Chapter Three
“What we really need…”
“What in the name of Celestia is a Weeping Angel?!” exclaimed Big Macintosh, his eyes shifting between staring and squinting to stay open.
They were surrounded on all sides, cornered flank to flank to flank to flank by the monstrous statues. The only thing keeping those venerable pony butts in the present were the eight eyes fearfully trained on the fanged stone creatures; eyes ranging from royally perceptive, eye-dropped daily, wild with early onset glaucoma, and frighteningly dry and itchy.
“I’ve never heard of an Angel before,” said Wildaberry, keeping her eye on the one to her left.
“It’s an archaic word for a class of sapient winged animals,” replied Jack quickly, trying to type coordinates into his Vortex Manipulator without looking at it. “These animal’s, their bodies evolved to become Quantum Locked, meaning they can only move if they aren’t being observed, and when we do look at them, they turn to solid stone. The most perfect natural defense mechanism ever developed.”
“What are they trying to do?” asked Big Macintosh, keeping one eye open and blinking with the other one.
“They feed by zapping ponies and other organisms into the past. They consume potential energy, everything your life could have been. Every lover you would have ever kissed, every hoofstep you would have ever taken, and every hayfry you would have ever dipped in ketchup! They consume it all! While you live your life to death, far, far away in the past.” Jack took a deep breath after he finished tapping into the Manipulator. “I tried tracking down a group of them in Trottingham about a hundred and twenty years ago. I lost three agents in the process and never caught sight of a single one. Then, fifty years ago, the Trottingham group’s activity stopped. I never found out what happened to them until today. They must have been trapped in the Canterlot Gardens all this time. Right under my nose!”
“Trapped? How?” asked Big Macintosh.
“It’s fair to assume the Doctor had something to do with it. Now shut up and try to reach my right front hoof without taking your eyes off those things!”
Awkwardly, they all did as he said. Luna had to practically lay on top of him to reach. Big Macintosh tried to back-up and stretch his back leg out.
“Alrighty, everypony on?”
Suddenly, Big Mac’s ears twitched, sensing a soft sound in the air. It was a whimper.
“Wait!” he exclaimed, retracting his hoof.
But it was too late. In a flash of light his three comrades disappeared.
“Ahhhhh-”
He felt something touch his fetlocks, and then everything around him changed.
“-Buuuck!”
Big Macintosh neighed in frustration.
He was on a city street, but it wasn’t Canterlot; the streets were wider here. The dirt road was fairly well populated, and everpony about town was staring at the mysterious (and extremely rude) stranger who had just appeared.
Big Mac blushed underneath his red fur, and darted for the safety of the nearest building: a small little tavern with a frothy mug sign above its door. He burst in, and then froze.
“Welcome to ya’!” exclaimed a chubby, old looking mare with a grey mane and pale, yellow fur. She was sitting behind a counter, cleaning out a glass with a rag.
The large open room looked vaguely familiar, and was filled with dozens of old, beaten wooden tables.
“Errr…thanks,” said Big Mac. He shifted himself inside his coat and suit uneasily.
“Is there something I can get ya, sonny?” she asked, nodding towards the shelves of bottles behind her.
“No actually…I’m just waiting fer a friend,” he replied, glancing around.
Slowly, he retreated to a table in the corner and sat down. He stared at the near empty room.
“I’ve…been here before…” he whispered to himself.
Images of blue, cotton striped uniforms and the smell of alcoholic breath suddenly filled his mind.
He swallowed.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he called out. “Ya’ wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a rugby team around these parts?”
“Yer kidding! We might not be the richest bit of the city, but we’ve still got our dignity. The Cranberry Jammed Rugby Team of Rheostallion is goin’ all the way to the royal tournament this year, mark my words!” she said proudly. “The boys stop by here after every game.”
“Course they do…” said Big Mac quietly to himself. He closed his eyes and felt a wave of guilt crash through him; he could remember their limp bodies on the field surrounding the royal castle.
He sighed and then opened his eyes.
“So the Weeping Angels really did zap me into the past,” he thought to himself. “Now, I just gotta figure out a way back…”
“Ya’ idiot,” he muttered to himself, instantly realizing the solution. He swiftly tapped a set of coordinates into his vortex manipulator.
Before he knew it, he was back in the halls of Canterlot Palace, leaving an incredibly confused bar maid behind.
He stood in the middle of the hall, right in the open. To his left and right were rows of columns stretching to the end of the corridor, casting shadows against the walls.
