//------------------------------// // 33 - Epilogue to part 1 // Story: Days of Wasp and Spider // by Luna-tic Scientist //------------------------------// Days of Wasp and Spider by Luna-tic Scientist Preread by: KMCA Edited by: ssokolow === Chapter 33: Epilogue to part I === Random Walk was shivering despite the warmth of all the bodies surrounding her. They pressed in close, staring up at her with liquid eyes and whispering encouragement to her and each other. The deep parts of her brain drew comfort from the press of the foal's bodies, the touch and smell of children she'd known and trained for most of their short lives, but on the surface all she could see were dead eyes and fly-blown corpses. The mare shook her head, clenching her teeth in an effort to stop them chattering, and the vision faded. She wanted to do her best for the Masters, but they were making it very hard, and she was desperately afraid that she would not be strong enough to complete their tasks. With the fear came guilt and a worm of pain that started to gnaw its way up her spine, its teeth getting larger and sharper as it worked its way up her neck. The worm was a familiar beast. She'd first felt its bite after the machine that tampered with her memories had made her choose between saving a friend and a Master, in a scenario that was obviously designed to test her loyalty and strength. Things had only become worse from that point onwards. They wouldn't let her sleep, pulling her away from the foals at odd times for another test. It was getting increasingly difficult to willingly follow the Master into that brightly lit room and submit to the silently glowing monster. The artificial memories were frighteningly good, and the line between the simulated and the real was hazy at best. The worst thing was that her sense of time was starting to become dislocated; the memories brought with them days of background experiences, enough that it seemed she'd been here forever. Fusion told me that Packet is still alive, she did, I remember that. Random clung to the brief visit like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. Do I? Is she still alive? Didn't I kill her as well? One of the later sessions had required her to kick a mare to death; a mare who'd looked remarkably similar to Fusion. The reason was never explained, but she'd passed that test because it was what the Masters had ordered her to do. Random's ears twitched at the remembered screams and the feel of bones breaking beneath her hooves, and she whimpered quietly at the back of her throat. The worm grew stronger and she ducked her head beneath her wing, teeth hunting for another feather to pull out. There were none left. Desperately, she nosed about, then switched to the other wing, with just as little success. Pain-of-the-body kept the worm at bay, forcing her mind away from thoughts of guilt and failure. If there was nothing left... Her lips brushed the denuded surface of her right wing, the skin rough with fresh scabs and smelling of iron, and her mouth opened of its own accord. Eyes closed, her teeth fastened on the wing joint and clamped down, sending a dull ache all the way to her mid shoulder. "Random, please don't," a little voice said. It was one of many that whispered to her; at first they had been full of confusion and worry, but as the testing had progressed their tone had changed to one of horror and fear. Now there was only despair, words delivered without hope of the request being honoured. Like all the rest, Random ignored it, allowing the worm to eat the plea as it crept up her neck. The pain of teeth on flesh wasn't sharp enough, and the young mare shifted her grip the tender leading edge, worrying the thin, damaged skin. Stiff feathers brushed her muzzle, their tips tickling the insides of her lips with a sensation that was all-too familiar. Without conscious thought, her teeth shifted to the feather and closed, crushing the hollow shaft that ran down its centre. Random's neck muscles twitched, pulling the quill free. There was a gasp, but no pain; eyes still shut, the mare opened her mouth again as more feathers ran across her lips. Her teeth closed, getting a good grip. Something isn't right, Random thought, trying to understand what had changed. I don't have any feathers left. She opened her eyes, staring straight into the frightened face of a blue colt. His own eyes were tight shut and his left wing was unfurled, its feathers against her muzzle. One of the big primaries was missing; half of the one next to it was already inside her mouth, the barbules sodden with saliva. Little trembling vibrations crept up the shaft, making the feather twitch against her tongue. Surprise made her mouth drop open. Random's eyes rolled down, catching sight of the single loose feather resting on the foal's back. "Shock Diamond..." she croaked, the first words she'd uttered in nearly two days, "what...?" Random paused, gently releasing his feather. The colt, his wing's trembling intensifying, reluctantly opened one eye. "Take it, take mine," he whispered through chattering teeth. "No," the mare said, voice almost unintelligible as her throat closed up. What have I done? she thought, her vision blurring. Random leant forwards, burying her face in the colt's back and letting the tears flow. Buried under soft fur and gentle wings, the worm's teeth first lost their sharpness, then faded away altogether. === In his very private office, Sector Chief Orgon leant back against his chair and rubbed the sides of his muzzle with both paws in a display of frustration that none of the People ever got to see. The only other occupant in the room didn't count. Orgon trusted it more than anyone he worked with; unlike them its loyalty was beyond question. "As much as this one will be commended for his part in this affair, he wishes that the discovery could have been a