The Conversion Bureau – Mirror Match

A story set in Blaze's Conversion Bureau universe, By Silvertie

Chapter 4 – Free Action

“That was cool. Do it again.”

“Do you know how hard it is to do that?”

“Come on,” I wheedled harder. “Do iiiit.”

A freshly-cleaned Dice sighed as we walked down the suburban street in the sunshine. “I shouldn't have done it in the first place, now you're going to nag me to bust that out at virtually every occasion.”

“Being able to move things around with your mind is cool. You wanna be cool, don't you? Don't answer that – I know you do.”

The teal unicorn sighed, and lowered his horn at a stray bottle on the sidewalk. With a magical glow, it levitated, held aloft in a shimmer of blue light. Dice screwed up his face, and gradually, shakily, the glow faded away – but the bottle remained floating.

“Yeah, we could like, make our own Paranormal Activity movie,” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “It's like that bottle's floating on it's own.”

“I don't think those paranormal movies have the same pull these days,” Dice said dismissively, the glow returning to the bottle briefly before vanishing again as he let it go. “I mean, when one... quarter of the sentient population on the planet can make things levitate and such, the novelty kind of wears off a little.”

“Yeah, you're right,” I nodded, watching the bottle bounce and roll away back into the gutter where we'd found it. “Still one hell of a party trick, though.”

======

My local movie theatre was not the biggest, nor was it the most impressive theatre in the country. It was a darkened ghost town, and that had been before ponification began.

So it was a surprise that the place was still running, two years later – asking around revealed that ponies couldn't get enough of human movies, and the owner had been running at full capacity just to keep up with demand for screenings – anything went, as long as it had humans in it and didn't have too much blood.

Although, nowadays, with the undercurrent of hostility towards ponies in town thanks to the HLF, patronage had dropped off considerably with most ponies leaving town, and it was quickly going back to the way I'd known it back in my childhood.

Standing outside the beige-exteriror-clad cinema in the largely empty parking lot, looking only slightly bored, was M and Gary – the latter sitting on the edge of his car, playing with his phone, while M scrutinized a movie poster on the wall. Gary stopped playing with his phone, and almost instantly, my pocket vibrated.

I fished the phone out, and sure enough:

Gary S says:

What are you, one of your man-o-wars?

“I'm right here,” I called out, and Gary jumped, as he spotted me, and I saw his face go into a frown as he saw Dice at my side.

Gary levered himself off his red convertible, and smoothed out his perpetually-messy hair... or tried to, anyway. Standing at basically the same height and build as myself, but with none of the asian genes, and a fondness for thin, plaid-patterned shirts, Gary had been my best bud since just after primary school. It was a horrible coincidence that his name just happened to be strikingly similar to that of a famously arrogant character from the Pokemon cartoons, and between us, we'd heard and given all the jokes possible about a name like “Gary Soak”.

“Well, hey, Duke. Who's your friend?” Gary's face had gone into what I recognized as his “poker face”, and he'd thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He didn't have a very good poker face, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but had the good grace to hold his fire until I said my bit first. The real bet was on how much he'd let me say before he cut loose with his view on things.

M turned around; standing taller than either me or Gary, we got to constantly make jokes about how short she made us feel. At a towering 6'3”, and with more Norwegian... or something European, anyway, in her than she cared to admit; Magdalene 'M' Oswalds was a veritable tower in the local war-gaming community, always riding the front wave of news about new releases.

Many had remarked that it was a shame her natural beauty was constantly outweighed by a near-obsessive need to wear thick, men's shirts and other horrifically unattractive clothing. Today it was well-worn jeans and the ever-present plaid shirt.

“Oh, Duke... I see you've brought a fourth to the table,” she remarked calmly, leaving the poster and standing next to Gary. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“Gary, M, meet Dice Roller,” I introduced. “He knows you both already, he's m-”

“I didn't think you swung that way,” blurted out Gary, finally deciding he knew enough to comment on the situation, and cutting me off. I heard Dice swear softly; he must have been generous with his bet. “It... it must take great courage to come out like this. With a pony.”

My face turned purple, and I looked at Dice – the teal-blue pony had wiped any trace of disappointment away, and replaced it with a smug grin on his face, a hoof pointed at me.

“Ice-cream. You owe me.” Dice looked at Gary and M. “Guys – it's me. Literally. I'm Duke.”

“Right, and he's Dice,” M nodded, “I see, we have this funky body-swap thing going on. This is just like one of my Japanese animes, or something.”

“No, I'm Duke too,” I shook my head. “We're the same person – I'm kind of a re-life clone.”

Gary and M's faces zoned out for the briefest of moments, and went taut as they realized the implication.

“You... died?”

“Only for like thirty seconds or something,” Dice assured. “I got tagged by PER on my way home, the serum almost killed me or something. SDC is very prompt.”

Gary looked at the both of us. “So... in a sense, I've got three best-friends now?”

