Trev is a good son. But his choice brings him to conflict with his devout family's beliefs.
Trev has lived all his young life within the Sikh community, sheltered from the harsher realities of the dying world, with the hope of a more joyful existence hereafter. But now decades of projected survival for humanity have become a handful of years, and there is only one way to escape extinction. How can Trev embrace a new life without estranging his devoted family?
2 & ½ cups (315g) all-purpose flour 1 tbsp (13g) baking powder 1 tsp (5g) baking soda ½ tsp (2.5g) salt ½ cup (114g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled 1 cup (200g) granulated sugar 2 large eggs 1 cup (250ml) buttermilk 1 tbsp (15ml) vanilla extract 1 & ½ cups (275g) semi-sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven and sift dry ingredients
A footstep in the hall made Trevinder shut the book and slip it under his pillow, concealing it with practiced ease. By the time the knock came at the door, he was plugged into the teaching port, having the history of the Punjabi riots implanted into his memory. With a light tap of his fingertip he paused the feed. "Yes?"
The open door revealed Acharjeet Singh, a tall man with a generous beard and a forbiddingly stern expression. His face belied his habitually calm nature, although as a teacher he certainly exploited his reputation as being a man you would not wish to antagonize. He nodded approvingly at his first and only son. "In passing I took note of the light under your door. It pleases me greatly to see your renewed devotion to your studies, Trevinder. Still, the hour is late. A wise man properly manages his time so that none might be wasted…and allows sufficient periods to rest."
With an abashed nod Trevinder unpacked and powered down the teaching unit. "Forgive me, father. It was not my intention to disobey your wishes."
"I lay no blame, my son. Often and often have I lost myself in my own studies." Acharjeet chuckled. "Many times your mother threatened to set fire to my dastār did I not leave my 'moldy old tomes'." He winked as he gestured to the head wrap he wore. "To protect both my tomes and my safety, I now retire to bed. My advice is that you do likewise."
"Thank you, Father. Rest well." When the door closed and his father's footsteps faded, Trevinder breathed a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten to stuff the towel against the bottom of the door again. He could never forget how perceptive his father was. As any of his students could attest, nothing escaped Acharjeet Singh's notice.
Trev reached for his pillow–and stopped. No. While his father had said he was retiring, he might yet pass by in the hall again. Just to be certain his "studious" son had indeed gone to bed as he had been desired to do.
As he turned out the light and settled down, he heard his father's voice softly reciting his evening prayers. It was an oddly comforting sound, and Trev was lulled to sleep.
Trev felt uncommonly guilty about hiding his obsession from his father. He'd found the old book on a forgotten shelf right before the old library had been torn down. The books had been carried out, most of them destined for the recycling plant, but this one had caught Trev's eye and he'd stashed it in his shoulder bag without telling anyone. It was probably stealing, but no one had said he couldn't take just one book in return for helping cart all those heavy boxes.
He didn't know it was a book of old recipes until he'd actually settled down to read it. The dishes displayed in the faded illustrations were lavish, the sort of fare you'd expect to see on one of the Good Family's tables for a special occasion. Not that he would fault his dear mother's cooking; it wasn't like they were subsisting on ration bars, and Mother was surprisingly innovative in the kitchen. But she had no access to exotic ingredients like fresh eggs or vanilla extract or buttermilk (the last of which he'd never even heard of). He found himself reading the entries over and over again, perusing the instructions, letting his imagination fill in the gaps of his knowledge.
As the days passed, he began to assist his mother in her kitchen duties. Bimal was both grateful for the help and amazed at what seemed to be a natural talent for cookery. She had no clue that Trevinder's expertise came from careful perusal of the techniques studied in a book from many generations past, applied to practical use on the lesser ingredients to which they had access. Acharjeet noticed the improvement in the daily fare, and mildly teased his son that he would make someone a good wife someday.
Of course, since he was checking the recipe book almost daily to refresh and augment his newfound knowledge, it was inevitable that sooner or later his secret would be discovered.
It was his carelessness, of course. He had been trying to mix the coarse flour and precious salt into something that could be properly sifted, when he heard his mother at the door with the groceries and he rushed to help her. He'd finished putting the stores in the pantry and returned to his room. He was hurrying to finish his schoolwork when he heard a light tap on his door. "Come in."
His father did so, carrying a book. Trev's book, his precious secret book.
Idiot! He'd taken the book into the kitchen to make sure he was doing the correct portions, that the failure of his last attempt at baking had been the lack of ingredients and not a fault in his technique. Talking with his mother he'd completely forgotten and left the book on the counter, open, in plain view!
