When the human race was at the pinnacle of its own existence, it decided that the Internet was a pretty good idea. Mind you, the Gorlians several hundred light years away would shake their bulbous, tentacled skulls in disagreement, but that didn’t stop humanity from developing what they thought was a good idea.

The poor sods.

While most of the world thought that the Australians were too busy drinking beers near a barbeque and riding kangaroos, the Australians came up with a brilliant idea:

Why not preserve the best of humanity in cryogenics?

Imagine if Albert Einstein could help us now? Quite possibly, in the near future, we’d have presumably cured cancer, old-age, HIV, poverty, hunger, achieved world peace and a whole myriad of things. Perhaps if we sealed up the brilliant minds and popped into the future, we’d be able to laud the achievements of humanity and hopefully come to terms with why we ever decided burning copious amounts of oil and gas was a good idea.

Well, burning was fun. So there was that. Don’t ever come between a human and their fire. Ask the cavemen. They were of the opinion that fires were something to be hoarded. Fires were good. The bigger the better. The more the merrier… until forest fires became a thing and the caveman responsible was beaten to death by his more level-headed compatriots.

The fact that only minutes later they went off to systematically destroy the environment and all neanderthals everywhere, was not hypocritical.

Because let’s face it, an axe is never wrong.

Going back to the Australians, they were a clever lot, if only a tad laid back.

“—and the doctor was never heard of again!” the masked doctor laughed, slurping down a cold one.

David laughed along with the doctor. “A ha ha,” he chuckled nervously.

The doctor took off his sturdy wire-framed glasses and wiped away some mirthful tears. “Anyway, that’s how I lost my medical license.”

David whipped his head back. “What was that?!” he squeaked, bolting upright in his chair.

The medicinal man adjusted the laminated card on his scrubs. “Sorry, mate, did you say something? I was prepping the cryo-chamber.”

David slowly sank back down in his seat. He was probably joking. The lab-coated individual shrugged and went back to task, tapping away at a keyboard and monitoring monitors—you know, science-medicine stuff.

“It’s so rare to get such a good test subject. Average, average, average, that’s what we want, mate. Gotta tell the higher ups that we’re getting work done down here, earn my pay check and all that,” the doctor chattered, flicking a few buttons as he did. David got the distinct feeling that the doctor was reassuring him, but at the same time, insulting him. He decided that it was just his nerves acting up.

“Will it hurt?” David queried carefully, asking what he believed was a sensible question, glancing at the steel chambers around him. The ominous glow of the blue liquid running through the i.v. and into his arm was not inspiring confidence.

“Nah there won’t be any pain, mate. If something goes wrong, you’ll just never wake up,” the doctor laughed and yanked on a yellow lever. A low hum filled the room.

“Of course,” David replied drily, though inwardly disturbed. “At least there’s no pain.”

“That’s the spirit, mate!” the doctor exclaimed, slapping the smaller fellow on the back.

“Just sit back, relax, and make medical history!”

Heavy glass shielding slid slowly over the capsule and a second black-out panel followed, plunging the interior into a deep, hollow darkness.

For science, David thought, feeling a sudden bout of claustrophobia. It went away when the gas kicked in and he drifted off to a gentle, if somewhat cold, sleep.

Meanwhile, the Australian parliament had an argument over the funding of this project.

“We simply can’t have this!” yelled one of the backbenchers.

“Well, we’re right and you’re wrong, because we were voted in!” another yelled in reply.

The rest engaged in similarly logical argumentative volleys.

As per usual, the debate drifted off into matters of scandalous behaviour, general name-calling and bringing up the past only to rub it in each other’s faces.

Which, let’s be honest about this, was the same as a divorce.

Like a divorce, the original subject matter was quickly forgotten. The original site of the lab was bulldozed over, and a fast food restaurant chain replaced the multi-million dollar facility. Coincidentally, the facility was just on the verge of curing cancer. Research along those lines was eventually scrapped and medicine was set back about two hundred years.

Politics.

So what happened to our brave human experiment, stewing in the confines of his cold uncaring coffin? Luckily, the life support system was built using solar batteries, and after mistaking it for salvageable construction material, the capsule was shipped off to America for reprocessing.

A factory worker named Steve saw the magnificent device and made a few phone calls to his architectural buddy, Michael. Michael saw fit to include it as part of the new New York Art Complex, where it fit snugly as part of the roof acting as a support for the upper railings. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for David, the solar cells received adequate amounts of sunlight being positioned under the skylight, so neither emergency mechanism kicked in to either revive him, or upon sustaining catastrophic damage, euthanize the poor soul.

David lay dormant for years.

Then decades.

Then centuries.

Millennia.

And finally, Ages.

