Part 1, Ch. 1- Planetfall
The asteroid hurled in from Capricorn, nosed in pass a G-star, and swerved toward the fifth planet. Such a trajectory is atypical of asteroids.
It came into the planet’s gravity well, swooped around the globe in three separate orbits, then stabbed into the atmosphere, a glorious shooting star.
At a hundred feet altitude, it paused and fell to the surface- but only to the surface. No fireworks, no crater, nothing more drastic than crushed grass. Its surface was scarred and pitted, blackened by the friction-heat of its fall; but it was intact.
Deep within its bowels echoed the words that would forever change the planet’s destiny.
“Blast your bolt-brained bearings!”
The voice broke off, its owner frowned, listening.
The cabin was totally silent, the hum that usually occupied it absent.
The pony swore and tore the flight webbing off of his body. He lurched out of the acceleration chair, standing on his back hooves. Placing a forehoof on the wall, he made his way over to a panel. He fumbled with the catches, cursing in the fine old style of galactic deckhands. Opening it, he jabbed a hoof at the button inside. He fell back into a chair as a faint whir filled the cabin.
“Iz awwl (hic!) sadizfagtoreee… M’lorrr’ Rodney?” a voice asked.
“Out of all the slick, glossy robots in the galaxy,” ‘Milord’ said, “and I get stuck with an epileptic!”
“Ivv ut bleeezz Milord, thuh c’passsider c’n be-”
“Replaced,” finished Rodney, “and your circuits torn out and redesigned. No, thank you, I like your personality the way it is… except when you pull off a landing that jars my scapula loose!”
“Ivv M’lorrd will vorgive, ad thuh cruzhial momend ovvv blanetfall, I rezeived zome very singular energy waves thad-”
“You got distracted, is that what you are trying to say?”
“M’lorrrd, id was imerative to analyze-”
“So, part of you was studying the energy reading, and part of you was landing the ship, which was just a wee bit too much of a strain and the weak capacitor gave… Fess! How many times do I have to tell you to keep your mind on the job?!”
“M’lorrd egzbressed a wizh to be like thuh-”
“Like the heroes of the Exploration Sagas, yes. But that doesn’t mean that I want their discomforts.”
Fess’s electronic system had almost recovered from the post-seizure exhaustion. “But, M’lorrd, the choncebt of heeroizm imblies-”
“Oh forget it,” Rodney groaned. Fess dutifully blanked a portion of his memory banks.
Fess was very dutiful. He was also an antique, one of the few remaining FCC(1) robots early models now two thousand years out of date. The FCC robots had been programmed for extreme loyalty and, as a consequence, had perished in droves defending their masters during the Interregnum that had happened just before the fall of the Galactic Union and the rise of the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra.
Fess (2) had survived, thanks to his epilepsy. He had a weak capacitor that when overstrained, released all its stored energy in a massive surge lasting several milliseconds. When the preliminary symptoms of this electronic seizure- mainly a fuzziness in Fess’s calculations- appeared, a master circuit breaker popped, and the faulty capacitor discharged in isolation from the rest of Fess’s circuits; but the robot was out of commission until the circuit breaker was reset.
Since such seizures occurred during moments of great stress- such as trying to land a spaceship-cum-asteroid while analyzing an aberrant energy wave, or trying to protect a master from three simultaneous murderers- Fess had survived the Interregnum; for when the group that would become the Proletarian group had attacked his masters, he had fought manfully- for about twenty-five seconds, and then collapsed. He had thus become a rarity- the courageous servant who had survived. He was one of the five FCC robots still functioning.
He was, consequently, a prized treasure of the d’Armand family- prized as an antique, but even more so for his loyalty. True loyalty to aristocratic families has always been in short supply.
So, when Rodney d’Armand had left home for a life of adventure and glory- being the second son of a second son, there hadn’t been much else he could do- his father had insisted on him taking Fess along.
Rod had often been very glad of Fess’s company, but there were times when the robot was a little short on tack. For instance, after a very rough planetfall, a pony stomach tends to be a might queasy, but Fess had the bad sense to ask, “Would you like to dine Milord? Say, wakame(3) with asparagus?”