"Your mother found this in her kitchen. It isn't hers, and she asked if it might be mine." Acharjeet Singh chuckled warmly, amused at the very notion. "I would not shun such a book from my collection, but it is admittedly in a less than pristine condition. I believe this is how you received this volume, since my son knows how to treat printed books."
"Y-yes, Father." Trev's stomach was a heavy ball of guilt and misery. He had taken the book without permission. He had kept it a secret from his parents. He had presented his newfound expertise as a natural skill. Three transgressions, none with any valid excuse. His father should be furious, or at least gravely disappointed.
Yet Acharjeet's dark eyes were kind, his tone careful and calm. "How did you come by this book, Trevinder?"
Trev's heart pounded dully in his chest, but he kept his head up and met his father's steady gaze with his own. "My class was elected to help clear out the books in the old library before they tore it down. I saw that book on a shelf, and it caught my interest. I took it with me because at that point it was no one else's property. It was my intention to deliver it to the recycling plant once I had read it…" He trailed off, because the recycling had happened almost a year ago.
"But you found this book far more useful than you had thought?"
Trev nodded. He dropped his gaze, acknowledging his shame.
"The rescue of a useful book from destruction is no transgression in my eyes, nor in God's," Acharjeet said. Trev looked at him, startled, and he smiled upon his son. So troubled he was! Though not without reason. Acharjeet's smile faded. "However, you did this in secret, and you maintained this secret, withholding information even from your mother and myself." He raised one thick eyebrow, a facial gesture which had struck fear in the hearts of many a pupil. "Moreover, you were deliberately deceitful, passing off the fruits of your covert study as some kind of natural aptitude."
Trev nodded slowly, accepting his father's judgment, and whatever punishment awaited.
Acharjeet paged through the recipe book, looking at the faded photographs, glancing over the detailed instructions. "It would have been a pity to allow the destruction of this book. Such books are rare these days, cast aside long ago when most people ceased making their own meals. Most rely now on food printers and corporate rations."
He closed the book and held it out. Trev took it with a respectfully grateful nod.
Acharjeet looked at his son for a long moment. "You are an obedient son, Trevinder. Your mother and I have done our best to set a good example for you, to teach you right from wrong, to show you how to show respect and consideration for others."
Trev set down the book and stood up. "I should have told you, Father. And I should never have hidden anything from you, whether I thought it was the right thing to do or not."
Acharjeet smiled and nodded approval. "You have learned a valuable lesson, my son, and without the need for any reprisals. May all your life lessons be so easy to learn." He turned and left the room.
Trev fell back on his bed with an explosive sigh of relief. But he never forgot his father's wisdom.
The world changed all but overnight, it seemed. There was a strange new reality emerging in the western ocean, and the promise of a new life in a bright new world awaited.
But it came at a price too high for some to even consider.
Trevinder sat with his parents in the living room, perched on the sofa beside his mother. She was quietly weeping. Trev's father stood quietly nearby, his face calm and thoughtful.
"We always knew this world is doomed." Trev spoke with all the passion of a teenage boy who has just found his true calling. "Even the most optimistic projections give Earth a hundred years at most. And that's the best scenario. There are experts who don't even give us thirty years before what's left of the ecosystem collapses. All our tech won't keep us alive then. We'd have a better chance of survival by moving to Mars–if they hadn't trashed the space program. We're stuck on a planet in its death throes. If we stay here, we die."
Bamil put a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
Trev touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mother, but we have to go. It won't be so bad. It's beautiful in Equestria, isn't it? You saw the holos. We can live in a world that's still green and beautiful, under a sun that still gives life. And it's not like we'll be living like animals out in some field. They have houses, and markets, and–"
"Enough, Trevinder." Acharjeet held up a hand to stem the rushing tide of words. "Is it in your heart, my son, to go to this 'Conversion Bureau ' they are opening? To surrender the shape given you by God, to exchange it for that of an alien equinoid? To leave the place of your birth, your family, never to return?"
Trev looked at his father in desperate confusion. "We're all going to die, Father! If we stay here, it's no better than committing suicide! This is our only chance to stay alive."
Acharjeet's heart swelled with pride. Trevinder was a good son, as concerned with the welfare of others as his own. He did not simply tell them what he had chosen, giving them no say in the matter. Nor had he quietly disappeared rather than risk confrontation.
Acharjeet had heard disturbing tales of other families in their community who had lost loved ones to this emerging crisis–fathers who never came home, mothers who abandoned their children, sons and daughters who slipped out in the night, never more to be seen. And it would only get worse as the days and weeks passed and the horrific hopelessness of the situation began to truly sink in and the general public realized there was no hope for humanity to continue existence as they had for so many millenia.
There was, in fact, no hope for humanity at all.
