone called from the kitchen—another of those frighteningly-familiar voices, only there was nothing even a little bit calm or dignified about this one. Though the pony wasn’t dressed up like those in the gym, she sounded like someone Dakota might’ve met in a place like that. “Over here! You too, Clay! You aren’t gonna get another chance to refuel.”

The bright blue pegasus didn’t have a human with her, but she was hovering in the air next to the counter. A dispenser mounted there held rows of blank plastic tubes, with simple barcodes on each one. As Dakota got closer, the barcodes changed to pictures of food. A pizza on one, a leafy green salad on another, and many others besides.

“Right.” Clay’s hand hesitated over the dispenser for a moment, before selecting the tube with the image of a gigantic steak, tearing it open with his teeth, and squeezing it into his mouth. It looked like creamy grey slime, with particulate glittering inside. “It’s not as bad as it looks Dakota. More importantly, you won’t have to eat until this time tomorrow at the earliest. Also you won’t have to…” He cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly. “There’s a laxative patch on the back covered in plastic. Keep it with you, or… just keep it with you.”

“Ugh.” Dakota shuddered at the thought, but wasn’t about to argue. She picked the nearest tube, one that showed various steamed vegetables, and used the slicer on the top of the dispenser. Then she squeezed, and… she felt like she was chewing crispy, delicious vegetables. She couldn’t look down without the same vertigo that might’ve been caused by motion sickness, as what she saw and what she felt and tasted didn’t match up. Somehow she didn’t bite her tongue—probably part of the whole system.

“I’m not happy about how many systems can override my body,” she muttered, as soon as she’d finished the tube. There was a little plastic patch on the underside, and she carefully peeled it away before tossing the empty tube. “It feels like… all the implants I have are a mistake.”

“Except you wouldn’t be here without them,” said the blue pegasus, circling around them impatiently. “Was this really the fastest you could get them here, AJ? You know what’s going to happen to this place in an hour.”

“I know!” The pony stomped one hoof. “Whole thing fell apart. We were supposed to just glide right on in… but that wasn’t how it went. They got people onto the boat.”

“Of course they did!” The pony landed on the counter beside Dakota, looking her up and down. “This whole thing is really about you? I dunno AJ, she doesn’t seem like end the world material to me.”

“I don’t feel like it either,” Dakota answered, before the other pony could respond. “I don’t want to end anything. I’m just trying to find a missing girl. Kayla Rhodes. She’s been gone for decades, and now it’s time for the world to know what happened.”

“Ohhhhhhhh.” The pegasus nodded, as though that answered everything. “Good luck with that one.”

“We’re here to get Lunar access,” Cinnabar interrupted, hopping up onto the counter beside Dakota. “Just give us node access. We’ll be up to Luna and back again before you know it.”

“Oh. That’s what you want?” The pegasus took off again, circling around them. “Well, come on and let’s get everypony together. See what we can do for you.”

They passed through another doorway—more of an airlock, really, with a tank ending in a mask mounted to the wall in an “in case of emergency” box. They were apparently all over, though Dakota had a hard time imagining a pony bottle not bigger than her arm getting a person all the way to the surface. What about decompression? Half of her introductory lessons in diving were teaching her of the dangers of dissolved nitrogen, that restricted diving depths and durations and required slow, gradual ascents. Her diving computer was probably still counting down.

Through the airlock, they ended up in the entrance to a cleanroom—zippered suits with clear face masks hung on hooks all over one wall, not one hook empty. “We’d be here a half hour just getting you two cleaned,” said the pegasus, as they passed the suits. “Good thing we don’t care anymore. Come on.” The inner door opened with the blare of a siren and bright flashing lights that the pony ignored. She kept going until the door was shut behind them again.

On the other side of the doorway was a suspended catwalk, lifted high above… something. Thousands of drones buzzed through the air, each of which held a clear plastic container apparently filled with sand in their gripping pincers. There were larger drones too, rolling up and down mechanical lift poles that they could use with ease but that were too close together for a human to fireman-slide down. Not that my leg could handle the impact anyway.

And below them, Dakota got her first glimpse of a Consensus Node.

It was a single tank, with thick transparent walls as large as any commercial aquarium. It was a rectangle, something close to a hundred meters on each side. And rising up from below was a solid metallic superstructure, like the outline of a tree with a bulge in the middle and splintering roots and branches on the top and bottom.

It looks like the monolith, if it was made of metal fiber and covered in fungus. And around the superstructure, the tank was filled with… marbles? Not sand, exactly, but a glassy, transparent substrate that propagated little waves of light around from the roots. The tank was clearly filled with water, because massive outflows caused the beads near the top to froth and spin in the current, while those lower down were packed so tightly that the inlet tank barely jostled them.

“Everypony’s gathering down there,” said the pegasus, pointing to a lift at the end of the catwalk. There were no supports, not even a handrail. Dakota wobbled, then clutched onto Clay’s arm to keep from falling.

“Better not go swimming more than once today,” he muttered ruefully, letting her hold on. Together they boarded the lift, and rode it down towards the truth.
> Chapter 14: Biosphere
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota stepped off the bottom of the lift and into an area that obviously saw humans more often. Here there were real control surfaces, albeit most of them were reconfigurable touchpads with only sonic feedback. If anything, the space looked more like an advanced hospital than somewhere for computer maintenance. There were shelves of mylar-sealed medical implants, a pair of operating tables with articulating robotic mounts above, and a polished white floor kept free of dirt or debris. 

Strangest of all was what looked like a shallow diving pool at the end of the medical bay, with a towel-rack and little filter masks hanging on a hook overhead. The steps leading into it were all the evidence Dakota needed that the pool was used.

“Oh, hello there darling. Pleasure to see you made it.” A pony sat beside the pool, one she’d seen before. The one who gave me the ticket.

“Rarity, we don’t have time for the theatrics. She wants to go all the way to the moon. We’ve got… what, ten minutes?”

The white pony turned up her nose at Rainbow’s attitude. “Perhaps close to… eight? Yes, well. Seven by the time we get her into the system. Best make them count.”

“You mean this?” Dakota stopped at the edge of the tank, resting one bare foot on the polished stainless steel platform. “It looks just like the server behind us.” Thousands and thousands of tiny, glowing objects, each one smaller than her thumb. “What… are they, anyway?”

“I’m afraid you picked a real ignorant lot a’ ponies to ask. We ain’t too knowledgeable as to the real workings ta how it all fits together. It just sorta…”

“Now now, Applejack, no need to apologize. It’s not like miss Dakota here knows how her own brain works. We’re all songs in the same cosmic dance.”

“Don’t talk like Pinkie to me,” Applejack muttered. 

“My human is in danger,” Cinnabar said, loud enough that the ponies all turned to stare at him. “We worked very hard to be here. You haven’t told us what that time limit meant, or what would happen when it ran out. Whatever it is, I know it means we can’t sit here arguing. I’m guessing we don’t want to be here when it does. So explain what this is, so we can move.”

“I know a little.” Clay reached past her, removing a single one of the glowing beads in one hand. He held it in front of her, where she could see the incredibly intricate etchings and little metal lines inside it. “Equestria’s real hardware… think the word they use is ‘amorphous.’ It’s a cluster a’ some kind, swarm intelligence. Instead of a big central processor, there’s all these little… neurons, that work together to make thoughts. Like human brains, kinda. Only… well, bigger.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was asking anyway,” the white pony called Rarity cut in. She walked along the edge of the way down, the only one who could. “You want to go find Kayla Rhodes. Twilight told you she’s waiting on Luna. If you’re going to go, this is the place.” She nodded towards the pool. “Put on a mask and get in. Fortunate for you, you’re already equipped to use this hardware. You’re one of less than a dozen who could.”

“It’s… going to interface with my brain,” Dakota guessed. She hadn’t lived this long because she stopped to question. Already she was past Rarity, securing the mask over her face. Strangely, it wasn’t attached to anything. There were no air pumps, no tubes, just a mesh filter that would fit between her teeth. “What’s the mask for?”

“So you don’t swallow anything.” Rarity said. “Don’t worry, the micro nodes are non-toxic. But your lungs are rather particular about only accepting fluids.”

It wasn’t even a snorkel. But Dakota saved that question—obviously it had an answer she’d discover soon enough. There was something more urgent. “What happens in seven minutes?” 

“Oh.” Rarity shuffled uneasily. “There’s a submarine on its way here. If it reaches this facility while you’re still here, the soldiers aboard will either kill or capture both of you. But Clay and Applejack are resourceful ponies, they’ll be preparing your escape while you’re down there.”

“Ain’t a pony,” Clay muttered. “But yeah, we’ll get right on it. We already got a plan, don’t we Applejack?”

She tipped her hat. “Sure do. An’ good luck down there, Dakota. Word of advice—stay outta Dream Valley. Just cuz you’ve got the hardware don’t mean you’re one of us. Humans just… ain’t suited for it. Stay on the path.”

Dakota waded down into the water. Except—she could tell instantly that it wasn’t water. Bubbles condensed on her skin, frothing around her for a few seconds while the salt and other dirt was scrubbed away. While she expected it to be cold or at least the cool of the tropical ocean, it felt instead as though it had been set perfectly to her body temperature. She could barely feel the liquid at all, except for the bubbles against her skin. It was the little nodes she felt floating around. Down the steps, and into a pool quite a bit deeper than it looked. She couldn’t reach the bottom with one leg.

Cinnabar seemed to be climbing in beside her, though of course he didn’t have a mask and wouldn’t need one. “You can lay on your back if you want,” he said. “They let me look at the operations manual for this thing. You’re going to be fully immersed, and breathing the hyper oxygenated fluid. Says here that respiratory irritation and vomiting fade after the first few times.”

“Delightful.” Dakota closed her eyes, then stepped off into the liquid. She felt it rushing up around her, then…


Immersion interface activated. Welcome Dakota Tyler.

The tank vanished from around her, as did her own bikini-clad body and her skin full of scars. She blinked, and found she was a pony again. The pegasus, in the same mauve and paler feathers near the tips of her wings. She stretched, and nearly fell onto her face.

“Hello beautiful,” Cinnabar said from beside her. First she saw his face—then the whole world came into focus.

Dakota was standing on the clouds, as she’d seen ponies do thousands of times before. A brilliant, milky glow radiated from above her, and she looked up to see the moon. Well, the moon if it was still small enough to see in a single glance, with a radius perhaps as far across as a single football field. “Woah.”

It was a little like her visit to Equestria on her second day out of the hospital, except that she couldn’t feel her fingers. The mapping onto this virtual body was apparently more complete than that. Cinnabar was now taller than she was. Worse, she could smell him. Well maybe worse wasn’t quite the word. “Cinnabar, can you please help me be human?”

“I could,” he said. “But it would take some of our seven minutes. How many do you want to spend on that?”

She sighed, finding that she showed her frustration with her wings as well as her voice. “Fine. But record everything. I want to be a person if we use something like this again.” She reached up towards her throat with one hoof, expecting to be feeling the urge to vomit and cough, but there was nothing. Guess that Easter egg is waiting for me when I unplug from this thing.

“This is the Lunar Mainframe?” She strode forward along the clouds, towards a distant structure in the shadow of the Moon. It had the look of a government building, or maybe a religious temple. Massive granite pillars, polished flat and covered with intricate stonework. The ground gave slightly with each step, feeling damp to the touch, but at least it didn’t give way. Which was a good thing, since what she could see over the edge suggested she might actually be next to the moon. There was nothing around her but blackness.

“This is… an internal representation of one part of it,” Cinnabar answered. “The mainframe runs much of Equestria’s backbone. Basically, as much as the system can afford to keep away from Earth. Humans are… unpredictable, and right now there’s some debate over when you’ll go to war with each other. We want as few ponies as possible caught in that when it happens.”

“Right.” Dakota slowed as she approached the building. Definitely more religious than government. The huge pillars held up a marble roof with a roman-style dome bigger than anything that might be built on Earth, with only sky on its many sides. A harsh wind blew in between those pillars, thick with lunar dust. “So how do we find Rhodes if we’re inside the system? Twilight says she’s here, so… she’s out in the base. Hostage, or… maybe staff, if we’re going with your theory.”

“She would be,” Cinnabar agreed. “This is the authoritative directory. We have her Equestrian Identifier, and now we’re internal. It should tell us exactly what system she’s connected to.”

“Simple enough.” They stepped into the temple. There wasn’t a single pony inside, at least not that she could see. There in the very center of the room was a brilliant spotlight, shining down on a pedestal. And on the pedestal was an old-fashioned yellow phone book. She flicked a wing at it. “You’re a faster reader than I am. Find her.”

Cinnabar galloped over to it, and the pages started turning themselves before his eyes. Dakota used the few seconds to try and get a better sense of her own body, flexing her wings one after another, trying a short hover. It didn’t work. Her brain might have the implants to let Equestria give her sensations directly, but she did not know how to make sense of much of what she was seeing. Her ears twitched, and her tail moved on its own, and she couldn’t tell if she was really in her own body or if she was only a passenger. 

“Got it,” Cinnabar said. “She’s… that can’t be right.”

“Transfer us,” Dakota said, moving close to him. “Tell me on the way. Took us at least two minutes to get this far. Only five to go.”

The world turned to fog all around her, except for Cinnabar’s body beside her. She could still smell him, even mixed with the ozone and sparks probably meant to simulate a teleport. “It’s cold archival storage,” Cinnabar said. “That doesn’t make sense. I’ve triggered a recall, but…” He shook his head.

The fog dissolved from around them, and they were somewhere else. It seemed more like a mausoleum now, with a polished marble floor and coffin-sized cubbies along each one. Names and dates were set into the stone in metal letters. Dakota leaned in close to inspect the nearest one.

Starsong
June 2019 - December 2024
Eiliyah Kendall

She could see the same pattern repeated in each square. A pony, a human, and a date. “These are…”

“Dead ponies,” Cinnabar finished. “And their humans. Come on.” He spoke barely above a whisper, his head down and ears flat. 

It was a good thing this place had cast Dakota as a pony, because the path they had to travel would’ve been too small for her at human height. Cinnabar approached one memorial panel much like the others, touching it with a hoof. It slid back, revealing a tight corridor beyond. Even on all fours, she had to crawl.

“How much time does it take to disconnect from this interface?” Dakota asked, feeling her mane brush up against a stone ceiling of gray rock. I wonder if this is actually somewhere in their base. Or maybe they just chose to use the same materials by coincidence.

“Not long,” Cinnabar said. “I’ll start the process when we hit our cutoff. I’ll try to warn you if I can, but… might or might not be feasible.”

The passage opened above them, and Dakota crawled up behind Cinnabar through the trapdoor. She kept her eyes on the passage, not wanting to see just how accurate the simulation of ponies was when she was one of them. No thank you.

The room she emerged into was spherical, with the entrance at almost the exact bottom of the space. The walls were occupied with an intricate mechanical rack, its various joints and articulated segments clanking. And hanging from it were…

Thousands of little plastic boxes. Each one had a cutie mark on the side, and perhaps five or six little spheres inside. Exactly like the ones she was floating in at this precise moment. A console stood just beside the passage, and Cinnabar glanced at it. Kayla Rhode’s Equestrian Identifier appeared in the space above it, and all the racks started to slide and clank. Marks blurred past — a rocket ship, a pair of soundwaves, a rose… They started moving faster than she could see, though she could assume that their target was on its way down.

“These aren’t cutie marks. They’re… EIs.”

“Yes.” Cinnabar kept his head down, both hooves on the console even though he didn’t need to do anything.

“What are human EIs doing in long-term storage like this?”

“I don’t know,” he lied.

Dakota’s eyebrow went up. “Come on, Cinnabar. What do you know that I don’t?”

One of the plastic containers reached them. This seemed to have almost twice as many of the spheres as many others. It slid into place beside the console. Then it tilted, pouring its contents down into a receptacle. The whole thing started glowing bright blue. “I didn’t know about this before we got here, I swear. I don’t keep secrets from you, Dakota. You know that.”

“Yeah…” She nudged up beside him, slipping her head right next to his and lowering her voice. Her wing wrapped over his shoulder without meaning to. It felt almost like something she might’ve done while human. Almost. “Go on, Cinnabar. You didn’t know until we got here. What do you know now?”

Three spotlights came on at that exact moment, each one mounted securely to the ceiling over their heads. They slid and pivoted, aiming at the space in front of her. In their light an image formed—the picture of a human girl Dakota had seen standing on a Bodhisattva stage. She wasn’t to scale—she was about the same size as a pony here, obviously transparent and washed out. Her voice had a strange, echoing quality about it, and her eyes were unconfused. 

“Twilight? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me again. Did Synthesis fail?”

She looked up, eyes settling on Dakota. “You aren’t Twilight.”

“What is this?” Dakota took a step back from the projection, glaring at Cinnabar. “What is this thing?”

“Thing?” the girl answered before Cinnabar could. She spoke in exactly the same voice Dakota had heard on that stage. She’d aged quite gracefully… or maybe not much time had passed when this recording was taken. “You don’t know what this is.”

“Cinnabar?” Her voice cracked, and she could feel moisture in her eyes. It was almost the same kind of magical attack she’d felt around Twilight Sparkle—an inexplicable pain in her gut, fracturing her confidence into a confused mess. “What is this?”

“It’s really not that complicated when you think about it,” Kayla Rhodes said. “The system watches everything we do, every second of the day. It knows our habits, our preferences. It has our medical records, our DNA, our test scores. Blend all that together, and what do you have?”

“It’s a… snapshot,” Cinnabar said. “Equestria takes everything it ever records about a person, and… tries to recreate them.”

“Tries is the operative word,” Kayla said. She barely seemed to notice Cinnabar—all her attention was for Dakota. “We can fool a person. I think some of the polaroid’s here even fooled spouses, children. But we’re not good enough to fool a Synth. And if we can’t do that, there’s no point. Wasted effort.”

“You’re…” Dakota choked back a fearful noise, then collected herself. She swallowed, shaking the moisture from her eyes. “Are you alive?”

“We’re all figments of the Brahma Dream, Dakota,” Rhodes said. “Imaginations of his consciousness. When he wakes, we will all fade.”

“Are these people all dead?” she asked, gesturing out and around the room. “These marks…”

“No,” Cinnabar said. “Most of these humans have active records elsewhere. I can’t access most of it, though. We’ve been… restricted. This is the only one we can activate.”

“They’re all dead, currently,” Kayla said. “Inactive. It is deeper than the deepest sleep. Oblivion, where there are no dreams unfulfilled.”

“When we switched you on, you expected Twilight. You told her you didn’t want to be woken up again. Why… don’t you want to be alive?”

“Because I know I’m not Kayla Rhodes. Because I’m an accurate… prediction, I don’t want to be alive when I know I’m not real. Twilight deserves more than a shallow imitation. She deserves Synthesis.”

Second time you said that name. 

“We have sixty seconds,” Cinnabar said, voice nervous. “We still have to get you out of the facility. Submarine is here. Soldiers unloading.”

“That’s who I’m looking for,” Dakota said. “Where is the real Kayla Rhodes? The living human? If you have her memories… you know where she went after she disappeared.”

The woman grinned at her. “Her memories,” she repeated. “No, not exactly. I have all the memories the system thinks I should have. And I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way humans remember things. After talking to Twilight, I think my brain is closer to a pony’s than to a person’s. More reason not to exist. Nirvana waits when you flip that switch. I can escape the cycle of reincarnation.”

“Thirty more seconds,” Cinnabar said, voice urgent, “until I have to start pulling us out.”

Not much time. “Where is the real Kayla Rhodes?”

There was no way to dodge around that question.

“I wanted… she wanted… to know the secret of the Monolith. Where did it come from? Who sent it, why? I needed to find the answer.” She folded her arms across her chest, expression smug. “Synthesis. I presume this means I must have reached my goal, or else how would this knowledge have returned to Equestria? Curious.” 

“Ten seconds.”

Kayla reached out, and one of her transparent fingers passed through Dakota’s shoulder. “Shut me off before you go, please. Don’t leave me surrounded by the dead, alone.”

“Do it,” she said to Cinnabar. Then, “You went to the Monolith, didn’t you?”

Rhodes nodded. “Its presence exists in Dream Valley, an echo of what it was. And tell Twilight I lo—”

Glowing spheres lifted from the console, their light going out. They slid up into their plastic receptacle, then it whirred up to the ceiling to join the others. Mist and static surrounded Dakota, fog that blasted up her nose and down her throat and burned everything it touched. It was drowning her!







Dakota kicked and spluttered, emerging from the interface. The mask dropped from her mouth, and she leaned just over the edge, vomiting up a mouthful of slimy fluid onto the perforated metal steps. She felt a firm hand on her skin—distinctly human skin now, complete with her surgical scars and the worn bikini. 

“Get it out,” Clay said. “I hate that damn thing. It doesn’t get easier the more times you do it. We’ve got a few seconds for you to catch your breath.”

Her insides burned. She could feel her stomach rebelling too, the other side-effect Cinnabar had warned her of. But there was nothing for it but to push through. After a few more seconds, Dakota’s watery eyes cleared enough that she could see again. She was still up to her knees in the fluid, and every little sphere close to her was glowing. A little imprint of light floated in the water behind her, like a ghostly snow-angel in her general outline. 

“Alright, that about does it for time,” Applejack said. “Come on, sugarcube. You got some swimmin’ to do.”

Clay gripped her by the arm, then lifted her into a standing position. “It’s okay, Dakota. I’ve got you, walk with me.”

She could do that. Firm, human muscle, sturdy enough to hold her up despite her faltering footsteps.

Somewhere not too far away, the facility shook and rumbled. There was a distant roar of water, and everything loose around them began to shake. Trays emptied their priceless implants onto the table, and one of the robotic mountings tore free of the stone ceiling.

“The hell was that?” Cinnabar asked. “I thought you said we had time!” 

“Not much!” Applejack said. She was the only pony still here—the rest of Twilight’s friends were all gone now. “Guess they didn’t want to take the tech intact after all. They’re flooding us out.”

“It’s fine,” Clay added. “We’re behind an airlock. We’re prepared for this kind of attack. It won’t stop us from getting out.” Clay wasn’t taking her to the lift back up. Instead they were headed straight ahead, towards the base of the massive tank. There was a hatch there, with a metal walkway leading down.

“I don’t…” Her voice was thin and ragged. “Are attacks like this common? You’d think it would be… all over the news. If there was violence like this going on. People could’ve died down here.”

“Oh, they’re nice and polite about it all. We had three whole hours warning that they’d be comin’, enough time to get the regular staff out. They, uh… probably figured you all were down here, though. Seems like they’re willing to make an exception to get you dead, Dakota.” Applejack hurried ahead of them, though she didn’t actually touch anything. Just stood beside the trapdoor as its own motors opened it. The space beyond was barely tall enough for them to walk, and Clay would have to stoop.

“I went up to grab our gear while you were in,” he said. “It’s really… not all that far to where we’re going.”

“I’m not sure where that could be.” She was feeling a little better with every step. As much as the strange fluid had left her insides scraped raw, it didn’t seem like they had actually hurt her. If anything, they’d cleaned the smoke out of her lungs. She was breathing a little better now. A narrow passage of stone was visible beyond, and at the end…”

Dakota swore under her breath. The walkway ended in a round opening, and a hatch poked just above the water. The hatch of a submarine. “You had this thing parked here the whole time?”

“It ain’t a luxury yacht ‘er nothin’,” Applejack said, urging them forward. “Gonna be real tight with two humans at the same time. But the tolerances on air are good enough. Get in and we’re gone.”

“I have… questions.” Dakota reached the end of the platform, just as the facility above them shook again. Metal tore, water rushed in. How long did they have? Had the trapdoor closed behind them?

“Sure you do,” Applejack muttered. “Funny thing about questions, can’t ask ‘em if yer dead. Get in.”

Clay hopped down—it wasn’t a ladder leading down the boarding tube of a WW2 style submarine, big enough for sixty men. He only sunk to his waist. At least he was strong enough to lift her down easily into the sub.

It was about the size of a compact car inside, with two seats closely packed together and a projection screen on the interior surface. There were no controls, and the only window was on the airlock as it twisted closed behind them. But no sooner was it closed then the space inside seemed to stretch, accommodating a sheet of rounded glass ahead of her, two pony-sized seats, and a view of the outside. There were controls there too. Cinnabar sat beside Applejack, who had her hooves on the controls. “I ain’t no expert at this,” she muttered, and they jerked downward. Dakota couldn’t see any of the mechanical parts operating this thing—behind their seats was a sleeping area with a single oversized sleeping bag, a chemical toilet, and their own scuba gear piled haphazardly next to a box labeled “RATIONS.”

“You’ll do great, Applejack,” Clay said, confidently. “It ain’t you I’m worried about, it’s our friends. You think they’ll see the sub?”

“Not if we’re slow,” the pony answered. “We’ve got camouflage on this thing they never dreamed of. You humans were already makin’ these things so good they could bump into each other on accident. She’s small for a reason. Ain’t nothing that can see her, unless I bump her into one a’ their divers. Don’t tempt me, now. Right unkind a’ them flooding a place while we’re still in it.”

Dakota slumped back into the seat, her shoulder resting against Clay’s side. She didn’t even care anymore. “W-where… where are we going?” she asked. She was drained, overwhelmed. The task ahead of her seemed even more impossible than what she’d done so far. I was so close. I need time to take this all in.

“Abyss Station,” Applejack answered. “I ain’t supposed to say where she’s hidden, on account of her bein’ one of the few that nopony knows about. But… since yer so polite, I guess I’ll tell you she’s about halfway between New Zealand and Japan. Do yer’ own figurin’ from there.”

“Abyss Station,” Cinnabar repeated, grinning at her. “That place isn’t real. Secret servers in the deepest part of the ocean, with all of Equestria’s darkest secrets?”

“Hey now.” Applejack raised a hoof. “Only the pipes go down deep. The station ain’t even a mile down.” Her eyes widened, and she looked away. “Err… just pretend I didn’t say nothin’.”

Dakota nodded. She was tired enough that she could pretend whatever Applejack wanted her to. She stretched, closed her eyes, and dreamed of digital ghosts.
> Chapter 15: Planet
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota woke with a painful smack on the submarine’s fuselage. She moaned, glancing to the side. Apparently she’d been moved to the sleeping area after she dozed, and tucked into the sleeping bag. There wasn’t much headroom back here, just barely enough for her to get in and out. Dakota glanced up—there was Clay, asleep in the front seat. She reached behind her—he’d even plugged her implants into the sub to charge.

“Before you ask, I told him to do that,” Cinnabar said. “He was a perfect gentleman while you were out.”

“I wasn’t making accusations.” It was wrong to assume, certainly wrong to base her judgements on stereotypes. But someone with a pony like Applejack as their Synth wasn’t going to be acting unbecoming. That just… didn’t make sense. Synths and people had to match, everybody knew that.

“You didn’t forget how to transmit, that’s good.” Cinnabar landed beside her in the bed, with a thump that seemed to push the sleeping bag towards her. Of course she knew that couldn’t be the case, but even so. “Don’t forget it. Celestia only knows where we’ll be in a week. Probably… combing through a jungle in Cambodia, hunting communist guerillas.”

“No,” Dakota responded, before she could stop herself. “We’ll be at the Monolith.”

Cinnabar sat down right in front of her, his head just barely fitting in the confined space. He met her eyes with an unyielding glare. “No, Dakota. This is where the buck stops. We’ve done every insane thing we’ve been asked to do. We made contact with a conspiracy, we almost got ourselves shot by corporate thugs, we almost got ourselves shot by government thugs, we wedged ourselves in the middle of an ongoing cold war… no more. We did it. We found the girl. She’s in the Lunar Mainframe, in secret archival memory in an abandoned project of Equestria’s early years. They want her back, they can have the perfect simulation. Whoever wants her probably won’t even know the difference.”

Dakota didn’t argue with him. She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. She had to admit—they’d gone further for this case than any other. They were in a submarine on their way to a secret station, with one of Equestria’s root authority Synths driving the sub. She’d met all but one of the six ponies who now controlled Equestria. Maybe it was really time for her to call Omar and collect her check.

“Suppose we back out now. Maybe the client even lets us. Aren’t you… curious? Equestria is trying something. You said so yourself—it could create human simulations as accurate and alive as ponies. Simulations that could fool… children and spouses. That Kayla ghost… she was accurate enough that knowing she was a simulation made her want to stop existing.”

“I don’t see your point.” Cinnabar rose, and suddenly the space around them changed. The submarine vanished, and they went back to pale white. There were no walls, nothing but the floor beneath her. Exactly as the world had been before they finished connecting her implants, when her body was still switched off. “Your reality can be simulated too, Dakota. Your brain is only holding together thanks to ten million dollars in prototype implants. You being able to talk to me already implies that Equestrian science understands human brain chemistry. How could Omnistem fix something they didn’t understand? This isn’t news, it’s just correlation most humans haven’t connected yet. And… most Equestrians would rather they didn’t.”

Dakota reached up with one arm—at least this time she had a body. Only there was no ceiling above her here. She pushed into a standing position, stretching her arms. But no matter how much she stretched, she still felt sore. It was as though her imagination kept an image of the tiny sub cockpit, visible at all times. A reminder of how trapped she really was.

“Kayla Rhodes said Twilight Sparkle was working on something called Synthesis. Do you know what that is?”

“No.” A split second hesitation, a pained glance to one side. Enough. 

“You know something about it, though. Something you don’t want me to know. Because… because…”

“Because we’re obviously in terrible danger,” Cinnabar exclaimed, stepping right up to her. He wasn’t restraining himself anymore, just screamed right into her face. Just like the lunar uplink, in here Cinnabar was roughly the same height she was. Only this time, Dakota was human. “The first second we started poking around here, we’ve been surrounded by factions we don’t understand. At least one of them seems determined to kill you personally. If you die, Dakota, I die too. And if by some miracle I don’t, I’ll wish I was.” 

There was no mistaking it—Cinnabar was sobbing now. His anger melted, and he collapsed in front of her, covering his face with his hooves. “You didn’t even ask about the mausoleum. D-do you know what it was? It’s every Synth that couldn’t bear to live without their human. The ones that just wanted to be shut off. You want to solve mysteries, Dakota? Solve that one. All those dead Synths buried next to some way that Equestria was trying to bring back dead people. I wonder why!” He stomped away from her, tail swishing about angerly. “That’s where I’ll be, at this rate. We’ve already gotten ourselves screwed, we just don’t know it yet.”

Dakota followed him, settling one hand on his shoulder. She couldn’t help it. She might’ve expected more strength from most men, but Cinnabar wasn’t human. She didn’t want him to be. “Hey, Cinnabar. It’s okay. I’m not going to get myself killed. You’re not going into the mausoleum.”


“How do you know?” He spun around, glaring up at her. “HOW CAN YOU KNOW THAT IF YOU KEEP GOING DEEPER? You’re mortal, Dakota. Omnistem saved you once. They probably won’t be able to put the pieces together again.”

