//------------------------------//
// Chapter 14: Avoidance 
// Story: Equestria 485,000 
// by Unwhole Hole 
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Almost nothing remained of the old factories. Time had taken its toll on them. Any part of them at all that was organic had long-since decayed into dust, perhaps even in times long before the Exodus. Metal, in turn, had failed and corroded, regardless of what type. Steel and copper had been the first to go, but in the passing centuries even aluminum and silver had oxidized and tarnished until nothing remained. Only gold remained, and a few broken pieces lay scattered about. No one had been around to pick them up.

            It was different in space. Without an atmosphere and in the deep cold, there was no way for the ships to decay. It was still possible, to this day, to find vessels in orbit around distant stars and forgotten planets that dated back to the time of the Exodus. They were preserved perfectly in the vacuum, with every piece of machinery still where it was when some tiny element of it had failed so long ago. The metal did not rust, and the ornamentation of rare wood had not rotted in the slightest. In some cases, depending on how the ship had been lost, the crew would still be there too, having sat still and in silence for hundreds of thousands of years.

            Here on Equestria, though, the plant had begun to consume the creations of ponies. All that remained of what had once been vibrant, eternally running machinery were the stains in the floor where it had collapsed into rust, as well as a few broken ceramic components that had served some function that no living pony now knew.

            The machines were gone, but Twilight still continued, walking silently through where they had once been. They were not her concern; they had only ever been meant for assembly. What she cared about was the part that had built the individual components, even the ones that had been lost for so long.

            After some searching, she had selected this particular building based on its architecture. She knew that it was new, at least in a relative sense, and that it had been used to house a vast industrial production facility. From how badly one side of the building was smashed, Twilight supposed that this had once been a higher part of one of the towers, perhaps built above the altitude where ponies could no longer breathe. It had fallen quite a distance, and been damaged badly.

            Still, Twilight had deemed that there was still a possibility that at least one nanomanufacturing module remained. Unlike the rest of the factory, the nano units were not built in situ; rather, they were constructed at unique clean facilities and shipped as modules meant to be plugged into larger factories. They were shipped hermetically sealed, largely for freshness. Twilight hoped to find one still in that state.

            Her luck proved to be mixed. After searching the factory for some time, she did manage to find the remains of a nano facility. Must of the rooms, though, had been crushed. Of the remaining modules, none were unsealed. The large ceramic doors to each were all either slightly ajar or smashed apart entirely.

            At the sight of this, Twilight stopped and sighed. She looked around at the silence for a moment, and thought she heard the sound of something scraping across the ground somewhere extremely distant. That, unfortunately, did not seem to be unusual. She had heard a great many things moving in the darkness during her search.

            Twilight turned the orange light tube on her chest toward one of the doors. It stood slightly open, and it seemed as promising as any. Twilight approached it and barely jumped when a small horde of the strange warbling bipeds dashed out of a different door, squeaking and piping as they sprinted past Twilight and back toward the darkness that made up the rest of the factory. Twilight had come to accept them as harmless, but she still detested them.

            The door that she had chosen was jammed. The mechanisms inside had failed, letting it drop. Twilight had not considered that fact: that even if she had found a perfectly sealed facility, there was no way she would be able to get it open. The machines that were meant to unseal it would be long dead, and without her magic there was no way for her to force it open. Getting in would have required Silken’s assistance.

            “Stupid remnus,” muttered Twilight as she pushed through the small gap. Only after she was on the other side did she realize that she had said it in the Old Language, the one that the ponies below had spoken to her in. No pony had spoken that language in what felt like an eternity. Not because it was forgotten- -many in the Cult of Twilight Sparkle still knew how to read it, or to hear it and understand what was said- -but because ponies no longer had the vocal organs required to speak it.

            Twilight dismissed this as she stepped into the module on the far side of the door. It was small, only a hundred meters long and fifty wide. At one time it would have contained a number of computers to serve as control equipment for the nanotech reactions, but they were gone. Twilight paused to look, and could have sworn that rather than rotting away they had been removed. That was impossible, of course. There was no reason why they would be, and it would be almost impossible to get them out of the door without disassembling them, something that would require incredible skill.