He regarded his wife. Bimal was a good woman, utterly devoted to her role as a homemaker, a wife, a mother. He knew the reason for her tears. She wasn't weeping for their son, because of his choice, but for herself. And her husband. And the decision she knew he would make.
If Acharjeet could have been swayed from his convictions, Bimal could have done it. But she was too wise to even try.
"Why don't you say something, Father?" There was anguish in Trevinder's voice. Scream at me. Tell me I'm a bad son. Tell me I can't do this. If you forbid me to go, I won't run away. I don't want to die with this planet–but better that than making you hate me.
As if Acharjeet could ever hate his bright, creative, brave son.
"If this is the choice you have made, Trevinder, then neither I nor your mother will attempt to hinder you. If you wish, you can leave for San Francisco in the morning. I will make the arrangements for you."
"We all should go! Father, it's not going to get any better here. If we go together, we can stay together. Otherwise we might never find each other." Trevinder stood, eyes earnest and pleading. "I don't…I don't want to leave you here to die."
In answer, Acharjeet reached up and began unwinding his dastār, something he seldom did outside of the bath or bedroom. His long, shining black hair fell well past his shoulders, almost to his waist. He stood tall, proud, the plain binding cloth held loosely in his hands.
"I am Sikh," he said. "I am blessed to be a member of my community. I strive to uphold the Five Virtues, while resisting the lure of the Five Evils. I cherish my family, my neighbors, and all those who dwell on this planet, as we are all equals in the eyes of God."
He gestured to his fall of hair. "It is because we believe in the sanctity of what God has made that we do not alter the form given us. We do not shave our faces, or cut our hair. We wear no piercings, and we do not carve pictures into our flesh. We do not alter our bodies…in any way."
Trevinder's jaw was stiff, his eyes haunted, but he raised no protest. He awaited the pronouncement of his death sentence, the words that would forbid him to go to the Bureau, to become a true Equestrian.
"That is the way of the Sikh. But you, my son, have never taken the vows to follow our path. The choice made by me, by your mother, is not for everyone. Your fate lies at the end of a different path, in a different world. It is a call you are meant to answer."
"Baapu…" Tears welled in Trevinder's wide eyes. "I don't want you to die with the Earth."
"The Earth is already dead." Acharjeet's tone was somber, resigned.
"Then why?! You can't believe that God would want you to stay here, knowing you'll die! Isn't suicide a sin against God?"
"The Sikh has no concept of 'sin', my beloved son. There is only a distinction between what is right and what is not right. And the first and greatest prohibition forbids the alteration of the form God has granted us."
Trevinder looked from his father to his mother. Bamil still sat on the sofa, eyes streaming, but she did not speak a word.
With a cry of anguished despair, Trevinder turned and bolted from the room. The front door slammed shut behind him as he left the house where he was born and raised, the only home he'd ever known, for the final time.
"Farewell, my son," Acharjeet murmured, his own eyes misting. "Go with God…or with Goddesses, if that is your will."
Bamil broke down into sobs that were almost wails. She fisted her hands on either side of her head and rocked back and forth, inconsolable.
Acharjeet knelt before her and folded her into his long arms. He let his tears fall, tears not for his son, who would live, but for himself and his wife, who would likely never see their only child again in this life. Or in any other.
Acharjeet Singh believed his wife was weeping for their son. She was not. While she was sad that he was gone, she was happy because he had a bright new life before him. Bamil wept for her strong, brave husband, who was unable to make the same choice because of his devotion to God. She did not think him wrong for this, but she couldn't help wondering, blasphemous as it seemed, that perhaps…just perhaps…would God in His benevolence not want His children to choose life over certain death? Would the Creator of all that is not have dominion over all worlds? Could they not worship Him there, whatever form they wore?
Could any benevolent god be so cruel as to demand self-sacrifice when it would serve no purpose at all, save the end of existence?
Trevinder brought nothing to the Bureau except the clothes he stood up in. Even his beloved book of recipes was left behind. He hoped his mother would be able to make use of it.
With the fatalistic practicality he'd learned from his father, Trev mourned his parents as dead. In a sense, they were, as he learned from his Equestrian studies. He found it hard to believe that everything his parents believed in–everything–was wrong. Humans were machines of meat, driven by electrical impulses which ceased when the flesh expired. No afterlife. No eternal soul. No God.
It went against everything he had always been taught, but the proof was undeniable. So he mourned his parents, his community, his whole world, the planet itself…and then he let it go.