Rod turned chartreuse and clamped his jaws, fighting back nausea. “No,” he grated. “And can the ‘Milord’ bit. We’re on a mission, remember?”
“I never forget, Rod. Except on command.”
“I know,” growled his master’s voice. “It was a figure of speech.”
Rod swung his legs to the floor and painfully stood up. “I could use a breath of fresh air to settle my stomach, Fess. Is there any available?”
The robot clicked for a moment, then reported, “Atmosphere breathable. Better wear a sweater though.”
Rod struggled into his pilot’s jacket with a frown. “Why do old family retainers always develop a mother-hen complex?”
“Rod, if you had lived for as long as I have-”
“I’d want to be deactivated. I know, ‘robot is always right.’ Open the lock Fess.”
The double doors of the air lock swung open, showing a circle of black set with stars. A chill breeze poured into the cabin.
Rod tilted his face back, breathing in. His eyes closed in content. “Ah, the blessed breath of land! What lives here, Fess?”
Machinery whirred as the robot played back the electron-telescope tapes they had taken in orbit, integrating the pictorial data into a comprehensive description of the planet.
“Land masses consist of three major continents, with a host of smaller islands. Two of the continents display a mix of tropical rainforest, snowy tundra, temperate forest, and desert hills.”
“That’s a lot of biomes close together, Fess.”
“Yes. In fact, several of the biomes are right next to each other, like what appears to be a desert next to a tundra.”
Rod whistled. “If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed that somepony used this place as his personal sandbox.” For some reason, he thought that it sounded familiar. Shaking it off, he asked, “What about the third continent? That’s where we landed, I suppose?”
“There is still a wide variety of biomes, however they seem to differ less drastically. Most of the lifeforms here are typical Terran flora and fauna.”
“What about the native stuff?”
“Curiously, none.” Fess’s voice held a rare tone of surprise. “Only faint traces remain, like that flower patch on the edge of the clearing.”
Rod peered out. On the edge of the clearing was a bunch of blue flowers, the petals shaped almost like a tulip. “Huh,” he said. “Remind me to grab a sample before we leave. By the way, any possible reason the colonists choose this island?”
“While this island is not the largest, the terrain of the other two continent is, for a lack of better term, chaotic. The landmass we are on is the most level of the three.”
“Or maybe they landed here and leveled the ground before they settled down. Anyway, any remains of what could be Galactic Union cities?”
“None, Rod.”
“None!” Rod’s eyes widened in surprise. “That doesn’t fit the pattern. You sure, Fess?”
The developmental pattern of a lost, or retrograde colony- one that had been out of touch with Galactic civilization for a few centuries- fell into three well-defined stages: first, the establishment of said colony, centered around a modern city with an advanced technology; second, the failure of communications with Galactic culture, followed by an overpopulation of the city, which led to mass migrations to the countryside and a consequent shift to an agrarian, self-sufficient economy; and third, the loss of technological knowledge, accompanied by a rising level of superstition, symbolized by the abandonment and eventual tabooing of anything higher than steam-and-coal technology with basic magitech. Also, social systems were calcified and a caste system appeared, with earth ponies as the laborers, the pegasi as a military force, and the unicorns as the ruling class, with the other species somewhere in between. Styles of dress and architecture were usually burlesques of Galactic Union forms. For example, a hemispherical wooden hut, built in imitation of the vaulting Galactic geodesic domes.
But there was always were the ruins of the city, acting as a constant symbol and a basis for mythology.
“You’re sure, Fess? You’re really, really sure there isn’t a city?”
“I am always certain, Rod.”
“That’s true.” Rod pulled at his lower lip. “Sometimes mistaken, but never in doubt. Well, shelve the matter of the city for the time being, maybe it sank in a tidal wave. Let’s just make a final check on the lifeforms being Terran.”
Rod dove out of the cockpit, flared his wings, and made a lazy loop before landing on the grass. He unclipped the guerrilla knife from his leg- a knife carefully designed so that it could not be attributed to any one culture- and drew the dagger from its sheath.