            Not that it mattered. Twilight had not expected computers from the era to have survived. They were built for performance, not for long lifespans. Without a continuously running nanoblood supply to maintain them, they would only last at most a few centuries. Beyond that, the substances used to make their various processors and electromechanical elements would begin to crystalize in ways that would reduce their function- -assuming they even used crystal processors. There was a phase in history where computers were powered by explant pony neural tissue.

            The interface had never been Twilight’s goal. She needed the nanites themselves. It would be easy enough to interface them to Silken’s core processor and to use her as a construction interface. Thinking about this, though, gave Twilight pause. Once again she was finding herself relying on the synthetic pony that she had never wanted in the first place.

            The original cores were on the far side of the room, and resembled a system of small cylinders. Twilight approached the first of them and turned her horn to it, only to suddenly remember that her magic was not functional. This caused her to swear loudly.

            Instead of being able to simply disassemble the units, she was forced to use her hooves. This took a great deal of time and effort. It was something that was supposedly possible- -this system had been designed to have an emergency release- -but it was not something she was good at. It had been a long time since she had been forced to use her mouth and hooves to manipulate the world.

            Eventually, though, she did get it open. Then she stepped back and focused. Removing the crystal was something that did require magic, and if her horn was damaged it meant that she would be forced to substitute her biological magic with technomagic.

            This, of course, was profoundly difficult. Technomagic was something of a cruel irony to Twilight: it was she who had first formulated the theories that made it possible, and who had developed the first non-living magic-using machines. She had devoted decades or even centuries of her time to making it possible, and yet she was almost entirely incapable of using it herself. The cybernetic implants required had an extremely short halflife in her body; as an alicorn, her immune system was so powerful that it would absorb them within a few months. The only implants that Twilight had were specially constructed to be durable- -although they would still only function for a few years before needing to be replaced- -but not terribly effective.

            With a great deal of effort, Twilight managed to produce a magical assembly of orange-red light. She reached into the container and drew out the storage crystal. It was tiny and weighted less than a tenth of an ounce, but to Twilight it felt as though it weighed several tons. Still, she did not give up. She pulled the crystal out- -only to find it dark and faded. The surface was visibly fractured.

            The crystal was useless. Twilight threw it away and moved onto the next container. This one went more quickly now that she knew what she needed to do, but it was a tedious and painstaking process to get it open and get the crystal out. Worse, this one was dark as well.

            Twilight began to wonder if there would be any working crystals at all. If there were not, she was wasting her time. This would all be a waste, and she would have to go back down empty hooved and face Silken- -and those strange ponies. She did not want to do that. There was something about them that made her very afraid and, somehow, sad. She could not remember what, though, nor did she want to. The only cure she could see was to focus on the task at hoof.

            The third crystal was much harder to remove, but it was worth it. When Twilight removed it, she found it to be in perfect condition. It was a perfectly transparent tetrahedral spine that almost seemed to glow with blue light from within. Looking closely, Twilight could even see silvery inclusions within it. Those were colonies of nannites, alive and undecided, waiting to come to life inside a crystal of pure halite.

            Twilight merged the crystal with her morphiplasm to protect it. She was lucky she did, because otherwise she would have dropped it when she heard a voice behind her.

            “Twilight?”

            Twilight squealed and turned around, firing a bolt of technomagic in the direction of where the voice had come from. The blue Pegasus cried out and dodged, barely managing to avoid a sharp construct that imbedded in the wall behind her.

            “Twilight!” she cried. “It’s me, it’s me!”

            “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” screamed Twilight. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and she had not even known that she was able to attack with technomagic. The surprise, she reasoned, must have been quite extreme.

            “That’s why I said your name!” argued the Pegasus. She stood back up, looking somewhat annoyed. She was the one from before- -technically, she had to be, as there were only two Pegasi left in existence and only one of them was blue- -although she was wearing a necklace that was constructed from a familiar white light.

            Twilight glared. That light had come from Silken. She had not known that they were removable, which she frustratingly realized was probably because she had not asked. That seemed to be the way that Silken operated.