Trev threw himself into his new studies with his accustomed zeal. He also assisted in the cafeteria, helping make the bland fare more palatable, incorporating ingredients as they arrived from the new, waiting world. Actual wheat, grown from the ground and milled by hand (well, by hoof). Fresh grown fruits and vegetables, herbs and spices he'd only read about. He became the maestro of mealtimes, the darling of the dining area. He was teased that his ponification should be deferred so that he could continue his contributions while he still had hands. His habitual, merry response: "Hooves can cook, too!"
He made many new friends, among them a bubbly, flower-loving lavender pony named (what else?) Lilac. She became his taste tester, offering helpful suggestions on new recipes, with a discerning palate and unbridled enthusiasm. Her prance of delight in response to his successes always made him laugh. So did her sympathetic, soulful gazes when she had to give even the tiniest critique: "Maybe a bit more salt" or "That's an awful lot of oregano!"
The day before Trev's Conversion, Lilac came into the dining hall at a full gallop, dodging the dispersing members of the breakfast crowd. "TREV! (excuse me) TREV, DID WE (oh i'm sorry i'll help you pick that up in a sec) DIDN'T WE GET (oops, my bad)--" She skidded to a stop right in front of him as he came around the counter to meet her. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper that she must have thought no one could hear (she was wrong). "Didn't we get some apples in today?"
"We did, but–"
"Wahoo!" Lilac jumped so high she almost turned a somersault in midair. She landed with a clatter on her front hooves, then her rear hooves clopped behind her on the linoleum tiles. "I just talked with one of the newfoals to be an applicant I mean her name is Tib and she's going to have lunch with me and she's really really nice but kind of sad and I think a little nervous and I want to give her a taste of Equestria to make her feel better so can I get a couple of apples for our lunch please please pleeeeease?" She gasped in the breath she hadn't taken during her spiel, and stood waiting with as much patience as she could manage, which wasn't much. Her impossibly brilliant blue eyes pleaded with him. She was dancing on the tips of her hooves in eager anticipation.
We're out of apples. The breakfast crowd gobbled them all up.
Trev was trying to come up with a diplomatic way to crush Lilac's hopes when he remembered that not all the apples were gone. Ms. Harshaw had slipped him one of the very first off the top of the crate, big and round and rosy, with a caution not to show it around. For all your hard work, she'd said with a wink.
He'd been waiting for the breakfast crowd to disperse so he could sneak up to the roof and eat the precious gift in peace, untroubled by any number of applicants begging for just one little bite…but he couldn't look Lilac in the face and tell her no.
Without a word he reached under the counter and held up the apple so only she could see it. Lilac squealed with delight. (The few stragglers left paid no attention. They were used to Lilac by now.)
"Don't show it off," he cautioned. "Everyone's going to want it."
"I know…" Lilac's ears drooped briefly, but she perked right back up. "But I have to save it for Tib! I'll hide it and wait at the table for her."
Trev laughed. "Lilac, it's three hours till lunch!"
"A good friend is worth waiting for!" Lilac took the apple in her mouth. "Fankf, Treb. Oopf, I bit it, fo I can't gib her fe whole apple…well, we can fplit it, right?" She trotted away with her prize, making no attempt to conceal it. Fortunately the caff was empty now, except for the workers, who'd had their first crack at the apples this morning.
Trev chuckled and shook his head. He'd made one pony happy, and through her he could make a newcomer feel more welcome. That was worth giving up the apple.
Mostly.
Trev's cafeteria duty ended with prepping for the midday rush, but he decided to come back around noon, blending as unobtrusively into the gathering crowd as he could. Lilac hadn't described this Tib person; he knew nothing at all about her except that Tib was female, and was supposed to join Lilac for lunch. He was certain to miss her coming in, so he tried to keep an eye on Lilac's table, hoping she would give some sign.
Did she ever!
Suddenly Lilac began bouncing up and down, grabbing so much altitude Trev expected her to hit the ceiling at any time.
She didn't, but she certainly could see over the crowd. "Tib!" Bounce. "Over here!" Bounce. "I saved you a seat!"
Trev saw a tall, skinny girl about his own age (well, maybe a bit older) carrying a tray to the table. Beyond her height and a bush of curly brownish hair, there wasn't much remarkable about her, but she looked nice enough, he supposed. As nice as anyone gets nowadays, anyhow.
Lilac held up most of the conversation. Her banter was charming as always, and at one point Tib stifled laughter. She seemed embarrassed by it. Trev got the idea that Tib didn't laugh often. But Lilac didn't mind a bit.
When she brought out the apple with a flourish, Trev had to hold himself back. It would be so easy to just meander past the table, have Lilac introduce him to her dining companion, and of course he would be offered a nibble of their shared prize…
No. A gift must be given with both hands. It wouldn't be right to expect anything back. Trev contented himself with watching the pair, human and pony, as they ate his offering.