The sheath was a slender cone of white metal, with a small knob at the apex. Rod plucked several blades of grass, dropped them into the sheath, and turned the knob. The miniature transceiver built into the sides of the sheath probed the grass with sonics to analyze its molecular structure, then broadcast the data to Fess, who determined if any of the molecules were incompatible with pony metabolism. If the grass had been poisonous to Rod, Fess would have beamed a signal back to the sheath, whereupon the metal would have turned purple.
But in this particular case, the sheath stayed silver.
“That ties it,” said Rod, putting the dagger away. “This is Terran grass, presumably planted by Terrans, and this is a Terran colony. But where’s the city?”
“There is a small town to the north on the edge of the forest, about thirty thousand souls, with a castle resting in the mountains.”
“Let’s focus on the city first,” said Rod. “What’s it look like?”
“The town itself consists of half-timbered and stuccoed buildings, with second stories overhanging the narrow streets- alleys would be a better term- along which they are situated.”
“Half-timbered…” Rod’s ears perked up. “Wait a minute, wait a minute! Fess, does that architecture remind you of anything?”
The robot was silent for a while, then replied, “Northern Eurponiean Renaissance.”
“That,” said Rod, “is not the typical style of a retrograde colony. How closely do those building resemble Terran Renaissance, Fess?”
“The resemblance is complete to the last detail, Rod.”
“It’s deliberate then. How about the castle? Is that Renaissance too?”
The robot paused, then said, “No Rod. It would appear to be a direct copy of Minis Trotith from ‘The Lord of the Rings’ series, published by one J. R. R. Trotklien.”
Rod nodded eagerly. “How about the styles of dress?”
“We are currently on the night side of the planet. There is a great deal of illumination from the planet’s moon, but there are relatively few beings abroad. There are, however a company of soldiers out, mainly thresals. They appear to be dressed… uh… in historical recreations of the Morankhian Night Watch uniform.”
“Very good! What about the footage we took from orbit?”
Fess looked over the data. “Most of the ponies out are bare of ornaments… but there is one wearing a yoke, another in a Stetson hat… a third in a tuxedo…”
“That’s enough,” said Rod. “It’s a hodgepodge, a conglomeration of styles. Somebody has tried to set up his idea of the ideal world, Fess. Ever hear about the Emigres?”
The robot was silent for a moment, mulling through his memory banks. Then, he began to recite:
“Malcontents abounded toward the end of the 24th Century A.D. Bored with their ‘lives of quiet desperation,’ ponies turned primarily toward mysticism, secondarily to escapist literature and entertainment. Gradually, the pseudo-Medieval genre became the dominant entertainment form.
“Finally, just before the PEST regime took hold, a group of wealthy ponies, most notably Celestia Invictus and her sister Luna Nightshade, pooled their funds to buy a pair of outdated FTL liners and announced to the world that they were the Romantic Emigres, and that they were going to another world to ‘reestablish the medieval way of life,’ and that they were accepting a limited amount of immigrants to come with them.
“Even with two ships, the passenger list was swiftly filled, mainly being composed of earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns, but there was a fair amount of griffons, minotaurs, and dragons, along with a scattering of the minor pony tribes.
“The tycoons, aside from the sisters organizing the trip, rejected their surnames and adopted instead the family names of great Medieval aristocrats- Blueblood, Dis Lee,” and so forth.
“Then the ship departed, with its destination carefully unspecified, so that there would be ‘no contamination from the materialist world.’ Nothing more was ever heard of them.”
Rod smiled grimly. “Well, I think we’ve just found them. How’s that set with your diodes?”
“Quite well, Rod. In fact, a statistical analysis of the probability of this being the Emigres colony reveals the following-”
“Skip it,” Rod said quickly. Statistics were Fess’s hobby; given half a chance, he could bore you for hours.
Rod pursed his lips and eyed the section of the hull that housed Fess’s brain. “Come to think of it, you might send the statistics back to SCENT with our educated guess that we have found the Emigres’ colony. Might as well get at that now, I’d like them to know where we are in case anything happens.”