little less... messy," he said, leaning forward to clear his terminal's display. The long list of complaining messages and demands for explanations vanished, replaced with Security's eye symbol. The level of destruction at the Institute was horrific, something that made it easy for the media to swallow the lie that the 'Makers Path' terrorist group was responsible. They might deny it through one of their tame journalist contacts, but who'd believe them? In the last few gigaseconds they'd made a name for themselves attacking Eugenics Board facilities; anything related to the servitors seemed fair game. "Fundamentalist idiots; as if the People would ever stop using the client races." There was the slight worry that they might actually take credit for the 'attack' -- anything to promote their call for the People to lose their reliance on the creatures -- but even that Security public relations disaster would be better than the news getting out that a servitor had done it all. At least this one knows how it happened, he thought glumly, mind conjuring up the likely results of that little tit-bit escaping. Now he just has to convince the World Court that it was all a freak confluence of a weapons program with a deranged servitor. At least there were remarkably few witnesses. That was something he could thank the rogue for. The other occupant watched him steadily, waiting for the moment when its services would required. The real concern was the near complete lack of data on the actual fight inside the Institute. The telemetry links to the outside world had proven to be less hardened against thaumic interference than they needed to be, and what little did make it out was only tantalising fragments, more noise than signal. Analytics was still working on that, but nothing coming out of the processing farm seemed to be an improvement. Any real information would have to await the recovery of the multitude of corpses; Orgon only hoped there was something under that mess of steel and concrete rubble that made all this chaos worth while. At least those that did make it out are under Orgon's direct control, he thought. A few taps of his desk's control surface opened the camera interface, throwing several video windows on to his wallscreen. The first two were identical, bland-looking rooms, each looking more like compact apartments than the high security cells they were. There was a Person in each, but there the similarity ended. The first, an older female with her arm in a sling, paced the floor restlessly. She'd worked non-stop since her incarceration, covering her wallscreen with scribbles in a cramped, near illegible writing. The reams of cryptic notes interspersed with arcane quantum force-particle interaction diagrams had Security's technical services division pulling their fur out with frustration; half the team was convinced it was some sort of steganographic code. The second, a younger male, was slumped in a chair, staring at a blank wall. He'd done nothing else since his arrival. Orgon knew the look well; he'd seen it on many a prisoner. It was the look of a Person replaying events in his head, wondering where it had all gone so badly wrong. Both prisoners had already been declared dead as part of the 'terrorist incident', so Orgon had plenty of time to decide what to do with them. The irony is that the Academician seems to be enjoying her confinement, the Sector Chief thought, although the same can't be said for the Student. All of the other witnesses were less important and under similar levels of control. The most unfortunate were the gryphons present at the original incident, but at least they were still sequestered for training and Orgon had time to arrange their fate. The Military would object, but they were not seasoned troops and could be replaced easily enough. The servitor witnesses to the third incident the most worrisome; all were either already dead or in the care of the Eugenics Board and being carefully examined. Speaking of servitors... Another swipe of a paw brought up a video feed from a hangar in the walls of the Pit's huge entrance shaft. Positioned in one corner, the wide angle view was beautifully clear and sharp, showing the large cage that filled the bulk of the volume. A group of servitors lay at the centre, an overlapping melange of pastel wings and fur, all staying as far from the bars as possible. What is this one going to do with you all? Orgon thought. "This one should have them all euthanized," he muttered. "Despite the test results, it's the only way to be sure..." He stared at the wallscreen, seeing not the video feed, but the reams of messages still waiting for processing. The complaints are not without merit; the efficiency of corral twenty seven has fallen far enough without the termination of an entire generation of servitors. Not only were the parents now poor workers, with instances of fugue at astronomical levels, but it would be at least another half gigasecond before the next generation could be raised. It was within his rights to do so... but it wasn't tidy. "What if Orgon sends them home? It will fix this one's local problems, but there's the World Court to consider..." The Auditors were already rooting through the records of the affair and questioning all the People even slightly involved, starting with those in charge; his own interview was in a only a dozen kiloseconds. Orgon does not want to be responsible for having a team physically on Lacunae territory. At least they are doing everything by remote so far. They were questioning every decision made, questions asked with the benefit of hindsight, and had already demanded access to the full planning sessions. They knew at least one free servitor was involved; if they thought Lacunae wasn't treating the incident with the severity it deserved... Any breach of regulations regarding servitors would be taken