When Tib went and hugged Lilac, Trev smiled. Surrendering the apple had been worth making two others happy.
On Trev's fifteenth day at Bureau 042, he was pulled out of his morning class (Equestrian farming 101) and directed to go to the lobby. He had no idea what to expect, which was fortuitous. Whatever he could have imagined wouldn't have been what was waiting for him.
Who was waiting for him.
Acharjeet Singh was wearing a neat business suit, the sort he wore when teaching. His briefcase sat on the floor beside his chair, and he smiled as he stood up.
"Baapu!" Trevinder might have been five again. He ran and threw his arms around his father, almost knocking him over in his haste. "It's so good to see you!"
Acharjeet chuckled. "It is wonderful to see you, Trevinder, if somewhat hazardous to my equilibrium. You are looking quite well."
A soft clearing of the throat made Trevinder look behind him. Beth, the receptionist, smiled at them both. "There's an empty office just down the hall. I thought you two might want to talk…privately." She cast her eyes around the lobby, to indicate the curious gazes of the waiting applicants.
She showed them to the office–little more than a walk-in closet, really, a storage room for broken furniture and disused equipment–and left them to their reunion.
"I'm so glad you're here, Father." Trev couldn't stop smiling. He was so happy he wanted to start bouncing like Lilac at her most joyful. "I have to confess, I'd given up hope of ever seeing you again. And now you're here! What changed your mind?"
"You've put on a bit of weight, my son." Acharjeet's smile was more placid. "They must be feeding you well."
"I work the breakfast shift in the kitchen. I help with the cooking, and the head cook lets me steal samples here and there." Trev basked in his father's comforting presence. Everything would be fine now. Better than fine. "Have they assigned you a place to stay? I don't have a roommate right now, and the rooms hold four people. Maybe you and Mother could stay with me. We could ask Beth…"
He paused. The pit of his stomach suddenly felt very heavy. The look on his father's face was one of deep serenity, of loving patience…and gentle pity. It was the expression Acharjeet always wore when he was bearing unpleasant news. Trev suddenly felt very cold. In an oddly detached voice he asked, "Where's Mother?"
"Your mother is back at home. This has been very…difficult for her. She could not bear to come."
"You didn't come here to Convert." Trev's voice was a strangled whisper, almost a croak.
"I came here for one more look at my son. A foolish thing, perhaps, which will only cause another sad parting…but your departure two weeks ago was rather abrupt. I wanted a chance to affirm my blessing, and to say a proper goodbye."
Trev took a step forward. Boldly he confronted his father with a courage and resolution born of desperation. "Father…they've taught us a lot here. We've found out so much. There's so much more to learn. I have to explain something so you will understand how hopeless it is to stay and die with the Earth."
Acharjeet looked bemused. "The cub wishes to instruct the lion?"
"Father, these ponies have magic! Magic really exists in Equestria, and they've brought it here."
His father's face became grave. "Yes. It is called 'thaumatic radiation,' I believe. Not that it bears any resemblance to ionizing radiation on the familiar spectrum, but the effects are just as deadly to humans. All members of the Hominidae are adversely affected–gorillas, orangutans, chimpanzees, bonobos… Whether the lesser primates are affected is unknown, due to the lack of available experimental–"
"How can you be so calm about it?!"
"If I were to scream and shout and throw things, would that improve the situation in any way, my son?"
Trev wanted to shake his father until his teeth rattled. He was suddenly afire with an unthinkable rage, unthinkable because this was his father, the man he had admired his entire life. Yet he wanted to hit this man, hurt him, beat some bloody sense into him.
"You know, Father, unicorns don't just use magic. They can sense it. They can sense souls…" Trev swallowed hard and forced out the words. "And humans don't have souls. When we die…when we die, we're done. There's no afterlife, no Paradise, no heaven or hell. There is…no…God."
Trev shut his eyes and braced himself. His father hadn't raised a hand to him since he was three and got his hand smacked for reaching towards a hot pan on the stove, but Acharjeet Singh was devoted to his beliefs, and Trev had just spoken unthinkable blasphemy: There is no God.
He heard his father sigh deeply. Trev opened his eyes. Acharjeet hadn't moved. He didn't look angry. He looked incredibly, wearily sad.
It was more than Trev could bear. He burst into tears and covered his face with both hands.
At once he felt himself enfolded in his father's arms. "My son…my precious son. To see you so troubled is painful to my heart. Perhaps I can offer some small comfort to you."