SCENT, the Society for the Conversion of Extraterrestrial Nascent Totalitarianisms, was the organization responsible for seeking out lost colonies. The Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra had shown remarkably little interest in any colony that was lacking in modern technology; so the lost colonies had stayed lost or out of touch until the totalitarian rule of PEST had been overthrown by DDT, the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal. DDT had quickly consolidated its rule of Terra, governing in accordance with the almost unattainable goals of Athenian democracy.
It had long been known that the inefficiency of democratic governments was basically a problem of communication and prejudice. But, over a period of two centuries, DDT cells had functioned as speakeasy schoolrooms, resulting in total literacy and masters’ degrees for about seventy-two percent of the population; prejudice had joined cancer and heart disease on the list of curable diseases. The problems of communication had been solved by molecular electronics, which had lowered the bulk and price of communications gear to the point where it’s truly extensive use became practical for the first time. Every individual was able to squawk at his Tribunal at a moment’s notice; and, being educated, they tended to do a lot of squawking just on basic principles- all very healthy for a democracy.
Squawking by radio had proved singularly effective, due largely to an automatic record of the squawk. The problems of records and other bureaucratic red tape had been solved by red oxide audio recording tape, with tracks a single molecule wide, and the development of data-retrieval systems so efficient that the memorization of facts had nearly became obsolete. Education thus became exclusively a training in concepts, and the success of democracy was assured.
After two centuries of preparing such groundwork, the DDT revolution had been a mere formality.
But revolutionaries are always out of place when the revolution is over, and are likely to prove an embarrassing factor to the police forces of the new government.
Therefore, the DDT had decided not to be selfish; rather, they would share the blessings of democracy with the other remnants of the Galactic Union.
But democrats are seldom welcome on planets run by totalitarian governments, and scarcely more welcome on planets where anarchy prevails- this due to the nature of democracy, the only practical compromise between totalitarianism and anarchy.
What was needed was a permanent organization of revolutionaries, subversive republican democrats. Since there was a large supply of out-of-work revolutionaries on hand, the organization was quickly formed and was named the Society for the Conversion of Extraterrestrial Totalitarianisms. The ‘Nascent’ was added a century later, when all of the known planets had been found and had joined up with the DDT. The old revolutionaries were still a problem, more so since more of them had joined; so they were sent out to find the lost colonies.
Thus formed SCENT, the organization whose mission was to sniff out the backward planets and put them on the road to democracy.
Since Rod had found a medieval planet, he would probably have to foster the development of a constitutional monarchy.
Rod, born Rodney d’Armand (4) on an asteroid inhabited mainly by aristocrats and robots, had joined SCENT at the tender age of eighteen. In his ten years of service, he had grown from a gangling, ugly colt to a lean, well-muscled, ugly stallion.
He was a pegasus pony, with an electric blue coat, and a mane of a slightly darker shade. He had faint streaks of grey in his mane, with the same streaks running through his wings. His cutie mark was that of a compass rose overlying an unknown planet.
His face was aristocratic, you could say that about it- that and no more. It was rugged rather than cultured, and there was a faint scar on the left side of his face. Thick, bushy eyebrows hung over hardened grey eyes- at least Rod hoped they looked hardened. His thin lips were twisted in a sardonic smile, even when he was asleep.
Rod would have liked to say that it was a strong face, but it tended to soften remarkably when/if a mare smiled at it. Dogs and foals had the same effect, with a great deal more frequency.
He was a stallion with a Dream(5)- Dream of one unified Galactic government(6). Interstellar communications were still too slow for a true democratic federation. The DDT was actually a loose confederation of worlds, more of a debating society and service organization than anything else.
But adequate communication methods would come along some day, Rod was sure of it. And when they did, the stars would be ready. He would see to that.
“Well, let’s be about our business, Fess. No telling when somepony might wander by and spot us.” Rod flapped his way into the air lock, through it and into the cabin again. He went to the plate in the wall and released the catches. Inside was a control panel; above this was a white metal sphere with a dull finish, about the size of a basketball. A massive cable grew out of the top of the sphere and connected to the wall of the ship.
