The Time Dilation Paradox: The effects of Party-Time Mint-als on mRNA

“No.”

Project #2187: The implementation of robotic assistance in situations of information extraction and retrieval

“What? This doesn't even...”

Budget of the Royal Equestrian Government: contains the Budget Message of Princess Luna, expense reports of the last fiscal year arranged by agency with analyses, projected expenditures and appropriations.

“Aha, the first thread. Thank you, Equestrian accountants, for being so damned meticulous. I'm sure I won't find anything at all out of the ordinary in the financial depths of the Lunar government.”

Shortly after the incident earlier in the day, High Scribe Marrow holed himself up in his quarters, dredging up old files long-irrelevant to anypony, his terminal screen covering everything in his room in a sickly, green phosphorescence, like some unholy, necromantic ritual. Never before had he been this interested in long-lost accounts of inconclusive, Ministry of Arcane Science experiments nor financial reports of a failed nation. But what happened earlier that day was no ordinary occurrence. Now, if he could only focus long enough to read through the massive wall of text that laid before him...

As he started his journey through the intricate labyrinth of accounting tricks and deceits of forgotten ghosts, his mind began to wander off on a side road. This was the path to his most cherished memories. He suddenly recalled the first time he had acquired arcane technology for the order. An entire stockroom of industrial Toshzebra capacitors, several boxes of assorted vacuum tubes and an honest-to-goddesses Pipbuck 1,000 model. Marrow knew this was not the most incredible of finds, but with these materials not only was he was able to keep power running to the chapter's bunker, repair and craft several new radios and public address systems, he also got himself a fun, new toy in the process. In one, carefully-timed maneuver he solidified his importance to his Steel Ranger chapter. And it only cost him the full use of two of his legs.

No matter, he thought, as he rubbed the fused joint on his left foreleg. Civilian life suits me better. And he was right. Rising through the ranks to become the youngest High Scribe in his chapter's history was no small feat, but Marrow was a pony of persistence. Though he was under the order of the Quill, Marrow had repaired weapons, fashioned new ones, increased the bunker's defenses and even had the audacity to spar with then Senior Knight Pozole and win.

“Yes,” Marrow chuckled to himself, savoring the memories of his past triumphs. “Far better...Shhhhhhhit!” He realized he was on his fifth reading of the same, riveting financial spreadsheet. “Focus, Marrow, focus!”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGH!

The sound of the door buzzer shocked him out of his feel-good procrastination. “What were the old Elders thinking when they tied that system into the alarm,” he moaned to himself, rubbing his temples with his hooves. “Efficiency should have its limits.” Marrow pressed the intercom button he had rigged to his desk, “Enter!”

In walked a powerful, beige stallion with a blue, anodized, titanium locket swinging about his neck. Though slightly smaller than Marrow, he appeared older and had a heavenly presence about him that battled the darkness abiding in Marrow's foul lair.

Marrow quickly broke the silence before it even started, “Paladin Trueheart, so nice to see your lovely face this fine day,” he lied, groaning as he stretched out in his chair, rubbing his face with his fore-hooves. “What compels you to brave my 'den of evil'?”

Always the gentlepony, Trueheart tried valiantly to hide his disgust at the High Scribe's offensive demeanor, “High Scribe Marrow, it's great to see you in such fine spirits...”

“Horseapples! Why the Hell are you in here, bothering me, Trueheart? You must realize how much research I have in front of me!”

Ever the stoic sentinel, Trueheart waited until Marrow's barrage was finished before he responded. “I was appointed by Head Paladin Pozole to lead a team to requisition the asset needed to retrieve the information you requested.”

Marrow did not like the idea of Trueheart being in charge of his pet project, but was so relieved his plan had been approved at all that he didn't show any resentment. “Excellent,” he said, gathering up a stack of papers, sliding them into a manila folder, and handing it in turn to Trueheart. “Here's everything you'll need to brief your troops on the mission. Contact me once you reach the next stage of plan.”

“Of course,” Trueheart said. “I'm sure we'll find a way to get that vertibuck back up in the air.”

With a slight nod, Trueheart departed and left Marrow to his information scavenging. The high scribe allowed himself a deep sigh and returned to his work.

National Defense............. 82,975

Health & Pony Resources...... 340

Education & Employment. 87

Health................. 347

Veterans Benefits...... -211

Waste Management....... 117

“Now, wait,” Marrow muttered to himself when he reached the last line. “This can't be right.” Switching over to his second terminal, he put in a search for the waste management budget for the five years leading up to the final year.