"How?!" Trev wailed helplessly into his father's shoulder. "You and Bebe aren't just going to die! You're going to cease to exist!" He shook with his sobs. "You'll be gone forever if you don't come to Equestria with me…"
He couldn't say anything else; he was sobbing as though his heart was breaking. Because it was. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor. His father knelt with him and just held him, letting him cry himself out. It took a long time.
When Trev's wails had subsided to choking sniffles, Acharjeet dried his face tenderly with a soft white handkerchief. It almost set Trev crying again, but he managed to stave it off.
"I was wondering if you could answer one question for me, Trevinder."
"What?!" That came out sharper than Trev had intended. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "What is it?"
"Can you hear a color?"
Trev drew back and stared at his father. Why was he making jokes at a time like this?
But Acharjeet's expression was serious. He was asking his ridiculous question in dead earnest. "It's a simple enough query, Trevinder. Are you capable of hearing a color? Does red make a sound you can detect?"
Trev gaped. Had his father gone mad?
"Perhaps you would better comprehend a different allegory. Can you taste music? Can you grasp a beam of light?"
"Baapu, have you lost your mind?!"
"No, my son." Acharjeet stood, pulling Trev to his feet. "This concept you have shared with me, of this reality being purely physical, with no spiritual essence at all, is a theorem known well to an associate of mine at the school. We have discussed it often. Dr. Nybil, as I may have mentioned in the past, is a devout atheist. He will, of course, be choosing Conversion. He has been trying to convince me to do the same. As I explained my point of view to him, I will now present my hypothesis to you."
He guided Trev to a lumpy sofa and sat with him. "This equine alien princess, Celestia, is said to be thousands of years old. In that time she has surely gained much wisdom and seen worlds far stranger than we could imagine. Her people, her ponies, are very caring and considerate, as she is herself. I am certain that this is considered no less than a rescue mission. She wishes in her benevolence to save an entire sapient species from irretrievable destruction."
"Yes! Father, that's exactly what's going on! Trust me, they've done their research, and they can't detect–"
Acharjeet held up a forestalling hand. "Precisely. They cannot detect any spiritual essence, what they call magic. But consider, just consider the possibility…what if there are spiritual forces extant in our unique reality that they cannot detect?"
Trev shook his head. "No, Father, that isn't possible. Celestia has visited countless realities and this is the only one that has none of the essence of life, the essence that allows magic and souls to exist. It's a dead universe, Father. Purely mechanical."
"And any human who becomes a pony, they will receive an Equestrian soul instead of their non-existent human spirit?"
"Yes! Oh, Baapu, and we will live in a beautiful world, one that can never be polluted or ruined by greed and neglect. All ponies work together to keep Equestria going, and they always help each other. Everything is green and beautiful and there is no want, no hunger, no war or disease."
"Indeed, it sounds like a paradise. I am sure you will be happy there." Acharjeet embraced his son and stood up. He reclaimed his briefcase and started for the door.
"Father!" Trev leapt to his feet. "Please, Father, you and Mother don't have to die with the Earth. What I'm telling you is the truth!"
Acharjeet paused at the door, looking back at his son with compassion and love and patience…and perhaps regret. "It is their truth, Trevinder, and I can see that it is yours. My truth is in my faith, and my God."
"Father." Trev felt so weary, and so sad. "Your faith is a lie, and your God doesn't exist."
"So many have said the same, throughout the ages, yet still some of us believe. Only time can possibly tell who is right." Acharjeet smiled gently. "Perhaps someday I will hear the colors. And if I am wrong…" He shrugged mildly. "Well, I won't be there to notice, will I?"
Trev watched his father walk through the door and shut it gently behind him. He wanted to run and stop him…but he knew it would do no good.
He sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. He didn't cry again–he just shook and shook. It was all so bloody stupid, all so bloody sad.
Trev was called to Conversion that very day, in the afternoon. There was no joy in him, only weary resignation as he entered the Conversion Room.
The doctor, Pastern by name, gave him a measuring look over the rims of her glasses. "Second thoughts?" she asked warily, pausing in her measurements of his dosage.
"No." He shucked off his clothes and sat on the table. "My father came to say goodbye. I tried to talk him into coming with me, but…"
Pastern nodded her understanding. "That's one of the hardest things about all this. But everyone has the right to choose. Even if we think it's the wrong choice."
"What if he's right?"
Pastern raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"My father is a Sikh, and very devout. He still has faith in God and the afterlife. What if…what if Celestia is wrong? Wrong about humans not having souls? What if…what if spirituality in this reality is a–is something Equestrian magic can't detect? Like…like color to someone who's blind?"
"What do you believe, Trev?"
He didn't have to think long. He'd thought about nothing else ever since his father left. "I believe this is it," he said quietly. "I haven't believed in God for a long time. I could never say it, but I think my father knew. I just wish I could have convinced him."