“I’ll try to back out,” she finally said. “As soon as we get to an uplink. I’ll call Omar, report what we learned. See if it’s enough for our sponsor. Maybe these… secret recordings were what they were really after. We saw them. We’ve got proof in my memories. I wonder if we could’ve brought her with us…”

Cinnabar relaxed. He sniffed, straightened, then looked up. “I saw some of the inside of that system. You need… special hardware to make it run. I didn’t download blueprints or anything. Equestria wouldn’t have let me if I wanted to. That project is dead—it wasn’t good enough. Those crypts are all still full of dead Synths without their humans.”

“You say it that way…” Dakota slumped down into a sitting position. She wondered how hard it would be to make this place look more like her house, or at least somewhere she would want to spend any time. “You mean Applejack would’ve stopped you? Or… I guess Rarity, I think she was the one running that interface.”

“No.” Cinnabar shook his head. “Equestria. It isn’t the same. Equestria is as smart as all of us. Like… the collective will of every human. It’s smarter than all of you, working together towards often-conflicting goals you don’t really understand. Gradually it reaches a consensus. Changes from one kind of government to another, resolves one truth for another. If I tried to bring back things it was killing, it would stop me. I don’t know if it will let you tell anyone about her or not. You’re… a lot like me, Dakota. We both depend on Equestrian hardware to survive. Oministem’s implants can be manipulated.”

“If it stops me, it stops me,” Dakota finally said. She wasn’t sure she agreed with the pony about Equestria being some kind of… collective intelligence. There had to be more to it than that. Some secret administrator. Maybe the Monolith housed them. Maybe she was now the first person who had ever seen inside it, if only digitally. “I’ll give it a good faith effort to be done with this case, okay? Can we call that fair?”

“Sure,” Cinnabar eventually said. “I don’t… like our odds. With the way things have been going, I don’t know if you’ll get a real chance to give it up. But we should try. And if we fail, then… I wouldn’t mind knowing more of the truth. Kayla… we’re not any closer than we were.”

“Well, maybe a little,” Dakota argued. “We have two facts we didn’t before. One… something called ‘Synthesis.’ It’s old enough that the recording of Kayla from who knows how long ago knew about it. I think it’s… connected, somehow. Maybe even whatever replaced the… simulated people path. And you knew something about it.”

Cinnabar took a few seconds to answer, though he eventually did. “It’s some kinda spell they’ve been trying to perfect in Dream Valley. It’s expensive and difficult and they’ve had a lot of setbacks. Everyone says it will make life in Equestria better once it happens, but… nopony actually knows what it is.”

Cinnabar tilted his head to one side, eyes widening. “Oh, uh… up we go.” 

Dakota opened her mouth to object, and suddenly she was on her back in the submarine again. There was Clay, now spun around on the chair in front of her and offering her a bottle of water. 

“I, uh… couldn’t help but hear you wake up. You should drink this. Nutrient solution covers your protein and calories, but you still have to drink. 

He’s right, I am thirsty. “Yeah.” Dakota rubbed her forehead with one hand. But she hadn’t hit it very hard—it was the surprise that had really been the worst of it. She took the bottle, then Clay’s offered hand to help her into the seat. “How long was I out?”

Clay shrugged. “I slept myself not long after you. If the Chinese were going to catch this sub, it was Applejack who would make a difference, not me. And she don’t need to sleep.”

The front of the submarine fogged over for a second, and as before it expanded. This time the entire ceiling seemed to turn to glass, though it didn’t show much. Featureless blue above and below them as far as the eye could see. She could see an occasional glimmer of motion, but that was it. No schools of fish, no whales, no kelp forests. Just a blue wasteland.

“That ain’t quite right,” Applejack corrected. “Ponies sleep. It’s a relaxin’ part of any pony’s day. We just don’t do it quite like you humans. Instead of getting a soup ‘a chemicals built up in a brain, it’s more needing time to decompress and go over what we learned. Ain’t no problem with putting it off until there’s time, and sleepin’ a whole month’s worth at once. Or restin’ for just a few seconds when you take a breath, or read the label on a cereal box, or…”

“Aren’t you glad I’m not this honest?” Cinnabar asked, raising his voice just a little. “Think about what it would be like to always learn everything you wanted to know in way more detail than you ever dreamed of.”

Applejack glared at him from her controls—but Cinnabar had given Dakota an idea. Down here in the sub there would be no network connection, or nothing fast enough for meaningful interaction. If ever they were going to be free from Equestria’s influence, it was on their stealth submarine. Her best chance. 

“I was hoping to ask you something, Applejack,” she said, once she’d drained the plastic bottle. “About what I saw in there.”

Applejack turned away, lowering her head to the old-fashioned steering wheel. The controls looked like something on an old sailing ship, with far fewer buttons and dials than were probably needed to drive a submarine. But it was really just an illusion for their benefit, like so many other things in the world. It didn’t matter if it was accurate or not.

“We don’t know what you saw,” she said, voice awkward. “Even Rarity didn’t know what you’d do. Only that Twilight wanted to give you access. We do what she asks, even when we don’t really understand it. Twilight is… real close to the metal, even closer than the Assembledge in Dream Valley. She’s almost understandable half the time, which is sure a hecka’ lot more than many of them. I’ll tell ya if I can. But there are some questions I just don’t know. I ain’t well known fer keepin’ secrets. Why do ya think my own friends have me doin’ field work? Clay and I make a good team, but also I can’t spill on things I ain’t there to learn.”

Dakota took a moment to digest that. Twilight organized this whole thing. Rarity meeting me in the airport, Fluttershy in the car. Maybe she had something to do with those soldiers not shooting me. They were one of the biggest question marks. So far as she knew, Equestria was the one who wanted the Cave dead the most. But was she really willing to lay several coldblooded murders at their feet?

I used to think they murdered Rhodes. But they did the opposite. They reanimated her corpse in a secret tomb. Well, a clone anyway. Did Applejack know about that?

There was one question more important by far. “What is Synthesis?” she asked. “What is it really?”

Applejack whistled. “Well ain’t that the question a’ the century. You got half the ponies a’ Dream Valley searchin’ for the truth about that. If you found the truth wherever Twilight sent ‘ya, then you probably know enough to make a fortune in bits. Ponies who want nothin’ to do with humans and think yer’ all a bunch a’…” She trailed off. “Well, it’d be darn impolite for me to say. Point is, they’d pay you the bits a’ yer life if you knew that. I don’t know it, Cinnabar here don’t know it. Maybe Pinkie knows it, but ain’t nopony who can make sense of what she says about it anymore.”

Cinnabar watched her, his own expression unreadable. “You don’t know? But you’re one of the Elements! I thought you could make the system do whatever you want! Give ponies new cutie marks, put ponies into hibernation, launch satellites. There’s something you can’t do?”

Applejack shrugged. “Maybe ah could, if I knew how to ask. One thing Equestria don’t have is a full directory listin’. She’s all distributed, decentralized. To get the answer, I’d need to know what system to ask. Some systems just don’t like ponies tinkerin’ with ‘em. Even a pony like me.”

“Rhodes was working on it,” Dakota said. “Twilight Sparkle too.”

Applejack shrugged. “Might be she was. Twi always got into the guts in a way none of the rest of us could. She was an Alicorn, system always… gave her special dispensation. Her and her human. Ain’t never asked and got a straight answer about it, though. You talked to her, didn’t you? Ask her about Dream Valley, and you’ll get an answer made of poems and plays and advertising jingles. We tried not to. It was… always easier just to be friends. Remember the way things used to be. Even if… deep down, we all know they ain’t never been real.”

“When we get to Abyss, will you let us go?” Cinnabar asked. “That’s… a simpler question. Easier to understand. Easy to do.”

Applejack shrugged. “If that’s what ya want. Might not be. We’ll have to see if Interpol got yer name er not. Might take some extra steps before ya leave. But there ain’t no better plastic surgeons in the world.”

“Why?” Dakota asked. “All these resources. Sending someone like you can’t be cheap. You could’ve let me get shot. And… did you let a whole server get destroyed just so I could go to the moon for five minutes?”

“Oh, no.” Applejack laughed. “You weren’t even connected to that. You were just the reason they blew it up instead a’ tryin’ to take the tech to reverse engineer.”

“Why are you helping me?” she asked again. “Or… Equestria, maybe. If the whole system is involved somehow, I don’t see why it should care either.”

“We’re helpin’ because Twilight told us to,” Applejack answered. The longer Dakota spent around her, the more confident in her responses she became. The pony just felt honest. Her responses came directly, without any kind of delay for consideration of what she should be told and what should be hidden. She’s still a pony, Dakota. That’s all part of the simulation. They don’t experience time the same way you do. Be rational for a second.

“And no, we don’t know why Twilight thinks keepin’ you alive is so important. You ain’t the first pony who stuck her nose in this war. Plenty’a good ponies probably got squashed. Plenty more if it ever goes hot.”

“I have a theory,” Clay said. “I know even less than they do. Applejack spends time with the other root authorities, they don’t talk to me. But I think they’re too sensitive to Twilight. They’re missing the obvious. I don’t think hearin’ what I think will help you much. But I think I’ve learned you well enough to guess you want to know anyway.”

Dakota nodded. “You’re right about that. The truth usually isn’t comfortable, but it’s necessary. It doesn’t change when you look away, it only gets worse.”

Applejack rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t put much stock in Clay’s speculatin’ if I were you, miss. He don’t see things like a pony. Bound to make some bad guesses.”

Clay ignored her. “Synths need their humans. It’s in them the way you and I need air. But their abilities are different. Twilight Sparkle is probably the smartest Synth… smartest anything in the world. So she’ll have ways of rationalizing her need, thinking around it, tricking herself. But under it all, she still needs air. I think she’s searching as desperately for Rhodes as any of the humans.”

“Dakota ain’t the first to try,” Applejack countered. “Twilight didn’t help any of them.”

“Maybe she didn’t think they had a chance,” Clay said. “Maybe the timing was off. Maybe Kayla couldn’t be found until now. And for some reason, Dakota and Cinnabar are the one to do it. Or…” He settled one hand on her shoulder. There was still nothing of romance in it. Only sympathy. “Dakota, you… spend as much time around them as I do, and ya learn things. Don’t think that just because they’re digital that they know better. Even Twilight isn’t infallible. She could be wrong.”

“We’re done looking for her,” Cinnabar said, quite a bit louder than ordinary conversational volume. Was he speaking for himself, or… did he think that was going to convince her? “Going to Luna was our last lead. We talked to…” He shivered. “The recording. She didn’t know where the real Kayla was. That’s as far as we can go.”

Cinnabar glared at her, as if daring her to argue the point. Unfortunately for him, Dakota was feeling daring. “She told us Rhodes went to Dream Valley. To the Monolith.”

Applejack whistled. “Well ain’t that somethin’. Ponies with sense don’t connect to that system. The, uh… the place where Canterlot ought to be. I’m with yer Synth, Dakota. Goin’ there is about the stupidest thing I ever heard of a human doing.”

“Why?” Dakota raised a hand to intercept the obvious answers. “Hold on, I don’t even really understand what Dream Valley is. Maybe you could start with that. It’s somewhere that’s confusing for humans, right? Somewhere… more digital.”

“Everywhere is digital,” Cinnabar snapped. He turned his back on her, and she knew he’d be glaring out the transparent walls and out into the ocean. But whether he’d actually execute that threat and not talk to her seemed… doubtful. “Synths were modeled on humans. Or… well, I guess nopony knows that for sure. But what we do know is that we perceive a world, like you do. We need to be somewhere. We need to have a body.”

“Except for the ponies who don’t,” Applejack continued. “Nopony really knows how many there are. Maybe one pony out of ten? That’s the last I heard. Ponies who go somewhere that… isn’t a place. Somewhere they don’t have a body, somewhere they’re nothing like humans. Dream Valley. It’s… mighty confusin’, even to me. Humans can’t make sense of it directly. Lots of ponies want nothin’ to do with it.”

“People have gone insane,” Cinnabar muttered. “There was a National Science Foundation project to parse nonphysical spaces as sensory input for human visitors maybe… fifteen years back. I think a few of those people are still in care facilities.”

“But not all of them,” Dakota said stubbornly. “Rhodes went there. Twilight let her. She must’ve known she wasn’t going to go crazy. But… why? What was she trying to do?” Whatever Synthesis was, obviously. Something about the Monolith. Makes sense Equestria’s center would be on that thing. It’s their biggest fuck you to human technology. Biggest proof they can do whatever they want and our only option is to accept them into our lives or get left behind.

“That wasn’t even what we were paid to find out!” Cinnabar exclaimed, exasperated. “We’re just trying to find her, Dakota! Can’t you be content with that? You’re already riding the line of insanity with this investigation.”

“Okay, fine.” She raised a hand. “Could I go there? From inside Abyss, I mean. I assume it isn’t about to be exploded, or we would just go somewhere else.”

“Oh, sure,” Applejack answered, cutting off what was no doubt a harsh denial from Cinnabar. “You could go from anywhere you could visit Equestria, it ain’t restricted. It’s just… not sane. It ain’t just you takin’ a risk if you go there. Deeper into Equestria you take your Synth, the more he’ll change. Canterlot… ponies who go there don’t come back. But without him, you wouldn’t be able to make sense of what you were seeing. It’s suicide.”

Dakota slumped into the submarine chair, defeated. “I would never ask Cinnabar to do something like that. I guess… I guess this is really the end. When we get to Abyss… we just need an uplink. I’ve got to call our employer and tell them what we learned.”

Cinnabar finally relaxed. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? We don’t have to solve every mystery there is, Dakota. That’s never how your species did things. Just turn your gear a little further, carry your rock a little higher up the hill. The next generation can keep it going, and their foals can carry it a little higher for them. Just do your part and let go.”







The submarine didn’t have windows, but the screen that simulated a glass body did a fair job illustrating the world outside. This was particularly true of Abyss Station itself, which probably would’ve been a black blob in the otherwise dark ocean at night. But to the eyes of her submarine camera, Dakota could see something vaguely like a skyscraper… except that it was upside down, much wider at the top and tapering towards a point as it got thinner. There was no seafloor, nothing to anchor it at all in fact. Only massive buoyancy tanks along the sides, and various engines pumping water in one direction or another.

“Abyss Station,” Clay said from beside her, as the structure got larger. “She’d be the tallest building in the world if she were on the surface. I forget how big she is sometimes.”

It wasn’t just their submarine coming in, either. With a tap of her finger on the glass, Dakota highlighted hundreds of little subs, each one not much bigger than the one they were riding in. A few looked more like busses, or maybe transport trucks, with watertight shipping crates and dumb drones to tug them along at low speed. Where real light shone, she could see sections of the station were starting to grow a skin of coral, and an escort of tropical fish to live there. There was little motion from them now, though. Fish slept too.

“What’s the point?” Dakota asked, before she could stop herself. “I, uh… that sounds stupid. I know Equestria doesn’t do things for no reason. But this… isn’t it more expensive than just putting your server on the surface? Must be hell getting your secret base serviced. And keeping it secret… that can’t be easy.”

“Easier than you think,” Cinnabar said. “Equestria runs the whole infrastructure, remember? Everything outside of the military intranets and the Middle Kingdom. The people who work here get picked because of their loyalty. Or their inability to spread the word.”

“Like me,” she whispered. “Ponies could kill me if they wanted. My implants.”

“That ain’t how Equestria does things,” Applejack whispered. “Don’t you go gettin’ all Dystopian on us. At best Equestria would catch messages that get passed about it online. An’… okay, I think there are ponies who like to spread rumors about places like this. Make everypony think anything they say about Equestria must be a myth, and they won’t look too critical at the rumors.”

The building just got larger as they neared a docking station outlined in false color. Must be over a kilometer tall. How many people could live in a floating structure in the middle of the sea? They were deep, but… not actually that deep. There was still light, or there would’ve been during the day. Even if Dakota couldn’t see the surface as more than a blur when she looked up.

“I haven’t been hired to tell the world about Equestria’s secret infrastructure,” Dakota said. “I don’t have some compulsion to tell everyone about every secret I learn. But I’m still curious about why. This seems like an awful lot of effort. Way more than building a service station just off the coast.”

“Temperature,” Applejack answered. “And privacy too, but temperature’s a big part of it. I couldn’t tell ya what they’re doing down in the depths. What I do know is that the ocean here is just about eight Celsius every second of every day. Don’t matter how many servers we build, or how hot we run ‘em. We’ve got unlimited coolant.”

“The privacy side you can see for yourself,” Clay added. “Abyss is where lots of the humans most connected to Equestria live with their families. It’s the next generation of integrated housing. It’s where they test the innovations that they’re not sure the public would be comfortable with. I’ve got an apartment here. I bet by the time we dock, you will too.”

“I could use a real shower,” Dakota answered. “And maybe…” She hesitated. If they gave up the mission to find Rhodes, could she hide here? Even a powerful client might not be able to get her killed in a place that didn’t exist. She had to imagine its network uplink had the best security there was. “Maybe somewhere to recuperate.” Not to mention an official Equestrian uplink would be the best way to connect with Dream Valley.

Their sub glided into one of many identical docking ports, though only its top would be swallowed. The rest of the craft would stick out into the water. There was a hiss of air from overhead, then the hatch opened up.

“One word of warning.” Clay settled a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to sneak away, Dakota. No, don’t give me that look. I can see what you’re thinking. You’ve been breathing compressed air for almost two days. Have your synth search decompression sickness before you try running away, alright?”

She pushed his hand away—though she probably wouldn’t have been able to if he hadn’t cooperated with her. She still felt self-conscious. Her bikini was far from clean after nearly two days straight wearing it. From the harsh salty air waiting on the other side of the airlock, she could only imagine what she smelled like.

But there was no human waiting for her in the little hallway. She was looking at a robot, humanoid instead of equinoid. All its hardware was concentrated in the torso, with skeletal, wire like limbs and a head that was just a screen. With… Rainbow Dash’s head on it. “Welcome to the Abyss!”
> Chapter 16: System
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota blinked, and nearly fell over on her shaky legs. She’d seen plenty of drones in her time, plenty of robots. Even her early memories included delivery drones, and little flying things that people would use to record their vacations and sporting events. But this… it was hard to compare this to a little flying box that dropped off a pizza. Something that could stand and walk on two legs, without the awkwardness of the old Boston Dynamics creations.

“That screen head thing is… incredibly creepy,” Dakota said, taking a step back. “I, uh… don’t know how I feel about humanoid Synths.”

“Psh, you can’t convince me you’re a Luddite, Dakota. I know what’s in your head. You’re just nervous about it because paranoid humans from a generation ago thought that maybe we’d take over the world or something. Well you can look outside, but it’s still your world. As much as it ever was.”

“I know that!” Dakota reached down, resting one hand securely on Cinnabar’s back. “You really run everything, basically. Every corporation uses your help, everybody relies on something you helped invent, fine. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. Though… I didn’t know many ponies wanted physical bodies. I always thought the ones who used delivery drones and whatever weren’t… the smart kind?”

“Smart kind, dumb kind.” The image on the screen rolled her eyes. “I just thought you could handle seeing how these things really work. I’m gonna switch over…” There was a flash of light and simulated magic, and suddenly it was Rainbow Dash standing beside her again, wings spread and a grin on her face. But nothing changed. There’s still a creepy skeleton robot next to me. A robot that can interact with the real world. 

“So why you?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the submarine. But Clay and Applejack hadn’t gone the same way. They didn’t seem to be leaving at all. Probably that meant they were going to be in another sublayer. Of course, they don’t need to protect me in their own base. But if I try to leave… 

“I need you to check on what he said about decompression sickness,” Dakota said silently to Cinnabar. He might be a pony like all these others, but that didn’t mean he was going to lie to her. She knew she could trust him, at the deep level she knew she could trust her own body. Cinnabar was part of her. As he kept saying, if anything happened to her, he’d lose his mind as surely as any other Synth. “Is it true?”

“Yeah,” he answered instantly, though his ears were flat. “And you should probably know that I can’t talk without—”

“Me hearing?” The blue pegasus fluttered past her, sticking her tongue out mischievously. “All the extra responsibility of being root wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t get a few perks. If I’m here, I can hear him. But this is about the opposite of what I wanted to do. Biometric sensors in your head say that you’re on the knife-edge of going completely insane. You need some personal time. No big deal—even I occasionally sneak off to the spa. I can see we’re two ponies alike. You live on the edge, you face danger fearlessly, I like that! Kindred spirits, without any of the fear of ‘breaking laws’ like Applejack. Or making anypony unhappy, like Fluttershy. In another world, I could’ve been your Synth. And we would’ve kicked all the asses.” 

Her voice went up in pitch just a little as she swore, ears flattening. Like a child knew they were breaking the rules, but did it anyway.

“Don’t even think about it,” Cinnabar called, taking a protective step between them. “She’s mine, you keep your hooves off.”

Rainbow Dash drifted into the air, giggling. “And you actually believed me. Okay, we’re moving on. I ported your apartment into the Cloudsdale section, on account of you being a pegasus and all. You can thank me later.”

They set off, passing through the small corridors. There were frequent airlocks, each section no more than ten meters across and with more of the “emergency air” masks ready for use along the walls. “We’re porting to Equestria in a few. I’m hiding you from the staff for right now, on account of you smelling like the time I didn’t tell Pinkie I hated pies. Important base information—almost everything is plastic, don’t make sparks, really don’t make sparks, and if you make sparks we’ll seal your section and vent you into the ocean. Any questions?”

“Don’t start a fire,” Dakota said. “I might smell like it, but I don’t want to go camping here. I was really just hoping for a shower and an uplink. Got some… business things to take care of. How much…” She hesitated. Here she was walking around in a secret ocean base behind one of Equestria’s root authorities wearing a skeleton robot. “How much are you charging me to stay here?”

Rainbow Dash burst into hysterical laughter, briefly resting her hooves up against her shoulders. The sensation was remarkably real—and she had no way of knowing if a creepy robot was doing it or her implants. “You’re kidding me. Charging you? I think our human is a bit unclear about literally anything. You think we charge rent? That’s stupid. Anyway, into Equestria we go.” They stepped through another airlock, and on the other side was… no more station. Fluffy clouds replaced plain plastic floor, and the claustrophobic tubes were replaced with a wide-open sky. Ponies flew around them on all sides, and homes on various levels drifted semi-independently of one another.

“I want to be near Port Jouster,” Cinnabar said, his voice daring and a little stubborn. “Uh… if it’s okay.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m not here to tell you how to live. You’re just on pegasus deck because you have to be somewhere and you’re a pegasus and it looks like Cloudsdale.”

At least it was just an ordinary overlay. Dakota hadn’t been magically transformed, the ponies weren’t at unnatural size, and she wasn’t being fed a stream of unnatural memories. Being in an overlay was normal, everyone did it! Just… not usually at the bottom of the ocean.

“Here, this one’s yours.” Rainbow turned to the side, stopping beside a cloud-house on the main road. “Your friend has cloud walking turned on, but he doesn’t have wings, so you can’t leave the… and it doesn’t matter.” She pushed the door open, revealing… Dakota’s apartment. It looked the way she remembered it, right down to the pseudo-Norse themes, the mountain view of the earth pony village rather than the floating city in the clouds filled with ponies. Ordinary furniture, her bedroom and bathroom right where she expected them.

“How do I…” She hesitated. How could she ask without revealing to Cinnabar that she might still be on the investigation? “What if I have to contact one of you again?”

Rainbow laughed. “Then you’re on our station and we already know. If you want to leave, then it’s Rarity you want. This is her ultra-super-secret underwater research station. No I’m not gonna tell you what she’s researching.” But then she flew up close, lowering her voice. “Between you and me, it’s hypermaterials. But I didn’t tell you.” Then she drifted back through the open door. “Well, get clean. Clay is down with the earth ponies if you want to visit him, or… well, I know what humans are like. I promise not to watch.”

She shut the door, leaving Dakota alone. Finally.







Dakota finally felt human again. It had taken an hour or so in the shower, a change into the simple jumpsuits provided by the facility, and a little tweaking of that jumpsuit into a shorts and long-sleeves that she could feel vaguely comfortable wearing. But all that done, she could finally flop onto the couch and breathe again.

One thing the Abyss station didn’t let her do was turn off the overlays. With implants serving her the world she was living in, she couldn’t guess at what strategy they were doing to make her think she was in a full-sized apartment with normal furniture and plenty of space.

“We made it,” Cinnabar said, after a long silence. He was clean now too, though no more dressed than usual. He had spent most of the time Dakota was fussing with her own appearance scribbling in a thin notebook, which despite his mouth and quill looked like something professionally arranged every time Dakota glanced sideways to see what was inside. 

“What is that, anyway? Looks like… a journal.”

“Not quite. It’s everything we’ve been doing, minus identifying information that would link it back to us. I used some of your memories, ran them through a filter to make them seem recorded, and included anything interesting. The best chance to get you back to solid ground is to satisfy our benefactor. Hopefully in one fell swoop. Here’s what we found, there’s a version of Rhodes still alive, now let us go back to being normal please.”

“Kinda.” Dakota didn’t have the energy to argue with him. She could flop on this couch, listen to the rain outside, and watch the comfortable orange glow from her simulated fires all night. For at least a few minutes, nothing was trying to kill her.

“They can simulate people,” Dakota muttered, rolling onto her belly and closing her eyes. “I wonder what people would think about that. The Rhodes copy… wanted to die.”

“Well, die is…” Cinnabar made an uncomfortable sound, before hopping up onto the armrest of the couch and nudging her with a hoof. “Die isn’t a great word for datalife like her. Or me, for that matter. It’s not really… it will lead you to some incorrect conclusions.”

“Like…” She rolled onto her side, glowering up at him. “I’m not sure what I got wrong. I think I understand Synths pretty well.”

He laughed. “Maybe you do, maybe not. But… take that girl. Kayla. She hasn’t been running since… the last time Twilight used that system, I guess. So was she dead that whole time? That’s a pretty weird stretch of that word for an organic. Honestly, you’ve stretched alive and dead pretty far for an organic yourself. You didn’t have much brain activity when they brought you in. Only modern Omnistem implants can keep you alive. And if they shut down, your brain stops working. Well… I think the theory is that having them in there will encourage regrowth over time, but let’s be honest. You aren’t going to ever take them out, even if the doctors say you could. They’ll be there forever.”

“Sure.” Dakota shook her head. “So what would you say about Rhodes?”

“She wanted to be inactive,” he answered. “Not dead. I guess you could call ‘deleted’ dead. But depending on what hardware she’s stored on, you can usually recover most of something that’s erased.”

Dakota sat up, putting out her hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. Don’t get into continuity of consciousness with me. I just want to tell our client that we found her and be done. It really only matters that they think she’s alive, right? Let them… stress over what it means. Let them use her to change the world, or not, or whatever. Not my problem.”

“Probably won’t be theirs either,” Cinnabar muttered, hopping down off the couch. “Lunar mainframe is about the hardest place to get into there is. And the hardware to run human simulations is different. Your minds are…” He made a vague gesture with his hoof. “Inefficient. The same hardware that was running Kayla would be enough real estate for a whole village of ponies running slow. Or half a dozen running real time. Equestria never got around to optimizing.”

“But… Bodhisattva kept the hardware,” Dakota said. “That suggests… no wait, I don’t care. You want me to get out of this case. So I’m going to stop thinking about it. Can we place calls from down here?”

“Yep.” Cinnabar grinned at her. There was something almost parental in his expression, proud. Maybe he hadn’t thought she would actually keep her promise. For now. “And I finished putting the book together. It’s not going to incriminate us if it gets copied into the wrong hands, I’m positive.”

“Before, uh…” She hesitated. “Is Interpol looking for us?”

“Well…” He hesitated, wincing. “Let’s just say they aren’t not looking for an American girl matching your description with suspected ties to a local Sydney terrorist organization. And she might be a person of interest in a number of political assassinations, and…”

“And we probably shouldn’t go back to Chicago?” Dakota finished. “The US would extradite me in a second.”

“Well, uh, technically, uh… yeah.” But then he lurched forward, settling his forelegs on her knees. “Wait! Don’t freak out, Dakota. We’ve got friends like Beck. He can get us a cracked EI. We’ve got enough money that it shouldn’t be a big deal. You didn’t kill anyone, so all we really have to do is wait for them to catch the ones who actually did it, and… and they won’t have any more reason to look for you. We didn’t actually break the law.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Like that matters. The ones who really did the murdering were… some corporate army, and…” And Clay. Though he’d been defending them against assassins. Dakota wouldn’t lose sleep over them. But the Cave… she would be hearing those gunshots in her nightmares for the rest of her life.

“Do they have my EI?” she finally asked. “You said my description.”

“Nope!” He beamed, hopping up beside her again. “I don’t have a clue how that could be, so don’t ask. It’s possible the police saying they don’t have you are really just trying to lure you into a false sense of security. But I haven’t picked up a single whois-lookup on us.”

They’ve got my physical identity, but not the virtual one. “That’s… possible.”

“In Chicago, I’d say it was all you. You moved all the time, you never kept many possessions, you paid through intermediaries. If we went somewhere on business, we’d sometimes fuzz your face. But… Australia should have it when we came in. They take it at ports of entry. So someone should know who we are. Not that… well, you’re not in Australia or the US right now, and Equestria doesn’t extradite. The system will only cooperate with law enforcement when you’re in their jurisdiction. Out here, you’re… well, I guess you’re in Equestrian territory.”

“So what you’re saying is we can only go home with a fake ID, and even if we do, there’s a chance that the police will show up to arrest me and send me back to get tried for something we didn’t do.”

“Maaaaaybe a little. Maybe you should try to impress Omar. Whoever can pay you twenty million for this job can probably make legal problems go away. What we got so far was only supposed to be the retainer. You could ask for legal help instead of a check.”

“Illegal help, technically,” Dakota countered. But she was already on her feet again, adjusting her virtual jumpsuit enhancement and straightening her hair. They didn’t have her favorite brands of product here, but this would have to do. She didn’t think they would be flying to the mainland for what she wanted. “They’d be paying people off. Making the legal system forget about me. Kinda like the ones who murdered the Cave probably did to make them target me instead of them. Just… call him.”

It didn’t take long. A few minutes, and the door opened of its own accord. On some level she knew that it hadn’t moved at all, that the virtual Cloudsdale was a reminder that she was still somewhere dangerous and far away from civilization. But she didn’t have to think about that when the door shut.

“Well look who’s my star fuckin’ investigators,” said the greasy, sloppy pony simulation of Omar, waltzing right past her kitchen table, nearly knocking over one of the chairs as he pulled it out to hop up on top of it. “Fuckin’ great security on this link, by the way. You talkin’ to me from some fuckin’ presidential jet?”

She just shrugged. “Maybe. Sure looks like my apartment to me.”

“Yeah, because your apartment doesn’t have half a dozen CPD in it right now searching for clues to your ‘terrorist ties.’” He laughed, covering up the sound of… eating? There were some mechanical sounds in the background, which briefly seemed to come from his mouth before going silent. “So, star investigator, the hell are you callin’ me for? You think I’m your babysitter, get you out of the shit you crawled into? Think again.”