“Yeah, basically,” I nodded.

M shook her head. “I think I need a drink. How often does a friend get duplicated?”

“It's not even noon!” Dice protested.

M checked her wristwatch, and nodded sagely. “Better make it a big one, then.”

======

We sat in the half-lit bar, the somewhat rotund bartender only slightly amused to have customers at this point in the morning. Polished walnut, aged oak, and tumblers of whiskey – as far as we were considered, it was the only way to drink. And right now, we were at  round number four.

“I see you've picked up one of the ponyfolk for your little group,” the bartender remarked, idly polishing a glass. “Drinking to celebrate?”

“Ah, in a sense,” M nodded. “I guess you could say it's like he's been part of the group since forever.”

“Right,” the bartender nodded, in that way which subtly hinted he wasn't actually paying attention and he was just making conversation. “Didn't think the ponyfolk were much for drinking; I heard the hardest thing they drink is cider.”

I looked at my pony counterpart. “You might be right.”

Dice was sprawled on the counter, doing his best to lick the whiskey out of the tumbler with his face. It was a totally graceless sight, and it was a blessing the rest of the bar was empty. It was the moment when we realized the alcohol tolerance of the average pony dipped below “lightweight”.

“Whiskey! Come to me!”

“Don't his kind have that magic?” The bartender asked, nodding his bald head at the pathetic pony, who now had the glass stuck to the end of his snout, and seemed to be having trouble getting it off without using his hooves, which he had planted on his stool, so he didn’t fall off. “Couldn't he just... magic the tumbler into the air and drink it like that?”

“You'd think so,” I said, watching Dice chase the glass around the bar. “But try telling him that. I think this is why ponies don't 'do' hard liquor.”

“I can roll all the sixes!” Dice shouted around the tumbler in his mouth, as he banged a hoof on the counter. “So many sixes!”

“Yeah,” Gary nodded. “He's had enough. Let's go.”

======

“You- you guys are my best friends,” Dice mumbled, as he staggered along; The other three of us, being a great deal less sloshed, were taking turns to play bumper and keep him walking roughly in a straight line down the street.

“That's right, Dice,” I stated, gently bumping him back into line. “We're your friends.”

“I thought the saying was,” Gary remarked, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink?”

“I'm a pony,” Dice retorted.

“Ah, makes perfect sense, then.”

The four of us kept walking, and M coughed, and looked at me.

“So, you're a clone?”

“Yeah, basically,” I nodded. “Re-life clones are supposed to be just as good as the original; they are a replacement, after all.”

“Did... did dying... hurt?”

I shrugged. “Ask Dice. He's the original, although I think he was unconscious when he 'died'. Kind of like dying on an operating table for a moment – you wouldn't know unless someone told you.”

“Oh.” M sighed. “So, what were you... two? That sounds so weird.”

“I know, right?” Gary chimed in, bringing Dice back into line with a gentle body-check. “Especially since we all know you're both the same guy under it all.”

“The potential for jokes is astounding,” I confirmed. “I'm beside myself with anticipation.”

“Oh ha ha,” M said, “Anyway. Like I was saying, what did you two have planned?”

“Hm? Oh, right. We were going to go get a new bed. Dice doesn't like sharing.”

“Sharing?” Realization dawned on M, as she'd seen my bedroom before once or twice in passing. “Oh, no. What about the couch?”

“I suggested that. But, you know... we're both accustomed to getting the bed. And the Magic Eight Ball we used to resolve the problem told us to 'share'.”

“If the magic eight ball told you to jump off a cliff, would you do that?”

“Honestly? Probably. Thinking's hard when you're recently dead.”

M sighed. “Right. Well, was there anything else?”

“Oh, and a new toilet. Dice can't handle human toilets.”

“When- when you're human,” Dice stammered, “You don't quite realize how much it's designed for two legs and not four.”

“And right now,” Gary stated, nodding towards a pharmacy just down the road, “You're totally legless. Let's get you detoxed.”

“Nooo,” Dice protested weakly as we banded together to force him down a side street, “Not the detox!”

======

“I hate you all,” I mumbled weakly, holding my head with a hoof. “Especially myself.”

I was curled up in a public toilet, hugging the bowl as the nanite injection did it's work. Thankfully, it didn't discriminate between ponies and humans, working just the same for both.

“It's your own fault for being such a lightweight,” Duke stated from the doorway of the bathroom, “And while watching a pony be drunk is amusing for a while, it does get old.”

“Shut up,” I moaned, hunching over the porcelain bowl again. “You're the worst. You're me – you know I hate Deto-huurgh-”

My sentence was ended prematurely by a stream of vomit; Detox wasn't pretty. Nanites took everything that wasn't supposed to be in a human body, and pushed it out the fastest way possible. That way varied from person to person; lucky ones simply had to go pee earlier than usual.

I had to vomit. Still better than the ones who simply had streams of toxins squirting out of every orifice, though – at least I could get all of mine in the bowl.