Waste management....... 1.5

Waste management....... 1.3

Waste management....... 2.4

Waste management....... 5.2

Waste management....... 60.7

Waste management....... 117.3

“What the hell were they working on that would need one-hundred and seventeen million bits allocated to manage waste,” Marrow asked his flickering companion. The terminal just sat there with its hidden knowledge buried even deeper in discarded government files. “Alright,” Marrow wheezed as he sat up straight and cracked his neck. “Let's see who these waste management contractors are.” It couldn't be this simple, he thought. It couldn't just be a straight line leading directly to fortune and glory. There has to be some trick.

Marrow dug a little deeper and searched for the companies contracted out for this massive, waste management project:

Search results: 3,965 entries

Oh, well, there you go, Marrow thought as he found himself reaching around his middle for his chain of beads, each bead bearing a sigil of past triumphs. The chain was long. His hooves fumbled with the chain until they came to settle on one particularly fond memory.

It was four years ago. Marrow had been...

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEGH!

After several seconds of obscenities and a long sigh to himself, Marrow pressed his intercom button and answered the door. “Enter!”

The door opened and a young stallion in an ill-fitting, hand-me-down scribe's habit appeared, waiting on the other side. The colt hesitated for a brief moment, perhaps wondering if he was going to be able to walk back out of the room with his body intact. Thankfully, before too long his training took over, and with much feigned confidence the frail scribe strode into Marrow's cramped quarters, slightly tripping over the threshold as he did. He composed himself when he reached the middle of the room and stood as straight and tall as his little body would allow.

“Apprentice Rewire,” said High Scribe Marrow, addressing himself as much as his guest, as if he just received an answer for some trivia game. “Now, I took you on as my assistant because I was told you were highly intelligent.” Marrow knew the chain of command was the chain that binds, but due to his intense desire to help his chapter dominate in the wastes and his past victories, his superior, Head Scribe Breakdown, didn't begrudge him this one luxury of having a secretary. Marrow sat, staring at Rewire's face, awaiting the apprentice's response.

“Sir, what are you...?” Rewire asked, quizzically tipping his head to one side.

“Ahtatatatatata,” Marrow motioned his apprentice to hold his tongue with a waving hoof. He slowly stood up from his massive, stainless steel desk while Rewire tried not to notice the powerful muscles flex under his superior's blood-red habit as Marrow's imposing form slowly moved to the center of the room. Even after having to retire his power armor, Marrow could still inspire fear and obedience in his fellow ranger. Rewire took this as a sign to stand at attention and stare blankly ahead at what he was surely hoping was not his ending fate. “They told me that you were a problem solver,” the High Scribe continued as he began circling the small, sweating statue of his assistant. “That you knew what you were doing...that you could even stop a problem before it starts.” Marrow stopped at this to stare, almost lovingly at his wine glass as he gently caressed it and stirred the dregs. He languidly turned his head to face little Rewire. “Is this true?”

“Uh, y-y-y-yes...s-sir?” Rewire asked like a child seeking approval.

Marrow slowly smiled and nodded, and walked over to stand nose to nose with Rewire. “Then why the FUCK would you leave your duties just to interrupt my research?” he spat, overemphasizing each and every consonant. He took a step back, raised his eyebrows and waited patiently for a response from his now shaking apprentice.

“Sir,” Rewire's voice cracked. He took a deep breath and steeled himself once more, remembering bedtime stories of heroes fighting fearlessly against all manner of vicious beast. Marrow could see the anger and fear sublimate from his tiny form and was ever-so-slightly impressed. Truly, he had chosen the correct candidate for his assistant. Rewire, now purified of terror, let his high tenor voice ring out against the halls, like a true knight of steel, “Proctor, your presence is required in the viewing room. The creature is agitated.”

“And why bother me? Am I the game warden? Would it seem to you that I have a calming effect on those around me?” Marrow made a grand, sweeping gesture to emphasize his sarcasm as he shuffled his way back to his chair. “Get back to the cataloging I sent you to...”

“She's calling you by name, sir,” Rewire blurted, before he could think about interrupting his superior.

Marrow froze. She had been babbling incoherently when they found her. Did she somehow regain her cognizance in the past ten hours? He turned to stare at his assistant. “What?”

“Indeed, sir, she's been calling your name for the past twenty minutes,” Rewire said.

Marrow let slip a look of incredulity with the slightest micro-expression of the satisfaction a large cat experiences when his teeth drain the life from his prey. “And what is Elder Gazpacho's take on this?”

“He's the one who sent me, sir. After Head Scribe Breakdown failed at getting it to do anything but say your name, Elder Gazpacho sent me to fetch you, sir. Your service is required, sir, not requested.”

“Walk with me, Rewire,” Marrow said as he prepped to leave, quickly loading his findings onto his pipbuck. “Let's go craft a victory.”
______________________________________________________________________________

The two ponies made their way swiftly down the hall, Marrow hobbling along next to Rewire's sprightlier trot. Marrow didn't notice this distinction, however, even after the two flights of stairs. No, the mission before him was the sole occupant of his brain. He couldn't help but believe the secret of the creature would unravel and lead the Steel Rangers to the formation of a new form of the Equestrian government and its absolute control. The technology learned from this one incident could even alter the future course of pony evolution.