Rod unscrewed the connection, released the friction clamp that held the sphere in place, and carefully lifted it out.
“Easy,” Fess said, his voice coming from the earphone implanted in the bone behind Rod’s right ear. “I’m fragile, you know.”
“A little confidence, please,” Rod muttered. The microphone in his jawbone carried his words to Fess. “I haven’t dropped you yet, have I?”
“Yet,” echoed the robot.
Rod cradled the robot brain in his front legs as he flew out of the air lock. Outside again, he shifted it to on leg, leaving the other one free to press the stud he was hovering in front of.
A large door lifted from the side of the pseudo-asteroid. Inside, a black earth pony stallion hung limply from shock webbing, eyes closed and head between his forelegs. His mane was the same black color as his coat, and he had a cutie mark of a crystalline orb on his flank, looking remarkably like the sphere Rod was holding.
Rod pressed a button and a crane extended out of the cargo space. The pony swung out on the crane and was lowered until his hooves touched the ground. Rod pressed a button hidden in the mane, and a hidden panel in the barrel opened up, revealing an open space.
Rod placed the brain inside the panel, tightened the clamp and the connections, then pressed the button again. The panel slid shut. Slowly, the pony raised his head, wiggled his ears, blinked twice, and spoke.
“Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-Do; she sells seashells by the seashore; oh, what a beautiful mornnnnn-ing… all as it should be, Rod,” he said, his voice barely betraying that he was mechanical in nature. “If you would let me out of this cat’s cradle, I’ll check the motor circuits.”
Rod grinned and freed him from the webbing. Fess reared up, then sprang into a gallop. Rod watched the robot run around, taking a look at his surroundings in the process.
The asteroid-ship had landed in the center of a meadow, shaggy with summer grass, with the strange blue flower patch on the side. The trees surrounding them seemed to be mostly pine, with the odd oak thrown in. the clearing was alight with the light of the full moon.
Fess cantered back toward Rod and reared to a halt before him. Forehooves thudded on the ground; the indigo eyes turned to look at Rod, the ears perked forward.
“I’m fit,” Fess reported.
Rod grinned. “Good for you. C’mon, let’s get the ship buried.”
Rod pressed buttons on the side of the ship. The cargo hatch closed, and the air lock sealed itself. The ship began to revolve, slowly at first, then faster and faster as it sank into the ground. Soon, there was only a crater surrounded by a ring-wall of loam, and the roof of the asteroid curving three feet below.
Fess pulled two camp shovels from his saddlebags and tossed one to Rod. The two ponies got to work, throwing dirt into the hole. Within about thirty minutes, the wall had been reduced to six inches in height, with a small mound of earth in the center.
Rod once again drew his dagger. “Stand back,” he said. He twisted the hilt 180 degrees and pointed it at the mound. A beam of ruby-red light laced out, hitting the mound of earth. It turned red and started to flow. Rod kept this up until the entire surface was flat. There was still a bit left, but the next rainfall would take care of that.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “Let’s head into town.”
“Not quite. You forgot to seed the crater, Rod.”
“What? Oh, yeah.” Rod pulled a small bag from his saddlebags and sprinkled the contents on the circle of earth. “There! Give it a light rainstorm and two days to grow, and you won’t be able to tell it from the rest of the meadow. Let’s hope nopony comes this way for two days though…”
The robot’s head jerked up, ears pricked forward.
“What’s the matter, Fess?”
“We have company, Rod.”
Rod then heard it. The low sound of chatter, coming closer…
Rod grabbed Fess’s hoof. “Come on!” he said, pulling the robot into the bushes. The pair made it inside as six mares came into the clearing.
“Whew, that was close,” Rod said. He poked his head out of the bushes. Fortunately, the ponies were more focused on the circle of earth to be looking in his direction. He counted one unicorn, two earth ponies, and three pegasi. “If we were any slower, they would have found…” He trailed off as the lavender pegasus tossed her mane.
Fess noticed this. “What is it, Rod?” he asked.