“Well, you getting arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct is not on the cards,” Gary stated from his perch on the sink's edge, as I wiped my mouth and got up.

“And we're going to Bed, Bath and Beyond,” M added, “You know how much they tolerate the drunk. Not at all.”

======

[Welcome to Bed, Bath and Beyond, Sirs and Madam,] a spindly, mannequin-esque greeter robot said, doing its job and bowing slightly as we drew near. [Alcohol vapors detected. Are any of you intoxicated?]

Bed Bath and Beyond – the tall, off-white, square-built megastore towered over us; me in particular, being equine and the shortest of the group.

“Not any more,” I grumbled.

“No drinking here,” Gary denied.

[Excellent. We hope you enjoy your time at Bed Bath and Beyond.] The greeter stepped aside, and waved us in; we took the offer, looking about.

The place had seen better times; years ago, it had been the go-to for most home-wares and such. But after a few rough financial years, the entire line had been brought out, and now, the “Beyond” really was “Beyond”. Each store was closer to an automated ghost-town, filled with droids performing make-work, awaiting a rush of customers that would probably, and somewhat sadly, never come.

I stepped aside to make way for an aging labor-droid that stalked past, emblazoned with the B3 logo and carrying an old box of what looked like bars of soap.

“Can you imagine people having to do this for a job?” I mused out loud; Gary and M shuddered.

“I'll stick to NanoWare development, thanks,” M stated. “Manual labor. How horrifying.”

“How did humanity survive without 'bots to do things for us, anyway?” Gary asked. “I mean, shit.”

“Hey,” Duke waved a hand at an idling robot, and the spindly creation stalked over to us, plastic-shelled torso glinting with polish as metal met linoleum flooring with a brisk pace.

[Greetings, valued customer! What do you wish to purchase today?]

“We're after a bed,” I stated, only for the robot to ignore me and keep facing my human counterpart. Of course. These robots were pre-Equestria, and none too bright; they wouldn't recognize a pony.

“We're after a bed,” Duke echoed, seeing my plight, and the robot nodded.

[We have beds for sale. Are you after a single or a double?]

Duke looked at me. “Single.”

“Hey, fuck you too,” I said, glaring at Duke. “You think I can't pull like this?”

He just laughed. “Mate, I know you can't pull like that. Not to put too fine a point on it, I can't pull like this.”

I choked back my outrage as the robot began to stalk away, intending to show us the wide range of beds and other homewares they had in stock. The amount of force a B3 droid applied to the up-sell depended entirely on recent sales figures. This Bed Bath and Beyond didn't seem like it cleared much more than a hundred dollars a day.

I swallowed as I ran the numbers in my head. This was going to suck.

======

We staggered out of Bed, Bath and Beyond, followed by labor-droids who were struggling with their own not-inconsiderable loads.

“I don't even know how this happened,” denied Duke, carrying his own small bag of assorted fancy seashell soaps. “How did this happen?”

“We failed our resolve checks,” M mumbled morosely. “Who knew a robot could perform puppy-dog eyes?”

“Natural 20,” Gary grunted, weighed down by a parcel of bed linen. “On the other hand, I do need new sheets. The old ones are disgusting, chocolate stains embedded in them everywhere.”

“Chocolate?” I raised an eyebrow, not nearly as burdened as my human counterparts, despite carrying twice their respective loads. “Why- what are you doing with chocolate, in bed?”

“I- I like to eat chocolate pudding in bed, alright?” Gary said, defensively. “It's not like I watch American soaps in bed at four in the morning!”

“Nobody was saying you did,” M pointed out, stepping to the side to allow the droids to carry my new bed to the truck. Gary blushed.

“What I want to know is,” I said, “Why do you eat chocolate pudding of all things? Isn't the usual custom to eat ice-cream or something?”

“I ran out, okay?” Gary twisted a foot anxiously. “Can we drop this?”

“You know,” Duke said, “We've been over some fairly embarrassing secrets today. I can't get a chick for love or money-”

“That's no secret,” Gary interjected, getting human-me back for the badgering about the pudding.

“-and Gary likes his American soaps. So, M,” Duke leaned in closer, “What secrets do you hide?”

The temperature in the air dropped a few degrees, and Gary and I stepped back carefully. M was renowned for having a long reach, and not much care for collateral damage. And I recalled multiple occasions where I'd pressed on in the face of adversity and been punished quite hard for it.

At this rate, I'd be adding this to the list.

“Uh, Duke,” I piped up, “We, uh, don't need to pry. I think we're good.”

“Come on,” Duke wheedled, ignoring my advice, “We've all spilled the beans. Come oooon.”

Did I mention M managed to completely clock our local arcade's “Dragon Punch”? The one big, burly men had barely clipped 9.5k on out of a possible 9999? That she has a straight right like a rattlesnake?

Duke forgot that. It's not something you forget twice.

Crack.