The pair slowed as they met the gaze of two fully-armored security knights and their automatic weapons.

“High Scribe Marrow, sir,” said what apparently was a mare on the left, with a nod. “Head Scribe Breakdown and Elder Gazpacho are awaiting your arrival in the test chamber. As for you, Apprentice Rewire, you are required to report to Senior Scribe Ohms in his workshop; those new, power armor modifications aren’t going to develop themselves.”

Marrow noted the way Rewire quickly scampered off to play with electronics with Ohms; they both were unsure as to what would occur in the test chamber and that thrilled Marrow and filled him with anticipation as much as it filled little Rewire with dread. The secure hatch unlocked and swung open.

“...rowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrow...”

Marrow took a few steps inside, and his heart began to beat faster and faster. His limbs started to feel lighter and his head started spinning slightly, like a foal unable to go to sleep on Hearthswarming eve. It was nice enough to be charged with discovering the origin of this gift, but even better was the fact his present was calling his name. Seeing Head Scribe Breakdown in her bright red habit trimmed in white silk was just icing on the gingerbread house. If only it was snowing, he thought, giving one, snorting laugh through his wry smile.

He trotted up the left stairs of the large octagonal room to find the conspicuously un-jolly Head Scribe awash in the heated, thorium glow of so many vacuum tubes, giving the observation roost and its inhabitants a warm, fireplace-like glimmer. She did not look pleased.

“She's been at this for a half an hour, now; where the hell have you been?” she asked him. Never seen her this out of sorts, Marrow noted. She's definitely not enjoying the idea that the creature is fond of me. Heh, I don't blame her.

“Where do you need me, ma'am?” Marrow asked. He predicted the answer, but he knew his place, especially when confronted with the older members of the order. The chain of command was the chain that binds.

“Down there, on de chamber floor,” croaked a recognizable, smokey voice. Elder Gazpacho slowly stepped out from behind one of the larger computer cabinets, the light from his cigar lending an unearthly radiance to the strong fumes emanating from his mouth and nostrils. The Elder was not exactly a rare sight in the chapter, given his hooves-on approach and family-oriented values, but seeing him like this, a shepherd isolated from the majority of his flock, just staring out with an inscrutable gaze onto the catalyst for a new fate for the Rangers, Marrow couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive. The elder continued addressing Marrow with his gentle, refined, San Palomino accent, “We need you to comfort de poor thing; I think she's frightened.” The elder gestured down towards the middle of the chamber before taking one last puff from his cigar and putting it out in his hooves. “She also e-seems very delusional. She does not remember who she ees or how she came to be out on de dunes by her-e-self.”

“I'll extract as much information as possible, sir.”

“Just make her e-stop e-saying jour name. Perhaps then we'll have something we can work with. And, Marrow.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Be careful. We don' know anything about her. What plague she may carry, how her brain works. Nothing.” Gazpacho directed a look of grave concern Marrow's way.

“Yes, sir.”

With nods from both Gazpacho and Breakdown, Marrow took his leave to walk down the stairs and arrived in front of the test chamber door. He hesitated a moment, feeling the bead of each victory pressing against his body, soothing and preparing himself for what could be a painfully long test to his patience. His ability to be diplomatic, to comprehend the mind of others, was on trial, and though the elder respected Marrow for his tenacity, loyalty and ability to lead, Gazpacho was a family-pony, and was already grooming his son, Head Paladin Pozole, to succeed him. Pozole lacked any social graces, however, and was not beloved by the elder council, leaving Marrow a possible opening.

This was his chance. The entire interaction would be documented and handed over to the elder council for review. He let out one last sigh, and with it all his tension and thoughts of the past and future. There were only two creatures in this tiny island of the present and if he had any desire to explore the oceans of the future and past again, then he must learn to work together with whomever this other being was.

The door unlatched, slid open and Marrow stepped inside.

“...rowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrow...”

At first, the reflection of the fluorescent lights off of the stainless steel floor blinded him, but after a few seconds the shine was replaced by a cool, turquoise pallor. From here he could see the forms of Head Scribe Breakdown and Elder Gazpacho far above him in the observation room, silhouetted against the gentle, almost cheery light of the computer equipment. Marrow moved cautiously across the cold steel floor to the center of the room.

There she was. Magnificent.