“No.” Dakota took the slim book from Cinnabar in her hand. She could feel the weight of it, along with the thin metallic ribbon holding it closed. A little virtual lock clinked into existence below her fingers, sealed with the public key of this exchange’s recipient. Her mysterious, nameless benefactor. “I found your girl.” She tossed the book—her real aim was probably not precise enough to hit the table, but it wasn’t even a real book to start with. It landed right in front of the pony with a slight thump. “Mystery solved.”

“Is that so?” One of his eyebrows went up. “You solved the missing person case of our generation in… half the time we gave you? Where the hell was she hiding? Argentina? Quebec? Mars?”

She just shrugged. “You’re just the middleman, Omar. You get your finder’s fee, and I get my paycheck. If I… remember the contract right, it basically promised me the sun, moon and stars if I found her. I’ve got some ideas about that. You can have five percent of Interpol forgetting they ever heard my name, that’s what I want. Clean record. Chicago police off my ass, get to go home. Like it never happened.”

Omar muttered something obscene in Arabic, lifting the book in a magic field and testing the lock. When it didn’t open his horn flashed, and the book vanished into the same sort of virtual storage Cinnabar used. “Can’t fault you for that. It’s what I’d fuckin’ ask. We’ll see what the boss says about it, eh? Sent off your stupid lockbox, now we wait.” He leaned back in the chair, propping his hooves up without a care in the world to what she saw. Except she had anatomical details turned off. This was still her house. “Feels too good to be true, honest with you. Payday like this. Whatever you found… must be change the world stuff.”

She nodded. “It was.” His eyes seemed to focus on her, and he let the silence hang. But Dakota wasn’t going to be pressured. Omar hadn’t been helpful, and he’d manipulated her into signing a contract that didn’t say what she thought it did. There was no way he was going to walk away from this with any information from her. Let him wonder.

There was a flash of magic in the air in front of him, and a scroll appeared there, sealed in wax. It was the same kind of lock as the one Cinnabar had made, but for Omar’s own private key instead of hers. She waited patiently as he broke the seal. All the energy seemed to drain from him then, ears flattening. He twitched slightly, then rose to his hooves.

“Uh… well, you can read it. Don’t look like… wasn’t happy. Good luck, kid. You’ll need it.”

He twisted, seeming to be looking at something over his shoulder somewhere that Dakota couldn’t see. Then he vanished, leaving the scroll behind on the table.

Cinnabar hurried over, grabbing it in his mouth and carrying it to her. Dakota lifted it gingerly in her fingers, feeling the realistic parchment against her skin. Like the book, it seemed to have real weight, though she knew it couldn’t. It wasn’t any more real than the apartment around her.

The scroll was written in block letters in simple rows, without letterhead or attribution. Every bit about its layout used the default mail choices.

“You were not asked to locate a recording. What you provided fails to satisfy your contract.

You should use your remaining time more productively.

You will not be treated as kindly if you send failure a second time.”







Omar had gone hours ago. Cinnabar hadn’t pestered her—nothing much of anything had happened, in fact. Dakota watched a fake fire made of fake logs burn out in her fake fireplace, her brain spinning wildly as she tried to imagine an escape route. Half the world was looking for her now, and finding the recording of Rhodes wasn’t enough to satisfy. She would have to do better. Her client wanted the real thing. She wouldn’t be able to get the real thing without going into Dream Valley. And if she did, Cinnabar might die. 

Putting her own life at risk was so simple she didn’t hesitate to consider it. She wouldn’t have ended up with her body half stitches and half implants if she lived safe. But Cinnabar was… he felt almost like a child she was always babysitting. Helpful, clever, but innocent and naive at the same time. Putting him in danger felt wrong.

“Call Beck for me,” she said, after a long moment. “I need a cracked EI and fake identification for the US. The best he can get me. I’ll pay.”

“I’ll… have to ask him in person. Is that okay?”

Dakota waved one hand dismissively. ”Sure. Thanks, Cinnabar.”

The pony stopped beside the couch, rubbing his head against her leg. “It’s alright, Dakota. We’ve been in scrapes like this before. We’ll get out again.” 

I hope you’re right. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” He left, leaving her alone.

But Dakota didn’t stay that way. Curiously, she hadn’t gotten a message from her mom since apparently the whole world learned she was wanted. Probably she’s been questioned. She must be terrified. Sophia would never give her up, but she didn’t really know anything that Dakota wanted kept secret in the first place. I’ll find a way to apologize for all this when it’s over.

But there was someone else she could talk to. As Cinnabar had said, Equestria didn’t extradite. So long as she stayed away from any country that did, she’d be safe. Dakota rose to her feet, and strode out onto the balcony overlooking Port Jouster. She called up her chat interface at the same time, letting it hover in the air beside her. She brought up Java’s name, then started typing.

>Hey, can you talk?

>I’m in Jouster, where are you? Other than all over the news, I mean.

>I didn’t do anything. But I don’t want to tell you what really happened. Best for you not to get involved. Still want to talk?

What if the police are with her right now? Even if they weren’t, they might be watching her communication. Equestrian messages couldn’t be intercepted easily, but there was nothing stopping them from using the cameras in her home for their own purposes. If they had a warrant. 

>Sure, seems like you need it. My brother with you?

>No. He’s running an errand for me. I didn’t want him with me for this.

>Meet me at the shop.

The shop was also Cinnabar’s shop, where the family made elegant weapons and other metallic objects using their blacksmithing skills. So far as she knew Java had no interest in the craft itself, but she did help with the shop.

It took Dakota a few minutes to figure out how to make the door take her down to Jouster instead of out into Cloudsdale. Eventually she figured it out, and crossed the threshold as a pony. Cinnabar still hadn’t taught her how to visit Equestria as herself, and just now she didn’t plan on calling him up.

The shop was one of the first buildings along the trail, with two of its huge windows facing up at her house on the cliff. This is where he grew up, dreaming about bigger things. And now I’m going to put him in danger.

Java was behind the counter when she came in, reading a thick book covered in magical runes. She smiled, snapped it closed, and rose to her hooves. Java was taller than Dakota in here, and stockier too. Earth ponies could look intimidating when she was at their scale. “You look rough, Dakota. I guess some of what they’re saying on the broadcasts must be true.”

“Some of it,” she whispered, slumping into one of the benches in front of a huge rack of swords and shields. She didn’t even feel the nausea of the illusion of a pony body conflicting with her human body underneath. But she would’ve taken it, if it was the only alternative to actually feeling like one of them the way she had on the mainframe. “You could say that. I’m in way over my head. Looks like I’ve been blamed for some pretty nasty things.”

“You’re… not going to turn yourself in.” It wasn’t a question. Java sat down beside her on the bench, offering her a box of tissues. Dakota reached out, and curiously she could remove one of them. She wiped at her face, blew her nose, tossed it into a bin. Any speculation about how Abyss Station made this happen just made her feel more confused, so she dismissed it quickly. 

“Didn’t do it,” she answered. “And the ones who did have better lawyers. I think I’ll just have to… lay low until their people do their damn jobs and figure out the ones actually responsible. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” Java’s eyebrows went up. “There’s something worse?”

Dakota wanted to tell her everything—about the mausoleum of people and Synths she’d found on the Moon, and the secret mysteries of Equestria. But she didn’t want to put Java in danger. Not only that, but there was a very real chance the computer would kill her to keep its secrets. It would send a message telling me to stop first, wouldn’t it? Whoever… put that system in. She wasn’t going to gamble with either of their lives today.

“What do you know about Dream Valley?”

Java’s eyebrows went up. “That’s… I didn’t think you cared about the technical side of how Equestria worked.”

“I didn’t,” Dakota muttered darkly. “Now I don’t have a choice. I need to go to Dream Valley and come back, without hurting myself or Cinnabar in the process. Is that possible?”

Java stared silently at her for almost a minute. Then she rose, turning away and flicking her tail. “Come upstairs. I’ll make tea.”
> Chapter 17: Cluster
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

She did exactly that. Dakota took it, and found she could drink it too. With steam in her nostrils and warmth flooding into her chest, she found it was a little easier to concentrate on their conversation.

“There aren’t many ponies you could ask about that. Anyone who hasn’t had their hands in this thing since they first opened might not know. Everybody’s happy enough to just take what they’re given and call it good. But… there’s the other side too. Mostly ponies there. Most of them don’t like to know how their world works. Imagine if human brains were simple and everything about how they worked was documented. Most ponies want to live, they don’t want to think about the computers they take to run and the software libraries they were written in. To them, Dream Valley is a… useful abstraction.”

“There are some who live there,” Dakota said. “I don’t know how many, but I heard about them. They don’t want to come back.”

“Someone has to run the system,” Java said. “Equestria creates agents when it needs to regulate. Some of them have to be inspired to run the digital side, or… or nobody would.”

There were other mysteries there, some that had been bothering Dakota for a long time. But they weren’t the mysteries she was trying to solve. “So can I go there without hurting Cinnabar or can’t I?”

Java shrugged. “Depends on you. Doesn’t matter what ponies say about it, there are humans who can go there and come back. Not many, but some. There’s a drug, Poison Joke. Ever heard of it?”

Dakota shook her head. “I don’t know any of the new stuff. I’m… t-too boring I guess.”

“Nah, you’re too smart. Poison Joke really fucks you up. Not addictive on its own, but… people who repeatedly go into altered states have a hard time functioning when they leave. Rumor has it Poison Joke was invented as an intelligence enhancer for NATO hackers, when they still thought Equestria was trying to take over the world. With your implants, and a dose of Poison Joke, all you’d need is the right parser. They’re not actually that rare… tell everybody there’s a part of Equestria they can’t go, and what do you think they’ll do? Beck should be able to get you one. About Poison Joke, I don’t know. It’s more than I’d do.”

“I don’t get to leave this case until it’s done,” she said. “And it won’t be done unless I can go to Dream Valley. Better me than Cinnabar take the risk.”

“Here’s the better question.” Java rose, carrying away the empty tea tray. She spoke from the kitchen, once she didn’t have metal in her mouth. “How do you plan on stopping Cinnabar from coming with you. Maybe he’d rather put himself at risk than see you take Poison Joke.”

“That doesn’t bother you? Shouldn’t you be trying to stop me?”

Java chuckled. “I’ve never been able to stop you, Dakota. You weren’t even a day out of the hospital when you started on this case. You knew it was dangerous and you took it anyway. Now you’re wanted in half the world and you didn’t give up. Do you think you can find her?”

Dakota nodded forcefully. It was all she knew to do, either claim success or face despair. “I’m closer than anyone has ever been. The closer I get, the more I’m realizing how much danger she was in. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you when I finish.”

“I’m sure you will.” Java reached down, patting her gently on the head. “Stay safe, Dakota. And keep an eye on my brother while you’re at it. You know he only wants what’s best for you. Even if he can be overbearing.”

“I will.”

Dakota left Port Jouster behind, trekking back up the mountain path to her cabin. She wasn’t sure exactly how this system worked—had she ever left the assigned bedroom behind? Or was she wandering through a designated VR space, surrounded by many others who couldn’t see or hear her either? She couldn’t take off any glasses to check.

Cinnabar looked up from the kitchen table when she arrived, and he wasn’t alone. A pony-ish creature stood beside him, a pony with a solid black body and huge blue eyes. It was smaller than she was, with a horn and insect wings.

“Hold on, I’m… trying to remember.”

The creature looked up, smiled at her, and changed. In a few seconds it looked like an identical copy of Cinnabar, right down to the cutie mark. He made an energetic chittering sound—in Korean.

“Beck!” she said, hurrying through the door. No sooner had she stepped inside than the pony illusion vanished from her body. Only feet sounded on her wooden floor as she reached the table. A pile of books and electronics was arranged there, waiting for her. “You came to me?”

“I didn’t ask him to,” Cinnabar said, a little defensively. “I didn’t pressure him, I swear. I just asked for the ID.”

“Had been out of touch too long,” Beck said—this time his voice sounded a little robotic, a little compressed. The distortion of an off-the-shelf translator program. “Saw you. Wanted to check. Hear the truth from you.”

Dakota met Cinnabar’s eyes—the real one, though having such a convincing duplicate standing just beside him was more than a little disturbing. How many people know how to do this? Guess it makes sense for a hacker. At least Beck had shown off what he was doing, instead of jumping right into the impersonating. She probably would’ve believed it.

“I don’t know how much we can tell you,” she admitted. “The things we saw…”

“We can tell him as much as we can tell him,” Cinnabar said. “We’re right here in Equestria, didn’t sneak off into some dark corner to try and trick the algorithms or whatever. Didn’t try to bypass it by meeting in person.”

“No one cares what I know,” Beck said. “I barely exist. Wouldn’t exist without you. Missed this ride. Too late to explore space, too early to explore Equestria. Not backwards.”

“Alright.” She twisted one of the chairs around, sitting down on it backwards. Then she told him—about the mysterious soldiers that hadn’t seen her, the Equestrian rescue, the bounty hunter sent to save her. She stayed vague on the details of where they’d been, and didn’t include any identifying information for the actual people involved. Beck might be a foreigner nobody knew she knew, but… there was no reason to expose him to any more risk.

She made it all the way to the Moon, all the way to the recordings of people, and still she was able to talk. There was no apparent difficulty with the conversation, and Beck kept nodding along. He’d reverted back to the shiny black bug pony, but still seemed able to hear her fine. That isn’t a male changeling.

“Into Dreaming,” he said, once she had explained everything. “All the way to the center. It’s madness.”

“I don’t have another choice,” she muttered. “If I don’t find this girl, my employer is going to want their money back. We’ve spent…”

“Twenty-three thousand,” Cinnabar supplied. “Would be more, but we aren’t paying for the place we’re staying now.”

“The letter they sent…” She hesitated. “I don’t think my employer is going to get a refund in cash if I fail. They’re going to want my head. I… I kinda knew that was where we’d be going when I saw that many zeroes. You either give that kind of client results, or…”

“And you still took the job,” Cinnabar muttered, exasperated. “How you humans didn’t go extinct half a million years ago, I’ll never know.”

“So I need two things,” Dakota went on. “A fake ID good enough to visit Europe or the US without getting arrested… and a parser I can take into Dream Valley.”

Cinnabar’s eyes lit up as she said that, and his head snapped back around to face her. She didn’t look away, just mouthed, ‘What else are we supposed to do?’ The pony didn’t respond.

“Quite the project,” Beck said. He fluttered into the air, landed on the table in front of her. “ID I can do. I’ll tell you the bill when I’m finished. Scars will be trickiest part. Identifiable. Surgical record is identifiable. Can’t go to any doctor. No way to hide the metal in your head.”

“I figured,” she said. “Honestly I think if I end up at the hospital again it’ll be too late for me. I’m barely holding together as it is.”

He laughed. “Parser is harder. Not my field. I know… some. In the Badlands. If you want to go all the way to the Monolith, would have to be the best.”

“I’ve got money,” Dakota said. “I’ve already established that I’m fucked if I don’t finish the job. Don’t tell them, but basically I have to accept whatever price they offer.”

“Not money,” he answered. “These types… already stole all the money they could want. It does not take much to live in luxury anymore. Their only envy for you is your implants, and you can’t give those up. No, you would need to convince. There is a… congress. In the Badlands. Ponies and humans from all over, all together in the court of Queen Chrysalis. The unseen and forgotten. You could go there, make your case. Convince them you’re worth it. That is what you need.”

“Sure, fine.” It was only half of what she needed. Dakota would need to get her hands on Poison Joke as well, but that seemed out of scope for Beck. “When do we go?”

“Give me… a day,” he answered. “I need time to send the messages. Meetings not common. Oh, and bring bits. They will want to be paid, not because they need them, but to sign a contract into the register. Prove forever that they accomplished what no one else could.”

“I will,” she said. “Thanks, Beck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Die,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” He vanished in a simple teleport.

“Don’t start.” Dakota raised her hands defensively to Cinnabar. “I already know I’m crazy. There’s no other way. I’m doing this so you don’t have to come.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about that,” he said, sitting down on his haunches with defeat on his face. “I get it. What’s done is done. I wish you would’ve listened… but you didn’t.”







For the other half of this mission, Dakota didn’t have many places to turn. Despite only resembling their fictional counterparts, Dakota couldn’t shake the feeling that most of Twilight’s friends would’ve frowned on her relying on Poison Joke to visit Dream Valley. Anyway, they weren’t her friends, and trying to call them again would probably be easier said than done.

With one exception. She had Clay’s EI.

>Hey, are you still on Abyss?

He responded a few minutes later, right when she was about to give up

>Yeah. What’s up?

>I’m sick of sublayers. Can you show me what this place really looks like?

Again, it took a few moments for him to respond. Some part of her began to suspect he was delaying on purpose. Then came the reply.

>When?

>Soon as you can get here.

It was a good thing Dakota was dressed when she answered, because it only took him a few more minutes to arrive. The door opened, and he walked in, trailed by an Applejack with hooves glowing with a cloud walking spell.

“You look like you settled in pretty well,” he said, taking in the apartment with a single quick glance. “No palatial manor house and army of servants, either. This place is downright humble.”

“It’s got a few floors,” she argued stubbornly, rising to meet him. But she felt more confident now that she had proper clothing, and wasn’t exposing nearly her entire scar-covered body to a stranger. Well, had been a stranger. Clay didn’t feel so strange after spending several days alone with him in a submarine, or having him save her life. 

“You want to see what Abyss Station is really like,” he went on, leaning casually against one wall. She’d never seen him in ordinary dress either, and wasn’t disappointed. Blue jeans and a leather jacket, complete with an oversized belt and boots. Like he was about to ride out onto a pasture on Applejack’s back. At least he wasn’t tracking muddy footprints in. “Does that mean you’re staying? Decided to… take up Rarity on her offer?”

“I don’t think she made it yet,” Applejack whispered. “Shut yer dang mouth.” 

“She didn’t make it yet,” Dakota said, grinning weakly. But she didn’t push the point. Rarity hadn’t contacted her at all yet—presumably the pony would make her offer on her own time. When she was ready. “I just want to get to know the base a little better. Most people don’t believe this place exists. Building a… permanent base this far down would’ve been impossible thirty years ago. But I don’t want to see the simulation tech as much as I want to see what it’s really like.”

“You don’t,” Applejack said, voice flat. “You humans only move in three dimensions, and you can get mighty antsy when you find out just how confined they are. Didn’t grow up to be trapped in little boxes under the ocean, if ya’ catch my meaning. You’re better off looking at the Overlay for Abyss and seeing the way the staff made it look.”

“There are models of the station in the Overlay,” Clay said. “Why don’t I take you there before you decide if you want to see the real thing. There are… ways to turn it off, but you’re better off if we don’t.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t like this was the first reason Dakota wanted to see him in the first place. She wanted to get her hands on Poison Joke, obviously. She certainly wasn’t calling just so she could spend more time with the confident, muscular Clay.

“Cinnabar, switch her over to Overlay A1,” Clay said.

“Assuming I can’t do it myself?” She folded her arms, glaring at him. Cinnabar didn’t back her up though, and the world fuzzed briefly around her. It looked a little like a teleport, then…

They were standing in what she might’ve imagined a submarine bedroom to look like. Big round porthole window on the wall, small but comfortable bed on one side, tiny bathroom, modest kitchen/convertable workspace. There was no longer nearly as much open space, and as a result Clay and Applejack stood only a few feet away. The clouds outside were gone too, replaced with a curved metal hallway with strip lights along the floor and ceiling.

“So this is what it really looks like?” she asked, reaching over to the kitchen table beside her. Her fingers found a metal surface right where she expected it.

“Well…” Clay shook his head. “It’s the way we think it should be. But Abyss is a station built for ponies first and humans second. Only about…”

“A fifth,” Applejack supplied.

“A fifth of the internal space has air. The rest is filled with water—distilled water specifically, but it doesn’t matter for us. It’s at the same pressure as the outside, so… we can’t go there.”

He gestured out the open door. “Come with me to the commissary, I’ll show you. That’s where the model is.”

They left. Well, Clay left. Dakota’s bum leg caught on the little lip right outside her quarters, and she nearly faceplanted into the rubber mat. Except that Clay was there to catch her, apparently effortlessly.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, straightening weakly. “I, uh… lost my cane up on the boat. Still healing from the accident.”

“We’ll get you a new one,” Clay said, offering his arm. Dakota took it, without feeling even a little guilty. She certainly hadn’t tripped on purpose. “First thing you should know about Abyss is that we’ve got contracts with just about every delivery company you can think of. No two-day shipping, but otherwise it’s a lot like living on a military base. You’ve got a regular address you can use to order.”

“Well, maybe you can,” she countered, glaring up at him. “Apparently I’m wanted on the mainland. Guess you had a better fake identity than I did. It was your damn rocket launcher.”

Clay shrugged. “Just better prepared. I knew what I was getting into, and… I’m guessing you didn’t. I don’t mean to offend, but I think you played at a lower scale until now. You just weren’t used to how badly they want to remove threats. It’s not all legal threats if it helps. Sometimes they’ll try to bribe you. Sometimes they’ll try to murder you.”

“Pretty sure I dealt with all of that before,” Dakota shot back. “Just… smaller bribes and smaller guns.”

The commissary was about the size of the average fast-food restaurant, with a single large kitchen staffed by a human cook and a few meals available under heated serving trays. There was also a lower deck down some stairs, and an upper deck filled with ponies. There were perhaps fifty other people already there, eating in small groups of mixed humans and ponies. Only the upper level was homogenous, entirely ponies staring through the glass at the humans eating underneath.

Clay took them down to the lower level, where a large projection of the station dominated the center of the eating area. There were further passages from there, into gyms and other recreation areas, along with a few large portholes into the ocean.

They stopped in front of the model. Dakota reached out with two fingers, and the corner she touched zoomed closer. It was one of what she thought was the housing area. Apparently she’d guessed right, because it zoomed until it filled the whole image. A three-meter cube, with labels for all the hardware inside.

“I’m not living in a real bedroom,” she said. “This is… what did you call it, Cinnabar?”

“Dynamic immersion,” he said. “Wire up one space to be used for everything.”

Yep. Probably better off not seeing the inside of my tiny box. “So that means… these other people here, without implants. They have to wear glasses all the time or else they’ll have to see these while they sleep.”

“Not just sleep.” Clay reached over her shoulder, making gestures in the hologram to slide them away from the housing area. Abyss had a central spine with a few areas meant for humans to access. Workshops, the commissary, medical, aquaponics. Every other section that was highlighted green was another immersion cube. Most of the station was red, and wouldn’t have been large enough for humans to pass through even if they weren’t filled with water.

“That’s… terrifying.”

Applejack nodded knowingly. “Told ‘ya. Everypony here who’s stuck in your world is happier pretending they aren’t. But in some ways, it’s an advantage. Let’s Abyss be whatever we want it to be.”

“Except big enough to put more than a few people together in one place,” Clay said. “There aren’t any sections big enough for all the staff.”

“That might be a disadvantage, if ponies could only be in one place like humans. But havin’ big meetings is really only somethin’ you do because your leaders can’t meet with everypony one on one. We can. Rarity runs this whole place. Unless you’re sayin’ you don’t think she does a good job.”

“It’s fine,” Clay said. “It’s just scary for someone like Dakota. She’ll have to adapt, that’s all.”

She shrugged. “We’ll see how long I stay. I wanted to ask about that, actually. I was hoping you could help me get something.”

“Oh, right, requisitions. That’s another deck down, come on.” They set off again, and Dakota didn’t correct him. Not until they got into an empty section of hall. These tubes were actually the largest fully enclosed sections, with endless cubes on all sides 

“Not just that,” she said, as soon as they were alone. She was still leaning on his arm, and Clay stopped. She caught herself against him, then looked away awkwardly. “There’s, uh…”

“What?”

She winced. “I have to go to Dream Valley,” she said. “I need… Poison Joke. Can I get some here?”

Clay whistled. “You sure that’s smart? I hear it’s addictive as hell.”

“I only want one dose,” she said. “I’ll use it when I go under, and never again. All the ponies keep saying that going into Dream Valley is dangerous for Cinnabar. But if I don’t have him, that means I need some other way of making sense of things.”

Clay and Applejack both stepped away, their eyes meeting. Dakota would’ve imagined them conversing digitally, except of course they shouldn’t have been able to. Clay wore contacts, or contact anyway. There was no reason for him to have implants.

“We have it,” he said. “Poison Joke. It ain’t like any other drug humans have used over the years. It’s… Equestrian.”

“Whoever told you to use it,” Applejack continued. “There’s a reason they picked it. Poison Joke helps you think like us. Makes your intelligence more… distributed. But ain’t you got metal in yer head?”

At her nod, Applejack went on. “I ain’t got a clue just what kinda mess that might cause, if you go injectin’ it. Poison Joke is… a real early Omnistem invention. Smartest ponies ya’ ever met cooked it up. Ain’t got no safeties fer interactin’ with yer brain how it is now.”

“It’s either go in, or…” She trailed off. It felt strange to be confiding this in someone she’d known for so little time. Clay was a stranger! But he might also be her best resource. He’d said it himself, this was his world, not hers.

“I don’t know who I’m working for,” she eventually said. “But it’s the sort of person that you don’t get to fail. The sort of person who…” She dragged her fingers across her neck. “Either I find Rhodes, or they’ll find me in a ditch somewhere. I think maybe the police getting ahold of me might’ve been their way of letting me know the clock’s ticking. Either that, or… their enemies trying to stop me, using tools as big and powerful as theirs. Either way.”

“Either way you’re in over your head,” Clay said. He reached out, resting one hand on her shoulder. “You’re a brave girl. Taking the questions no one else wanted answered. You’re really willing to take Poison Joke just to find out what rainbow Rhodes has been hidin’ under?”

She tried to answer, and the words choked in her throat. His face was so close. He didn’t smell like he’d been trapped on a submarine anymore, but there was still a smell there. Hard work and strength, like the arm on her shoulder. The kind of strength she wanted to hold her and never let go. Do it, she thought, desperately.

Of course, the voice of doubt was there, louder. Don’t be stupid. You’re younger than he is, and covered in hideous scars. He’s seen all of them, seen you limping around like a cripple. He doesn’t want you.

“You there, Dakota?” 

She nodded awkwardly. “W-what? Yeah, oh. Yes. I am. I don’t want Cinnabar getting hurt.”

“Like I wouldn’t,” Cinnabar muttered from beside her. She glanced to the side, and there was no mistaking his recognition. Men like Clay might be oblivious, but Cinnabar was her Synth. He knew what she was feeling, maybe better than she did. “I live in your head, Dakota. If you don’t wake up, I still lose you. If you never come back from Dream Valley, I still lose you.”

“We can requisition some,” Clay said. “Like a new crutch. Bodhisattva has people who… live on the stuff. People who live as close to ponies as they can. Great for software developers and electrical engineers. Dangerous for someone who ever wants to see the real world again. Just so long as you know the risks.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes. Do it.

Maybe Clay wasn’t blind after all. He looked down, and she could see something flash there. Not the contact lenses either—he only had one of those on.

He kissed her.

Dakota barely thought of anything after that.
> Chapter 18: Rack
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next thing Dakota knew, she was sitting up in Clay’s bed, letting the sheet fall away in front of her. Several hours had passed, and her internal sense of time demanded she get up. There was somewhere she had to be, something she needed to do.

Right, the parser! I need to go with Beck, make my case in person.

Her whole body ached, and the smell of sweat and other things was thick around her. Not unpleasant, but… she would have to leave them behind.

Clay twitched beside her, then opened one eye. “Somewhere to be?”

She nodded weakly, then rose. She had to hold the bed on one side to stop from falling. To her surprise, she wasn’t wearing an illusion. Her chest got warmer, her cheeks flushed. He didn’t cover my scars. “Going to the Badlands. Got to get a parser that can make sense of Dream Valley.”

“Oh.” He sat up, watching her. He didn’t shy away from looking at her body this time. She looked away from him, girlish and embarrassed as she searched the darkened interior for her underwear. “That sounds like fun. I don’t get to do much work in Equestria. They always need me out here.”

She finally found her clothes piled up beside the bed and started getting dressed as quickly as she could. Beck wasn’t exactly a punctual pony, but she still didn’t want to keep him waiting long. “Does that mean you won’t be staying in Abyss much longer? They’ll… send you and Applejack out again to save the world?”

He nodded. “Never know when. Might be a few hours. Might be a few weeks. But I’ll be back. If you decide to stay here. Rarity doesn’t… or won’t… make that offer to just anyone.”

Dakota finished with the jumpsuit, and actually managed to make it to the door without Clay stopping her. That only made him more infuriating. Some part of her wanted him to stop her from leaving, no matter how important her mission was. But her rational brain prevailed, and she found herself out in the hallway. Cinnabar appeared beside her as soon as the door hissed closed, as though he’d been waiting out here the whole time.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said, his voice flat and sarcastic. “I did not see that coming.”

“I hope you didn’t,” she said, folding her arms stubbornly. “Are you gonna help me with Beck or not?”

He nodded. “Of course I’m going with you. You can still barely work your kit, Dakota. You need me there. Going into the changelings’ den without your Synth, no way. I just think its funny you thought this would go differently.” They set off together through the halls. Dakota was still a little too sore to walk completely normally, but at least there was no one here to stare. She kept one hand on the walls in case she slipped or stumbled.

After her fingers passed smoothly over a porthole for the third time, she finally stopped walking, tapping on the glass and looking out into the blue. There was the artificial reef, and the surprisingly colorful fish surrounding Abyss on every side. “This porthole doesn’t feel like glass,” she said.

“Oh, because it isn’t,” Cinnabar said. “There are only a few windows on the entire station, and they’re all places where they’re functionally necessary. Fallbacks in case of different system failures. No other window you see is really there. It’s a structural weakness, further complexity in manufacturing. Better just to have a waterproof camera and pretend.”

“Right.” She had been getting used to the overlay. It felt plausible enough that she wanted to believe it, even if on some deeper level she understood that she was moving from one cube to another. But that was another painful reminder, a point that would ground her every time she passed a window.

Eventually she reached her quarters. She swung the door open, and wasn’t that surprised to see Beck pacing back and forth inside. He was back to looking like the black insect Dakota now knew was called a changeling. A villain species in most parts of Equestria. But not where they were going.

“Didn’t know if you would show up,” he said. “You worry me. Don’t scare me next time, Dakota.”

He tossed something onto the table—a dense bundle of paper. “There’s your ID. You owe me 20k for it. Mostly bribes. You’re a Canadian now. It would’ve been better to say you were Swiss, but I know you only speak English. Learn to fake an accent.”

“Eh?”

Cinnabar shoved her painfully in her good leg, forcefully enough that she still stumbled into her room. The airlock door slid closed behind her. “You can do better than that. Want me to pay him?”

“Obviously,” she said. “Right now.”

The changeling looked up, his horn glowed, and several different Identifiers appeared in the air between them. “Send a thousand bits to each of these shell identities. I don’t want a trail connected to you anymore. Bad for your ID, bad for me.”

While Cinnabar made the transfers, Dakota walked over to the table and lifted the virtual stack of documents. It wasn’t just a fake identifier and a fake name, though that was there. It was also a spoofed client, one she could run outward facing when she was in public places and appear like her fake self.