As quick as a bounding jackalope, he jumped to the wall and hid behind a column. The last thing he needed was to be caught by another angel.
He couldn’t have been too far away from where they cornered him. Carefully, he peeked around the pillar, trying to see if he could hear the same whimpering as before.
It was soft, barely more audible than a whisper, but he could pick up the faint echo.
The sound was coming from across the hall. If he tried to run for it, the angels would probably see him…
He grimaced. If somepony was trapped down here…then they needed his help.
His haunches prepared themselves before he leaped and sprinted across. Somewhere in his mind, he registered the sound of flittering wings, but he was too focused on getting to the other side to think about it.
He slid against the stone wall and found himself face to face with a crying, shivering, and whimpering royal guard, curled up in the fetal position.
Big Macintosh furrowed his brow. “You’re that private I met by the main entrance…are you okay?”
The guard looked up, but didn’t speak or make an attempt to stop shivering.
“EEP!” Big Mac pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide open at the two weeping Angels trying to crawl in-between the pillars.
The private scrambled against the wall too; he covered his head with his hooves, quivering with fear.
“Get your hooves out of your eyes! They can’t move if you’re looking at them!” shouted Big Macintosh.
The stallion didn’t listen.
Big Mac sighed through clenched teeth.
“Private! To attention!”
He shook his head feverishly.
“I’ll have you Court Martialed, Private!” he said, trying to imitate Sergeant Wildaberry as best he could.
At that final threat, the guard finally responded. His eyes snapped open, but otherwise remained unresponsive.
“Alright, now don’t blink! If you blink you’re dead! I’m going to try to get us out of here,” he ordered as he looked down to his Vortex Manipulator. He groaned.
“Stupid teleporting system coordinates are different from the time ones,” he muttered to himself, trying to remember the Hub’s coordinates.
“Um…sir…I think that my tears are obstructing my vision,” said the guard timidly.
“Yeah, just a couple more seconds…promise,” said Big Mac, grimacing as he desperately tried to remember the teleport coordinates. “Oh wait, I don’t have to remember!” He reached into his coat pockets, fishing past an old pocket watch, a belly button-full of pocket lint, and a ball of twine before he grasped the wrinkled letter written on royal stationery.
51-93-59-0-45
He smiled once he found the numbers.
“Sir…” whimpered the private.
“It’s alright. We’re getting out of here!” declared Big Macintosh, wrapping his hooves around the soldier’s mid-section just as his eyes closed.
The Weeping Angels were left lunging forward, groping at the spot where their prey had vanished.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The first thing Big Macintosh saw were lowered eyebrows and thin, blue, glaring eyes. “You could have gotten yourself killed!” exclaimed Jack.
The teleport had worked perfectly: they were back in the Torchwood Hub. And thankfully, things were much more orderly now. There were no more animated office products or spinning graphics running amuck, only the Torchwood ponies hustling about and checking computers.
Big Mac snorted, and dropped the private’s dead weight on the Hub’s metal floor. “As if that’s ever stopped you from doing anything.”
“Yeah, well I can afford it,” replied Jack. Slowly, his glare melted away, turning into a relieved smile. “Who’s he?” he asked, glancing to the soldier trying to wipe his tears away.
“Private!” exclaimed Sergeant Wildaberry, rushing to his side. “I knew you were a robust stallion! Tell us how you escaped those meany grey pants,” she said, patting him on his head.
His eyes still wide with fear, the private grabbed hold of Wildaberry’s hoof and curled himself around it. “T-they took everypony…Sergeant…they’re all gone…there was nothing we could do stop them. Magic wouldn’t work…our weapons wouldn’t work…everypony…everypony. They’re dead aren’t they…” The young soldier started sobbing into his superior’s fur.
“No.” Jack shook his head firmly. “They’re still alive, and we can still save them.”
Luna sent him a curious glance. “Really?”
Jack turned around, making for Lyra who was at a computer station by the central pillar. “The Royal Guards were sent back in time, that kind of temporal manipulation would leave a negative imprint in the rift, which means we can find out where they were sent and get them back. Lyra, do we have anything?”
“We have…something, but it’ll take me a couple hours to calculate anything exact. The chaos magic certainly isn’t making things easier. Honestly, Bon Bon is better at this sort of thing than I am,” said Lyra, squinting at the computer screen. “But there is something else-”
“Just check for four repeating patterns, one for each angel. When and where they send somepony should depend on the particular angel,” said Captain Jack.