“The purple one’s an alicorn, Fess,” Rod said.
Rod was speaking of the legendary alicorn, a pony that combined traits from all three pony tribes, supposedly having the wings of a pegasus, the horn of an unicorn, and the strength of an earth pony. All three tribes had plenty of magic, but an alicorn was said to be strong enough to move planets.
And as far as Rod knew, a myth of ancient Earth.
That was also what Fess knew. “Are you sure, Rod?” he asked.
“Yep, wings, horn everything. She’s not too bad looking either. In fact, all of them… Fess?”
The black pony’s legs were rigid, head swinging between the front legs.
“Oh, heck!” Rod growled. “Not again!”
He reached into the mane and reset the circuit breaker. Fess raised his head and shook it a few times. “Whaddappened, Rrrawwwd?”
“You had a seizure. Don’t speak too loudly, or they’ll hear us! Now, can you let me listen in on what they are saying?”
Fess angled his head towards the group of mares. He opened his mouth and the powerful microphone hidden inside turned on. Rod then listened to what the mares were saying through his earphone.
“…sure that this is the right place?”
“Yes, Rarity, I’m sure. The letter I got from Princess Celestia said that Princess Luna felt the space object land here. Only, I don’t see it. Only this circle of earth.”
“Oh! Oh! Perhaps the object is a spaceship that has buried itself in the ground, sent here by an interstellar organization to ensure democracy, and the pilots are hiding in the bushes right now!”
Rod and Fess tensed, getting ready to make a run for it.
The alicorn spoke up. “Pinkie, that theory is even more ridiculous than the one Rainbow made about it being an alien flying machine that turns into a robot. Where did you come up with that anyway?”
“Dunno, Twilight,” said a cyan pegasus with a multi-colored mane, probably Rainbow. “Just felt like a dream I once had.”
“So, what happened then, Twi?” said orange pony with a southern accent. Rod noticed that it was wearing a cowboy hat. “Did it go somewhere, or get dragged off?”
“Um, no.” The new voice was very soft and quiet, enough so that Fess had a hard time picking it up. “There are no tracks leading the way we came, and if something went on the other side, they would have went through that patch of Poison Joak.”
By the way the mares shivered, Rod guess that that wasn’t a good thing.
“Unless it flew,” ‘Twilight’ said. “Did you see anything, Rainbow Dash?”
The blue pegasus shook her head. “Did a flyby as we came in. Didn’t see nothing.”
“Well that’s a bust. Anything, Rarity?”
The white unicorn shook her head. “Whatever it is, it’s not made gems, since my spell isn’t picking it up,” she said.
“Oh well.” The purple alicorn sighed. “Let’s head back to Ponyville, and tell the Princesses that we didn’t find anything.” With that, the group of mare turned and head back the way they came.
“Any ideas?” Rod asked Fess.
“A few,” the robot replied. “First off, this planet seems to be ruled by a monarchy. The reining monarchs appear to have kept the names of the two founders. We should expect the nobles to have done the same with their nomenclatures. Other than that, very little.”
“Well, that’s that,” said Rod. “The search party is gone, and we’re none the wiser.” He got up to his hooves. “Well, at least we’re still a secret; nobody knows that there’s a spaceship under that circle of earth.”
“Not exactly,” chuckled a new voice.
Rod froze, then turned his head and stared.
Standing at the foot of an old tree was some sort of creature. It looked like a pony, but it had dragonfly-like wings and a straight horn. It had a black coat, with a green carapace on his barrel. Its eyes were slitted, and there were holes in its legs. It had a light blue mane, flecked with dots.
The apparition chuckled. “The Lord of the Changelings shall be informed of your presence, starwalker,” he said.
Rod lunged.
But the bug pony disappeared in a green flame, leaving behind a final chortle.
Rod stood, staring, listening to the wind commentating to the leaves, as the last faint snicker dying away on the wind.
“Fess,” he said finally. “Fess, did you see that?”
There was no answer.
Rod frowned turning. “Fess? Fess!”
The robot’s head swung gently between its forelegs.
“Oh, Tarartus!”(7)