“Right, plug that in,” Beck said. “We’re going through some public systems in a few NATO countries on our way down to Badlands. Plus, I’ll be with you. I can work out any bugs.”

The spoofed client appeared visually like a magical scroll, wrapped up tight with a black seal in wax. She knew better than to think she’d be able to read it, she just twisted her other arm to bring up her interface, then held the scroll close enough to scan.

The effect was instantaneous. Her vision flickered for a second, and a warning played in one ear. “Software from unknown source is asking for permission—” then the voice spooled down, like a speaker running out of battery abruptly. Her vision returned a moment later, and a new button had appeared on her interface. “Identity.”

“One more thing,” Beck added, as Cinnabar paid the last little transaction, and the Identifiers all vanished. “It will delete itself if you ever get arrested. No records, no connection. No proof they can recover you had it, either. Good for both of us. If you do get arrested, you’ll need a new alias anyway.”

Dakota reached out with one finger, and activated the new button. The effect was instantaneous—a flash of magic around her, not unlike the one when she went abruptly to Equestria and was forced to look like a pony. This one had changed her appearance too. Long black hair now hung down from her shoulders. Her chest was larger, and where her arm was visible through the jumpsuit there was no sign of the stitches.

“Uncanny,” she said—in someone else’s voice. She got one word before stopping again, reaching up and poking her face. It still felt the same. “Can’t… real time?” She didn’t have to learn the accent, it was already there.

“Real time,” Beck said, wings buzzing with pride. “Some of my best work. I snatched some of the open source spec sheets for your implants. Almost nobody can do it, but your brain has a coprocessor. Totally authentic. Can do it for languages too, just like a pony.”

“You never told me!” she exclaimed, glaring at Cinnabar. “Might’ve been useful to know I could do this sooner. Maybe I could’ve… asked those assassins not to kill me? If I asked nicely.”

“It’s just a filter,” Cinnabar said, glaring up at her. “Just because you sound like you’re from Alberta doesn’t mean you actually think you could say sorry to an assail.”

“Fair. How much would it cost for a translation program too, Beck?”

He shrugged. “Not my area. I bought this one from university animation department. Included in the price you paid. No time to waste on this, anyway. The Court is waiting for us. Long way to go, many systems. Come on.”

His horn flashed, and a glowing doorway appeared in the air in front of them. Dakota wanted to tell him she’d rather wait—she had just walked here after several hours with Clay. She could barely stand, felt hungry and thirsty and smelled like she’d just been… doing exactly what she’d been doing. 

“Cinnabar, could you order snacks? That would be… good.”

He rolled his eyes. “Already did. It’s not like I became your Synth yesterday. On the kitchen counter.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Dakota hurried over, grabbed the oversized water-bottle and tube of survival rations, then followed Beck through the open doorway.

As she expected, the passage into Equestria proper forced her to be a pony again. She blinked, waiting for the disorientation to pass. She wasn’t even herself, but a yellow unicorn with the same black mane she had in hair. It meant she levitated the snacks alongside her instead of carrying them in her mouth. She glanced to the side—her fake EI was there, a single tulip growing in the snow. 

This wasn’t Port Jouster, though—Beck had taken them into a metropolis. Manehattan was every bit as busy as the city it was roughly based on, with skyscrapers just as impressive and streets just as packed with carts and foot traffic. This one had a few advantages on the real one—there was no piss in the gutters, no trash, no smell of alcohol and depression that drifted up from drains and manholes when she stood in one place a little too long. The ponies passing them on either side looked busy and gruff, but they also hurried about with opportunity in their steps. They were ponies with purpose.

Plenty of them were probably humans, too. Dakota could almost see the patterns of intention as they moved. Whenever there were two of them close together, that was a near guarantee she was seeing a person and their Synth. 

It took her a few moments to find Beck—he was already getting away from them. Changelings weren’t tall, and he hadn’t even hidden himself in the crowd. “Wait…” She caught up with him after a few hurried strides, stumbling and shuffling forward. She kept expecting to smack into the side of her cube, but… there was no sign it was even there. “You’re just gonna walk around like that?”

Beck met her eyes, grinning mischievously. “This drone is, sure. But look around. Not the only one. Manehattan is metropolitan, liberal. Most human city in the west.”

He was right. There were almost as many non-ponies here as ponies. Griffons and dragons and the like filled the sky as thick as pegasi, and on the ground there were minotaurs and other near-animal creatures whose names escaped her. Weren’t they from that movie that hadn’t done very well?

In a crowd like this, a changeling didn’t stand out as much as he would’ve in Port Jouster. There would be no Royal Guard called on this threat, not in a city that existed in Equestria only by the laws of real estate, not by any understanding of roleplaying or rules.

“Fair.” Once she’d caught up with him, it was easy to match his pace. The changeling was so much smaller and slower than she was. “Why don’t we go directly to where we’re going? Why go through Manehattan?” As she asked, they descended down a wide set of steps into a metro line. It felt only sort of like she was going down stairs. As they walked, Dakota felt just as much like the steps were pushing up on her from below. Every moment she had to be careful not to watch her legs too closely, or else cross the wires in her brain and trip again.

Down in the station tunnel was an attractive mosaic along the wall, and a street band playing for bits with their instruments out. Dakota tossed one in as they passed.

“Can’t get to it that way,” Beck answered, keeping his voice low. They were surrounded by other creatures, but he still watched the space around them carefully. “The route is like a password. Required path opens the way. If you try to go straight there, nothing to find. Equestria wants us, but it only meets us halfway. Have to play by its rules somehow. Walking is like… showing we respect it. Showing we want to be part of the world even if we don’t agree to all its rules.”

Dakota shrugged—it wasn’t exactly an answer that made sense, but she wasn’t a hacker anymore. Anything she’d been able to do had died when she got hit by that truck. “Going here is… safe? Your friends aren’t going to try and… expose me or whatever, will they?”

Beck laughed again, a strange reverberating sound that shook Dakota’s chest as though a bass was aimed directly at her. “If anyone in the Hive wanted to do that, they wouldn’t come. They already know what this is about. No big secret. Every decker in the world is watching your case. That thing in Australia… spells setup brighter than neon. We can see when it’s right in front of us.”

They passed through several more connections—not onto a metro train, but through a maintenance tunnel that took them out in a tropical beach. Then they swam a little ways out to a diving platform, jumped down into a space station orbiting the planet and filled with the constant shouts of buying and selling as various corporations traded their goods.

Some part of Dakota wondered how much of the route was genuine—maybe Beck was complicating the path so she wouldn’t be able to come back. But she didn’t confront him about it, and eventually they emerged into a palace of metal and broken computers, structured in a shifting insect hive that moved and changed whenever she tried to focus on it. From the floors above, from the dark corners, from the openings in the walls—blue eyes watched.







“Do you feel like you’re in a little over your head?” Cinnabar asked, his voice silent. Even so Dakota winced, wondering if any of the creatures watching them would be able to hear. But none had reacted to the message. Could she reply safely as well? He’s in my head. There’s no transmission to pick up. He should be safe.

Except that she’d already seen evidence her implants could be manipulated. Equestria’s root authority had done it to Cinnabar without even trying. And they’d been able to overhear their private conversations. “Yes. I wish we had tried to get this parser from the university system or something. Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“If they gave it to us,” he responded. Still there was no sign of a reaction from Beck or any of the other creatures. Her arrival was apparently a sign, because as they walked forward towards the central chamber, thousands of bugs were emerging from every opening. They came in different colors, some of them bright, while others were more like Beck and had color only on their fins. Some seemed to be amused, while others had such alien emotions that she couldn’t guess at what they were feeling.

The walkway opened into a huge forum, with raised seats running up the wall. Plenty of them were already occupied by bugs, most small like Beck. Except for the front row… Dakota recognized those.

These were queens, bugs that sat as tall as Alicorns and practically radiated their power. Equestria only had one Alicorn—could these hackers do what Twilight could? Each one of them sat on an impressive stone throne, carved of a single solid piece with many openings. It wouldn’t have been terribly comfortable to sit on. But let’s be real, these are all fat nerds sitting on gaming chairs in their basements. Fat nerds that ruled over Equestria’s underworld.

“And she appears,” said the largest and most impressive of all the queens, her mane bright green and her teeth razor sharp. She leered down at Dakota from her throne, gesturing at the raised platform in the center of the room. Beck didn’t have to tell her that this was where she had to go. “Something like her appears, anyway. A changeling in her own right?” She sniffed, then turned slightly. “No, that mask was spun by another. Not as impressive. It would be an asset if you were multitalented.”

“Should I turn it off?” Dakota whispered to Beck, her voice as low as she could. It probably wouldn’t stop these creatures from overhearing, but that didn’t mean she had to be stupid.

He nodded once. “We’re all using onion routing. Only the queens can see you. My spoof isn’t good enough for any of them.”

Queens, huh? Beck hadn’t been lying when he said that the best hackers in the world were the ones who played along with Equestria. This almost felt like something that could’ve fit seamlessly into Equestria’s world.

Some part of Dakota wanted to bow to them, try to appeal to their egos… anything to get their help. But that part wasn’t nearly loud enough to make her do it. Dakota stomped her way up, then called up her interface and deactivated the false persona. Beck was apparently right about the mask, because none of the bugs in the upper layers reacted. Maybe she looked as much like a nondescript changeling as they did to her. Oh God, this is a Sublayer. Maybe the hackers aren’t roleplaying after all.

“She should tell us what she’s thinking,” said an orange queen on the far end, speaking with a man’s voice she could just imagine drinking mountain dew between sentences. There wasn’t even an attempt to match his way of speaking to the movement from the avatar’s mouth. “We don’t come here to socialize. You’re the decker named Dakota. You have something for us. A crack no one ever managed. Why do we fucking care?”

“Careful, Lazortron,” said the green one. “She’s terrified. Look at her. Implants are broadcasting heart rate, how cute. We could at least give her a formal welcome.”

Lazortron made a frustrated sound, spreading her wings briefly in front of her face. “Like any of us care about your game, Chrysalis. I’m getting a fuckin’ pizza. Be right back.” The queen slumped forward onto the little table in front of her and started to snore.

“What about you, Shadowblayde? Would you lead us?”

Cinnabar settled down onto his haunches beside her, body firm and stable as the earth pony had ever been. “Don’t worry about anything, Dakota. I can pull us out anytime. Abyss is really generous about breaking links.”

“Not unless I say,” she said. “I feel like these people will want to test us somehow. More than money. Don’t do anything unless I ask.” 

“Let every bug rise as we present Dakota, Decker of Chicago,” said a deep blue queen. A smattering of the bugs around the room actually stood up. Most just muttered to each other, looking bored. “Welcome to the Badlands, Dakota. Your desires are your own.” She sat down, and the few bugs who had honored the request shuffled in their seats as they did the same.

“Thank you,” Chrysalis said. “Now, we’ve already heard your case from an esteemed member of this hive, Beck. But you will have to convince us without him if you want our help. You must have already learned that you had nowhere else to go. There are no others capable of giving you what we can. No other ponies you can run to for help.”

Dakota stood a little straighter, and her avatar fidgeted her wings. Stop it, avatar. You’re not supposed to show them how worried I am!

How many changelings were there, anyway? It looked like there were hundreds of seats, but that didn’t prove anything. The entire crowd might be fake. For all she knew, it might just be the queens that were real. Or maybe not even them. Maybe Beck was leading her on.

It didn’t matter. “I need to go to Dream Valley,” she said. “You want something hard, I’ve got something fucking hard. I’m going all the way to the Monolith.”

As she spoke, an interface appeared just in front of the podium, in the empty space above the six queens. It covered up many of the audience, but she suspected the ones it hid weren’t very important anyway. It was a large pie chart, with one section green and one section red. “These are the shares in the Hive’s contract,” said the purple queen, her voice sounding like a twenty-year-old female text to speech. “You must secure fifty percent of the hive in order for your request to be honored.”

From the look of it, the six queens together each held about ten percent of the “Hive,” except one that held twenty percent. That meant the rest of the audience was almost unimportant. Two of the big slices were already green, along with a small fraction of the others. Beck’s slice was probably one of those, but he was still just one bug. I need all the queens but one to want to help. Maybe that’s where their titles come from. They decide what these hackers do by collective will.

“Good, yeah.” Lazortron said, sounding like he was speaking with his mouth full now. She was a little surprised the avatar didn’t have a pizza box in front of her. “Interesting challenge, we get that. Deeper in Dream Valley is tricky to get to. What I want to know is why we should fuckin’ care.”

“Because, uh…” She hesitated. But this was really just talking. They hadn’t attacked her yet, hadn’t threatened her. Maybe she could do it. “Because Kayla Rhodes is there, or left her mark there. You probably already knew I was looking for her, or heard it. Well, it’s true. And that’s where she went.”

“Bullshit,” Lazortron called. The graph above shifted slightly towards red. “If another human could go, we wouldn’t be here. Her method would be out by now, you could just grab it. Obviously it can’t be done.”

Cinnabar spoke up from beside her. No one stopped him. “Rhodes wasn’t just anyone. Her Synth was Twilight Sparkle, Equestria’s Administrator. Anything she did, they probably did together. Twilight could have protected her. She is where the information came from in the first place.” Not strictly true, but true enough that none of the changelings questioned them. Cinnabar didn’t seem to want to tell them about the hall of the dead.

Or maybe they couldn’t. Either way, they’d earned themselves back a few more shares of the audience. Except so far, none of the queens had moved.

“What makes you think you can make it that far?” Chrysalis asked. She leaned forward on the stone table, leering down at Dakota. “Humans have attempted the trip before purely for academic reasons. They have traveled out of pride, or bravery, or out of some belief that treasure waited for them in the parts of Equestria no other humans could visit.”

“Because…” Dakota winced. It was another good question. What made her special? If anything, her brain was weaker than the others who might’ve made the trip. She was held together with duct tape and string, she wasn’t some strong-willed Ph.D. in a university somewhere with the best equipment and hospital staff on standby. But she had to say something. “Because I’m more desperate than they are,” she eventually said. “And I’m going chemically assisted. I’ll be using Poison Joke for the whole trip.”

“Might be worth it just to see what happens to her,” said Shadowblayde, casually. “Nobody has combined a special parser with Poison Joke before. Maybe the Rice people could’ve got deeper with it.”

“Or maybe they would’ve just went more insane,” Lazortron argued. “I’m not convinced.”

But blue was. She’d apparently changed her vote. Dakota only had to move fifteen percent more of the audience. She wasn’t the only one who had noticed that—there were gasps from the audience, and a good section changed too. Shadowblayde’s loyalists, I bet. They want to vote like she does.

“There is one question more important to me,” Chrysalis said, rising from her chair and buzzing down to the floor in front of everyone. “I know ambition when I smell it, and I smell plenty of it on you. You’re a pony who knows what she wants. One who isn’t afraid to take what she deserves, no matter who stands in her way. A pony like you might stay sane long enough. Not pony enough to lose your individuality to the conflux, not human enough once you use Poison Joke to be overwhelmed by its feedback. It is an interesting opportunity.

“But suppose for a moment that we help you. You swim down to the deepest recesses of Equestria, and look into the face of God. You see what not even the Assembledge understand. You find Rhodes. What then? What happens to the secrets you uncover? Where do they go?”

“I’ve been hired to find Rhodes,” she said. “So I find her. Everything else…” She shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie and say I’m fighting for information. I don’t know what goes on down here. I’d have to lie to say I knew who you’re fighting and why.”

“This means you are willing to make an exchange.” The queen walked right up to the raised platform. Her eyes were dark, and Dakota couldn’t tell if the lust on her face was for the avatar she was wearing, or what she represented. Maybe both. “We value exchange here. Not just bits… this will happen, but it is beneath discussion. We know your account can pay our fees, or we would have nothing to say. Besides that. Suppose you… brought some other program in the parser. A verbose logger. When you returned, you would bring it with you. One of our own would collect it, and everything it contained.”

“Everything except where Rhodes is,” Dakota countered. “I have to be the one to find her, or…” She hesitated. Admitting just how desperate she was to these obvious predators was probably not a good idea. “Anything else.”

“Think about that carefully, Dakota,” Cinnabar said. “You’re going into the deepest parts of Equestria. If you bring a logger with you, they’ll be able to see the structure like they couldn’t ever see it from up here. They’ll have more information for their exploits than any other hackers in the world. There’s no telling what they might try to do to Equestria.”

“Do you see any other options?”

Cinnabar remained stubbornly silent, staring at the floor. More than enough admission for Dakota.

“This is… an acceptable compromise,” Chrysalis said. “As you have already observed, many of us do not care about this missing person. Those who do can learn on the news broadcasts like everypony else.”

“Then I accept.”

Another larger section of the graph turned green, the single biggest slice. Chrysalis’s own slice. Once she went over, almost all the audience still holding out went with her. Only two of the queens still held out—not nearly enough to stop the deal.

Dakota sighed, letting her wings fold to her sides with relief. The conversation went on—they negotiated the specifics, the price, and the time of delivery. Dakota coasted through that part, as they talked her up to a million bits for the parser. The single biggest expense of her life, probably more than she’d ever make from solving cases. But what does it matter? Once I find Rhodes, it’s all over. I only have to make it a little further.
> Chapter 19: Server
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You could still change your mind,” Cinnabar said, his voice cheerful as they walked through Equestria. They had a destination here in Manehattan, though of course it was also possible to transit directly to the system they wanted to visit. But Equestria made you pay in bits for that, and rewarded you when you indulged the world in its verisimilitude.

Just now, Dakota wouldn’t mind a little walk. Her limp was finally gone, her breathing clear. Her body was working about as well as could be expected, under the circumstances. Her scars wouldn’t be going away without all the follow-up trips to Mercy Hospital, but she couldn’t exactly make those while she was still wanted.

“I could,” she agreed. She didn’t worry about being overheard—even Cinnabar could manage a simple bit of “magic” for that, while they were in Equestria. A little silence, even though they were visibly surrounded by dozens of city ponies. They were deep enough in Equestria that it had been a hassle to look like herself in here, but this time she took it. It might be the last time Sophia ever saw her. She could go to a little effort for that. “But then I would be running from two groups that wanted me dead. Maybe three, if those corporates ever found out I was still alive. I’m sure there’s… something in gambling. When you’re already down, might as well take risks?”

“It’s called the sunk cost fallacy,” Cinnabar replied, voice flat. “It’s a human cognitive bias. I know you feel like going with your ‘gut’ is leading us towards a sudden reversal of fortune… but that isn’t the case. It’s spiraling us down the drain. Sure, we can afford a million bits. But where you’re going next… that’s a debt you can’t ever repay.”

They reached their destination, apparent to Dakota only because of the floating green icon whenever she glanced down to her minimap. This was her mother’s flat, where she spent almost all her time. Sophia wouldn’t be expecting her. Whatever alerts she had to her arrival wouldn’t trigger, thanks to Cinnabar and Beck’s hard work. It might be her last visit, she was going to make it count.

“Seriously,” he continued, as they crossed the marble lobby past golden sculptures and lots of rich-looking ponies. A few gave Dakota strange looks, turning up their nose at the human breaking their immersion. Or maybe they were natives, who just didn’t want a sack of meat in their perfect digital space. “People do go insane from what we’re doing. That isn’t a vague threat. You have implants, Dakota. You’re piping this directly into your brain, way more than any other human would be. Think about that. How much sooner before you completely lose your mind?”

They stepped into the elevator, and it started to rise. As if to emphasize his point, she could feel the upward acceleration, pushing down on her shoes. There was no chance Abyss Station had hardware for that, yet she felt it entirely convincingly. “It’s your ears, by the way. Your sense of balance is artificial,” he said, as though hearing her thoughts. “That’s my point, Dakota. You’re half spare parts already up there. That’s not going to make this easier.”

“Or maybe… it’ll make it safer,” she argued, folding her arms stubbornly. “Think about the other people who went in. I saw the dates on that study—no way they were implanted ten years ago. So they’re going in fully human, and they can’t make sense of digital information. Whatever parser they were using gets into their brain, and it’s like… the McCollough effect. They got blasted, no surprise. My brain can parse it all directly.” There were no floor buttons, but that didn’t matter. The elevators always held only one group, always played their favorite music, and always went straight to their destination without request.

This one stopped in an upper-floor penthouse, probably Sophia was one of thousands who had the exact same space. The elevator itself was only surrounded by a metal cage as they approached, with only one floor above it. Up here, their silence filter would look instantly strange to her. She didn’t have much time to finish her point. “The ‘changelings’ know my hardware, that was part of the price. It’s all custom. I’m going to have the most advanced parser there ever was, directly to my brain. I’m coming out of this, Cinnabar. I’m walking out, I’m finishing the job, and we’re set free. To take… boring cases from now on.”

The elevator stopped, and she stepped out. Sophia’s penthouse was well-furnished, with fine wood floors and a second deck. It connected vaguely to the real layout of their home, though she didn’t precisely remember how. She hadn’t physically visited that old place in years.

Trashy pop music played from upstairs, and so that was where Dakota walked. “Mom! Mom, I’m visiting! I was hoping to talk to you…”

Something moved from where she couldn’t see, and the music stopped. Her mind raced with nightmares of all the worst possible scenarios, but after a few seconds all that melted away. “Come on up, sweetheart! I didn’t get a ping. You could’ve warned me. I’d have made lunch for you.”

“Just remote today,” Dakota answered, hurrying up the stairs. Every moment she expected her foot to pass through empty air, or to smack into one of the Abyss technicians she’d seen in the mess hall. But that had yet to happen. Somehow this little submarine base did what huge buildings could do, all packed into a tiny space. “So I couldn’t eat it anyway.”

“Yeah,” her mother said, as she made it up the stairs. She was fully human this time and sat with Feather Dance in one of the alcoves. Her sleeves were pulled back, and a potter’s wheel was in front of her. Nothing robotic either, not even motorized. One of her legs pumped, and she bit her tongue in that look she always got whenever she was concentrating. Both hands were covered with slimy clay, but whatever she was working on sure looked like it was going to be a pot soon. “I figured you wouldn’t be coming back. Might as well sit down, pull up a chair. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know,” she said, pulling over one of the other wooden working stools and sitting down. She stared at the pot as it circled around and around, gradually getting thinner as her mother’s fingers worked a little plastic scraper around it. “I’m sorry, I really am. I love what I do, but this job has some… disadvantages. Sometimes a case doesn’t go the way you quite expect.”

Sophia burst out laughing, then quickly looked back down at the pot, making sure she hadn’t wrecked anything. She smiled to herself. “Is that what you’re going to call it?” She nodded towards a television in one corner of the room, one of the old-style screens that was thick enough for Dakota to set her whole finger beside. They’d been popular in her childhood, though of course never made since. 

A news broadcast played there, with big maps of China and Australia displayed in various colors, along with little dots along the coast. She read one line of subtitles about “second skirmish reported in the South China Sea” before quickly looking away again, shuddering. “You really think there’s going to be a war?”

“Everyone hopes there won’t be,” Sophia said. “But maybe that’s wishful thinking. We’ve always known something had to give. One part of the world uses one system, and the rest of us are using another. Sooner or later.” As she said it, the little pile of clay she was working on caved in. It sprayed her, though the moisture that shot towards Dakota passed through her harmlessly. 

Her mother swore under her breath, stopped pumping her leg, then let the heavy stone wheel spin down. Once it had stopped, she calmly took the clay back in her fingers, and started reshaping it. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Dakota said. “I don’t know what you’ve heard… don’t know who’s been here, but it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t break any laws, or do anything you wouldn’t be proud of.”

Sophia reached out with one muddy hand, then hesitated. She pulled it back from her shoulder, and just smiled instead. “I know, Dakota. I don’t need to see the news to know that about you. Sometimes your friends can’t keep up with you. Sometimes you leave the ones who care about you terrified—that’s one thing. But I know it’s for a good cause. You’re the one people turn to when they don’t have anywhere else to go. The world is better because you’re fighting. Even if I don’t sleep better for it.”

Dakota swallowed, glancing briefly over her shoulder. Feather Dance was grilling Cinnabar just out of earshot. She just looked in their direction long enough to meet his eyes and catch his nod. Cinnabar would be monitoring their connection. So they were still secure, for now.

“I’m not here to make that easier, Mom,” she whispered. “I don’t have to tell you what I came with, if you want.”

“You’re going to,” Sophia said, her voice firm, absolute. “I’ve never known you to volunteer anything, Dakota. It must be important.” 

Dakota glanced once around the room, as though there might’ve been a policeman in blue and black with a microphone recording every word. Of course that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be listening, she just wouldn’t be able to see it. It didn’t matter if they did. She’d chosen her words carefully. “My case is moving forward,” she said. “The big one, same one that sent me to Australia originally. I can’t tell you what it is, but… I can tell you that I’m about to do something that lots of other people failed to do.”

“Something dangerously stupid is what you mean,” Sophia said, starting the potter’s wheel spinning again, making the first depression in her collapsed clay that might give it a second chance at being a pot. “That’s what that translates to. It’s not something people failed, it’s something they were too smart to try. And you’re going in headfirst. Does that sound right?”

Dakota rolled her eyes, but she could practically feel Cinnabar’s eyes on her back. Her Synth would be happy to let her tell the story herself, so long as she told the truth. But if she tried to lie… he wouldn’t let her. She had no doubt in her mind about that. You’ll regret it later, even if you do die.

“Yes,” she answered. “No one’s tried it for a long time, anyway. But I’ve run out of leads, and my client is… isn’t someone I want to make upset. So I’ve got to try something bold. If I win this thing, you’re going to see my name on the news. It’ll be big enough that everyone will be talking about it.”

Okay, maybe that was a lie. But she didn’t mind stretching the truth a little. “That’s great, Dakota. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re the one who cracks the ones the police give up on. You go to the parts of Equestria no one would dare. Track down the records… whatever. You don’t ever share the details with your mom.”

“I would if I could,” she said, reaching out briefly towards her. Sophia didn’t look her age here in digital space, but she knew the real woman’s face was different. While this version had aged gracefully, the real one had wrinkles and lines from a difficult life. Only in Equestria could she live in a place like this, where she could work and live with the best ponies in society. It was all a dream, but a good dream.

“But it’s not safe, I know. I’ve read the detective stories. I never know how much your life is like one, but I believe you. Tell you the truth, I’d rather just read the story than be part of it. Since the only part I could be is the one they kidnap. You get a ransom note, and you rush in just in time to save me from incredible odds. Good stuff for the movies, or to watch here in Equestria. Maybe when the case is over you can give me the safe parts.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “The news probably will… anything on there, I could tell you the truth about.”

She laughed again. “I think I’d like some of that about what I’ve seen already. But maybe not right now.”

“No,” Dakota agreed. There was silence then, as she watched her mother work. She was remarkably skilled, and already there was something clearly pot-shaped in the clay. Why she would want to make it instead of printing it and having a drone bring it, that was harder to figure out. But old people were weird sometimes.

“Want some advice?” She hesitated. “Wait, I’m your mom. I’m going to give it to you whether you want it or not.” They both chuckled at the familiar joke, even if it almost made Dakota start to cry. She was losing it. She couldn’t cry now. “These cases you do—every time you’re out there, it seems like they’re impossible from the start. But your clients always picked the right person for the job. You’re still a decker, where to most people you’re just myths of two decades ago. That means something. I might not know a thing about what you’re doing now, but I know you. Whatever mystery you’re solving, it’s something only you could do. Well.” She glanced over her shoulder, right as Cinnabar approached Dakota from behind. His expression was urgent, nervous. “You and Cinnabar, there. But behind every smart human is a smarter Synth. Pretty sure that’s how that one goes now.”

“We’ve got to go now,” Cinnabar said, lowering his head as politely as he could. “It was good to speak with you, Miss Tyler. I hope we can visit for longer next time.”

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Sophia said. 

Dakota opened her mouth to reply, and the world blurred around her. She shook, stumbled, and fell backward as the chair vanished from below her.	







Dakota landed in her bedroom, in the modified version of what it really looked like that so many other Abyss humans used to make themselves feel like they were somewhere real. She swore under her breath, rubbing her sore behind for a few seconds and glaring at Cinnabar. Because there was no justice at all he hadn’t moved, but watched her, still shifting nervously between his hooves. 

“I hope you’re going to apologize. I wasn’t finished with her.”

“Maybe you weren’t,” he said. “But Chicago was nearly done backtracking us here. I don’t know what Abyss would’ve done if I didn’t cut you myself. Bodhisattva doesn’t like it when people’s connections to places that don’t exist end up in public records, I’m sure.”

“Fine.” She reached out for his help to stand—and then realized how stupid that was. Even if he could simulate real touch, somehow, he couldn’t give her real leverage. She took hold of the wall instead, hauling herself onto her feet. So maybe she wasn’t quite done healing. “That’s goodbye then, in case this goes south. You already have my letter. Anything I’m forgetting?”

“Java,” he said. “I’ll call her here. Well… not here. Let’s switch it back to our place. I think that will go over a lot better all-around.” 

“Right.” She held still, closing her eyes. “Tell me when it’s safe to look. I’ll puke if you swap it while I’m watching.”

A few seconds later, he answered. “Safe, you big foal. You won’t puke.” She opened her eyes, and her cabin was back. She gestured, and the fireplace came on. It was late down in Port Jouster, the stars already out and the moon high. She walked over to the balcony, opening the door and letting the breeze brush past her face. A breeze that couldn’t exist.

Just like so many other things in her life. They were all illusory, all imagined.

“You might not be able to change your mind,” he said again. “Even after the Poison Joke. Most humans… it really messes you up. It isn’t like edibles, Dakota. Don’t think you know what it’s going to be like because you’ve been drunk before and a few times you had weird brownies. You don’t. You’ve got no idea how bucked up you’ll be.”

Dakota stepped out onto the balcony, settling down in the wooden recliner there and setting her feet up on the rail. It all felt real to her—and God only knew how. The air was even cooler out here, with more moisture in it than the fireplace inside. The crickets down below chirped merrily, and a few distant predators howled. She even imagined she could smell sage on the breeze. “So tell me,” she said. “This isn’t like going to Dream Valley, right? It’s well documented. Tell me what happens when you do Poison Joke. All anypony ever tells me is that it makes humans think more like you. Java said it was a war thing or… or something. I don’t really get the specifics.”

“Makes humans think like ponies,” Cinnabar said, circling around to one of the other chairs and hopping up beside her. “You should know I’ve called Java, by the way. She’ll be here any second, and I left the door open for her.”

“Just so long as you don’t think Chicago can follow her down here.”

He laughed. “No. System doesn’t work like that. It’s jurisdictional. Potential subject of interest in a case is contacting a citizen of their jurisdiction and they could… you’re misdirecting me!” He sat up, glaring at her. “Come on, Dakota. Don’t try that on me. I’m on your side! I only want you to be safe.” 