“In that case, I might be able to help,” Big Mac stepped forward.
“How?”
“Well, one of the angels zapped me back in time one thousand years, to Rheostallion. Couldn’t have been more than a couple years before I was there last,” he explained.
“But how did you get back?”
Big Macintosh raised an eyebrow and his vortex manipulator.
“Ohh,” said Captain Jack to himself.
“Jack…” began Luna, looking down thoughtfully. “These creatures have successfully defeated our most elite guards. Canterlot was already vulnerable, but now it is defenseless. How can we hope to defeat them? More importantly, what do these beings want from us?”
The captain swallowed, uncertain. “That’s a good question…they don’t usually attack like this. They’ve never done it before.”
“Presumably, they’ve never been to Canterlot before,” said Big Mac, trying to help brainstorm. “Maybe something’s changed here.”
“We can assume Discord released them,” added Lyra, pointing to a picture of the four angels displayed on the computer.
In the photograph, they were situated at the center of a small clearing in the gardens, surrounded by finely trimmed trees and hedges, presented as if they were pieces of art and not nearly unstoppable aliens creature. They faced each other, their wings extended so that the tips of their feathers touched. Their gazes perpetually keeping them in place.
“Discord may not have done it intentionally, but if he moved them in any way he would have probably freed them,” continued Lyra. “But I think we have a bigger problem...” she tapped her muzzle as she stared at the screen.
Jack wasn’t listening to Lyra’s analysis. Instead, he was staring at Luna, worry evident deep in his eyes.
“I think I know what they want…” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.
“What do they desire?” asked Luna.
“…you.”
Everypony fell silent and looked to Princess Luna.
“Think about it,” Jack went on, “The angels feed on potential energy; the life and actions that a pony would have is what they need. Who could have more potential energy in their life than an immortal?”
“Then why wouldn’t they want to go after you?” asked Big Macintosh.
“You’re immortal?” asked Wildaberry, confused and still being cried on.
“My immortality is different. It makes me a relatively fixed point in time. My timeline is already set; the angels probably don’t have the power to displace me,” Jack said. “Why else would they go after royal guards and nopony else? They were trying to take down our only defense: more pairs of eyes.”
“Does that mean they won’t go after anypony else? My sister’s up there!” exclaimed Big Mac.
“We should evacuate them,” suggested Wildaberry.
“Lyra, didn’t Celestia come to speak to you?” asked Jack, turning to her.
“Yeah, but then she left to get some pain killers. Something about the massive headache this day was giving her. But Jack there’s something-”
“Then we need to go find her! If the angels can’t get Luna then she’ll be their next target!” Big Macintosh looked to Jack urgently.
The captain nodded.
“Good idea! Luna, stay here. Right now, this is the safest place from the angels. If there are any breaches in the elevator shaft then initiate the time lock protocols. Big Mac and-“
The ground shook, sending massive vibrations through the ponies, as if they were standing on a guitar string.
The wires attached to the glowing red pillar exploded in a shower of sparks, electrical arcs danced up the metal spires, and a transformer exploded, spreading fire to a work station. Ponies jumped and flinched away from the disaster. Big Macintosh’s knees buckled, but he was just able to hold himself up.
“What is this cataclysm?!” exclaimed Luna.
“Was that an earthquake?” asked Big Mac.
Jack dashed to the computer station, Lyra picked herself off the ground sent Jack a resentful look. “That was what I was trying to warn you about! The rift is beginning to rupture! The sudden amount of chaos magic is straining it too far! Would you happen to know why?!”
Jack’s eyes widened, “Discord’s link must be completely draining the rift energy!”
“And how does Discord even have a link to the rift’s energy?” asked Lyra grumpily, trying to put her mane back into place after being shaken up.
Luna swallowed, a bitterness briefly flashed within her eyes. “The link was made during the Battle of Canterlot Hill. It is shared between my sister, the Elements of Harmony, and myself. It is the reason for our immortality. If the power of this link is abused, there are going to be disastrous consequences. Consequences I doubt Discord is aware of.”
Sergeant Wildaberry pushed off her whimpering and confused looking subordinate and joined them around the pillar. “Pardon me for not being well versed in chemistry…or physicics or…whatever this is. But what will this rupturing do?”