The alicorn was strapped to two large, stainless steel operating tables. They cleaned her up, Marrow noticed, as his eyes traced the curves of her oil-slick colored body. Wonderful. As he examined her, he drew upon his comprehension of the princesses of the past and how they were portrayed in art and photographs. Here was a creature very similar in shape, size and beauty, but she did not exude the same unearthly atmosphere as her historical doppelgangers. She was a completely real and living alicorn, but Marrow couldn't help but feel somewhat let down by her apparent lack of a radiant presence.

He was pleased they set her up with an IV, as she was looking unnaturally thin. Her chest and head were covered in all manner of electrodes running to an EKG and an EEG machine, respectively. Oh, what the Enclave would do to see these test results, he mused.

He made his way to her vacuous, but otherwise lovely face. Her eyes had no color or focus, but her mouth was moving with abandon.

“...marrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrow...”

He studied her a moment longer and whispered, “Hey. I'm here.”

“...arrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrowmarrow,” she stopped suddenly and was breathlessly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Then, without warning her face screwed up in terror and Marrow thought she was going to scream. The alicorn, instead, took a very loud and deep breath in, exhaled, relaxed, and returned to a normal breathing pattern. Marrow looked up to try to spot a reaction on his superiors. There was movement in the observation room, but he couldn't decipher its meaning.

“Are you off this Saturday?” the creature asked him in a voice far too low and gruff to be coming out of her body.

Marrow had to raise an eyebrow at that one. “Pardon?”

“Because, if you're off this Saturday we can go to the pool hall and shooooooohas shown no signs of change since the introduction of the chemical,” she said, changing to a young mare's voice in the middle of the...sentence? Marrow's heart started pumping faster with the adrenaline of the situation. Clearly this situation had many, completely, unknown variables and that thrilled him beyond his wildest dreams. “Magical theory dictates some metamorphosis should have occurred at least three hours after exposure. Huh. I dunno. Maybe it's tthhhhhhhhh's havin' a baby, c'n you believe it? I know, she's barely got a cutie mark herself, what's she doin' with a baby already?”

“Hello?” Marrow asked in a fairly strong tone. “Hello, can you hear me?”

“Of course ah c'n hear you dahlin',” she exclaimed, switching to another stallion's voice. “'N how's mah little baby boy? You feed'n him only once a day, right? And tak'n him fuh walks at night?”

Marrow produced a flashlight and pointed it directly in the alicorn's eyes, but there were no pupils to check. There weren't even any capillaries. Just pure white with an unusual, black clouding of the outside edges of the eyes. That is, until the clouds quickly gathered together in the center of the eyes to make a set of perfect pupils, staring right at him.

The tempo of the EKG machine's beeping increased rapidly. Marrow flinched, dropped the flashlight and stared back into those highly intelligent eyes with a combined look of surprise, relief and concern. This until-recently catatonic creature who was previously looking through him, was now looking through into him. It was unsettling. “He-hello?” he asked. “Can you hear me?” There was no response. “Can you understand what I'm saying? Is someone in there?”

“I know you,” she said to him, in an unfathomably deep voice of what sounded like the multitude of souls bellowing from beyond the gates of Tartarus. The beeping kept a quick and steady tempo. “I've never seen your face nor heard you speak, but I know who you are. You will know me. You will know.”

Marrow just stood there with his mouth agape as he watched her fall back into her catatonic state. The color in her eyes dissipated once more as the tempo of the EKG machine fell to an extremely slow rhythm. Marrow watched in a confusing combination of wonder and horror as her side rose and fell, until he was interrupted by an old and gnarled voice over the PA in the room.

“High Scribe Marrow!”

Marrow turned his head slowly away from his frightening treasure, his eyes lingering for as long as his neck allowed. He spotted the Head Scribe's frowning, haggard face pressed close to the glass of the observation post, illuminated by a desk lamp. A microphone was close to her lips.

He took a few breaths, but soon Marrow worked up the awareness to respond. “I'm fine,” he shouted back as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the alicorn again. He looked back on her ailing body and felt like he had been pulled into a torrential river on its way to termination in the ocean. No doubt I'm going to be the popular one, now, he thought.

“Good. Follow de-contamination protocols and meet Elder Gazpacho and me in his ready room in fifteen,” Breakdown said, right on cue.

“Yes, ma'am.” He watched them as they exited the observation room, then turned his gaze back to the alicorn, and slowly let out a deep breath. Well, he thought to himself as he studied her curvature more intently. It seems I'm not getting any sleep tonight.

This story is based on Kkat’s strange and wonderful, Fallout: Equestria. If you haven’t already, please do so. Here’s the link: Equestria Daily

If you’d like to read more Fallout Equestria Side Stories, take a look at: Fallout Equestria Side Stories post on Equestria Daily and the Fallout Equestria Side Stories thread on Ponychan

Thank you also to Arcane Scroll for the excellent site: Fallout: Equestria Resource. There is a chat function on that site, come say “hello.”