Pastern shook herself a bit and went back to her vials and cups. "He made his choice, Trev. Just like you made yours."
When she handed him the white paper cup, Trev downed its sparkling purple contents at a gulp.
Then he was in a field of soft, fragrant grass that stretched out as far as he could see on every side. The sun was warm and bright and at its zenith in a clear and faultless blue sky.
Trev stood up and looked around him. He could hear a distant rumbling, like low thunder, all around him. It made his heart quicken, not with fear, but with a wild anticipation. It made him want to move. To run.
So he ran. He ran faster than he ever imagined he could, powerful lungs breathing in the sweet air, the ground firm yet yielding beneath his feet.
He was surrounded by a vast crowd, a herd, of ghostly forms, of every color imaginable. Sturdy earth ponies, ethereal unicorns, fleet-footed pegasi. Trev ran with them, one with them, and they welcomed him with restless hooves and open hearts. He was a new member of the herd, but he was no stranger. He belonged. He was not merely accepted, but welcomed.
The herd came to a river, wide and deep, and without hesitation Trev plunged into its waters. The surface was sun-warmed, the depths cool and bracing. Trev swam across to the far bank and climbed out, shaking off droplets that gleamed in the sun like jewels. The herd was gone, but not the sense of belonging, of coming home. He carried that with him as he mounted the grassy slope.
A colorful tent stood in the meadow, crowned with a circular roof and draped with saree cotton in all the colors of the herd. Trev approached slowly, peering into the shadowed interior.
"Hello, Trevinder. I've been waiting for you." Reclining on one of the cushions was a vision of the purest beauty, softly radiant even within the sheltering shadows cast by the cotton tenting.
With a gasp, Trev fell at once to his knees. He spoke in a reverent whisper. "Your Highness…"
Celestia, Princess of the Sun and Ruler of Equestria, tossed her luminescent mane and laughed gently. "Oh, let's have none of that. Come, sit with me for a while."
Somehow Trev managed to get up and enter the tent, walking unsteadily across the woven straw matting and sinking down onto a plush cushion. "You are…" He swallowed. "You are so beautiful…"
Celestia smiled. "Why, thank you. Did you enjoy your swim?"
"It was amazing! All of this is amazing. Is this…is this Equestria?"
"It is, and it isn't."
Trev blinked, startled into candor. "Well, thanks for clearing that up."
She laughed again. "Oh, I like you, Trev! To answer you more concisely, this is a conception of Equestria. It's very like my realm, but seen through the lens of your dream. I wanted to welcome you personally to the herd."
"But why? What makes me so special?"
"You are special, Trev. Each and every one of my little ponies are special, and with so many new ponies soon to be arriving, it would take a very long time for me to visit each and every one personally. In the flesh, as it were. So I thought it would be best to visit you here, so that we can get to know each other without all the pomp and circumstance of a royal visit." Celestia rolled her brilliant eyes. "Formality can be so dreary, sometimes."
"A pony…?" Trev looked down at his hands, only to find that he didn't have hands. Hooves. "Holy crap, I'm a pony! When did this happen?"
"It's happening right now."
"What? Oh…the Conversion…" Trev looked around at the sweeping fields, the brilliant cottons of the tent, the gentle breeze, the soft undulations of Celestia's prismatic mane. "I'm dreaming, but it feels real."
"Reality is based on perception. It's highly suggestive, Trev. One pony's dream could well be another's reality." A brief shadow flickered behind the luminous eyes. "Well do I know how fragile reality can be." She shook her head dismissively, and smiled. "But if this is a dream, consider it the foretaste of your future in Equestria."
Trev chuckled. "You sound like my fath–" He broke off. A heavy black depression eclipsed his joy. "My…father."
"I'm sorry, Trev." And Celestia did look sorry. She gazed at him with deep compassion. "This is supposed to be a joyous occasion. I didn't mean to make you sad."
Trev looked back at her. "Your Highness–"
"Celestia."
"Celestia…what if my father is right?"
She tilted her head quizzically. "About what?"
"About his beliefs. About humans actually having souls that you can't detect. About there really being a God."
Celestia rose from her sky-hued cushion and lay down next to Trev. "I've been watching the Earth for a very long time, Trev, and there is no spark of spiritual vitality in your world. Had there been, the planet itself would have resisted its own destruction. Humanity would have been put into its proper place long ago, and there would have been no need of rescue."
"So…they are all going to die." Grief clutched at Trev's heart, wringing hot tears out of him. "I tried to make him understand…"
"Your father made his choice, Trevinder, and he loved you enough to accept yours, even if he believed it was wrong. Can you do any less for him?"