Luna took a step forward, staring darkly at the red column. “It will bring forth the end of us all…”
Captain Jack glanced uneasily at the princess. “We can use the rift manipulator to hold it shut until Discord is stopped.”
“No we can’t,” said Lyra, shaking her head. “The logical extreme of the rift equations is to rip open the rift. If we open the manipulator to maximum we would just accelerate the rupture. In order to keep the rift shut we need to invert all of the equations…with Bon Bon’s help I should be able to do it in two hours…probably.”
“How long before the rupture goes critical?” asked Jack.
Lyra typed something into the computer, and then froze.
“How long?” Jack repeated.
“One…one hour and seventeen minutes…”
The ground shook again and more sparks flew as wires shorted out.
The other Torchwood ponies had gathered around Lyra and Jack; they had heard everything, but didn’t panic. They did not shout, nor whimper, nor curse. A few looked down. Some closed their eyes, but they knew better than to not expect catastrophe. They worked for Torchwood after all. And everypony who worked for Torchwood would almost certainly die young. With the exception of a single Captain.
Jack ran his hoof through his mane. “Well get on it!” he ordered.
Instantly the crowd of ponies around them dispersed. A white dry erase board was wheeled out, and furiously fast typing clamored on the keyboards. Lyra’s horn flared with a green light, as she attempted to send a communication to Bon Bon.
The Hub turned into a beehive of whizzing activity. Sergeant Wildaberry went back to comfort the Private, knowing the equations were beyond her. Princess Luna turned to Captain Jack Harkness and whispered something dark and mysterious into his ear.
All the while Big Macintosh, the simple farmer, was caught smack-dab in the middle. He didn’t know what to do…
When Luna was done whispering her piece she kissed Jack on the lips and nuzzled him lightly.
Jack nuzzled her back, but then gently pushed her away. He sent her a smile and trotted over to Big Macintosh.
“We should still go find Celestia and evacuate the foals…and just in case something happens to either one of us there, there were a few things that I thought I should tell you, Big Fella,” he said, staring thoughtfully at Big Mac’s fetlocks.
Big Macintosh looked to his partner’s face intently, not saying a word to stop him.
“I want you to know that you…” He sighed. “…you are a good agent. That you are a good stallion. You might not think so…but I am grateful for every step you took with me, alright. And…just because I’m feeling a tad sappy don’t think for a second we aren’t going to both survive this! I think this may be the seventh end of the world jig I’ve dealt with this decade alone.”
“Jack…” began Big Macintosh.
“Yeah?”
“Do you trust me?”
Jack cocked his head curiously to the side. “Of course I do.”
Big Mac bit his lip with his big ol’ molars. “I have an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“Probably a stupid one,” replied Big Mac, “But I think it might just save our lives. What if I was to go into the future two hours, retrieve the new rift equations, and then come back? Would that work?”
Jack mulled it over for a moment.
“Maybe…if we aren’t all dead by then.”
“Then be sure to make a copy of the equations for yourself,” said Big Mac, already inputting his destination into the Vortex Manipulator: the desolation of Equestria.
He sent his friend a smile with false confidence.
“Be back in a jiffy!”
He pushed a button and he was gone.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Death.
The big D.
As Big Macintosh knew, death wasn’t only prevalent around the dead. He had seen cadavers…worse yet, he had made them. But it wasn’t until he saw their empty chairs, their old clothes, or held their Vortex Manipulator that he felt the crushing weight of liquid despair crash through him.
He remembered the day his parents died. Not in that he remembered what numeral day it was, or the month. He remembered what size the apples were, what part of the barn Granny Smith had told him should be fixed, and which tree Applejack had climbed to the top of. He remembered the apples were still half an ounce too small, the wooden beams on the left side, and the fifth tree two rows down on the east side orchard with a knoll that looked like Wiona’s paw.
Once death had come, it never left. He could taste it in the air and in the water. He feared like nothing else the times when he would see it with his own two eyes.
And, as he stood there, frozen in place, that same fear gripped his soul with an iron claw.
Twisted metal as thick as his body was scattered all around him, rocks and rubble were everywhere. And most surprising of all, was the open air above him. Looking up, he could see the stormy grey overcast clouds, with no sign of playful pink ones.
But…he should have arrived back in the hub, over a mile underground.
Slowly, he looked down to his Vortex Manipulator, hoping with all his being he had made a mistake.
He closed his eyes and shivered: there was no mistake. This was Canterlot: the Torchwood Hub.