very seriously; woe betide the individual who committed such a violation. That unfortunate, along with any who could -- or should -- have known about it, would face Court justice. Magic and science would be used to strip mine the prisoner's mind for any incriminating memories, with failure to convince the Court's intelligence analysts resulting in a death sentence. Even acquittal left scars; the process was very stressful and a lifetime of psychological assistance was often necessary. This is really a political problem, he thought, but this one knows who they'll point claws at. He turned to the large grey shape standing silently in the corner of his office and cocked his head questioningly. "Well, what does Merlon think?" The other occupant of the room stirred, taking a silent step forwards to look over Orgon's shoulder. "If I may suggest a third option, Master." Orgon nodded, studying his combination assistant and bodyguard. The servitor, a dappled grey mare, had served Orgon ever since he’d been promoted to Sector Chief. It came with the office and had assisted the three People who occupied this post before Orgon. It had sat in on countless meetings, an ignored observer to a huge number of Security activities, missions and decisions. As far as he knew, Orgon was the first Person to actually use its vast knowledge of how the Security apparatus operated to actually assist in his decision making process -- a good part of his reputation for infallibility came down to the skill of this pony. "They all have the potential to become productive servitors; you should use that. Isolate them and continue their training, while showing their parents that they are being cared for. If you claim it is special treatment, because of the initiative they showed, then they will be put at ease." "And the near-adult, this… Random Walk? It came close to killing one of the troopers." Orgon manipulated the controls, zooming in on the centre of the herd. A sorry-looking servitor with wings bare of feathers was half hidden amid the foals. They had huddled around the creature, pressing as close as they could. Merlon looked at the scene, no emotion on her face. "True, but the circumstances make those actions permissible. She has also passed the full testing protocols at an incredibly young age." Here the pony's ears flicked slightly, the only sign that she was remembering her own induction into the service. "She has the makings of an excellent Security pony and it would be foolish to waste her." "This is true." Orgon walked forward to study the images more closely. The risk is high, he thought, tapping his teeth with one claw, and this one is in the business of minimising risk. Turning away, he nodded, decision made. After a kilosecond to draft the necessary orders, Orgon returned to answering the long list of complaints. === The howl of engines woke Random from an exhausted sleep, and she lifted her head from under Shock's wing to stare dully through the mesh walls of their cage at the transport aircraft just settling on the edge of the hangar space. It was one of the type she'd seen flying past the open side of the chamber on many occasions, before the testing reached the point where she simply had no energy left for anything else. A blocky machine, perhaps five lengths long and almost that wide, it had stubby wings tipped with compact plasma drives and a large rear hatch that was in the process of unfolding into a ramp. Ponies, all wearing the lidless eye symbol of Security, were trotting down the metal slope, their rubber-shod hooves silent on the mesh surface. A pair of Masters emerged from the front of the vehicle, one striding purposefully towards the suddenly alert group of gryphon guards, the other heading straight for the door to the improvised cage. At a peremptory gesture from the second Master, one of the gryphons sprang forward to stand by the door, snapping her beak once in salute. Another gesture, this one abrupt and angry, and the guard did something to the lock and the door popped open. The Master, now the focus of every pony in the cage, walked in, his stride slower and more hesitant. The foals started to edge away, and he dropped to his haunches and started to talk to the nearest pony in a voice too soft for Random to hear. The foal, his green coat matted and dirty, cringed at the words before suddenly pressing his muzzle against the sides of the Master's legs. He didn't seem angry at this sudden breach of protocol, just dropped to one knee to steady himself and reached out with a paw to run his claws through the colt's mane. A ripple of excited whispers spread through the herd, other foals starting to creep forwards. The Master waved at the ponies that had flown in with him and they walked into the cage, horns glowing as they scanned the youngsters. "See, I told you that it would be okay!" Shock Diamond said, butting his head against Random's withers. "Is it? Shock, I can't tell if this is real. I can't tell if anything is real." Random shivered all over, suddenly certain that this was all some strange addition to the tests she was forcing herself through. She stole a glance at her denuded wings, the once sleek limbs now looking ugly and deformed. They've never looked like that before, she thought, hope suddenly returning. Every memory has started with a complete set of feathers... is this really happening? "It is... it must be. Look at Tangent Vector!" Shock abruptly stood up and pointed a hoof at the edge of the herd. In a sudden silence every eye was staring at the Master, who was fumbling at the green colt's collar. The click of a lock releasing was clearly audible, and a sigh ran through the foals as the Master gently lifted the collar from Tangent's throat and pulled the suppressor ring from his horn. That must have been a signal for the rest of the ponies; the glow of unfamiliar magic