            “How did you get here?” demanded Twilight.

            “Um, these?” the pony spread her wings. They were shorter than Twilight’s, but strong. “Fluttershy tried to come too, but she couldn’t make it up the shaft. She’s not really a good flyer.”

            “Why did you even bother coming up here?”

            “To find you!” She seemed annoyed. “You could at least be a little grateful!”

            “Grateful for you nearly giving me a heart attack? I could have dropped the crystal!”

            “I was only trying to help!”

            “You can help by leaving me alone. I have a job to do.” She stepped forward, pushing past the blue pony. “You couldn’t possibly understand what is at stake. So don’t get in my way.”

            Twilight started toward the door, but the blue pony called out from behind. “Rainbow Dash.” Twilight stopped and turned. The blue pony had gone from frustrated and angry to looking extremely pained, as if the only thing keeping her from crying were pride and a strong will. The look in her eyes and on her face made Twilight feel deeply sad for some reason. “Do you recognize that name?”

            “No,” said Twilight. “I have never heard it before.”

            “It’s my name, Twilight. Why can’t you remember?”

            “I covered this already. There is nothing to remember.”

            Rainbow Dash took a deep breath and seemed about to speak- -or to yell, or perhaps to weep- -but she did none of those things. Instead she just looked defeated. “Fine,” she said. “But I know yours. And you knew me once. When we lived in Ponyville.”

            “Ponyville? That sounds like a stupid name.”

            Rainbow Dash smiled almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” she said. “It kind of was.”

            “I never lived in a place called ‘Ponyville’. Or if I did, I don’t recall it.”

            “It was after you moved from Canterlot. You lived in a tree. Until, you know, it got blown up.”

            “I lived in a tree? I’m a goddess. You have to be insane.”

            “Well, that was before you got that cool castle.”

            Twilight’s breath caught, and her heart raced again. A memory surfaced to her of her castle, long before it was surrounded by endless cities and development. A ridiculous view of an enormous crystal castle surrounded by a peaceful, pastoral community. Remembering it was not what horrified her, though; it was that she had forgotten- -and that she could remember little else about that time apart from that one image, no matter how hard she tried.

            “I don’t…I don’t remember,” she said. “I don’t recall the time when my castle was constructed. I know I must have been there, but…”

            “So she was right,” said Rainbow Dash. “It really has been a long time.”

            “Who was right? I don’t know what you’re talking about! I feel like…” Like she should remember something, although she did not say it. Something was wrong. Staring at this rainbow-maned pony was hurting her, and endangering the mission. She had to get away- -yet she could not bring herself to leave.

            “The freaky robot mare. She said…well, it’s complicated. As in I don’t really understand any of it. But we got together, and we decided that you’re still our friend.”

            “I don’t have any friends,” said Twilight.

            “Well, you do now. You have five. Plus the robot, I think, although really I have no idea if that even counts.”

            “She’s programmed to be polite to me. I don’t think she actually likes me terribly much. And how can you be my friends if I don’t even know you?”

            “How should I know? You’re the Princess of Friendship!”

            Twilight froze. “Princess of Friendship,” she whispered. “It has been a long, long time since I have heard that title.”

            “And we talked about it. Even if you don’t remember us, that isn’t going to stop us from loving you. I’m sure you’ll remember! I mean, you’re Twilight Sparkle! You can recite every word of the first three Daring Do books by memory! And a lot of boring reference stuff that makes me sleep, but that’s beside the point.”

            “And if I don’t want to be your friend?”

            Rainbow Dash’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going to help you, Twilight. None of us know what’s going on, and we’re afraid- -well, maybe not me- -but we’re going to help you, if we can. Until you remember.”

            Twilight turned away from her. “I don’t need help,” she said. “And you’re delusional. There is nothing to remember. Nothing at all.”

            She squeezed through the door, leaving Rainbow Dash all alone in the empty facility, a place that she did not understand and had never seen. Rainbow Dash stood there for a moment, wondering if this would work at all- -but then she took flight, and followed her friend out.