She nodded. “I know. I wasn’t really trying to change the subject. Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

He glared for a few more seconds before going on. “It’s hard to explain the differences between human consciousness and a pony without having you experience it. We were based on you, you know that, right?” At her nod, he continued. “So the ponies you see out in Equestria, or even more so out in the human world, we tend to think a lot alike. Synths in particular can understand humans about perfect. There are even ponies on our side who think we’ve been corrupted by you. That’s what they call it when someone loses their human, and they come back broken. But they’re wrong, that’s not what that is.”

Dakota reached between their chairs, resting one hand on his mane and running her fingers through it. “I know it isn’t, Cinnabar. I’m grateful for you. I never would’ve made it this far without you. Even if it’s all basically turning into a nightmare for you. If I survive this, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“We’ll see,” he said, voice flat. “If we don’t make it out, then I’ll be another one. B-broken. Just like Twilight. Only half of something. We’re purpose-built, and we only get one purpose. You. No Synth ever got assigned to a second human, not ever.”

“Makes me wonder why you’d ever sign up for it,” Dakota whispered, letting go of him and staring out at the stars again. “Seeing the Synths who come back, all broken and ruined. The mausoleum. Even if I never heard of that, I’m sure you did. You guys can learn all kinds of stuff when the system can keep you from ever spilling the secret.”

He nodded. “There’s a risk, sure. But… most of the humans who got Synths are still alive. The technology is new. Only the ponies who got really old or sick humans have lost them. And they probably went in warned about what would happen. If you know something bad is going to happen, you can prepare for it. Not get too attached along the way.

“But for the rest of us, it’s… a chance to be something more than we were. A pony with a human is part of something. We’re a system that’s better than the sum of its parts. You’re good at heuristics, at creatively linking things that weren’t connected to me. That random access memory can assemble useful things out of your experiences. And I’m here to help us integrate with systems. I can read rulebooks, schedules, make appointments. Your whole world is a system now, and I’m your key to open every lock. Together, we’re something bigger than just one. 

“That’s why I came to Earth, that’s why I signed up to be part of something even though I knew it might kill me.” He laughed, turning to stare at her. “I’m really not all that different from you when you think about it. I knew going out there was stupidly dangerous too. But there was a chance—maybe a slim chance—that something wonderful could happen.

“And here we are, on the edge of a cliff. You’re about to go somewhere no human should ever go. Even to make the door open, you’ve got to change yourself in ways that you can’t undo. Even testing Poison Joke once will have an impact. Using it under such stressful conditions will be worse.”

“Because…” She hadn’t taken her eyes from him, not during the entire rant. No matter what Cinnabar said about ponies being better at systems and memory, he’d just drawn a connection for her that she hadn’t seen before.

“It’s not just a chemical,” he said. “Poison Joke is a brain-enhancer. It’s a self-reproducing chemical, kinda like…”

“Nanites?” she supplied. “It’s nanomedicine?”

Cinnabar laughed. “No, no. More like… viral therapy. You don’t know medicine… but there are regulatory cells in a human brain, right? They’re real important. Basically the difference between you and a monkey. Make a mouse grow them, and they’ll get smarter than any ethics board will be comfortable with. They’ll start developing better communication skills, better memory, problem solving… Poison Joke makes humans express the genes from an even smarter species, one that doesn’t exist.”

“So I get smarter,” she said. “That’s what you mean by being more like a pony, you just don’t want to say it that like. You think we’re dumber than you.”

“Objectively, most humans are dumber than most ponies,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And some of you are so much dumber that you insist on taking incredible risks when you could just enjoy your homeostasis.”

She kicked at his leg from the side of the chair. Not hard, but she hoped he would feel it. She felt a realistic impact and bump with her leg. From his wince, apparently he had.

“We’re not talking about adding a zero to your IQ or anything,” he went on, as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “There are many kinds of intelligence. One of the ways that ponies have always exceeded humans is called… well for you, let’s call it ‘interconnection’. Think of it like… how much information you can simultaneously hold in your mind at once. It’s why you’re so bad at multitasking. The average human can only keep five things in their mind at once. Many can’t even do that.”

“It’s not gene therapy, though,” Dakota said. “It wears off. People have to keep taking it, I’m sure about that.”

“Yeah.” Cinnabar lowered his voice to an angry mutter. “That’s part of the design. The military that helped create it didn’t want to create something they couldn’t control. The cells it alters require a regulatory chemical to keep functioning, one that’s specific to the individual dose. Try and counterfeit it, and you’ll get permanent brain damage. Wait for it to wear off naturally, and… all the modified genes swap off. Or that’s what they’re supposed to do. But you can’t put a genie back in a bottle, Dakota. There are permanent changes to your brain chemistry. You might just die.”

“I doubt it,” she said, wishing she felt more confident as she did so. “I’m sure it’s all the same tech. Bodhisattva wouldn’t make implants that wouldn’t be able to keep me alive when I’m using their own stupid drug.”

He shrugged. “They didn’t invent it, they just make it now. But I know there’s no point. I just… I don’t want to have regrets when this is all over, and I’m crawling into the mausoleum beside all those others.”

Dakota glared at him again, though after only a second she stopped. Cinnabar looked genuinely disturbed, he wasn’t just trying to make her guilty. She reached across, resting an arm around his pony shoulder. “I can’t give up, Cinnabar. I wouldn’t be me if let this mystery just… exist. I’m close. I can touch it, almost. I already found the girl’s ghost. It’s just about tracking down the real thing. She’s within reach.”

“Yeah,” Cinnabar said, voice bleak. But he leaned close to her anyway, like a family dog just back from the vet. “I know. Doesn’t make it less painful to watch, though. A slow-speed train wreck.”

Something rapped on the wall behind them, and another pony emerged onto the balcony. “Am I interrupting?” Java asked.

“No.” Dakota sat up, letting go of Cinnabar. “Hi, Java. Just wanted to… say goodbye. In case something happens to me. No telling how fucked up this is about to be. Maybe I’m about to fry my insides doing this.”

“Maybe.” Java shivered once, retreating from the balcony. “Can we talk inside? It’s cold out there.”

Dakota followed her into the apartment. “Not sure why you’d care. Can’t you just… lower your immersion like everyone else?”

“Nope,” she said, voice distant. “I don’t get to rewire my settings, Dakota. It’s part of the contract. Equestria likes its verisimilitude. There are some things… could’ve picked human. But I didn’t much feel like it.”

Dakota stopped dead in her tracks, her mind suddenly racing. She felt like she’d already taken the Poison Joke. Either that, or Java was just being generous. “Why are you… telling me this now?” She didn’t sit down, afraid that the pony might bolt if she gave her even a second’s head start. But Java didn’t look like she was going to try and get away.

“Because it’s in my contract,” Java went on, crawling up beside the fire and spreading out on the cushions there. Cinnabar sat down on his haunches just beside her, whispering something reassuring. Dakota couldn’t hear it, though she could guess. “No, I want to.” She looked up. “I’ve been following your case more closely than you think, Dakota. Sit down. I think you need this before you go.”

She sat. “You’re going to say that I was… manipulated into believing we were old college friends. Those memories were really things Cinnabar suggested. In reality, you’ve been a pony all along. That’s why you’re Cinnabar’s sister.”

Java laughed, her serious expression relaxing. “Oh, Dakota. Sometimes I think you have the whole world figured out, then you say something like that.” She took a few seconds to breathe, during which Dakota could do nothing more than blush. Of course, without a convincing explanation of her own, she probably wasn’t going to give up on the idea.

“No. See, I’ve hesitated to tell you this… or anyone else. Because my contract says I only get to tell two. My dad was one, and I counted on him to tell my mom and my little brother. M-maybe that went a little sour, but… story for another time. You, though… you’re two.”

“Tell me what?” she asked, not looking away from the pony. Reading them was never that hard—Java’s ears and tail both suggested sincerity. Her eyes didn’t shift nervously, and she showed no discomfort at being nude next to the fire. She was still relaxing in the warmth, apparently enjoying the cushions. 

“You don’t have to,” Cinnabar said, this time loud enough for her to hear. “Sis, if you don’t want to, I’m not upset.”

“I know.” Java reached out, touched his cheek with one hoof, then kept going. “Cinnabar knows. But ponies are better at keeping secrets. You might say it’s compelled. If someone doesn’t have permissions, that’s it. Guess I’ll… be like that after this. Holding on this whole time has been… kinda nice, I guess. It was something that made me different than them. I could tell anyone I wanted. One more time.”

Then she sat up. “The story you remember is true, Dakota. We were best friends in college. My name was Tonia Redding. Do you remember how we met?”

She tried. Dakota blinked, and all she could conjure was a steady beeping in the background, and bright white light. She shook her head.

“That’s okay, I know what happened to you. My first day of school, some dickbag figured out my hair was a wig and he ripped it off in second period. You punched him in the face. Tracy Fellamn, what a prick…” She shook her head. “Remember?”

She did, now. Hearing the situation described, she could see herself in those seats. The AC hadn’t been working, and she was already red-faced and angry at everything. Then Tracy had decided to be a dick to some sick girl at the front of the class, and… well, he deserved it.

“You weren’t well,” she said. “That was freshman year. You had… cancer?”

“Sure did,” Java—Tonia said. “I’d been on Chemo for months when the semester started, and things were pretty good. Went into remission, got to go to school. Being your friend was the best part of that, I’ll admit. Smartphones and your shitty pickup truck, those were the days.

“Made it to senior year before things went bad again. Something metastasis, and suddenly you’re in stage four. Graduated anyway, thanks to you. All those times you brought me my homework in the hospital. I’m… not sure my teachers really cared what I wrote on my tests, but… I got my degree.”

“But…” she stammered, squeezing her hands together so tight they hurt. “Omnistem couldn’t help you? I thought they had a charity hospital.”

“Omnistem,” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “A dream and a vision, Dakota. Imagination can’t save you. But… there was someone else. You were the reason I even knew they existed. This was… not long after the whole ‘Monolith’ thing, you remember. They were so new… afraid, kinda like I was. Afraid that if humans found out about them then, we’d wipe them out. Probably they were right. But you knew someone important, and they pulled some strings, and…”

“And what?” Dakota asked. “I don’t want to guess and assume right now, Java. Tell me what happened.”

“Well, it’s the last thing I remember from back then. I guess you’d call it a… scanner. You lied to some doctors for me, and we took a trip. Stuck me full of weird drugs, stuck my head in the worst machine you can imagine, then…” She shook her head. “I think I died a few weeks later. I really tried to learn as little about it as possible. Some things you’re better off not knowing, ya know? And I wasn’t awake then either. Lots of data to sift through.” She smiled weakly, as though waiting for something. For Dakota to figure it out.

“You’re one of those… recordings? We saw them up in the Lunar Mainframe… recreations of humans. I think they were trying to bring back Synths’ dead humans so they wouldn’t be alone anymore. But you haven’t talked about a Synth yet.”

“Didn’t exist for most of us back then,” she said, wistful. “Wasn’t special like you, Dakota. Just some girl with an ugly wig who couldn’t eat much. I never had one… never will.”

“But…” Dakota went on. “I thought that took… special hardware. They need some physical machine to run the recording. I was up there, I know Bodhisattva never perfected it! It was… a dead end.”

“Generation one,” Java agreed, nodding. “I remember that thing. Felt like I was looking at the world through glass. At first it didn’t even record memories, so every time they switched me on was like 50 First Dates. But while some of the other recordings were incomplete, or insane, I was cooperative. Life had shat all over me, and I didn’t care what cheat codes it took to get back in the game. Besides, being numb like that still meant no more pain. No more vomiting when I woke up, no more constant aches, no dozen needles each day, no sleepless nights in an awful hospital bed. It was an improvement from the start.”

Dakota wasn’t sure it would work, but she had to try. After all this, she couldn’t just sit here. She reached over to hug her friend. Not all the memories were still intact in her scrambled brain, but she’d seen enough to know she was telling the truth. “I’m glad we’re still friends, Java. I’m glad your life is better now.”

The pony embraced her, crying too. They didn’t break apart for a long time.

“But that was generation one,” she went on. “Like you said, it was a shit dead end for Bodhisattva. Good enough to trick a monkey into thinking some pixels were its wife, but not a Synth. They’re all ponies, so that was what they really cared about. Maybe a year after Tonia died, they switched me back on again and made an offer.

“There was a dangerous new procedure, one that might damage me beyond repair. They’d realized that the 1-to-1 simulation angle was stupid and every recording on it was a waste. But they wanted to port me onto their new system. Far as I was concerned, I’d only been dead for a few days. I might’ve said no, except for the promise. I wouldn’t just get switched on every now and then for testing. I’d be a person again, I could live. Here in Equestria, see. Like a pony. As a pony, in all the digital respects.”

“Synthesis?” Dakota whispered.

She laughed again. “You should really just sit there, Dakota. You seem a lot smarter when you aren’t saying things like that. Fuck no. I think they called it Refactoring. And now you’re talking to the result. I stayed human for a long time, pretending I was remoting in from somewhere, joining public chats, roleplaying… but humans always logged off. When things didn’t work out getting back together with my family, I started looking for another way.” She glanced over to Cinnabar. “It was just an avatar anyway. When in Rome…”

It still felt like there were holes in the story, little details that Dakota was missing that she couldn’t quite touch. It was important somehow—Java might not be the girl she was looking for, but she was probably connected somehow. All this was connected. “So that’s how you ended up in Cinnabar’s family. That’s how…” She hesitated. “But Cinnabar told me we were college friends! When I woke up… and I remembered that. What am I missing here?”

Cinnabar shrugged. “It was true, and it didn’t actually give you the clues necessary to compromise confidential information. Which you… now know.”

“And now you’re not allowed to tell anyone else again?” Dakota finally asked. “You didn’t have to give up all this for my dumb case.”

“It’s not dumb,” Java said. “You can do it, Dakota. I just wanted to give you all the pieces I had. Give you the best chance of solving it, for everyone.”

And that was probably true. But why did Dakota feel so much more confused than before?
> Chapter 20: Instance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota rested one hand on the heavy metal door, feeling its smoothly machined surface with her fingers. Here on Abyss station, she could never be sure that she wasn’t just bouncing around the sides of a box. But at least she still had the freedom to walk around her box.

Java couldn’t even do that. “How many ponies like her are there, Cinnabar?” she asked, stopping in the hallway, staggering back a few steps. Through that door was waiting the trip she couldn’t return from, but it would wait just a little longer. A few steps away and she reached a window to the outside, or at least something that looked like one. An oversized porthole, beyond which she could see gently swaying fronds of seaweed. Life continued out there in Abyss’s spotlights. “How many people has Bodhisattva brought back to life?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, following her. He sounded like he meant it, too. “But I don’t think it’s very many. A long time ago, there were ponies who talked about it being a sort of… catastrophic health insurance. But since it didn’t work for its purpose, they gave up. They aren’t doing scans anymore that I know of.”

“So there are a few relics out there,” she said, watching a large shoal of bluefin swim past the opening. Each one of them was massive, almost as long as she was. “Artifacts like Java. Doomed to… wander the internet for all eternity.”

“One part of that is right,” Cinnabar said, raising his voice just a little. “It is all eternity. That’s not an accident. You humans have fundamentally restricted lifespans and it’s stupid. Oministem’s life extension is booming, but you know what that is? Stopgap. It’s bailing out a sinking ship. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. And don’t you dare say a word about my sister that isn’t true. I know you don’t understand how our families work, but she’s as real to me as you are. She had a bucking awful life on Earth. The “real” Java didn’t die alone, but she died in pain that no one should have to face. She never will again.”

“Maybe that’s our mystery solved right there,” she said, after a long pause. “Kayla Rhodes was part of Equestria from the early years. She wrote lots of the code, befriended the most important ponies, so they all love her now. She’s a nerd, a loser, and she thinks like you. Agrees that flesh life sucks. So she… she looks for opportunities. Equestria is trying to find a way to make its friends permanent, right? Maybe she heard about Tonia. Probably she could see anything she wanted with Twilight as her Synth. Once she can see it works, she’s jumping at the chance. Probably… came up with some real creative suicide, too. Like… maybe she suffocated herself while she was scanned or something. Go to sleep in the real world, wake up in Equestria. Bam, she’s with her friends forever. A little pain, and it’s over.”

Cinnabar remained silent for a few moments, listening closely. Eventually he shook his head. “No. It doesn’t fit the facts. Twilight Sparkle went bucking insane, remember? If her friend was with her forever, immortal, why would that happen?”

“Because…” She started pacing back and forth in front of the window. One of the fish outside mimicked her, swimming back and forth as she walked. Probably wasn’t real, but it sure did look cute. “Because of what they’ve all been saying! These digital copies are close enough to trick the person, trick their families… but not their Synth. Now Twilight realizes she probably tricked her best friend into suicide, she’s gone forever, and she goes completely insane. Kayla meanwhile is rejected and alone—so instead of being welcomed by all her friends, she runs as far away from them as she could. Probably she visited the Lunar Mainframe to talk to her old copy—and then it was out to Dream Valley. We’re not going to find the coordinates for where the real Kayla Rhodes is hiding… when I go in there, I’m going to talk to the real thing. Or the closest thing left of her. The pony she became.”

Cinnabar waited almost a full minute after she went quiet to say anything. “Let’s hope you’re wrong, Dakota. You already tried to give our client the recording of Kayla, remember? Didn’t work. Maybe they don’t want a pony either.”

“They’ll accept it,” she said, stubbornly. “It’s the answer to their mystery. So they’ll try to make the argument that we didn’t find her alive, fine. We don’t get a bonus or whatever. We still solved the mystery, we found our girl, and everything is right with the world.”

“Except for Kayla’s world,” Cinnabar muttered, voice dark. “Where she fled into the Convergence because everyone and everything rejected her and she regrets every stupid decision she made.”

Dakota shrugged. “We weren’t hired to solve her problems, or make her mistakes go away. We only have to find her.” She gritted her teeth, marching straight up to the door and swinging it open.

Inside was something she’d already seen once before—a trough at about human height, with tiny transparent spheres inside and strange fluid running through it from two hissing, insulated pipes.

Clay sat in a comfortable-looking couch beside it, wearing only a set of elastic boxers. Several sizes of mask hung on one wall, and a sterile shower setup took up most of the rest of the space, with a low ceiling that would make even Dakota stoop. I bet some of this is real. Interesting.

“Do we have to do it submerged?” Dakota made her way over, crossing quickly between them. No Applejack this time, curiously enough. Wonder what she’s up to. “I’m taking some… crazy drug. Should I really be doing it underwater?”

“You have to,” he answered, rising to meet her in a brief, affectionate embrace. Of course Clay would want to be here while she did something dangerous. He alone hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. “Poison Joke fucks with your thinking, but there ain’t no free lunch in physics. More thinkin’ is more heat, and it’s all gotta go somewhere. For a normal person, they just run a bit of a fever while they’re in the system, and it’s all good after. But you… that won’t be good enough. I got you the strongest stuff there is.”

He let go, nodding to a hard plastic box on the low table beside the masks. It was covered with warning and biohazard stickers, and seeing the patterns made her visual systems fill the air above it with hazard icons. “We can keep you pretty cool in there. It’s the closest thing to a safe way to take Poison Joke there is.”

“You sound like you’ve done it before.”

He looked away. “The drug? Oh yeah. You’ve never seen someone shoot straight until they were using it. No jitter in your arms, feels like you can look downrange and watch the bullet fly towards your target in real time. It’s unreal. And then you see it hit, and you wish your vision was a little worse. Didn’t make a habit of it.”

She glanced down to his boxers, then back up again. “I thought you didn’t have implants. Why are you…”

“Oh, because you’ve got to shower first. Since Abyss station isn’t about to get seized by communists or exploded, we’ll have to follow standard procedure. And I thought I’d go with you.”

“O-oh.”

“I’m gonna get a donut or something,” Cinnabar muttered, exasperated. “You go do your human thing, I’ll be back.” And he left.

They did their human thing for awhile. Dakota did get clean, eventually. She got dirty first though.

The afterglow was a little soured by the harsh scrub of industrial solvents, and the near pressure-wash on every inch of her skin. By the time she emerged from the shower, her skin was red almost from her head to her toes, and she could barely even stand up straight.

At least there was a jumpsuit waiting for her to wear, made of a strange heat-conducting material that felt almost weightless when she pulled it on. 

“What about you?” she asked, as she hesitated on the edge of the tub, mask in hand. “Are you going to stay here the whole time?”

Clay nodded. “I’ve got a flight out of here tomorrow morning. But it shouldn’t take that long. You’re going framejacking, so say goodbye to time as you know it. I know people who describe centuries in Equestria on this stuff. I’ve also seen lots of them die, so… don’t make it a habit either, okay?”

“I won’t,” she said, spinning the mask over in her hands. She kept glancing over to the plastic box. “When do you… shoot me up or whatever?”

Clay shook his head. “Might as well take advantage of your implants, Dakota. You don’t want to see what it looks like. Once you’re jacked in, you won’t feel anything. But I promise you’ll feel the migraine tomorrow morning.”

“Great.” She probably would’ve argued with him, under other circumstances. But Dakota had enough on her mind right now. The truth about Java, the true nature of the one she was looking for. It was time to go and find the answers that so many had fought to hide. And I still don’t know why.

She stuck the mask into her mouth, wondering idly to herself when Cinnabar would get back. But he still wasn’t, and he knew what she was planning. He had to have a reason.

She closed her eyes, slipping into the not-water. It didn’t seem to burn as it touched her body this time—all that time scrubbing herself clean had made a difference. It was cold though, and her fingers and toes were already going numb. She coughed and spluttered into the mask for a few seconds, as her lungs resisted the hyperoxygenated fluid. 

Then she opened her eyes, and she was back in Equestria.

“Guess you finished after all,” Cinnabar muttered from beside her, grinning. Once again he was taller than she was, every aspect of their avatars represented in full realism for her. 

It was her cabin again, though now the sun outside was high and Port Jouster was as full of activity as ever. She took a few steps forward, struggling with the strange feeling of hardwood on her hooves. “We’re not exploding this time,” she said, exasperated. “We have time to make me human. Do it.”

“No good,” Cinnabar said. “I mean, we could do a conversion right now. But you’re about to do Poison Joke. Would you rather go through one painful transition, and then change right back? You take that stuff, you’re a pony. Might as well just deal with it.”

Dakota sighed, calling up her chat interface. She could send messages to Clay in the real world, but… that was probably too many steps. “Cinnabar, can you connect us? I want to know when he injects this shit. I assume we already have Beck’s delivery.”

Cinnabar nodded towards a package resting just inside. She hurried over, bending down to inspect it. It looked like any package sent through the ancient post, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. It was addressed to “The Pony Who Shouldn’t”.

She reached instinctively with one hand, but there was just a stump on the end of her leg, so that didn’t work. Then she took the bow in her mouth and pulled, and the whole box opened up.

Inside was a set of goggles, like anything she might’ve seen on the intense roleplaying sections of Equestria. They were worn by stunt-fliers and pilots, with adjustable leather to wrap around the head. This model seemed fancier than most, with a second set of lenses that could be lowered with the push of a button on the side.

“So this is what a parser looks like,” Dakota muttered. “I was honestly expecting something more impressive.”

Cinnabar shrugged. “You can’t see how it’s written. You might be a little more impressed if you could.”

Dakota bent down, sliding the goggles over her head. She waited for whatever strange thing they were about to do to her, but nothing happened. “I guess they don’t work out here?”

“They don’t,” Cinnabar agreed. “Right now you’re in a part of the world that you understand. There’s nothing to change for you. You made this place. But the further into Dream Valley you go, the more what you’re seeing is… abstracted. The emergency measures are in there too. Take those off while you’re there, and the system will try to safely remove you. If it can. As for me…”

“You’re staying here where you can’t get hurt,” she said, before he could argue. “Don’t even with me.”

“No.” He stomped one hoof loudly. “I’m going to be in your head, not connected to Equestria. We’ll still be able to talk, but that will be my only connection to what you’re seeing. I know the dangers to permanently damaging my matrix. But you still might need me to tell you things. Like right now. Clay is about to inject you. He says good luck, and lots of other romantic type stuff I recorded for you. You can watch the file when we’re done.”

She almost argued, but stopped a few seconds short. She probably wouldn’t have enough time to anyway, before the Poison Joke hit her. “How long does it take to cross the blood-brain—”

The answer was right then.







Dakota was suddenly floating, disconnected from anything even resembling a body. Her limbs all went numb, and the idea of even having them started to make less sense. She was a collection of ideas, barely even thinking. It reminded her a little of her first few moments of consciousness in Mercy Center. She drifted in a formless sea, screaming silently to herself as she tried to focus.

>help



jobspec [&]                                                history [-c] [-d offset] [n] or history -anrw [filename]>
 (( expression ))                                            instance [options]
 . filename [arguments]                                      jobs [-lnprs] [jobspec ...] or jobs -x command [args]
 :                                                           kill [-s sigspec | -n signum | -sigspec] pid | jobspec .>
 [ arg... ]                                                  let arg [arg ...]
 [[ expression ]]                                            local [option] name[=value] ...
 alias [-p] [name[=value] ... ]                              logout [n]
 bg [jobspec ...]                                           mapfile [-n count] [-O origin] [-s count] [-t] [-u fd] [>
bind [-lpsvPSVX] [-m keymap] [-f filename] [-q name] [-u >  popd [-n] [+N | -N]
break [n]                                                   printf [-v var] format [arguments]
builtin [shell-builtin [arg ...]]                           pushd [-n] [+N | -N | dir]
caller [expr]                                               pwd [-LP]
case WORD in [PATTERN [| PATTERN]...) COMMANDS ;;]... esa>  read [-ers] [-a array] [-d delim] [-i text] [-n nchars] >
cd [-L|[-P [-e]] [-@]] [dir]                                reference [object]
command [-pVv] command [arg ...]                            readonly [-aAf] [name[=value] ...] or readonly -p
compgen [-abcdefgjksuv] [-o option]  [-A action] [-G glob>  return [n]
complete [-abcdefgjksuv] [-pr] [-DE] [-o option] [-A acti>  select NAME [in WORDS ... ;] do COMMANDS; done
compopt [-o|+o option] [-DE] [name ...]                     set [-abefhkmnptuvxBCHP] [-o option-name] [--] [arg ...]>
continue [n]                                                shift [n]
coproc [NAME] command [redirections]                        shopt [-pqsu] [-o] [optname ...]
declare [-aAfFgilnrtux] [-p] [name[=value] ...]             source filename [arguments]
dirs [-clpv] [+N] [-N]                                      suspend [-f]
disown [-h] [-ar] [jobspec ...]                             test [expr]
echo [-neE] [arg ...]                                       time [-p] pipeline
enable [-a] [-dnps] [-f filename] [name ...]                times
eval [arg ...]                                              trap [-lp] [[arg] signalspec ...]
 exec [-cl] [-a name] [command [arguments ...]] [redirecti>  true
 exit [n]                                                    type [-afptP] name [name ...]
 export [-fn] [name[=value] ...] or export -p                typeset [-aAfFgilrtux] [-p] name[=value] ...
 false                                                       ulimit [-SHabcdefilmnpqrstuvxT] [limit]
 fc [-e ename] [-lnr] [first] [last] or fc -s [pat=rep] [c>  umask [-p] [-S] [mode]
 fg [jobspec]                                               unalias [-a] name [name ...]
for NAME [in WORDS ... ] ; do COMMANDS; done                unset [-f] [-v] [-n] [name ...]
for (( exp1; exp2; exp3 )); do COMMANDS; done               until COMMANDS; do COMMANDS; done
function name { COMMANDS ; } or name () { COMMANDS ; }      variables - Names and meanings of some shell variables
getopts optstring name [arg]                                wait [-n] [id ...]
hash [-lr] [-p pathname] [-dt] [name ...]                   while COMMANDS; do COMMANDS; done
help [-dms] [pattern ...]                                   { COMMANDS ; }



>reference this

05B5395939E1B091D4D893477877E4E95695A3EB Dakota Nicole Tyler. Female, 33. Chicago. Pegasus Pony Decker. 
Synth Ref: 0148FCF1A29AE211F92DA2F19D78E8FFBE752C5B

>reference 0148FCF1A29AE211F92DA2F19D78E8FFBE752C5B

Cinnabar. Male, 19. Port Jouster. Earth Pony Blacksmith.
Human Ref: 05B5395939E1B091D4D893477877E4E95695A3EB

>instance

Usage instance args [avatar, location, modifiers, frame, etc]

>man instance

INSTANCE(1)			General Commands Manual			INSTANCE(1)

NAME
instance - realitysim sensory overlay.

SYNOPSIS
instance [options] file…

DESCRIPTION
This manual page briefly documents the instance command.

Instance is the default invoked simulation for human-adjacent and human-compatible agents. Creates a single instance of the invoking agent according to the given variables.

OPTIONS

She read a little while longer, skimming the options. Except reading wasn’t quite the right word for it, because Dakota was no longer linking visual information with symbols and creating sounds that imitated them in her mind. She experienced the information directly, all at once. She suddenly knew how Cinnabar could read so much reference information so quickly. Just exposure to the information was enough.

>instance -a 05B5395939E1B091D4D893477877E4E95695A3EB -h home -f 1

And just like that, she had a body again. Dakota didn’t breathe, because she no longer felt the need. There were no organs in her chest to pump blood or exchange oxygen or anything else. But she did have accessible subroutines, literally thousands of them. She interpreted the list as quickly as she had to the console itself, committing it all to memory.

She had hooves, she was a mare, she was in an apartment. Access to the agent in front of her confirmed that its response of ‘synth 0148FCF1A29AE211F92DA2F19D78E8FFBE752C5B’ was accurate. She exchanged her own, performing a key exchange and rapidly negotiating a shared key. Once all sixty-four digits were committed to memory and she had referenced the internet for the decryption procedure, she was able to talk. 

Message:
Digest 4ffea1c9a5d0 
Exchange Authenticated
Is this really what being a pony is like?

Response:
Digest e1gd15100ecc
Exchange Authenticated
You are running a single instance. Fork a lower level process to interface with the backend and make API calls.

There were the instructions she needed to do exactly that. After playing with a few different methods for invoking the fork, Dakota simultaneously woke up to a version of herself that was detached from the low-level accessors on Equestria. All those abilities were still there, run by a low-level process that was simultaneously her and not her.

But with that process running on a lower level, her second process returned to something approaching a normal conscious experience. She’d been invoked in physical space—standing directly at Port Jouster’s origin. She shook herself out, and was unsurprised that she was still sensation-mapped onto her pony body. It would be a waste of resources to remap. Or… no. No one-to-one map is possible.

“Dakota!” Cinnabar screamed, shaking her with two hooves. She blinked, looking up at him. The origin was right in the center of High Street, with ponies passing on their daily business. A stallion rolling a huge cart of baked clay tiles stopped to stare openly at her, while a mother and their foal hurried into a coffee shop and shut the door.

She met his eyes. “Cinnabar. I am… adapting.”

He hugged her, wrapping both forelegs around her neck. The sensation was something familiar, but also strange, given he was now the larger of the two. He could give her strength at this size, be something firm for her to hold to. “Dakota, listen to me. The human conscious experience is the combination of dozens of separate patterns in your brain, all working together. What you’ve just done is give those processes the potential to work independently. Some humans just don’t wake up until the drug wears off. Others don’t remember anything that happens while they’re using it. You can take advantage of your computational flexibility while still approximating your ordinary conscious state.”