Trev wept like a child. He found himself enfolded in soft pearlescent wings. He threw his arms–no, his forelegs around the white neck and sobbed against her. He'd done so much weeping today, but this flood of tears brought a true release. His grief over losing his parents, his guilt over not being persuasive enough, his despair for all the people who would rather die than Convert…it all came pouring out of him, through his eyes, down his face, into the silken coat of his new monarch. At last the tears ceased, and he felt calm and, if not completely comforted, at least consoled into a kind of inner peace.
Celestia nuzzled him as if he were her own foal…which, in a sense, he was. "Be happy, my little pony. It's all I want for any of you."
"Fank…yu…" Trev found it hard to speak. His mouth felt strange. His eyes were closed. He couldn't feel Celestia beside him anymore, or smell the grass outside the tent. It was cold. He shivered a bit. His ears flicked.
Ears?
Oh right, I'm a pony now.
"Trev?"
"...suh…Celestia…?"
A startled laugh. "Not even close."
Trev opened his eyes and blinked. Dr. Pastern was leaning over him, grinning with pleasure. "Welcome back, Trev. How do you feel?"
"Kind of loopy…but good." He raised his head and looked around at the sterile confines of the Conversion Room. He couldn't help grinning back at the doctor. "Really good."
"I'm glad. Do you need to rest for a minute or would you like to try standing up?"
"Yeah–hang on–I think–" Trev took stock of his newly formed body. Four legs, covered in a butter-yellow coat. Shiny dark brown hooves. A strange sensation in the vicinity of his butt–he looked–a tail the color of melted chocolate. He swished it, thumped it against the floor, and chuckled. No, he giggled. He felt giddy. He flailed his legs, trying to figure out how to get up off his side. "Gah, I have too many legs!"
Pastern rocked back on her heels to avoid a hoof to the head. "Easy, Seabiscuit. Let's get you rolled onto your tummy first. Then you can sort out how to stand up." Her strong hands helped Trev right himself, and once he had his legs folded under him, standing up was a breeze.
He took a few cautious steps, chuckling (giggling!) at the sound of his hooves clopping on the tile. "This isn't so hard. I can do this."
"You're a natural, kid." Pastern patted his withers. "If you feel up to venturing out, I think somebody–somepony–would love to have a look at you."
She opened the door, and a lavender head poked in. "Trev? Are you–" Her sky-blue eyes went wide. "Trev? Is that you?"
"Well, it's not Chetak of the Maharajah Pratap." He stepped carefully forward, and Lilac rushed him, bowling him over. A standing rack of glass vials swayed dangerously and Pastern had to rush to steady it.
"I was so worried about you! I mean, I know things went really bad with your father and then you had to come in here and go through your conversion and I was so afraid you would change your mind and I'm so glad you didn't. I mean, after your–" Lilac stopped herself. "Oh, Trev, I'm sorry. Me and my big mouth. I shouldn't have brought it up–"
"It's okay, Lilac." And it really was. He would always miss his parents, and he would always be sad that they didn't come to Equestria with him…but Celestia was right. His father had let Trev make his choice. He loved his father well enough to let him choose his own path. He nuzzled Lilac to comfort her. "It's really okay."
"Scoot, you two." Dr. Pastern finished righting the jumbled vials in the rack. "Before you wreck my lab."
Lilac walked with Trev to the cafeteria. It wasn't quite dinnertime yet, but he wanted to show off his new pony self to a familiar crowd. He was surrounded by well-wishers and admirers who couldn't resist petting his silken neck and stroking his rich chestnut mane. Suggestions for a new name, a pony name, came from all sides.
"Buttercup?"
"Dandelion?"
"Cream Corn? No, sorry, that's lame…"
"Sunflower. He definitely looks like a Sunflower."
"Cornbread! He's the right color."
"Hey, Trev!" came a call from the counter. Trev excused himself and went over. "Yes, Ms. Hershaw?"
"I just warmed this up for you." Hershaw set a saucer in front of him bearing one of his morning's creations. "It's the last of the batch you made this morning. I had to fight to protect it–people snapped them up like Equestrian apples–but they say things taste different, better, when you Convert. I don't see how this could get any better, but I was wondering if you'd try it out for me."
Trev breathed in deep. The scents were familiar, but richer, more complex, than he'd ever noticed as a human. Even if he hadn't made this particular treat, he could have identified every one of its ingredients by scent alone. Flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, eggs, buttermilk, a hint of vanilla…and chocolate.
He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring the blending of flavors that perfectly complemented each other. He swallowed, then turned back to the small crowd.
"I have a name," he said, with a wink at Lilac. "Call me Chocolate Chip Muffin."