The top of the mountain had been leveled. Completely destroyed!
What could possibly have that kind of power?
Carefully Big Macintosh took a step forward. Something crunched under his hoof. He looked down and moved to the side; it was a broken piece of orange stained glass. He quickly looked away from it.
“I have to find Jack…” he said softly to himself. “I have to make sure this’ll never happen.”
“Jack...JACK!” he shouted, hoping the captain could hear him.
He trotted forward, into the destruction. “JACK! CAPTAIN JACK BUCKING HARKNESS!” he
called out.
The wind whipped around wildly, tossing his mane.
He furrowed his brow when suddenly the wind slapped something soft and red against his eyes.
He stumbled backwards, momentarily blinded.
The ground gave way under him, and he fell down, tumbling head over hooves.
“Oof!” He landed back first, smearing stone dust and dirt over his suit. With a groan, he rolled over and threw the piece of fabric off his eyes.
Once he could see it properly, he jumped away as if it was the plague, his eyes wide with horror.
It was Applebloom’s bright red bow.
“No…no, no, no…” he whispered, shutting his eyes tightly.
“She’ll be alright…she’ll be alright…she probably is alright. If the Weeping Angels got to her first then she’ll have been far, far away from here,” he said, immediately accepting his theory.
He backed up a bit, when suddenly he felt something cold and pointy press against his flank. He turned around and swallowed.
It was the tip of a stone wing jutting from the rubble. Next to it, broken, was a grey head cracked in two, a disembodied hoof, and a smashed tail. It was all that was left of a Weeping Angel.
It had been blown to pieces.
The ground shook, but it wasn’t as violent as the tremors made by the rift. It was over in a moment.
But then it came again.
And again.
And again.
The rumbles sent shivers down Big Mac’s spine. They sounded like hoofsteps. The hoofsteps of a giant.
“Mmmm,” a moan came from under the rubble.
Big Mac’s eyes suddenly grew bright with hope. “Jack!” he called, digging into the mess.
He was answered by another moan.
Big Mac dug his hooves toward the source.
Eventually, a dirty, blue head popped out of the rubble.
Captain Jack Harkness, disheveled and pinned down beneath at least a Royal Ton of rock, gasped for breath.
“Jack! Thank goodness you’re alive!” exclaimed Big Mac, pulling him out.
“Trust me,” said Jack in a thin, wheezy, dust filled voice, “that wasn’t an accomplishment I’m proud of.”
“I came for the rift equations, to stop this from ever happening,” he said, helping Jack onto the ground.
“I know,” said Jack. He paused to catch his breath. He reached into his coat and brought out a small black box. “They’re stored on here, electronically. When you get back to your timestream have Lyra download it, and then destroy this copy. It’ll help prevent the paradox.”
“Thank you,” said Big Macintosh graciously, accepting the box.
“But…the equations won’t stop this.”
“What!?” He stopped, staring at Jack with disbelief. “Why not?”
“I’ve already lived the version of events where you successfully get this back to the hub. We stop the chaos magic from creating a rupture, but it’s not the chaos magic that opens the rift. It was the Angels! They broke into the Hub, somehow, and took Celestia. With the power from her potential energy they were able to rip open the rift. They thought they could consume the power from it. Instead, they unleashed hell in Equestria.”
The ground rattled again. It sounded like the heavy hoofsteps were getting closer.
“I tried to stop what came through…but the palace collapsed on top of me before I could,” Jack couldn’t continue, he was interrupted.
A voice rang out across the mountain. It was deep, but with the ferocity of a screech, ringing out sharply. Almost as if it was never meant to be heard by pony ears.
“From the cold! And the Void! I have returned! The creatures of old have been defeated. The princesses and their pets shall never again stand in judgment of me! The WAR shall begin anew!”
Captain Jack and Big Macintosh covered their ears from the unnatural sound.
“How do we stop it?” asked Big Mac through gritted teeth, still covering his ears.
“I don’t think we can,” replied Jack, looking down.
“Jack! How do we stop it!?”
“I don’t know…I just, don’t…”
“How can you not know? You’re Captain Jack Harkness. You always know,” said Big Macintosh desperately.
Jack looked up into Big Mac’s eyes. “No, you’re wrong. But maybe there is a pony that does know. H-he is what we need.”
“What we need?” repeated Jack, as if he had said something profound. “What we really
need…”
“Jack, who can stop this?”
He swallowed. “We need help. We need…The Doctor…”