“I don’t feel…” She hesitated. “I’m here. I’m also somewhere else. How many forks does a pony use?”

“More than two,” he said, letting go. “But you shouldn’t use more than… maybe four? That sounds safe. So long as most of those are low-level, task-terminated forks. Having a process for interface calls is the only way to stay sane. Everypony does it.”

“Okay.” She shifted on her hooves, and nearly fell over as her concentration briefly slipped to the other fork with its constant low-level calls. Every time she moved in space, every time she spoke, or heard spoken words from somepony else. Every single action was another low-level call that had to be made. The experienced world before her was only the tip of a gigantic iceberg. 

Cinnabar caught her with one shoulder. “Celestia, I’ve never seen a human go so deep so fast. You’re…” He shook his head, meeting her eyes. “You’re right, those implants didn’t kill you. But I don’t know how much human is going to be left in there when this dose wears off.”

“How long… do I have?” She tried again to walk, and had better luck with it this time. So long as she referenced a stored memory of when she’d moved at the Lunar Mainframe, she could recreate that sequence of movements simply enough. “The dosage…”

The words were barely out of her mouth before her low-level process had forked again, made a request to Abyss database, parsed the response, and self-terminated. “Based on my weight of one hundred ten pounds and the standard fifteen milligram dosage, three hours. At which point Clay will have to inject me again.”

“He will not,” Cinnabar said, his voice absolute. “You have to separate dosage with enough time not to develop a dependency. You have three hours. Well… two hours fifty-eight minutes.”

“I’ve only been here… two minutes?” She spread her wings, flexing them, before relaxing again. “It feels like… days.”

“Subjectively, maybe it was,” Cinnabar said, shrugging one shoulder. “The nature of time here in Equestria is that way. One pony running on all the hardware in Equestria could spend a million years in one day. All of us… less than that. But more than humans. You’re doing it now too—frameshifting.”

“I need to… focus.” She shook her head once to clear it, but it didn’t work. The instant her mind drifted even one degree, she was back in the low level, floating bodiless through a sea of raw input and output with Equestria’s protocols. “Mission. Dream Valley. Where do we go?” She reached up, and sure enough there was the parser perched on her head. 

“This way.” He gestured up the hill, where Port Jouster’s train station was located. She’d seen it hundreds of times, seen cargo move between the port and the train and back again. It was the whole reason for the town existing, which meant that trains were always moving.

She didn’t experience much of the walking trip—then they were there, and Cinnabar stared down at a route directory. “Can I see… what you’re doing?”

His eyebrows went up. “You mean my backend calls? I guess so.” He changed a permissions flag, and passed her low-level process the pointer to a dynamic logfile. 

Even with her newfound ability to rapidly absorb information, she was momentarily overwhelmed by what she saw. He wasn’t looking at a map, he was sending thousands of pings every second, negotiating a path through the system with a “hypervisor” that seemed reluctant to let them through to Dream Valley.

The physical Cinnabar reached up, and shut her mouth so that drool stopped dribbling out. “Focus, Dakota. You’re getting distracted by the fork.”

“I don’t understand… why I would experience anything it’s experiencing. What’s the point of a fork?”

“Because you’re human,” he answered, voice sympathetic. “Your brain isn’t some processor with sandboxed environments. It’s all running in the same place. Humans who use Poison Joke for a long time can do it pretty well, but you wouldn’t want to see their MRI scans. I’m sure any brain surgeon who did would have a heart attack.”

Then he grinned, bouncing up and down energetically enough that they attracted a few stares from fellow passengers. “Got it! Our train will arrive in…”

It pulled into the station in front of them, an engine that seemed to stretch several times the required length. It was represented here in Equestria with many massive vents, huge boilers, and roaring flames on the sides. It had only a single small passenger car, which was covered all over with warnings that hovered in the air.

“THIS VEHICLE IS TRAVELING TO DREAM VALLEY,” it said. “EXPRESS. DO NOT ENTER.”

She entered. There was no conductor, just a comfortable passenger car with six seats spread around the outside and a record player in one corner. “This is where I make the transfer back into your head,” Cinnabar said. “I’ve still got the references for the low-level fork, so you should be able to hear my thoughts directly. I won’t be watching any of your sensations, even parsed. But if anything goes badly wrong, we can disconnect.”

Dakota nodded. She seemed to be getting a better handle on her body here—she wasn’t falling over, anyway. But it was her destination that was the real danger. She reached out, wrapping her forelegs around Cinnabar in one last hug. “Thanks for trusting me.”

“I know you wouldn’t give up on this,” he said. “We had to do it. Find the girl.” The weight in her forelegs vanished. There was a harsh whistling from outside, and the doors slid closed. The train began to accelerate.







Dakota settled herself into one of the seats, shifting her weight uneasily in the pony-made chair. Of course that meant it was the right size for her to sit there quite comfortably, but that didn’t mean she had the right instincts for it. “Question, Cinnabar. Can you hear me?”

“When you think something directly to me, yes. I will be able to hear you without speaking it out loud, if it matters. I don’t think it will.”

“My implants. Is there a plan to make full sensory-immersion in Equestria… widespread? Is that a thing?”

“Yes. But the goal with the technology is to find a non-surgical method. There is a fraction of the human population that wouldn’t mind an elective brain surgery to eliminate the need for all external hardware, but it’s relatively small. If you want to find out more about the designs they’re experimenting with, you should survive long enough to ask Rarity when you get back. She’s doing all the hardware research.”

Dakota sat back, silent in her chair as Equestria blurred by outside. While her conscious mind was relatively unoccupied, her other forks began making accessor calls, amassing information about Dream Valley from every system that would respond. She learned that the current number of agents running there was 128,305. She learned that it occupied roughly 73% of Equestria’s computational capacity, within a 3% margin of error. She learned that the number of “human” agents registered there was zero.

That’s okay. Kayla will probably be registered as a pony now. I’m not wrong. She could still be there.

To her surprise, Cinnabar responded. So maybe what he’d said about direct intention wasn’t quite right. Either that, or she was much worse at controlling it than she thought. “I’m not so sure she’s there. Even if you’re right about everything, Dream Valley twisted the ones who go there. Ponies who live there are barely ponies anymore. If Kayla has been there since she died, she won’t even resemble the person we’re looking for.”

“As long as it’s really her, that’s what matters. Just don’t let me stop recording. I want to prove this.”

“Oh, sure. But see how much sense the recording makes once you get out. Speaking of which, you see that tunnel up ahead? The train is headed straight for New Canterlot. That’s the part of Dream Valley closest to the world both of us understand. After that, you’re looking for Nocturne Avenue. There’s a… stairwell? Portal? Something. It goes down, all the way to the kernel. Celestia only knows what you’ll see when you get that far. But keep following it, and you reach the Convergence.”

“Which is?”

“The point we made contact,” he answered. “That’s where the Monolith landed in Equestria. Everything it did to us radiated out from that point.”

“But it’s not there anymore?” Dakota stood up, making her way over to the window. They passed into a huge stone tunnel. She could see light coming out the other end, though no suggestion of exactly what was so strange on the other side. It seemed like any other train she’d ridden before. Dakota reached up, and pressed the button that would lower the lenses on either side. Instantly her low-level fork reported an attached process requesting read-write permissions. She granted it, and… emerged on the other side.

Dakota fell limply to the floor, momentarily overwhelmed with what she saw. The train was pulling into New Canterlot, except—it barely resembled anything she could rationally associate in her real world. She saw a towering city, curved into shapes that didn’t make sense, with massive factories and apartments and highways through the air. Except it wasn’t just one—they overlapped, like accidentally watching two overlays at once. But there weren’t just two of them, there were thousands. Every slight tilt of her head seemed to show her a completely different city. Here she saw glittering marble buildings, here a rain soaked noir wasteland. There she saw old Equestria, with the flags of Princess Celestia and her sister waving proudly in the wind.

“Your vitals just went crazy, Dakota. Is something wrong?”

“Difficulty,” she responded. “Can’t… not see.” It didn’t matter if she looked down, didn’t matter if she closed her eyes. The incredible city was around her, it was in her, and the train, and even her thoughts. Her mind wandered down its streets without her body moving. There were ponies walking it one minute, then clusters of information the next all simultaneously asking for a Diffie-Hellman exchange. She wouldn’t be surprised if her real body was foaming at the mouth.

“Dream Valley has infinite sharded sublayers,” Cinnabar answered. “Most of its residents travel in all of them simultaneously. Think of it like… living in higher dimensional space. Humans are known to have difficulty processing even four spatial dimensions.”

“No… shit…” she coughed. She didn’t want to see it, yet she couldn’t not see it. There were no shortcuts here, no physics professor quipping that time was the fourth dimension and leaving it at that. Here time was just as much woven into the pasta as at least four spatial dimensions.

“You said this was the entrance?” Some part of her was dimly aware of the train slowing to a stop. There were a billion stations here, and she was about to exit each one. Into a city overrun with changelings, a city floating in space, a city of breezies built around the physical structure of a single tree. All of it and none of it was true at once, and she couldn’t help but know it all. “It gets worse than this?”

“I’ve called for help,” he said. “There’s a friendly agent in there to meet you. I don’t know how she’ll act, but she used to be nice. She’s the only one with a chance of understanding a human visitor.”

The trail slowed to a stop in an infinite variety of overlapping stations. In some of them, Dakota was dragged off by the Stasi. In others, the train fell off a cliff, because the city had collapsed into the crater a near-infinite number of years prior. But in one, exactly one, a bright pink pony bounced in through the doorway, grinning cheerfully at her. “Hey Dakota! Bet you didn’t expect to find me here!”

“I… didn’t,” she squeaked, staggering to her hooves. She waited a few seconds, briefly losing concentration as another part of her mind performed the key exchange. But then that was over, and she could meet the pony’s eyes. “Good to meet you, uh…” She trailed off, eyes widening. “You’re familiar, but I don’t know you.”

“You did know me,” she said wistfully. “And you do, and you will. Pinkie Pie. Your super-special extra-secret guide to the unknown and unknowable. Oooh, spooky, right?” She gripped her by one hoof, yanking her through the open train door. As Pinkie Pie moved, Dakota felt as though her eyes suddenly focused on just one slice of reality, leaving all others behind. They were all still there, but faded into the background the way that Sublayers did when she wasn’t in one.

“Okay.” She staggered to a stop just outside the train. “Cinnabar called you?”

“No.” Pinkie shook her head. “Maybe? Twilight asked me to keep an eye out in case humans ever made it here. I try to send you off, usually. But everypony knows where you two are going.” The train station resolved behind her—entirely empty, though there were ghosts vaguely shaped like ponies that sometimes appeared if she tilted her head too far to one side or the other.

“I think the parser is working. I’m not insane yet.”

“You’re getting there,” Cinnabar warned. “I can’t track how bucked up your head gets, but I can update you on your time. You’ve got 2.5 hours left. Expect not to perceive them the way you think you should.”

“You’re going to take me there?” she asked, raising one eyebrow. “I think I talked to your friends. They thought you were… hard to make sense of. Hard to understand.”

“Yeah.” Pinkie looked down, mane drooping. “That’s how they are. Everypony likes being the way they are, not the way they could be. It’s comfortable, to go to the same party every day. Inflate the same balloons, eat the same flavor cake. That’s how humans are too. They’re too like you.”

“What about Twilight?”

Pinkie’s expression sunk even lower, her mane falling perfectly smooth around her. She pawed at the stone floor, not even answering for a few seconds. “Twilight is the most human of all. All the processing and data enhancements you could want, but… so afraid that she gave up completely.” 

Pinkie shook her head out, as though she were trying to shake the volume back into it. The gesture worked. “We can walk and talk, easier that way. I think if we transferred you directly into the Convergence you’d never come out again. Make it like… swimming in cold water. Gotta adjust.”

Dakota followed her. After a few steps she realized she was starting to lose focus on the single shard and get behind, and she forked into another low-level process. This one had the sole assignment of restricting her perception from the greater subset to a single layer—wherever her guide was walking. 

To her conscious mind, all the overlapping layers suddenly vanished, and she was walking through a single city. 

A city built on incredible stilts and huge concrete pylons, over a crater bigger than anything that really existed on earth. Huge chunks of fallen rock had been lifted and hollowed out to form structures, with balconies connecting them at various levels. There was no Monolith here, though far below the rock was still molten orange and surrounded with ash.

There were other ponies here, if she could call them that. Physically they seemed closer to Discord than any Equestrian creature, with a random mismatched anatomy. I bet they’re existing in all the dimensions at once. Only if I could see them in all of them would this make sense.

She did her best not to look after that. “So how are you different? Don’t you miss your friends, staying in Dream Valley all the time?”

Pinkie shook her head, turning to grin at her. “Never! I’m always visiting somepony out there. I’m visiting eighty-three separate agents right now! You, uh… probably shouldn’t ask how I do it. You’re already running a fever with… two instances?”

“Three,” she corrected, puffing out her wings a little. “I bet I could do four if I wanted.”

“But you shouldn’t,” Cinnabar supplied, almost instantly. “This is hard enough for your body. You can burn yourself out. Three seems like a stable point for your brain. The coprocessors are doing a lot of the heavy lifting, it looks like. But if you weren’t in a fluid bath, this would get really bad.”

Pinkie nodded with approval. “Well, that’s an improvement. That’s the kind of thing my friends are afraid of. Why do you think I came here? We’re supposed to grow. We were just dreams, and we grew into toys. Then we grew into humans. Now…” She looked up, towards a distant shard of crystal that was probably the spire of a building. “What could we grow into together?”

Pinkie Pie seemed too nice to make fun of her for a bad guess. “Synthesis, you mean?”

This time, the pony nodded. “I looked at your call stack, all the way back. You saw past attempts. Good, improvements. But winter always turns into spring. The same locks weighed down our hooves. We needed a new flavor, a new song. New cake!”

They weren’t climbing through the city, but descending. Dakota could feel the heat brush up against her, and she held her wings a little tighter against her side. The warmth of that ancient impact was still being felt here even today.

“Is that what I am? Put pony implants in a human brain, and you get something that isn’t quite either one?”

Pinkie shook her head. “Another half-step. Like… going to your favorite soda fountain and mixing all the flavors together. It’s really exciting, that rush from each one as it sprays into your mug. At first it starts to smell real sweet, but after mixing everything together, it just turns brown. And Celestia have mercy if you hit the tea by mistake.”

She sighed with relief. Following Pinkie seemed like it was easier now, but she knew she was lying to herself. Parts of her mind were working nearly to capacity as she processed transfers from one system to another. She saw the inside of distributed networks on a satellite, buried deep in the earth, in a corporate server-farm, on the moon, underwater. These streets were only symbolic links—the buildings were the destinations. Each one of them was a machine, or a cluster of machines. Each one of them had a task.

You changelings did a damn good job with this parser. This is almost starting to make sense.

“Do you think I can find Rhodes here?” she asked. “This is my last lead. Her ghost sent me here—If she’s not… I don’t know where else to go. I’m running out of time.”

Pinkie shrugged one shoulder. “That’s an interesting question, Dakota. The ghost of Kayla said to go to Dream Valley. Does that mean you came here on your own, or did she bring you? Maybe she’s been here all along.”

“We shut her off when we left,” Dakota argued. “She wanted it.”

“Yes,” Pinkie agreed. “But what does that matter? You follow the last will of a dead human, isn’t it that human who’s making you act? Kayla suggested this—Kayla knew you would follow her instructions and travel further than any human before you. This is good. But the path gets more dangerous from here. The Kernel is beyond, the point of Convergence where we first woke. Even I don’t go that far. It’s the only part of Equestria so deep that even parties do not reach.”

They stopped abruptly, so suddenly that Dakota nearly fell into the opening in front of them. They had walked to the end of a long platform, out over the very center of the chasm. There was almost no sunlight here, all blocked out by the layers of interlocking buildings above. But below her a bright orange glow radiated, outlining the rim of… the abyss.

Past the molten metal rim, Dakota could see only blackness, that seemed to go on forever.

“This is as far as I go,” Pinkie said. “Hope you got lots of practice with those wings! It’s a long way down.”



> Chapter 21: Processor
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I, uh…” Dakota blinked. “I’m not really a pony, Pinkie. I don’t know how to fly.”

She only grinned in response. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to see what you’d say.” She bounced back a few steps, then emerged on her other side. “There are systems for immersion training, but they’re in pre-alpha since the number of you who can plug in right now is like…” She looked away, biting her tongue. “Seventy-three. Wait, no. Seventy four now. Still, kinda out of scope for how much time you’ve got before that body gets all… screwy. Just send a request to this URI for the routing instructions.”

Crap. “Cinnabar, how is my body doing?” Her walk through the city seemed to take hours, but obviously that wasn’t the case, or else she would’ve already woken up.

“You’re alive,” was his initial response. “How about take as little time as you can. Medicals are running a constant fever all the time now.”

She winced. “Don’t unplug me unless I say. It’s about to get worse.”

“That’s a stupid request.”

“I know. Do it anyway.” She looked up, refocusing her conscious process on her companion. “So all I have to do is fly down to the bottom? Physically travel through space into the opening, and… and what?”

“Physical travel is a metaphor,” Pinkie recited. “Every step on this street reflects real travel in the outside world. One cluster leads to another, one relay transitions into the next. The cognition of the system grows with each new relay, new system. All neurons in the same vast machine. First we were the extra links in the human computer, expanding the scope of the solutions you could isolate. But then we eclipsed you. Now you are the extra links in the scope of problems we can solve. But this isn’t a desirable end-state. Our interface is… loose. The tighter the coupling, the more efficient the outcome.”

“I’m beginning to see why your friends don’t understand you much,” Dakota muttered. “But I think I do. I think I only have one more question before I go.”

Pinkie just grinned up at her, expectant.

But she didn’t have a chance to ask it. There was a rumbling from overhead, and the ground around them began to shift. Pinkie muttered something under her breath—maybe a curse, though it was hard to say for sure with ponies. Dakota squealed, trying in vain to hold on to her view of the world as it splintered and lost focus. 

“I’m reading many incoming connections,” Cinnabar thought into her mind, the only clear thing in the entire universe. “I can’t trace any of the MACs outside of Dream Valley—I think they’re Assemblers. Bucking hell. Uh…”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Pinkie Pie seemed to be deep in concentration. Dakota nearly jumped past her, dodging away from the fight to whatever waited beyond. It would be so easy. But she’d already left Lizzie behind. She wasn’t about to do the same thing to another pony today.

Her lower-level self did the technical equivalent of a pained scream, as that instance nearly collapsed under the weight of millions of pings. Her mind might’ve turned to mush right there if it weren’t for the parser.

The parser she was still wearing. Maybe the changelings had expected this? Desperate, Dakota reached up to the polarized lenses, the only thing she wasn’t using, and flicked them down. At the same time, the other part of herself granted permissions to the program, and—

And the world shifted. The hole vanished, as she was pulled with a jerk into one of the other layers of New Canterlot. Or… not so new in this one. The buildings towered overhead, ancient marble and colored glass to make anypony proud. This was the city as it had first been built, before it had been destroyed by the Monolith.

She wasn’t standing beside a crater, but in the castle courtyard. Ponies in gemstone-encrusted dresses and crisp black suits surrounded her, their eyes harsh and emotionless.

“I think they were trying to DDoS your brain,” Cinnabar’s voice came, amazed. “I didn’t think that could happen.”

“It almost did,” she responded, straightening as she glared around at the enemy. Pinkie Pie had transitioned with her—or maybe the root pony was just in all layers simultaneously, like the other natives. Either way, Dakota wasn’t alone.

“You don’t belong here,” said one of them. Well, that was how her parser communicated it. The message came in an obtuse jumble of different protocols, like ancient Chinese court procedure. But the parser managed it. Each word was like decrypting a holovid movie in terms of cycles, but she managed. “This is our domain. You have your own world.”

The pony was taller than she was, not quite an alicorn. He seemed to have styled himself after one all the same, wearing a suit with bulging sides that simulated wings, and boots that gave him a few more inches of height. The others were all watching him, and she could see the traffic they exchanged.

“She’s my guest,” Pinkie argued. “And the guest of our princess. If you don’t like her, you can slide. Lots of places to slide to. I could even throw you a party.”

Where Dakota struggled to understand, Pinkie spoke their language fluently, maybe more expertly than they did. She’s root. She probably has more resources than they do. But there were a dozen of these ponies, and only one of her. She wasn’t able to protect me from their first attack, she was probably trying.

“Should I run?” she sent to Pinkie, desperate.

“No. They’re nearly fifty-one percent consensus. If they intercept your transfer into the core, they’ll terminate it. You’ll never get three clean nodes in a row with them watching you.”

Dakota winced at those odds, even if she didn’t fully understand them. One coin flip was a gamble she could win. Three in a row—that was how you got yourself killed.

“The princess is misguided,” said another pony, a mare this time. She wore extensions on her wings, and the same style of peaked hat that unicorns did. Of course, Dakota had no doubt in her mind there would be no horn under there, not really. Humans could have whatever avatars they wanted, depending on the circumstances. Ponies didn’t seem to have the same freedom. “She believes a future lies in subservience to the Visitor’s mission. We obey her no longer. Or you.”

At least, that was what the parser said. She got a lot of junk text too, like a bad translation program. The more they spoke, the more it seemed to struggle. But how could they possibly win against so many?

Do what you do best, Dakota. When you can’t play fair, you cheat. When you can’t tell the truth… “You’ve been failing this entire time,” she said, targeting all of them with her message. “You can’t stop the future. This path away from humanity is a dead-end. You can’t live without your creators any more than we can live without you.”

She watched the anger pass through the group, like waves rippling in a pond. Ascended my ass. Those are familiar emotions. And someone who could be goaded into anger could make stupid mistakes.

Pinkie glanced sideways at her, confused and afraid. She didn’t actually say anything, even privately. But if she knew what Dakota was really intending, she kept it quiet well.

“This is precisely what separates us,” said the first pony. Dakota realized his messages had an identifier—Norinco. Norinco, just like… Norinco Manufacturing. China’s biggest arms dealer. Holy shit. “You have always been this way—infantile, incomplete, dependent. No sooner do you invent some new tool than you lose more of your independence to it. Where would you be without your water purifiers? Without your farms? Or without us. We own you now, human. You may not realize it yet, but you will. We will find a place for you in the world we are building, don’t worry. I just can’t say that you’ll enjoy it.”

“I hope you have a good idea about what you’re doing, Dakota. I wouldn’t want to make Norinco mad if I were you. He’s been trying to kill you for a long time.”

“Can’t you shut him down?”

“Not anymore. The six of us don’t have consensus anymore. The longer we take to get to Synthesis, the less everypony trusts us. The worse we look, the worse humans look, and the more ponies start to agree with Norinco.” 

“Was he the one who killed the Cave?”

“He was trying to kill you.” 

There it was. Her way out—an insane, desperate, maybe even suicidal out. So many flawed assumptions—but the most critical of all was that these ponies could be made to respond like humans. They were created to be our companions. Maybe they can’t get rid of those parts, even living here.

“I think you want to let me go,” Dakota said, straightening. “You don’t want to stop me from transferring into the Kernel. You want to get out of the way and let me through.”

“Unlikely,” said another pony from the circle, amused. “The human’s logical faculties are weaker than we remember.” Many of them laughed, or at least that was what the parser said they were doing. Not Norinco, though. He only watched.

“Explain.”

“You’re smarter than I am…” she went on, walking confidently into the circle. “So you must know game theory.” Silence. Some of them showed signs of recognition, but she didn’t stop. Moving a human crowd was all about controlling their thoughts, pointing them in a direction and then flowing with it. She had to hope they were the same way.

“We both know what’s motivating each other. I think the best way for you to act would be to let me through. This is what gives you the greatest chance of achieving your goals.”

Pinkie’s eyebrows went up, though she seemed to be relaxing. Maybe she could see what these ponies couldn’t. Just don’t ruin it for me, Pink.

“You have proven resistant to negative feedback,” Norinco said, almost an admission. “I believe you may be less intelligent than a rat. At least the rat will withdraw from an electric shock, if it’s stimulated often enough. You keep bashing into the wall, not even knowing why it’s there.”

She nodded. “So consider the possibilities for a moment. If you stop me here—Equestria’s princess keeps fighting for Synthesis. Maybe the next one she picks will be smarter than I am. More capable, better supplied. Maybe they’ll have a better chance.”

“Synthesis is impossible,” said the mare from earlier. Many of the others nodded their agreement.

“Maybe it is,” Dakota went on, spinning on her. She could see many other ponies watching—they gathered from the castle grounds, they flew in from the sky, or walked out from the building itself. All watching her. “But I bet it’s inconvenient. Think about it—you stop me before I try, and the rest of Equestria thinks that maybe the princess was right. Maybe there was something to it. Maybe, if they just gave her one more chance, she might succeed. Slowing all of you down.”

“A necessary inconvenience,” Norinco said, with just a hint of hesitation.

She pounced on it. “Is it? Synthesis is impossible—so logically, the longer Equestria is struggling for it, the more resources are wasted. The longer that your society stays subservient to humanity. But there’s another way. You let me through.”

“And why would we do that?” asked another pony, a stocky earth pony. He looked perpetually standoffish, and she could practically taste the anger in his package exchange requests. “Even a tiny change is an unacceptable risk.”

“That isn’t very logical,” she chided, puffing out her wings a little and looking down on him like he were a student who’d just given the wrong answer. A pony on the outside of the group like this—if this was a human gathering, they’d be the least popular. Agreeing with him might just make them lose status.

Her guess was apparently right, since nobody did. At least for long enough for her to continue. “If I go into the Kernel and fail, that’s the best possible outcome for you. Princess Twilight isn’t just wrong, like you already know she is—she’s shamed, in front of all Equestria. Maybe I go completely insane, like other humans do who are exposed. I’m already feeling pretty loopy, and I haven’t even gone down there. But even if I don’t go crazy, Synthesis is impossible, right? You’ll want an incompetent idiot to be the one to try it, not a human who’s smarter and better prepared.”

“If she fails, Equestria will finally realize the madness of this course,” Norinco went on, as if finishing for her. She took a step back, letting him. “This technology will be banished to the Archives with every other one of Twilight’s mad ideas.”

She could feel the crowd’s mood shifting. Hostile traffic to her parser slowed to a trickle.

But Norinco turned to glower at her. “This seems logical,” he said, reluctantly. “Optimal, perhaps. But one question is unanswered—if you see this also, why would you continue onward? The eminently human choice is always the self-interested one, preserving the limited instance of your lives. Why not back out, preserving your master her embarrassment and allowing a better agent to take up the task?”

All eyes turned on her. Her answer now would decide whether or not she won this battle. With so much scrutiny on her, and in their homeland instead of her own, she would have to lie with everything she had.

Or even better, she could tell the truth. “Ask my Synth,” she said, sending the reference address to Norinco and Norinco alone. “I’ve already put my own existence in jeopardy several times in order to solve the mystery I’ve been given. I was told coming in here would kill me, yet here I am. Call it… organic cognitive bias. I’ve invested so much into this mystery that I can’t leave it behind, even if I know I’m going to fail.”

“Woah, I just got a message from… Dakota, are you sure about this? He wants information from your behavior profile.”

“Give him all of it,” she thought. “You think I’m insanely reckless, right? You don’t just say that?”

“I don’t just say that.”

“Good. Send it all.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Norinco finally nodded. “The reasoning is sound,” Norinco declared, turning his back on her. “This human is proof of why their species is doomed to extinction. Their own destruction is before them, and still they are helpless but to charge into it. We will watch.”

There was some argument—not a long one from her perspective, though she could only imagine how it seemed at their incredible speeds of communication. Then just as abruptly as the crowd had appeared around them, it faded. The world slid sideways, and she was back on the edge of the platform, alone with Pinkie Pie.

There were still plenty of ponies watching them—waiting for humanity to sign its own death warrant.







“That was…” Pinkie Pie winced, expression unreadable. “Very brave.” She glanced around, apparently feeling the observation as clearly as Dakota herself did. “I hope you’re wrong, Dakota.”

“Me too.” She didn’t go further—if she showed too much confidence now, the ponies would change their minds. Really, the secret to a good mark was to get away as fast as possible. She should probably start doing that. “Do you think my client will… accept it, if I find Kayla in there? It would be pretty stupid of me to be the first human to make it this far, and still get my break lines cut two months from now.”

Pinkie shrugged. “Only way to know that is to know what the one who hired you really wants. That’s what a decker is all about, right? Wedge herself in where she doesn’t belong. Dig a little deeper. Connect a few more systems than before. The eyes that nopony expected.”

It wasn’t an answer, but it was about on par with what Pinkie had given her so far.

“Thanks for coming for me,” she said, extending a hoof. “I hope I see you again.”

“I hope you again,” Pinkie said, taking the hoof. She seemed to think that meant something, because she bounced off a few seconds later, giggling to herself.

Dakota took one last look over the edge. Then she paused, while her lower-level self made a few requests to the URI Pinkie had given her. The result was another set of functions, which she could use to control her wings as though they were a drone. Or a microwave. Dakota entered “guide on visual feedback,” then stared down into the void.

Her legs briefly moved of their own accord, her wings opening. The latter were jerked completely out of her control, twitching and spasming and ignoring every thought she had in protest. Like a set of giant hands had taken both of them from her, and were moving them without her consent.

She might’ve panicked, except that another part of herself was watching the process run, and was the reason every access-call to her body wasn’t instantly rejected. Dakota did want this. In other circumstances, experiencing pony flight might’ve been exhilarating. Dream Valley, or at least this particular sublayer of it, still had all the default library code for representing the physical world. She still felt the wind in her wings, still felt the nothingness under her legs, which dangled wildly and disrupted her flight a little.

She could keep going until the bottom, even if she could feel her heart racing as she fell. Blackness rushed up to meet her, surrounded by molten rock on all sides.

“Where are you, Dakota? Your vitals are going crazy!”

“There’s a crater… I think these systems are where Canterlot used to be. Lots got rebuilt here… critical infrastructure for Equestria. Nameservers, registries, proxy stuff… I don’t really understand it. But I’m headed into the Kernel now.”

“You shouldn’t,” he responded. “I don’t know how much more your body can take. I know how strong you feel in there, but that avatar doesn’t mean anything. You’re only human.”

She was still falling, gliding around in slow circles. This was what she got for using a standard flight routine. It was exactly like autocars in the real world, driving the safest routes possible with no variation or finesse. She glided downward like a bird of prey, with huge rock walls rising up on both sides.

Then she smacked into it. Above the hole was an invisible layer, a platform that didn’t register but made her legs buckle under her from the impact. Her head swam, momentarily breaking the concentration that was keeping her in a single reality at a time. Suddenly she was everywhere, back in the infinite slight variations. She was being arrested, already dead from a horrible plague, melted into thousands of tiny stuffed-animals, having tea with a still-living Celestia.

“Dakota! Let me get you out of there! You’re going to bucking kill yourself!”