condensed over each collar in turn, unlocking and removing them all. Apart from mine, Random thought, slumping at the Master's approach. She lay on her belly, now surrounded by empty space as the foals filed out of the cage under the direction of the Security ponies. The last she saw of Shock Diamond was the colt's uncertain backwards glance as he was shepherded up the ramp and into the back of the transport. The Master stopped a few paces away, muzzle twisted into a frown that exposed a line of sharp, white teeth as he studied her. Random started to tremble, her teeth chattering, as something twitched in her spine and started to grow teeth. He blinked, seeming to see her for the first time, his expression softening. "The pony Random Walk DP2114 has done very well," he said, crouching next to her side and fumbling in his equipment vest for a small jewelled instrument. "That it is still functional after this level of testing is quite astounding." Random gaped back at him, her eyes starting to swim. "Is it over, Master? Did I pass?" In her back the worm hesitated, needle fangs poised. "The pony did," he said firmly, "this one thinks it may be something of a record, considering the pony's age." He made a quiet clicking noise with his teeth, lifting her wing with one paw and carefully extending it to examine the trailing edge. Joy roared through Random, enough happiness to erase the aches of her body and make the hard concrete under her chest seem soft and forgiving. The worm vanished, then the joy was tempered by the attention the Master was paying to her wing. "I'm sorry, Master," she said in a small voice, "the tests were so hard... I needed something to keep me distracted, otherwise..." She fell silent as the Master laid a paw on her neck. "The pony will not worry; there is no permanent damage and its feathers will grow back. Is the pony able to stand? This one can start to treat it in the back of the transport." The paw moved to the collar about her throat, unsnapping the lock and pulling it free. The ring at the base of her horn went next, the sudden removal of the subtle feeling of suffocation lifting her mood still further. "Y-yes, Master," Random said, trying to get to her knees. She couldn't rise, but a strong paw under her chest coupled with a gentle haze of magic lifted her to an unsteady standing position. There, flanked by a pair of Security ponies, she made her uncertain way out of the cage and into the back of the transport. Settling down into a padded stall, Random resolutely kept her head turned away from the now empty hangar, keeping her attention on the foals, her foals, as they chattered excitedly to the adults trying to keep them in their own stalls. Slowly she started to smile, a content, drowsy feeling washing over her as the Master and another pony started to work on her wings. The ramp lifted with a whine, then the transport's drive thundered and lifted her away on spears of electric blue plasma. === It had taken an age -- nearly ten revolutions of the world -- but the ripples of Chaos' initial intervention had finally started to have the effect it desired. The events unfolding in the underground facility would propagate far beyond that small chamber; already it was following dozens of the bipeds it thought key to fulfilling its longer term plans. That success had left it with one worrying potential problem. The ease with which the first pony had freed its genetic relative and the sudden massive increase in their ability to control the automata had given it pause. Had it just unleashed a greater threat than the Guardians? It was not afraid of two, but if they should free more of their kind... Models spun out within Chaos, all its experience in manipulating the bipeds funnelled into its rapidly building theory-of-mind as it tried to predict the likely consequences of this action. The ponies had a different set of mental parameters to the bipeds, but they were fundamentally still all organic; it decided that the models would probably be valid. ...and if one thing was a constant between intelligent minds, it was a desire to be free. Chaos looked out over the extent of the pocket universe, feeling the distant communion it had with its semi-independent mind fragment. It could feel tiny distortions in the brane walls, the signature of the larger spaces this one was attached to. It was a tempting thought; someday it would know enough to leave this place and really be free itself. Assuming they could overcome the long term effects of automata tampering with their mental processes, Chaos expected the reign of the bipeds to be overthrown in short order. ...leaving it with a planet full of a species it had little experience with, all of whom had the ability to directly control the automata to a frightening extent. The problem was a difficult one, but there was something it had briefly seen during an inspection of a biped’s mind, that one with the odd crystal implant in its cranial volume. Chaos retreated to the quiet spaces at the edge of the bubble and dove back into its capacious memory, unfolding the carefully mapped organic network and simulating it within its own mind. Here was something it could use; a project set into motion by the bipeds that would allow them to neutralize their servant creatures -- not to prevent them from breaking free, but as a weapon against another polity. The risk to itself, should it try and activate the project, was unacceptable… but to manipulate circumstances so that the bipeds would use it themselves was a different matter entirely. Chaos turned gleeful cartwheels through the higher dimensions, chasing its own processes through the ordered quantum foam at the bottom of space-time. No more bipeds and no more ponies; the plan was perfect. T H E E N D ...of part one. The story continues immediately in Days of Wasp and Spider, Part II: Final Solution.