The rest of civilization, blissfully unaware that the art complex housed a cryogenically frozen human in their midst, continued on its slow pace to destruction. After a catastrophic trifecta involving a nuclear power plant, a meteor and a rubber band came to fruition, the humans left their beloved motherplanet, rendering it uninhabitable after only three hundred years since David began his fateful journey.

Ships took off to look for other worlds to explore and inhabit.

Hopefully this time, they wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

The Gorlians buried the odds. The humans still had Google+.

Back on Earth, the planet started to freeze over. Nuclear radiation poisoned much of the land and the flora and fauna mostly perished. Life was a stubborn thing though, and it persisted in spite of adversity. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily again, David wasn’t exposed to too much lethal radiation—although he could say goodbye to fathering kids and he’d probably have a more than guaranteed risk of cancer in his later years, assuming he lasted long enough for the cancer to develop.

Dirt and soil pitter pattered, there was movement of the plates, and the world kept on spinning. Several curious creatures popped their heads out of the cradle of humanity. It was thousands of years after the humans left, but there were traces enough for these little creatures to gain knowledge and wisdom without the pressures of competing predators.

There weren’t many records left of how they had arrived on this dingy little planet but they liked it here and so they made their little homes among the ruins of a forgotten civilisation. David’s pod had barely survived the nuclear winter, but fortunately, the railings and the building had collapsed around the pod. No longer was the pod a weight-bearing architectural shunt. Unfortunately, it had been exposed to light and one of these new little creatures, of many shades and vagaries both in colour and personality, decided to mount this curious box with its softly glowing red, green and yellow ‘stones’ on the rooftop of their most favoured stone building.

If David were conscious for the period, and assuming he didn’t go mad—although there was a good likelihood of brain damage setting in—he would be frustrated that yet again his cold coffin was being retrofitted as another architectural feature. There it sat on cold stone, soaking in the sun and never once giving David a chance to stretch his legs. I mean, think about the cramps!

The little creatures gradually grew in number and they formed their own cliques. They were all different types so they first grouped together by shape and split off to find befitting lands so that only those of their kind would live together. The equinely shaped ones were the most interesting but they too wished to further differentiate themselves.

The ones with wings liked to stick together and stay in the sky, so they did. The ones with horns liked to tend to their studies, so they retreated to castles of stone. The quiet ones with neither horns nor wings decided that they liked to eat the most and that they were pretty hungry, so they started growing food.

Over time, the winged ones learnt how to work the weather, the horned ones learnt how to control the matter around them and the ones with neither became really, really good at growing things. Though initially, they happily traded their services to one another, the relations started becoming bitter when a sudden cold snap set in. Arguing amongst themselves, they couldn’t come to agreement with each other and stormed off to find new lands.

Luckily for David, one of the horned creatures took a liking to the pod design and decided that it would be a good idea to incorporate it into the new castle, wherever it would be. Despite sustaining a little damage to the auxiliary power supply and the euthanizing unit, which David would come to be grateful for, the pod remained relatively unscathed through the transport process. Over time, plates of gold and jewels were added to the sides and it looked like an ornate casket rather than a life-supporting pod for a medical experiment.

Eventually, the different creatures realised that arguing with each other was fairly pointless. As the cold spell receded, they were able to move past their differences and work together again, leading to a Golden Age of prosperity. The land was named, the civilians were unified and the newly formed country became a growing and prosperous empire that spanned the small little strip of land, now surrounded by sea to the east and west.

Excited, the exuberant little things once again built castles, because let’s face it, everyone likes castles.

They were happier than ever when perhaps by coincidence, or even by design, two creatures were born with both wings and a horn on the same year the country was founded. Seeing this as a good omen, the unified creatures painted their new flag with the two auspiciously born and all rejoiced. Once again, David’s pod became a centrepiece on the rooftop of this castle which would later be known as ‘the Castle of the Two Royal Pony Sisters’, or simply abbreviated as ‘the Castle of the Two Sisters’.

Time passed and David continued to gather dust.

There was a bit of excitement and chaos thrown around but David was never party to that nonsense—not until a great upheaval in the system of government got underway which gave the two siblings sovereignty over the whole entire country. It was sudden, it was impulsive, but the little creatures were very relaxed and they thought, ‘after a century or two we can get our government back.’

Unfortunately, the greater populace found out that their new rulers were immortal.

Luckily for them, the sisters were wise and just and things went on as peacefully and happily as one could hope for.

That is, until one sister turned against the other.

The resulting turmoil would not be significant to David if it weren’t for the fact that the castle roof caved in as a result of the protracted battle between the two sisters. The damage knocked out a couple solar panels, which would have been fine had the auxiliary power been available, but since that was damaged years ago, the power supplied to the cryo-pod was now sinking to dangerous levels. It would be a slow fall but eventually the pod would run out of power in a couple of thousand years… give or take a couple hundred.