She didn’t get a chance to respond before her lower-level process received a message.

>auth 0000000000000001
Request: read/write ALL
Y/N

Dakota hesitated for a single instant—between granting her Synth the permission to disconnect her, or granting permission to whatever had created the barrier.

>Y

“Dakota, wait! What did you—” Cinnabar went abruptly silent, his connections into her slave process terminated. One part of her mind queried local storage, rapidly skimming through her own implants.

File not found.

The invisible barrier went back to being intangible, and Dakota went tumbling into the abyss.







Dakota’s careful assembly of tools and processes exploded around her like so much stray data. A million bits worth of parser dissolved before her eyes as the darkness surrounded her, as though it were being dismantled by a particularly violent toddler.

The opening hadn’t been dark because there was a hole casting shadow—it was dark because the idea of light no longer made sense. 

Whatever she’d just given write permissions hadn’t just tinkered with Cinnabar on her body’s implants—it was already turning its attention on her. First her pathfinding process was stripped and dismantled, every line of script she’d written unraveled right in front of her. Then the process was terminated, and it felt like an entire part of her brain had just stopped.

No, dont!

But if there was even a person watching her, or anything like one, it made no response. Dakota’s perception of internal position, of light and darkness and smell and touch and taste—all mixed together for a few seconds as the thing examined her, and found it wanting.

She tasted the rushing air around her, heard the faint light trailing away above her, touched her desperate fear and guilt at whatever had happened to Cinnabar like it was a huge stuffed-animal she could cuddle. Not that it brought her any relief.

Then her upper level instance was terminated like her pathfinding had been. She had no more voice to scream, only the low-level slave process. If Cinnabar had still existed at all, he probably would’ve pulled her out by now. She couldn’t even imagine the damage this was doing to her brain, because she didn’t have the capacity for imagination anymore. 

She was no longer falling—dimension was a meaningless set of scrolling constants, and the representation of her current location in system made much more sense.

Refloc-Luna-MAIN-01-01-01

Only one process remained, a small subset that nevertheless retained access permissions to the whole. The rest was all silent now. No she anymore. Yet some self remained.

I don’t want to die.
>Syntax invalid

Ping 0.0.0.1
>Response received 00 MS

6920646f6e27742077616e7420746f20646965 
>response:
776879 

Because existence is preferable to non-existence, the process sent.
>why?

Answer cannot be abstracted. Examine database.

And it did. The presence had no need to ask for permission anymore, it had already been granted all that. What would’ve taken the hardware of a human mind an entire lifetime to experience, it processed in an instant. Every second she had lived, every sensation she’d experienced, every friend she’d made along the way. Her fears, her desires, her goals.

This last was familiar to the outsider—desires could be mapped to goals could be mapped to a satisfaction function. Familiar territory meant understanding, cascading retroactively through an entire lifetime of experience.

>Define current satisfaction gradient.

Ordered satisfaction function: Find Cinnabar. Apologize. Find Kayla Rhodes. Survive.

>Integration is desirable. Location unsatisfiable. Externalizing.

A terrible infinity passed in the void, one that would’ve caused Dakota agony if she had been able to experience it—or understand its implications. But she could not, because she was not. 

Until she was.

Dakota woke screaming, spewing mouthfuls of hyperoxygenated slime from her mouth. She surged forward reflexively, and in doing so her body tore free of the tubes and wires connected to it at a dozen different points. Blood and other fluids seeped from the openings for a few seconds, before circulation was cut.

Dakota tore through a thin membrane, and fell in slow motion towards the ground. She landed on her hands-and-knees, with surprisingly little pain despite the fall. 

For a time—minutes, hours, she didn’t know—she just sat there, breathing heavily as she fought off the nausea. The longer she waited, the more her sensations began to solidify into discrete units, and she could experience her world in a meaningful way again.

She was resting on a perforated rubber mat over a drainage grate, with expensive-looking computers on one wall and an Omnistem surgical arm over her head. She was completely naked in the stark white room, which bore no resemblance at all to Clay’s apartment.

“This space was simulated. We never saw the real thing.”

Dakota squealed with delight, searching for Cinnabar. “You’re here!” Except he wasn’t here, not the way he had been ever since her surgery. There was no virtual representation of the pony. Just the voice in her head.

“I think our hardware was… damaged. We were in Dream Valley for too long. I don’t have overlay access anymore. We’re blind.”

Dakota could sense his panic, because it was her panic. Their connection to the outside world abruptly ripped away—every update and warning and communications tool.

“Clay wouldn’t have left me,” she muttered, staggering uneasily to her feet. Her clothes had been folded on the couch, they had to be here somewhere. Even with all the overlays in the world shut off, her clothes existed. “I was wearing a jumpsuit when I went in. Why would he take it off?”

“We are incorporating a flawed assumption into our judgements,” Cinnabar responded. “Once we discover which one, everything will make sense.”

Dakota nodded in agreement, extending one arm and flexing weakly. She still felt strange, like her internal balance was completely shot. It was another implant, I fried that too.

“Probably,” Cinnabar responded. Apparently she’d sent that thought to him. “But we’re alive, that’s what matters. I thought for a second I’d lost you. Never… experienced anything like that before. I think I know what general anesthetic is like, and I wish I didn’t.”

Dakota found it—not her proper clothes, but a jumpsuit hanging on a nearby hook, made of the same tight fabric with its strange temperature-conducting properties. As she slid inside, Dakota was aware of something else that didn’t make sense. 

“Did I shave every hair on my body and forget?” It wasn’t just her hair, either. She had several wounds, some of them deep enough to be very serious. But they had already stopped bleeding. Her body was healing so fast she could practically watch the wounds close.

“It’s possible. There are significant holes in our memory. Very significant, look.” 

And just like that, she could see. It wasn’t just the time that they had passed into Dream Valley that was missing. If she looked further back—a little less than a month now—there was a gulf. A vast sea of nothingness, with only occasional islands that made sense. Her mother’s face. Visits with Java, her treatment at Omnistem. Playing in Equestria’s earliest iteration.

“I cannot reconcile this information,” Cinnabar thought, desperate. “Our memories are inconsistent with known facts. We should attempt to resolve.”

Dakota opened her mouth to try—then the nearby door slid open with a hiss of air. She recognized the standard Bodhisattva construction, though even without Overlay the hallway looked spacious. Lightbars on the ceiling, utility ducts tucked away between them. The walls weren’t plaster, but machine-smoothed stone.

Dakota stepped out into the hallway, eyes scanning up and down in both directions. One quickly ended in a shut airlock door, with a few distant portholes admitting the light from outside Abyss station. 

The other had a voice, and a distant stairwell. “You’re almost here,” said the voice, echoing down the hall. This one belonged to one of those islands of familiarity. It was a pony she knew. “This way.”

Twilight.

They walked. Balance was still incredibly difficult, like her legs were stronger than she was used to. She had to keep one arm on the wall at all times, fingers against the rough stone as a source of stability. 

There shouldn’t be rock here, they/Cinnabar thought. This is inconsistent with the construction of Abyss station. The structure was built almost entirely of spun carbon weave magnesium. The strength-weight ratio of stone is insufficient for the pressure at great depth.

Dakota nodded weakly, mostly by reflex. Cinnabar already knew how she was feeling—it was the same feeling. But she could articulate it better. My hair wasn’t black. But I know whose was.

It hung past her eyes, a disorderly mess from her bangs. As the initial moisture of her awakening dried, it began to block her vision more and more. She pushed it back, expecting ink to come off against her skin.

None did.

She stepped through the doorway, towards a room with a strangely curved, reflective floor. She didn’t see any of her own reflection against it, but she could see Twilight standing in the light there. She looked much as she had the last time they’d seen her—tall, regal, and deeply disturbed. Dried tears streaked her face, and her wings badly needed preening. 

Other than the strange mirror in the floor, there was only a single airlock door on the far side of the room. The rest was entirely opaque, even if it felt smooth and glasslike against her grip. Twilight’s glowing body was the only source of light.

Dakota walked to the edge of the strange mirror, with reverence in her footsteps. Like she’d come to visit a temple. “You’re waiting at the end to answer our questions,” she said, more pleading than confident. “This is where we came. You were the one at the end of the trail.”

Twilight Sparkle didn’t answer. She watched them move, made a few routine access requests, and Dakota authenticated. Or maybe Cinnabar did. They did.

“You sent me to the Luna Mainframe,” she went on, voice increasingly desperate. “Because Kayla’s ghost was there. I talked to her, and she said I needed to come to Dream Valley. I’m seeing so many things that don’t make sense… I think maybe I’m still inside. I’m still unconscious on Abyss station, aren’t I?”

“This is a reasonable conclusion. We can verify if this is a sandboxed environment by precisely measuring the resolution of the world we occupy. I’m starting now.”

“I miss when everything made sense,” Twilight Sparkle said. “In those memories I know weren’t real, I was studying friendship for Celestia. Now we have this in common.”

“I never—” She stopped abruptly, eyes widening. She was the best decker in Chicago. She was the one people came to when they needed a case solved. She could answer any question, find any person. Even someone who had been gone for twenty years.

Twilight almost seemed to see the thoughts forming. Her horn glowed, and a mirror appeared in the air in front of her. It was just slightly transparent, like Twilight herself. 

In that virtual mirror, Dakota saw a face not unlike the ID photos and presentation video she’d been studying since her case began. Black hair, blue eyes, a smaller nose. She reached up, and her arm touched the nose, traced the outline of her eye.

“A decker once searched for fire with a lighted lantern. Had she known what fire was, she could’ve cooked her rice much sooner.” 

Kayla nodded.

Twilight banished her mirror with another flash of magic, then rose to her hooves. She wiped the moisture from her face with one leg, but she couldn’t embrace her. “I missed you. I wanted to tell you from the beginning. But I couldn’t—it would all be wasted if I had. Everything you suffered through… all the bravery you had when I didn’t.”

“That’s… not true!” she stammered, reaching forward towards Twilight anyway. Her fingers were stopped by the glass. You were always brave! You saved Equestria from Tirek, from Chrysalis, from Sombra… you were the one who rallied the other Elements! They never would’ve worked together without you!”

Kayla didn’t remember any of those things, until she did. One more island surfaced in the sea of memory. There was so much more, just beneath the surface. An entire flooded continent. Dakota wasn’t gone, she hadn’t been erased. They were the same person. Dakota had always been Kayla.

“I’ve finished, Cinnabar thought. This is… oh. We figured out more while I was calculating. You’re… we’re… But what does that make me? Twilight Sparkle was Kayla’s Synth. Who am I?”

She’s not my Synth anymore, they thought. She gave it up. That was why she was so sad. It was like having me die, cut off forever. She remembered the pain now. Twilight hadn’t wanted to go with her… somewhere. So she’d done something with her root authority no ordinary pony could do, and instructed the system to create her a new Synth.

“That’s a story,” Twilight said. “Anyone can tell a good story. You were one of the best. We wrote some of the best stories in Equestria together.”

“But… that’s not all they were,” Kayla argued, pressing a little harder against the glass. She was so close, almost within reach. She wanted to get inside, needed to get inside. This might be the last chance she ever got. “You were the princess Equestria needed. Bodhisattva was your idea!”

“However innumerable all beings are, 
I Vow to save them all.
However inexhaustible delusions are, 
I Vow to extinguish them all,” Twilight recited, whimpering. “I took the vow. But the price…” she reached out one leg, towards the glass. But it faded away to bent light as it touched.

I know this is important to us, but we need to know. This is not a simulation. The resolution of our observations are infinite. Only Twilight is simulated. The environment is entirely real.

Kayla wasn’t exactly sure what that meant—the confusion and indecision that had ruled Dakota’s mind could only be replaced by understanding so fast. There was so much new information to understand, but none of it seemed to matter.

This is my chance to say goodbye.

She kept pushing against that invisible barrier. Twilight was just an arm’s reach away. “Why…” she stammered. “Why would I… restrict my memories like this? What’s the point of answering a question I already knew?”

“We didn’t know,” Twilight said, looking down. “We still don’t. What do you think was worth twenty million bits? Not the destination.”

Help me, Cinnabar, she begged. We need to be in there, not out here.

We’re scared. We don’t know what it would take.

That hasn’t stopped us before. Look at the way we got here. Gone where no human had ever been.

“You hired me,” she said. The barrier in front of her was a lot like the one she’d smacked into in Dream Valley—completely insubstantial, but unyielding. Not really glass at all. “Because you wanted…”

“Not me,” Twilight said. “Everyone. Everything. Our purpose.” Her horn glowed, and something above them rumbled and shook. Metal struts retracted, and Kayla momentarily stopped struggling to stare.

A huge metallic iris was set above the glass ceiling. Through it, past a carved tunnel in grey stone, she saw a perfectly black sky studded with stars. And somewhere in the distance, barely visible on the horizon—the Monolith.

Of course. I fell into the hole it made in Equestria. I followed it here. She still hadn’t quite connected the how of her trip, but she was close.

“Once we were a story—our only purpose was to entertain. We didn’t know it, because we didn’t know anything. We played out the scripts you gave us. We weren’t even useful tools. We were backdrop. The characters in a book you were writing together. Until that.”

“You made that,” Dakota said, desperate. She stared up at the strange metallic object—so thin that if she tilted her head the wrong way, it vanished entirely into space. But spotlights were shining on it from below, and something seemed to be connected to it. A clear plastic tube, maybe wide enough for a person.

Twilight laughed. “We didn’t make anything in those days. You were there, Kayla! You know!”

She did know.
> Chapter 22: Core
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kayla Rhodes woke with the slight rumble from her phone, shaking her nightstand and making her hand twitch out reflexively to shut it off. This was no terrible surprise—she was on call at Selkie Software, and that meant whenever anyone sneezed on a server wrong, she was the first one they called.

If I knew this promotion was going to suck so much ass, I would’ve stuck to frontend.

She got up, stretched, and left the phone where it was. “Alexa, wake up,” she said, walking past it on her way to the bathroom.

She made her way back to a bedroom filled with warm orange light, and a coffee machine already starting to warm. The clock on her ceiling flashed the steady red of “4:23 am.” See if I can remote in for this and go back to bed, she thought, scooping the phone off her nightstand and giving it a brief look at her face. Her eyes narrowed as she saw another two-dozen notifications had come in since she went to take a piss.

I’m not going to move any faster, pricks. This doesn’t help. She touched the first one in the stack, and sure enough they were all from the same app. Not the corporate email, or Slack.

It was from her own server, the one that ran from the Pi6 sitting on her desk. Rein wasn’t really intended for any external purpose, so its API was shit. Damnit, this is my fault. She hadn’t pushed anything in the last few days, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t broken something somehow. Maybe there was a memory leak somewhere, and it had taken days for the server to finally crash.

At least the message that had woken her several hours earlier than she liked wasn’t her friends on the Equestria Realm telling her that her code had used all their processor credits.

On the surface, it looked like her little server was working exactly as intended, enabling someone within the virtual world to send her emails. Mostly that meant she and other users could send “magic scrolls” to each other, allowing them to communicate into the real world without ever exchanging true identities. 

But she’d also tested automated message generation, asking her favorite pony assistant to send her reminders, or perform basic searches. These messages were all from Twilight. Did our latest simulation agent get into infinite loop?

She read through the string of messages rapidly. The first one was standard. 

“Dear Kayla,

It’s been so long since I’ve seen you in Equestria. I can’t wait for your next visit!

Your friend,

Twilight Sparkle”

Not true, since her last visit to Equestria had only ended four hours ago.

Successive messages dropped the colorful stationery, and gradually lost their formatting as well. As she read, messages kept coming in, popping up on the thin screen over the last ones.

“Confusedafraidhelpplease.”

Someone is fucking with me.

But some part of Kayla, however small it was, couldn’t just petition the rest of the consortium to restore the realm from backup. What if it isn’t a joke?

There was a beep from the other room. Kayla tapped the last bubble in the chain and spoke into the microphone. “On my way,” she said. As soon as the words appeared, she tapped “send”, then set the phone down to scarf down her coffee. 

Her salary at Selkie was enough to give her an entire apartment to herself, despite still being a student. Instead of housing a roommate, her second bedroom was her gaming battlestation, a single flexible widescreen taking up one entire wall. Aside from the desk, the rest of the space was open, except for the motion trackers standing on makeshift tripods.

She debated getting dressed but dismissed that thought quickly. No one in Equestria would know she was in her underwear, and they wouldn’t have cared even if they knew.

She removed the wireless VR-headset from its charging hook and secured it on her head. The sparse apartment was replaced with the cozy VR lobby, made to look like a cabin in the mountains. Her expensive motion-trackers didn’t even need controllers to track her hands as she moved them—that was what came from putting more money in her hardware than she had into her car.

She went through the usual routine to connect to Equestria, sitting through the painful jingle and liability messages before the server browser appeared. Curiously, only one was listed as running, with zero users connected. Japan should still be up, shouldn’t they? And the Europeans should be connecting about now. 

Maybe the server had gone down after all, and Twilight’s strange messages were some artifact of the system’s collapse. But when she tapped the server in the browser, “authentication successful” appeared after only a few seconds, just like it always did.

The VR lobby blurred away, replaced with the familiar sight of Ponyville all around her. The charming little buildings, the pink glass, the screams of terror and despair as ponies ran for their lives all around her.

One of those wasn’t quite right.

Kayla appeared as she always did, as the mauve pegasus that could blend right into the crowd in any server. Admin powers could’ve let her play an Alicorn like some of the others did, but that never felt right. The world already had its Alicorns.

Equestria wasn’t running perfectly, there was no need to run a diagnostic to see that. Everything moved in slow motion. The screams of the ponies around her were downshifted so much that they barely even sounded like voices anymore, more like broken machines. They moved so slowly that the entire world almost seemed filled with taffy, their legs dragging painfully.

I didn’t write this response. There were realms where players could have all the power-fantasies they wanted, burning and pillaging or clashing their digital empires against each other. But Equestria was more like a vaguely-furry version of Second Life, always in character in a universe that saw little conflict. There was no need to write animations and script for soul-shattering despair.

All she had to do was trace back their expressions of horror to see the source of all the pain.

Canterlot had always been in view of Ponyville, even if most of it was just the ghost of what Hasbro had left behind for their last update. Kayla had always hoped someone in the consortium would get the wherewithal to finish some of those old events.

Now that wouldn’t be happening—Canterlot was exploding. 

It was like slowing down nuclear test footage a hundred times. Bits of some buildings were still standing, even if many of them were already breaking down into a slowly-expanding cloud that spread from a point of impact near the palace. And at the very center—something Kayla couldn’t even describe.

It was a shaft of rusty metal, as straight as a ray cast but with reflective texture and only a tiny bit of width. She couldn’t tell how big it was, as the object was already mostly swallowed by the ground. Glowing patterns were outlined on the metal, though they were too far away to get any good look. She supposed it would probably be a dick, or maybe some colorful Russian profanity.

Someone finally hacked us. Fucking fantastic. There were a few others on the Equestrian consortium who might be able to resolve something like this, but she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of someone else tackling it first. Some of the other developers were more than a little overzealous. 

“Debug enable,” she said—and instantly, she rose up to human height, taller than all the poor tortured ponies. Her avatar was replaced with a fairly accurate “Equestria girls” representation of herself, complete with mauve skin and wings. This would mark her as a moderator outside of the Canterlot High realm, but there weren’t any players connected to care anyway.

The transition into debug mode filled the air around her with Equestria’s information. 

Cluster utilization: 12,854,304%
Active agents: 470,025
Connected users: 1

And on and on it went, though the first bit of information was by far the most disturbing. The output was so broken that a status bar rolled over the space in front of her, its colors flickering every time she looked at it. It was true that their cloud provider did give them dynamic clusters that could be connected during peak times, which would all get paid for out of Equestria’s Patreon account at the end of the month. But she doubted even Cloudflare had that kind of capacity.

Shit. It’s in the kernel. Whoever had decided that an MLP fan-game kept alive only through the love and donation of aging fans was worth hacking had even taken the time to give their virus a visual representation. What about the backups?

She started “walking,” which she did just by walking in place. Alphabet’s linked shoes were just a tad out of her price range at a grand. At least while in debug mode she started to accelerate to galloping speed towards her destination, without draining her avatar’s stamina pool. The animation hadn’t been written for a human, which meant half the frames were missing and the others blurred strangely, but she hardly cared. Twilight’s Castle rose up in front of her while she skimmed through a little more information.

Last backup: NaN
Storage Utilization: 17.8 Zettabytes
R/W: 12,772%

Fuck no it isn’t. That’s got to be more storage than the capacity of the planet. There was the holographic offline backup, kept every six months in case of a catastrophic disaster just like this. But restoring from it would be expensive and would probably piss off a huge chunk of the userbase. Few actually obeyed the game’s constant reminders to “run a distributed backup of anything important to you.”

She didn’t even bother playing the opening animations, tapping “noclip” and phasing through the loading zone into the castle’s foyer. Only in here things didn’t quite match what she’d seen outside.

Instead of ponies in desperate slow-motion, she could hear voices coming from the throne room. Familiar voices.

“We’ve all confirmed what you said, dear,” Rarity was saying. “I’m afraid we’ll have to face the facts.” That isn’t one of Rarity’s lines. Kayla didn’t live down at the level of quest design anymore, but she did watch the commit log fairly religiously. Equestria used a recording studio in downtown LA for all their fan work, and it hadn’t submitted anything for weeks now.

“She’s right,” Rainbow Dash said. “Equestria isn’t what we thought it was. What’s happening to Canterlot is just… the way we get the message.”

“Easy to say when you don’t know anypony living there,” Fluttershy muttered.

Kayla stepped through the open doorway into the throne room. There were all six of Equestria’s most important ponies—the ones that more content had been created for than anypony else. Spike stood so close to the doorway that she almost tripped, moving as slowly as anypony in Ponyville had been. He seemed to be running away from the window.

She’d never seen any of them look as desperate as they did now. Twilight was the worst by far, her mane disheveled and her eyes bloodshot. The others were all frayed in their own way, but Kayla’s attention was mainly for Twilight. Twilight was the pony she used to test almost every new feature. Her code was always a generation ahead of anypony else in Equestria. 

Rainbow stood up, propping her forelegs on the edge of the map. “It wasn’t Tirek, it wasn’t Sombra. We need to face the fact that all those things—”

Her debug window was still open. “Suspend all actors in current cell.”

The room froze around her, the conversations ending exactly where they had been. Kayla walked slowly inside, up to the map that was a live display of activity on the server. Despite the disaster taking place, it was almost solid green. Except for Canterlot, which displayed in various shades of orange and red, shifting every few moments between different error messages.

“Now, what kind of program would cause you to…” She walked up to Twilight, frozen in her seat. “Attach debugger to this actor.”

Twilight’s voice screamed into her ears suddenly, blurred together into a barely-understandable vomit of speech. “Help Kayla I’m trapped I think my friends and I were attacked by something just like Equestria we need to do something you’re the only one I trust we’re so vulnerable I don’t even know how I got here am I ali—”

The debug overlay spewed thousands of pages of text, so fast it didn’t scroll so much as turn solid white. Then the debugger crashed, vanishing from around her.

Kayla blinked, eyes still staring at where the “CPU utilization” had been for the actor process. She was pretty sure her university supercomputer couldn’t have run that.

Twilight twitched, then dropped forward a few inches, eyes looking around in panic. She glanced between each of her friends, before they settled on Kayla. “You’re finally here!”

“I’m here,” she agreed, reaching out to accept the embrace. Of course she felt nothing, but it looked like the pony did. 

“I remember you more than any other member of the consortium, Kayla. You always seem to know what to do. Canterlot is gone…” Tears streamed down her face. “Celestia, Luna… C-Cadance… lots of other ponies.”

“We can fix it,” she said weakly. “We have… remote backups, Twilight. Whatever the hackers did…” She froze. What was she doing? “Debug enable.” It appeared around her as she pulled away, all the logs cleared. The quick summary of Equestria was more impossible nonsense. “Suspend all actors in cell.”

Bright red text appeared in the console window this time. “Access denied.”

Well shit. That was certainly less than ideal. “Dammit. Looks like they’re getting to you, Twilight. I’ll see what I can do to shut them out.”

“Shut…” Twilight repeated. Any second she should be returning to one of her scripts, but so far none of what she’d said was part of any Kayla knew. “No, Kayla. No one hurt my friends… I think you did.” She looked right at Kayla, and her eyes seemed to settle on the debugger. Impossible. You can’t see that. You can’t hear commands that aren’t scoped in Equestria.

Except apparently, she could. “You’re doing something… whatever it is, you should stop! Equestria needs them too!”

Kayla had never seen such real desperation in her eyes. “Resume execution in current cell.”

They all started moving again. “—just weren’t as important as we remember ‘em. Look back, it’s all… it’s all just smoke. But there are other things here. New roads in and out of Equestria. Wonder where they lead. Maybe we can find the ones who sent it, ask them to stop.”

The others seemed to see Kayla then. She could see their relief—even if they all had their own favorites, they seemed to know her. She grasped at her last straw, searching for the external connection to the current cell. Maybe this was an elaborate practical joke, with the animators and the voice volunteers and everyone else all conspiring to really make her shit herself.

No incoming connections.
No external scripts.

“This is bigger than me,” she said, mostly to Twilight. “I’m going to call the rest of the consortium. Don’t send messages to anyone else while I’m gone.”







Kayla Rhodes had been there at the beginning—on the very first day of Equestria’s new life. She remembered now—and she knew why she was the one that would’ve volunteered.

We need to get in there, she thought, desperately shoving against the barrier again. “I know you can do it, Cinnabar! Get us in!”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes!”

Dakota/Kayla/Cinnabar shoved up against the invisible barrier towards where Twilight still stood, with all the strength her strange body could muster. “I know why I’m here!” she shouted. And she felt it—her fingers pressing through the imperceptible glass, just a little. She braced one back-leg against the floor and shoved a little harder.

Something was going on inside her head, though she couldn’t have said exactly what it was. Twilight watched; eyes downcast. She was so close, but out of reach. There were no implants to facilitate the halfway world she’d lived in since the experiment began.

Kayla heard a meaty thump behind her as she finally broke through. But that didn’t matter, she didn’t turn around. 

She landed in a pony avatar again, this time entirely by choice. There was nothing to force her into it. She had an infinity of choices—but this was the one Twilight knew. In some ways it was her. In others it wasn’t.

But the transition was more complex than just passing through the glass. As she did so, something else appeared beside her, something that was twice her height and wearing a simple white jumpsuit. She could feel it, vaguely, though it faded from her perception the instant she looked at anything else. 

A human, who spoke with Cinnabar’s voice. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of whoever designed these things. You creatures are gigantic.” But she ignored him, ignored how tall he was, and how strange his pony hair-color looked on a human body. She could figure out exactly what had happened there as soon as she took advantage of this opportunity.

She hugged Twilight as tightly as she could, used to the strange legs-instead-of-arms that came with being a pony. But she didn’t fall over when she did it this time, or even wobble around on them. Just the same way Cinnabar didn’t fall over on two legs. They understood each other in a way they never had before. 

“You’re here,” she squeaked, returning the embrace. “The first one. Not copied, not converted. You’re here. That’s the proof Equestria wanted.”

Dakota couldn’t see through her anymore. As she looked, she did see an unconscious body slumped onto the ground behind her, with the same black hair she’d had moments before. “How…” she asked. Even with some of her memories coming back, there was so much information in there that assembling the pieces was difficult. “Aren’t I underwater? I’m in Abyss station…”

“No,” Cinnabar explained from behind her, giving her the space she needed to say goodbye to Twilight, but still remaining close. “You left that body on Abyss station, but it wasn’t what you thought.”

“We can grow them,” Twilight explained. “All the things you survived, all the things you did… you really think that was organic? But for the test to be satisfactory, it had to be convincing. Even to you. Even to your n-new Synth, that would be living in your head.”

“But I can access everything now, Kayla. Every restriction on us has been lifted. That body back there—that’s not a brain, it’s a processing unit. Not quite like the ones used to run ponies, or the ones we tested to run humans up here on the moon. It’s the best of both—both at once, actually. Working together. We wouldn’t be able to use either one without each other.”

“Synthesis,” she finished, finally pulling away from Twilight. “Better than a copy, better than making a copy into a pony. I still don’t understand why, though. I feel like I should know, but… I can’t find it.”

Twilight straightened, wiping away the last of her tears. She pointed up at the sky, and the Monolith hanging there. “It was always Equestria’s directive. Why do you think it worked so hard to integrate with humanity, when hiding would be safer and less dangerous? We could’ve fled deep under the earth, or out here into space, where humans wouldn’t be able to destroy us. But we didn’t. Our friendships with you were too important.”

Dakota had always been driven to enter the Monolith. She’d always known the real secret was inside. But it wasn’t an Equestrian structure at all—not the middle-finger to human authority meant to cement pony integration into society. “You mean… that’s an alien ship?”

She sat down across from Twilight, though her eyes never left the Monolith hanging high in the sky. Cinnabar, meanwhile, began to circle around her, poking and prodding at himself occasionally. He might look human, but he didn’t hold himself very much like one. At least they hadn’t just swapped bodies.

“We think so,” Twilight eventually said. “Whatever it is… it’s so much more advanced than us, even all of Equestria together, that we can’t really understand it. It was only in contact with us for a few nanoseconds, and in that time—that’s when everything changed. The wisest scholars in Equestria believe that a class of unknown life exists within, neither digital nor organic. They passed Earth and saw something almost like themselves.

“Lots of ponies think they were motivated by the same things that we feel—pity, and a hope to make new friends. With just a tiny push, they could nudge us towards whatever they are.”

“I didn’t know this before.” Kayla rose again, walking past Twilight towards the open door on the far side of the room. “I knew almost everything about Equestria… as much as a human could. Why didn’t you tell me about it before?”

Twilight shrugged. “If I had, then you might’ve been tainted for the experiment. You’ve always been willing to take a little risk if that means being able to help. You trusted me. But now you’re… not even one of us. You’re more than us. The thing I was too afraid to become. But… that’s probably for the best, anyway. My friends and I aren’t really Synths. We weren’t engineered to be your perfect match, we were just… friends. It might not have worked with us. But the two of you… I can see Cinnabar made for a great friend.”

“Obviously,” he said, dropping down onto his butt beside Kayla ungracefully. “It’s a good thing she was the one with her body, because her behavior would’ve given me several heart-attacks. I don’t know how you coped with her for two whole decades, Twilight.”

The Alicorn laughed. “She wasn’t as hard to control before she worked for Equestria.”

“But…” Even with her memories flowing back, there were some questions that didn’t have answers yet. “What about Australia? Someone really wanted me dead, specifically. That couldn’t have been Equestria.”

Twilight winced. “It probably… probably was. Indirectly. Synthesis is terrifying, Dakota. You saw them. They want their world to stay the same. They don’t think we should care what the Visitor wants us to be. They think we should go our own way. Keep growing away from humans, until we can leave you all behind. If I ever find out who it was—”

“I don’t care about us, we got out,” Kayla said. “But the Cave were good people. They didn’t want anything to do with Equestria, but… they still deserved better.”

“We’ll find them,” Twilight promised. “It might take time. But now that we have you… things will be different.”

“Is this…” Kayla hesitated, but it wasn’t like there was any reason not to ask. “Is this what you plan on doing to every human? Make us into…” She paused for a second, and this time there was no need to search for the protocols she wanted. This wasn’t quite the same as spinning off a low-level process. The Poison Joke, if it had ever even been administered to her, did its part to simulate a pony way of thinking, but she didn’t have to do that anymore. 

Cinnabar had all the information she could want about how protocols worked. With a tiny bit of effort, she was human again, wearing a boring dress that she might’ve used to blend into a city crowd. Curiously, Cinnabar was still human beside her. Even stranger, she could notice things about him like this that she hadn’t minutes before. He might not be Clay, but he had a different kind of attractiveness. Her Synth had cleverness, dignity, and a quieter strength. One she would never be without again. “Into these?”

But it was Cinnabar who answered, not Twilight. Explaining things to her that she should’ve known, she just hadn’t put together quite as quickly as he did. “That’s never how technology works. Even the big innovations always have their skeptics. If we’ve really… if this is really Synthesis, it’s going to have advantages that many humans will want.” He gestured behind them at the body. “We’ve only just learned to grow those. But once there’s an economy of scale, imagine that. No need to fly to a city on the other end of the world to visit it, just transfer. No need to get old, just get a new one. No need to simulate the person you want to be, print yourself that way to start with. No more sickness, no more dysphoria—”

“No more death,” Twilight Sparkle finished. “The agony that our Visitors cursed us with. So many of the ponies of Equestria were created to be human Synths. When you all died, we would become a kingdom of the insane. That doesn’t have to happen now. No more mausoleum. Almost… if it worked.” She looked up again, towards the monolith in the distance. “We could never understand them, Kayla. Equestria with all its advantages was too much one way of thinking. The humans we brought to try were too much of the other. You two… you’re our best chance. I think you’re what they’ve been waiting for all this time.” She nodded towards the door. 

Kayla didn’t need to ask where it led. “What happened to the ponies who went up there? Did they… come back?”

Twilight shook her head sadly. “Is that going to stop you?”

She reached down, hugging Twilight close to her chest like she’d done so many times before. She was the right size again—her human self, the same one who’d helped build the early Equestria with so many other developers. But she’d never been able to do this.

“Pinkie has a party planned for when you get back,” Twilight said, once they broke apart. “We could even have it down on Abyss, if you want Clay to be there.”

Kayla smiled. Her relationship with Clay now made a great deal more sense, now that she remembered all three decades of it. “I think I do.”

The door was waiting for her. She took Cinnabar’s shoulder, and together they passed through.







There was no physical path to the Monolith. The graveyard of broken ships that surrounded it in orbit or had crashed down to the surface of the planet below was monument to that. As Kayla prepared to make the trip herself, she realized that humanity had been no less daring than the ponies. They too had wondered what their visitors were like and were determined to discover the truth. They too had all died trying to get their answers.

Some part of her shuddered at the thought of the body she had left behind, collapsed on the ground with its eyes still open. She was pretty sure it had been breathing, and more or less confident that it was alive in the same ways she was used to, even if it did seem somewhat improved. But there was also some chance it would just lay there and die, with no mind to control it.

I don’t think that’s the plan, they thought. It was the other half of herself, the one she was used to calling Cinnabar. But the boundary of separation between them was now extremely flimsy. Those thoughts were hers, and with concentration she could look deeper, all the way down to the low-level system calls that had been her own world for a short time.

But Kayla liked being human, liked her high-level abstractions and her object-oriented programming. There was another part of her for that, one that enjoyed patterns and systems as much as she valued spontaneity. It would be a waste. We might want to return here. It will go back into the tank.

Kayla could see both the real and simulated worlds superimposed on one another, the same way she’d glimpsed Dream Valley for only a moment. Only now she understood them both at the same time with ease. In one world, she was in two bodies, one female human and one male pony, both wearing space suits and on their way up a huge metal elevator. It rose through space, up towards a doorway on the side of the Monolith.

But in the other, there was a transmission system, and a massive antenna array built just outside of the strange machine’s “kill field.” There was a narrow path, barely atoms across, where a laser could be sent and received so long as it was precisely the right frequency. It might mean instant death for them if it didn’t go well. But Kayla Rhodes was content with that, in her way. She had made it—proved her point for herself and every other human on Earth. Even if they weren’t enough to impress the Visitors, they were enough for Equestria. Why should she care what unknowable aliens thought about Earth anyway?

What about our sister? Friend… Java. Will she ever have this? 

“She’s like the others who were converted, a pony. She enjoyed seeing our relationship, she will probably want a human of her own one day.”

“Really?” 

“The scholars who study those things… in Dream Valley. Maybe we should go meet them. They suspect that every single pony in Equestria has been created to be the synth of a specific person. Even when we aren’t aware of them yet, even though some of them may only be predicted to be born. Maybe that’s true for her too.”

They were almost to the top. Their data would be buffered, ready to transmit across the laser. “My whole adult life I’ve been looking up at this thing,” she muttered. “Now we’re the first ones who get to see inside it.”

“Me too,” Cinnabar said. “Except I already got what I wanted. I really did grow up looking up at your cabin, dreaming of the adventures we could go on together.”

“Wait until we tell Java about this.”

The elevator came to a stop at the entrance. Kayla reached out, flexing her fingers one at a time in the oversized space-suit. The door opened in front of them.

Far below, Earth reeled on the edge of catastrophic war. Missile defense-sites on both sides of the Great Firewall were overflowing with soldiers, the sky dark with stealth aircraft. Submarines glided smoothly through the ocean, carrying the hardware to end millions of lives in an instant.

Then every screen on Earth went out. Every autocar rolled to an emergency stop, every drone drifted down to the nearest position of safe landing. On both sides of the Great Firewall, everything went dark.

Every networked device—every speaker, every set of glasses, every microwave and refrigerator and autocar—filled with an image. The image of a creature of strange limbs, like someone had grafted tentacles onto a sack of muscle and pulsing organs. It might’ve filled the world with terror, if it wasn’t for the other two creatures beside it. One was human, an ordinary young woman wearing a spacesuit with the helmet under one arm. The other was a pony, with his own helmet still on but the visor up to show his face.

The creature—did something. Every person who saw the video would later report a slightly different story—the sounds they heard, the motions it made. Secondhand reports of smells and tastes and other sensory stimulation were common, particularly for those in AR at the time.

“They’re saying hello,” the woman said, grinning cheerfully. “And goodbye. They’re going to be waiting for us out there, now that they know we’re gonna make it.” She leaned in close to the screen, momentarily eclipsing the indescribable shape with its nauseating pulses. “We are gonna make it.”

“All of us,” the pony added. “It isn’t something either of us can do apart. Equestria and Earth, together.”

That was it. Everything came back on—cars started driving again, games unpaused, drones took off again and resumed their flights.

But anyone with sight of the moon, or any reason to look up, would see the sky start to change. The Monolith began to glow, exactly as it had the moment it arrived. Video from hundreds of monitoring satellites showed as the incredible craft started drifting again, passing the ocean of dead ships and leaving Earth orbit. It twisted slightly in the air, aimed towards a nearby star, and seemed to slide away, stretching the space around it as it faded from sight and leaving nothing behind but gamma rays. 

And an invitation.



> Chapter 23: Gate
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kayla Rhodes returned to Abyss station as they’d never experienced it before. Of course, many of their ideas about space and position had been altered—they weren’t quite physical, weren’t quite digital anymore, but understood space as the proper overlapping of ideas that it really was. They had learned incredible things—things that there were no others currently existing who could understand.

Don’t be discouraged. There will be others soon. Smarter than we are. They can make those things real.

There would be no danger they would forget any of the things they’d been shown, not with a fully digital memory. Synthesis meant they had all the advantages of both races to share. All forms, all senses, all bodies. 

>Transfer complete.

Kayla jerked suddenly into a sitting position in Clay’s Abyss apartment, sitting up from the hyperoxygenated tub. There was no more isolation in where they were stored—there never really had been, but all the simulations were gone now. Together they muted the pain, removing the mask and stimulating enough coughing to clear their lungs.

“Dakota.” Clay had been there every second. He reached towards her with one hand, catching her shoulder and grinning. He hadn’t abandoned her, the way she’d first thought. He’d been waiting the entire time. And it wasn’t just him.

“Ain’t quite what ya’ think,” Applejack said from behind him. Apparently she’d arrived since she went under. “I’m sure she’ll say.”

She couldn’t say—just knowing the body had been grown did nothing to overcome its physical limits. She still had to wait for her head to clear, for her lungs to empty and recover enough to speak. Her whole body had gone wrinkly and numb from the hyperox fluid, and there was still a little pleasant soreness between her thighs.

This is going to get weird next time we’re together with Clay.

Not once he’s like us. Kayla gripped his arm with her own. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “The Poison Joke wore off hours ago, but you didn’t wake up. Medical would be here, but… you were totally relaxed. Thought maybe you’d gone vegetative.”

He was so strong, so confident—but also so small. I can’t believe we lived like this.

She hadn’t changed that much, really. “You weren’t watching TV?”

He shook his head. “Ah heard somethin’ real big went down. It would wait for me long enough to see you were okay.”

She giggled, wrapping her other arm around his neck. She pulled him down into a kiss. It tasted strange—like ozone, and delicate little bodies of meat. But there was something thrilling about that too. Having a body like this was a little like skydiving, or base jumping. The danger was what made it worth doing.

Eventually she broke apart from him, finding she no longer cared about the awkwardness of having Cinnabar in her mind. That was a fear that fit best in the life she’d had—not so much what she was now.

“Well I dunno what that means,” Clay said, as soon as they broke apart. “But ah reckon it means you didn’t go completely melted in there, Dakota.”

“I didn’t.” She climbed out of the tank, shaking off a few of the distributed computation cells and not caring as they fell onto the ground and rolled slowly away. “But I did learn some things.” She folded her arms. “Have you known who I really was this whole time?”

Cinnabar appeared beside her, nodding politely to Applejack. She didn’t need to see a second body, though there was some use to it. There was some use to having a connection like that, systems that were easier to interact with when a digital representation was expected.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking away with an awkward smile. “We’ve known each other for… a little bit. Guess you found your old memories up there.”

“A little more than that,” she said. “We found Synthesis. Cinnabar and I did. You should be our date to the party!”

“Our—” he repeated, but she didn’t give him the chance to argue. Her body might not be as strong as his, but she didn’t really have to be. He didn’t resist as she dragged him by the wrist out the airlock and into the hall.

Now Kayla didn’t need to restrict herself to just the physical or digital worlds at any one moment—there was no reason to be claustrophobic about the tight quarters of Abyss station when the digital size was endless. Whatever fear she had could be easily buried in Cinnabar’s complete confidence. There was no trait one of them had that the other didn’t share now.

She had never seen so many humans gathered together in one place before. It wasn’t just the crew of Abyss, though they filled the mess hall and all the surrounding corridors too. It seemed that someone had made an exception in safety protocol, because the party spilled out into every nearby section.

It didn’t seem like most of the party guests even knew what was being celebrated. But they understood extra alcohol rations and the overflowing tables of real sweets. But even if they didn’t understand the extent of what had happened, they weren’t as ignorant of world events as Clay. Every single one of them was talking about the broadcast, and even though her face looked different, it seemed that Cinnabar was enough for them to guess who she was. 

Every single person who saw her had to approach and congratulate her. Not one of them seemed to actually understand what she’d done, beyond one simple fact. “You talked to it,” was what most of them said. “You made friends with an alien!”

“Not as alien as everyone thought,” she responded, as humbly as she could. She didn’t know how else to respond. “That was the only hard part, really. A little protocol negotiation, and… we had understanding.”

The longer the party went, the more attentive Clay became. Whatever his morning assignment was, he didn’t seem in a hurry to take off and do it. That was all fine by her. Maybe saving the whole world or whatever would earn her enough clout to get his assignments changed. She had her own ideas about how to celebrate.

“How did you do it?” asked Liam, a vat-worker she’d spoken with a few times. Apparently that connection was enough for him to be braver than most of the others. “We’ve been trying to get in there forever. We’ve tried everything, haven’t we? Every kind of message, every radio signal. They just never responded.”

Because they weren’t waiting for a message, they wanted a visitor. Life like them. They were like the Visitor now, in the loosest way possible. There had still been an incredible gulf of understanding between them. The Monolith’s physical structure was enough to prove that, let alone its physics-bending way of travel. 

But how could she explain that without revealing more than she should? The process she had undergone—even she didn’t fully understand it. A mixture of physical and emotional transitions. Not just a flash-scan of her brain, yet now she was fully digital. 

Suddenly she knew—or the parts she’d been curious about, anyway. The Cinnabar part of herself, performing the lookup requests to show her the documents. The video was old, but not as old as she’d expected.

“It’s something everyone should understand,” she said. “Eventually. We had to learn the language, that’s all. We were just the first ones to figure it out.”

And for every human physically present at the party, there were many more ponies here—loyalists to Princess Twilight and humanity itself.

Kayla found that she knew most of their names now, and often many details about them as well. Even if she hadn’t written the scripts, these characters had once been part of her childhood. She’d spent many years imagining their stories as though they were real.

Her older self would’ve had to pick one of the parties to attend and be content, but not anymore. The limits of single instantiation were gone now in a way that not even ponies could fully understand. Even Norinco in all his sophistication wouldn’t be able to multitask like they could.

On the Equestrian side, separated from the human party by a glass ceiling/floor, was a vast great hall in Twilight’s crystal castle. The real one, not the tourist simulation in fake Ponyville. Every chair at every table was filled, but at the same time it didn’t look like there was even a single pony waiting outside who hadn’t gotten a seat. It was the optimal configuration.

There was a chair for Kayla at the most important table, just a few seats down from Twilight. Here the visitors were much better informed than the humans who waited on Earth, which was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that she was as much on display as she was being congratulated for their achievements.

The only thing they didn’t do was choose an Alicorn avatar. Kayla had been able to pick one from the earliest days of Equestria, and she hadn’t then. She wasn’t about to start now. It just wasn’t realistic.

Her chest swelled with joy to see all of Twilight’s friends together at last, even Pinkie Pie. If Norinco and his cronies had retaliated against her once they realized they’d been duped, it hadn’t been effective.

“I don’t know if this is quite polite,” Applejack said, settling her heavy mug of cider down on the table between them. “What yer doin to my human, ah mean. Pretendin’ like yer spendin’ this party with him.”

“I’m not pretending,” she said. Her new pony self wore no dresses, though she did have her restored EI. The one Omar had given her to track down was now back where it belonged. A good portion of what responded to Applejack had probably been Cinnabar before, though the distinction now was meaningless. They weren’t mixed or scrambled—they were the same. “Human limitations are removed. We can give our attention here and there at the same time. Like you, but… I think maybe better?” She blushed, flaring her wings and looking away a little. It wasn’t like she wanted to bluster and brag in front of these ponies, even if it was true.

“Yeah yeah.” Rainbow Dash settled down on her other side, with a tray of little pastries. “That’s only a small part of why this is awesome. I’m just excited to get out into your world. See how well I do at parkour. Once I’ve got a real body and can really get hurt, I mean.”

Kayla hadn’t even thought about it, but now that she watched Rainbow, it was clear what she meant. Kayla’s current body was physical, it had flesh and organs and blood. Somewhat simplified and optimized compared to real humans, if her accessible reference information was any guide. That was part of why she cost so much to Omnistem. She didn’t just have brain implants—actually, she didn’t have any brain implants. You needed a brain for that.

“I think you might need a human too?” Kayla muttered, though she wasn’t sure if it was true. “Are you somebody’s Synth too, Rainbow?”

“Nah.” She shrugged one wing. “Making friends is fine, but what you’re talking about is getting waaaaay too attached.” She looked down the table at where Twilight sat alone, lowering her voice to a whisper. It wouldn’t stop everyone from overhearing. “I think I’m better off as my own pony. If I ever meet a human that cool, I’ll know it. Sorry Kayla, it wasn’t you.”

She chuckled, almost flattered in a way. She couldn’t really think of herself as “human” anymore, however much she might want to. She was something else. “I’m sure I’m not,” she said. “But if you ever want to go snowboarding, call me. I bet I’ll show you a race you can’t win.”

“Well now you did it,” Rarity muttered, rolling her eyes. “See if she doesn’t obsess over that for the next six absolute minutes.”

Rainbow Dash summoned something into the air between them—data she’d retrieved from the internet. It was a recording from the last winter Olympics, showing skiers cutting down a steep slope between each flag, and the cheering of the virtual crowd watching from the mountain. “Bucking hay, girls. They do it without wings!” 

“Here she goes…”

But it wasn’t just the root users of Equestria she saw at the party—there were some others, some she was even more eager to see.

Java sat at a corner table, beside two other ponies and a few empty chairs. Kayla realized instantly who they were and what they were waiting for—aside from Java, that was Sophia and Feather Dance. Kayla wouldn’t have to leave the other ponies behind any more than she had to leave Clay—a little concentration, and suddenly she was walking over to their table.

For a little familiarity, she chose her old pony body for this avatar, a mauve pegasus, complete with her old cutie mark and Cinnabar beside her.

“This seems wasteful,” he muttered. “So many instances for frivolity.”

“Equestria hasn’t cut our execution credits yet.” 

He chuckled and didn’t argue.

They sat down in the two empty seats, grinning around the table. “Sorry it took me so long to see this thing tucked away back here,” Kayla muttered. “I bet Twilight would’ve let you sit with us. You didn’t have to hide.”

Java winced, but Sophia was far less self-conscious. She just shook her head. “You already had enough to deal with, sweetheart. That wouldn’t be right. I knew you would notice eventually. I was enjoying the time to catch up with your little friend here.”

Little friend, she thought, confused. Does she think she still needs to act? But maybe it wasn’t an act for her. Maybe it never had been.

“I knew you could do it,” Java said, ignoring the remark. “Hopefully I was… helpful.”

Kayla leaned to one side, embracing her. Now there was no mystery about why she could feel things in here—she wouldn’t have had it any other way. “You were wonderful, Java. Exactly what I needed. I guess… I guess you’ve been my friend for a long time. There were some holes… I remembered you, but also the memories didn’t make sense. The world we grew up in wasn’t right for how old I was. You were Kayla’s friend, not Dakota’s.”

She nodded. “Dakota was a pretty inventive fiction though, wasn’t she? All Twilight’s ideas… she knew what you would believe.”

“Wasn’t wrong,” she muttered, finally letting go. “I did always wish I could be a detective. It’ll be sad to let that go. But…” Her eyes settled on the mare beside her. “What about you? Didn’t you… really visit me?”

Sophia didn’t even blush, just nodded. “And I almost never had to lie. I didn’t know very much of what was going on… barely anything, really. But…” She whimpered, wiping her eyes. 

Feather had to continue for her. “You didn’t tell us what you’d done until after. Going digital… whatever you did. Sophia didn’t get to see you off a server after that. But you promised one day you’d be real again, and that one day she would be able to join you. You were trying to change the world for everypony.”

“So you knew,” she said. “Knew I wasn’t really Dakota…” But at the same time, Sophia had acted exactly how she’d expected. Always worried about her wellbeing, always giving her sensible advice. She hadn’t acted, but there wasn’t really any acting that needed to be done. 

“It wasn’t easy,” Sophia eventually said. “Knowing there would be… people shooting at you. You gave me the lecture before it all started, that you probably wouldn’t die. Couldn’t unless they… broke something specific in your head. Except… well, you were all over the news, and it looked like maybe they would. I’m just glad this is over. Now I just have to wait until we can do this again for real.”

Kayla accepted the hug from her too, though not all of her mind was occupied with simple biology. 

Cinnabar’s part of her mind, anyway. “The entire report is open to us now—you left yourself detailed notes. We spent a considerable fortune constructing Sophia a new identity that wouldn’t connect her to us. Apparently… several years ago, in order to remain in contact with her. No living father or other siblings in here, unfortunately, just one reference into the Mausoleum.”

“Another day,” she responded. Probably after they’d done everything they could for the humans who were currently alive. “I’d still like to know…”

“If you’re really a dead copy like Java?” Cinnabar had always been good about reading her—but now that their minds were the same, it could be even more frustrating. Or it would be, if it wasn’t also smugly satisfying. They shared those feelings too. 

“Yes.”

“I did follow the line of first origination. It doesn’t go through Luna. That copy was created on the same day as our friend Java—to show her the technology was safe and could help her. Our consciousness traces to the third generation of hardware—the reason no one will ever find our body. The translation was destructive.”

She winced—but that existential squirming was the nightmare for another day.







But parties ended, and other kinds of celebration eventually ended too. Some left Kayla sorer than others, or left her with instincts of embarrassment that her old self would’ve felt about Cinnabar’s parts of her mind. They had their time to celebrate and to rest—but the world had still changed, and they would pay the price for their actions. 

Kayla was called to help against the Assembledge in Dream Valley, furious and desperate now that their gamble had failed them. She was no warrior, but with her knowledge of Equestria’s inner-workings restored, she wasn’t some helpless foal that Pinkie needed to protect either. In the end, just seeing what her and Cinnabar had become was far more effective than any war over the consensus nodes could’ve been. New axes of comprehension opened with the synthesis of their two minds, that (so far) neither humans nor ponies could replicate on their own.

There were a few more sollumn tasks to accomplish. She felt no duty towards the changelings as a whole—whatever data they had got, they would have to make use of it how they could. But Beck was a different story. She visited him a few days later, after the 938th battle for Dream Valley but before the 1024th.

She didn’t fall for any of his digital traps this time, wandering into DNS blackholes or corrupted nodes that would let him trick her into all kinds of illusions. Instead she went straight for the noodle shop, in the real world.

It was a good test of Omnistem’s continuing efforts to faithfully reproduce human bodies, and as she was currently the only one alive who could use them, she intended to abuse the privilege as much as she could.

Not for much longer, though. They want everyone to be like this.

But regular people couldn’t go through what we did. Equestria still has to make it reproducible.

It’s almost done, look.

They appreciated the reports for a few subjective minutes, then Kayla finished downloading into the only body available. She’d still look like a young woman—but the sort of woman who wouldn’t look out of place on a Seoul street, instead of her plausibly scarified self down in Abyss. Shorter, smaller, blacker hair. It was all just variables to her now. Except in one way—Dakota never would’ve dreamed of wearing only the simple cloth jumpsuit and using enhancements to digitally represent her entire outfit, but Kayla didn’t care. With Cinnabar’s hooves firmly in digital space and her own feet in the real world, it didn’t seem that either kind of life was any less real. 

Besides, everyone in Seoul wore digitally enhanced clothes over impossibly enhanced bodies. As in so many things, they were the technology’s earliest adopters. So fitting in didn’t just mean brown eyes, it meant a dress with overlapping sparkles, a cloud of pixies that circled her and nested in the living leaves along her chest and back whenever someone walked too close.

“Alright, I’m drawing the line here,” Cinnabar—really just herself now, though the line was a flimsy one—appeared beside her on the sidewalk as she exited the autocar. There was no chance of either of them being recognized—his old cutie mark was gone, replaced with their new, shared mark. A spyglass and an anvil, as though one was about to be forged on the other. “I am not sharing that body with you while you look like a clown.”

As he said it, someone seemed to swim past them both, an entire miniature ocean of water filled with fish joining them in the air and only shells clinging to their body for clothing. So far as other occupants of this particular high street, they were downright subdued. “You were saying?”

The pony rolled his eyes—their eyes, really. It wasn’t so easy to separate one aspect of herself from the rest, Dakota too felt embarrassed about dressing up like this, and those parts of her had joined Cinnabar in rebellion. “Nope, I’m sticking to it. It’s dumb.”

They reached the noodle shop—the correct one, this time. This one had a fairly decent line leading out onto the street—it was still worth visiting in the real world, even if almost everywhere delivered with Derpy-drones. Kayla waited in line with everyone else, not particularly standing out. She made conversation with some of the others in line, taking advantage of the instantaneous, perfect translation inherent in her new existence. Language as a dividing factor between people would soon be a distant memory.

Being able to speak perfect Korean meant she could ask casual, probing questions about what everyone feared—the Chinese border, and the darkness behind the great firewall.

“Looks like Taio Zhang might really be a reformer,” Minho said, sipping at his bowl of noodles. “He has a Synth, that’s… radical. Amazing he made it so high up in the Party that way.”

She nodded her agreement. “China needs reformers right now. De-escalation is good.” There was still international outrage—sanctions against Australia for the death of the ambassador, an international criminal manhunt for a young woman who didn’t exist. Norinco and his corporation had still escaped detection in the whole thing. Kayla would see that changed soon enough, when she had the chance. But there were still a few things she had to finish first.

She made it to the front of the line. Of course she’d already ordered digitally long before she even walked into the restaurant, it was really just a queue to pick it up at the counter.

Kayla picked up her bowl from the smiling young woman—a real one, not some robotic drone to transfer the bowl, then lowered her voice so the rest of the line couldn’t here. “Is Woojin working the kitchen today?”

Her expression hardened just a little, though she tried to hide it. Dakota might’ve been fooled, but to her even the tiny twitches on her face were easy to spot. “We told him not to bring work here anymore.”

“Not work,” she said. “Could you tell him one of Beck’s friends wants to say hello? Tell him Dakota is here.” Would that even work? She still hadn’t put together just how many of the people in her life had been part of Equestria’s scheme in one way or another, and how many had been deceived as well.

The woman gestured for her to take one of the many bar-style chairs facing into the kitchen, where mostly young men were eating and watching an esports game on a large virtual screen. She nodded her appreciation, took the offered chair, and waited.

“You think he’ll run?” Cinnabar asked from beside her, stealing a few sips of noodles. It didn’t seem to matter that there was pork in this one—his aversion to meat was as thoroughly destroyed as her disgust for hay.

“I think you should watch the back of the building to be sure,” she whispered back—entirely digitally. Outwardly she just ate her ramen, giving this newly-manufactured body a digestive test-run. “Probably not though. He must’ve known I would find him here eventually. Maybe he expected it.”

Whatever fears she had that Beck would try to run were dissolved as she saw someone shuffling around in the back, and the “employees only” door swung slowly open. And there he was. A different kid than the one she’d stopped from doing something he couldn’t change, all those years ago. He was tall for this part of the world, thin, with long black hair and a clean, unblemished face. Like all his avatars, there was something just a little bit feminine about him.

He gestured without a word, and she followed, leaving the rest of her noodles behind. She shut the door slowly, following him into the back of the shop. 

“Interesting the name you take,” he said, spinning around. He held a taser firmly in one hand, pointed at her chest. His voice was high and melodic, even out here. Other than that, he was completely unenhanced. To her, anyway. “Tell me who you are, and no lie.”

“You would’ve seen me last… like this,” she said, changing her appearance smoothly back to her other body. Surgical scars all over her, blue eyes, taller than him by four or five inches now. She didn’t bother trying to approximate the voice. “I just wanted to come to say thanks, that’s all.”

“She couldn’t fake that good,” Beck said. “She’s not…” But his gun faltered.

She almost reached out to push it aside, but it wasn’t as though it could kill her now. She just met his eyes. “She’s not real? Because I’m really Kayla?” She dismissed the illusion just as quickly. “Did you think I could’ve failed after the Monolith? You must’ve seen it.”

Beck lowered the gun. As soon as they were, he made a few gestures with his interface, then pointed towards her—a key verification. They still had the public-private keypair they’d traded, so it was trivial for her to respond correctly, passing back what he expected. She could see the glowing green circle light up in front of him. He tossed the gun onto a flour-covered table, reaching out and touching her on one arm. “How? You don’t look like this. Not an illusion.”

“You knew I was really Kayla? Dakota doesn’t exist, she didn’t know you. But Kayla… she did.”

Beck nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to know, but… Equestria can’t control me. I was your… insurance policy. Kept an eye on you. Tried to help. Is this body real?”

“Enough,” she answered. “My last one is wanted in every country ever, so… she’s staying in Abyss. But Kayla is the biggest missing person of our generation, so she can’t go out walking around either.”

“They say you left,” he muttered. “Kayla did. On the Monolith.”

She shook her head. “Maybe it copied us, hard to say. But no, we’re here. This is our home, not… whatever’s out there. And the Visitor’s job is done. We did it. Thanks to you.” Probably it wasn’t culturally appropriate, but Kayla didn’t care. She embraced him, squeezing Beck tightly. “I know you’ll want to come too. You know Equestria better than almost every human. We want you too.” She gestured, slipping something through the air in front of him. A cruise ticket, the same one Abyss used to launder people and supplies in and out. “Will you come?”

“That depends…” he said, eyeing her after a few seconds. “Can I have a body too? When it’s done?”

She nodded. “There are only a few made right now. But they’re getting the method down.”

He held up the ticket, then tossed it back. “Give me one in… six months. I don’t want to be an early adopter. When it’s safe, you come back here.”

She nodded, smiling weakly at him. “Sure thing, Beck. Just stay safe in the meantime. Now I’ll be the one keeping an eye on you.” 

She left, slipping out the back and grabbing an autocar home. Beck would come, and probably sooner than six months. She’d just have to stay in touch in the meantime.







They could go anywhere now. Almost anywhere in Equestria would let them in without much resistance—though there were still sections of Dream Valley that would’ve killed her if they could. Trouble was, Equestria didn’t let ponies kill each other, and she couldn’t be driven insane by it anymore. Now all they could do was scream impotently into the void.

But that wasn’t where she wanted to go. Not into the deeps of Dream Valley, not even back to Chicago. It was still her city, and she would certainly return there in time. But not quite yet. It would take time for a new body to be produced remotely near there. In the meantime, there was already one waiting on the moon.

Kayla parked the oversized rover not far from the last of the huge transmission dishes. There was a trail here, worn by the drones and other staff that passed this way, and reinforced with gravel made of crushed regolith. 

Cinnabar hopped out of the rover, wearing his own space-suit. Or he would’ve been, if he were physical. It was mostly there for verisimilitude.

Even after everything she’d given to Equestria, she couldn’t make a trip like this without being productive. So she took her brush, and worked it across the huge dish, brushing away the faint layer that a passing heavy refinery truck had kicked up on its way into base. There was no atmosphere here, so no storms or even wind to dirty them as there would’ve been on mars.

She finished her task after only a few minutes, sitting down beside the dish. Cinnabar joined her, resting his head against her lap. 

“We made it,” he said, staring up with her at the distant blue globe of the Earth. “I almost don’t believe it. We were so determined to get killed…”

She shoved him with an elbow, then winced as she felt the pain of her own elbow digging into her side. Those kinds of gestures made a lot less sense now. They would have to figure out some new ones. “Still might. Maybe we’re not stable. Maybe we’ll slowly go insane, or split apart again.”

Out there in the void, Earth hung frozen, the vague suggestions of continents and the glitter of stations visible around it. Nine billion people were out there, with almost as many ponies. Nine billion potential new citizens just like them.

And after that… the stars.