Meanwhile, the devastation of the castle was never really repaired. The place was simply abandoned with most the items in and around the castle left to slowly rust or rot. Taking pity on a beautiful cultural artefact, the Royal Architect for the new Canterlot Castle decided to incorporate the box-like design in the new castle.

Ten guesses on where it would be.

Yes, that’s right. In the library.

It was in a secluded part of the library where none of these strange creatures usually visited (it was the non-fiction section) that the architect cleverly worked in the box as part of a large bay window for reclining purposes. It only needed a few cushions and anyone using it could comfortably recline and read their books.

It would have been a nice view and a nice idea if not for the fact that no one read non-fiction. Non-fiction is only something you read and put back straight away. Nobody likes touching those books longer than they have to.

Well, except for one strange creature.

One of the horned ones had a passion for reading. Every day he would spend some time reclining on the box with a couple of comfy cushions he brought along with him. For a few hours he would read from the selection of non-fiction while basking in the sun. He was an avid reader and through the years always admired the small bay window. It was one of his favourite places to relax and forget about the pressures of his work. His work would come to be pivotal in the development of this strange race’s version of technology, but such things were hush, hush, for now. This horned one with a dull grey coat and bright yellow eyes sapped what easily could have lasted David another couple thousand years in terms of solar energy, to merely less than a thousand.

When that horned one eventually passed on, the bay window became disused and practically forgotten.

Until…

One fateful day, a purple-coated horned one decided to use the bay window again. Some measure of time had passed but this one was more ambitious and studied longer. Sometimes, she would take sheets with her and cover the whole box depriving the pod of precious light for hours on end. The consequences of which were made quite apparent on an auspicious day in spring...

——

Twilight Sparkle, the Element of Magic, the Princess’ protégé, Ponyville’s librarian and self-confessed bibliophile, bubbled with excitement.

Today she was set to return to the Royal Canterlot Archives and enjoy a relaxing afternoon reading non-fiction in her favourite spot by the bay window overlooking the fields and buildings of Canterlot. The glass was clear, not stained, and the sunlight that fell through would be warm, not hot, on her furry coat as she sampled the delights of learning that only such a relaxing setting could offer.

It seemed like such a long time since she had been back, always reflecting quite fondly on this secret place hidden away in the far reaches of the library. The base of the pod was quite decorative and there had been several restorations done on the ancient artefact itself. Twilight had initially felt shy and too reverent to be reclining on such an antiquity of the ages. Eventually, she had come to love the piece for its worn edges and its familiar shiny blackness covering the top. She found the style to be elegant despite the strangeness.

Whoever designed this masterpiece was a genius in their time, she thought.

Customary to her usual jaunt, Twilight pulled out a tome concerning works of astronomical phenomena and began to read, reclining in a nostalgic position that she so enjoyed during her fillyhood.

She read through a few passages when a strange noise permeated through the silence of the library.

Beep.

She frowned. Where had that noise come from?

Beep.

Her eyes widened. Was it coming from the box?

Beep.

It was!

Twilight scrambled to her hooves as the box creaked. She could hear the sounds of clicking and screeching as the black covering slid back almost colliding with her. She hastily backed away and watched with increasing amazement as a newly revealed glass covering also pulled away, this time with a loud hissing sound that echoed through the confined spaces of the Royal Canterlot Archives.

After the glass clicked into place, the library fell silent.

Twilight’s mind was abuzz. Is this some sort of hidden treasure? Could it be part of a long-lost civilisation? She squealed inwardly. I’m just like Daring Do in her books!

She carefully nudged her way forward, mentally psyching herself up for the mound of treasure and gold that perhaps lay within the ancient casket. She paused. It could even be never-before-seen scrolls or ancient parchment that nopony had ever laid eyes on before! Twilight was practically head over hooves with the discovery.

No longer able to contain her excitement, she rushed forward to examine the contents of the container.

She blinked at what she saw.

David blinked back.

“You’re not my doctor,” he commented dryly, losing all interest in further proceedings.

Author's Notes:

Ah the ludicrous shenanigans that happen when one is frozen in cryostasis for over ten thousand years. State of the art solar panels, built like a bomb.

Next Chapter: Duh what? Ten thousand years old? You're kidding me.

As always, my fruity and flavoured readers, thanks for reading!

NB: For those of you new to my stories, I don't have a prereader or editor in favour of releasing things faster. Having said that, it means I'm relying on your excellent skills in identifying my glaring grammatical and/or spelling errors in this fic. I'm lazy like that.

Also if it hasn't been made obvious to you, I use Australian English, apologies to the other English counterparts out there.

P.S. Oh yeah, based on the premise of Idiocracy with less of the wit and humour. Sorry!

P.P.S. HiE are the best. I can never read enough. Really.

P.P.P.S. Going to re-read the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy