“You wanted to see me?”
Twilight turned toward the gap in the machine-encrusted walls. She was not sure why she had walked this deeply into the structure, nor did it occur to her to even question it. The rooms in this place were all different, and yet all identical if only in the fact that their purpose remained obscure.
Silken entered the room, her white body and its precision-crafted lines standing out against the haphazard dark machines that surrounded her. Looking at her, though, Twilight immediately became cognizant of the fact that she looked different than she had before.
“You have a mane,” she said. “And your eyes…”
“I know,” said Silken, smiling and poking at the silky smooth addition. “Rarity suggested it. Do you like it?”
“It makes you look like a corpse.”
The smile vanished from Silken’s face. “Yes,” she said, coldly. “I know.” She paused, and then her cheer returned. “Now, what did you want to see me about? Did you find what you were looking for?”
Twilight produced the crystal and passed it to Silken. One of Silken’s hooves split into a two-fingered claw and she took it, examining it closely.
“This technology is literally ancient,” she said.
“It will still work. The nannites are viable.”
“That’s not what I mean. Modern machines are projection-built into single pieces. This would have to construct things chemically, and in multiple pieces. That will take time.”
“I know,” said Twilight. “But at this point, it’s the only option we have.” Silken stared down at the crystal. “Can you be interfaced with it?” asked Twilight.
“Most likely,” said Silken. “But I will need the programs for the individual pieces of the transmitter.”
“I have them,” said Twilight. She reached behind her head, and a thin, luminescent tube of blue energy emerged. She reached up toward Silken with it, but when Silken saw it she immediately leapt back with speed that surprised even Twilight.
“What are you doing?” said Silken, quickly.
“I’ll upload the files directly from my neural implant. It will be faster.”
“Goddess, I cannot allow you to do that. Interfacing with a remnus- -”
“I’m immortal.”
“Yes, but that does not mean you are not subject to psychological trauma. And in your case, it could be even more severe seeing as you cannot naturally comprehend our nature.”
“I comprehend it well enough, Silken.”
“No. Of all ponies, you comprehend it the least. It looks different from the inside and the outside.” She paused, as if trying to consider what that meant.
“I could give you a direct order.”
“And I could refuse to obey it.”
Twilight groaned. “Fine,” she said, angrily. The projected tube collapsed into itself, changing shape and reconfiguring to Twilight’s will. After a few moments, it had become a translucent representation of an incredibly complex crystal. “There,” she said. “A program. For the initial production matrix. It’s going to take me at least six hours to program the rest of the pieces.” She gave the cube to Silken and then turned away. “Just get it done.”
“I will do my best, Goddess.” She started to turn, and then stopped. “Oh,” she said, “but before I go.” She extended a hoof with her own program projected in it. “This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“The preliminary translation of the language in the holographic message.”
“You know what it said?”
“No,” said Silken. “I am still running various algorithms to remove the interference. That will take more time. But this contains what is most probably the rudiments of the language.”
“Any idea on the linguistics?”
“I am not programmed for that. All I can say is that the probable translation efficiency is eighty three percent.”
“That’s really low,” said Twilight, taking the program and merging it with the computational matrix of her morphiplasm suit.
“It was the best I can do for now with only one transmission.”
“Well, reduce the processing you’re allocating to the description algorithm. I need it for the manufacturing process.”
“Shall I eliminate it entirely?”
Twilight paused for a moment. “No,” she said, surprised at her response. “Just decrease it.”
“It will be done, Goddess,” said Silken, bowing.
Silken left the room, leaving Twilight once again alone. Twilight watched the empty door for a moment, and then sat down. She did not mind being alone, even down here in this strange place. She had grown accustomed to it in her long life.
She began the painstaking process of constructing the code for the transmitter, generating it through a combination of the neural implants in her brain and through the connection she had to the morphiplasm that encased her.
Her prediction of the time it would take had been something of an overestimation, but the process still took a great deal of effort. After a few hours of painstaking construction, Twilight paused. She slowly looked around the room, and had the strangest feeling that it was looking back.
There was something unnatural about this place. It was unnerving, and impossible- -but at the same time, it seemed to be calling to her. As if she was supposed to be there.
It was not the only impossible thing that had happened recently. So much had, and if Twilight had been a younger mare she might have dedicated years of study to every single aspect. In her current state, though, she had learned to ignore curiosity in favor of solving distinct technological goals. Delving into mysteries was the territory of scientists and philosophers; the sphere of the Princess focused instead on protecting and managing the kingdom.
Yet the walls still called to her. She could almost hear their strange voices, and if she stopped and looked long enough she could see them shifting and growing, slowly spawning and connecting new machinery into the vast and indecipherable system that they were a part of. What it was- -WHY it was- -eluded Twilight completely, and this unknowing was the first thing she had felt in a long time that made the more scientific aspects of her spirit burn.
Because of this, Twilight found herself standing up and walking around the perimeter of the room. She was still constructing the code she had been focused on, but only in the back of her mind. She had grown more interested in her surroundings than the antenna.
As she looked, the wall seemed to react to her presence. Thin threads of black and silver retracted, pulling away from the machinery beneath. In some places, abandoned mechanisms and systems had become overgrown with metal, resulting in a calcified skeleton for new and useful machinery to be fastened to. That new machinery was strange and indecipherable- -mostly.
Twilight was amazed to see that some of it looked familiar. A few things resembled items that had been standard long ago. Among these was something that looked curiously similar to an interface port.
Staring at it, Twilight could not manage to stop herself. She lifted her hoof toward it and extended her morphiplasm surface to match the ancient adapter. Several narrow bands of blue energy reached out and connected with the system.
What Twilight got was exactly what she should have expected. The data on the other side shot through her like an electrical shock. It was garbled, confused, and useless, but profoundly LOUD. It was like screaming inside her nervous system, and she screamed. It screamed back- -and for a moment she heard what sounded like voices within the signal.
The force of the connection knocked Twilight back and away from the port. She took a step back, only for her knees to buckle. Her own nervous system had taken a substantial shock, but the error went deeper than that. The interface between her and her suit had been partially damaged, and the power assist system was in convulsions.
Twilight swore loudly and tried to stand, only to be nearly thrown on her side. She had no choice; because of her own stupidity, she would have to abandon the malfunctioning portions of the suit and wait for them to reset. Begrudgingly, she engaged the release system. The suit separated from her nerves- -not a painful situation, but one that was profoundly disturbing in its own right- -and then extended itself away from her, supporting itself as a four-legged frame over her.
The only parts of it that Twilight kept were several central processing nodes and the rebreather system. Neither of those seemed to have received critical damage. This meant that Twilight kept the mask of the suit only, separating it from the primary body. She was profoundly glad of that.
Just as she started to lament her own stupidity, the lights in the room suddenly dimmed. Several needle-like projections shot from the walls, and before Twilight had a chance to wonder if they were a defensive system of some kind the hologram appeared.
It flickered and buzzed, just as it had before, but it was much clearer than before. It was only slightly grainy, and there were a few intermittent visual artifacts, but this time Twilight could easily see the being who had created it.
Whatever it was, it looked different than it had in the first image. Even through the distortion of that image, Twilight had seen at least shadows of its form: a whirl of strange, asymmetrical technological components that formed a bizarre body that was distorted and incomprehensible in its own right even without the interference. In this image, it maintained elements of its previous form, but was simpler and smaller in design.
The being was quite clearly a quadruped of some sort. It’s body was covered in armor similar the one it had worn before, but not as fully developed or integrated into its external ports. It looked more like clothing than it did the shell of some perverse parody of a crustacean. There was still some semblance of the asymmetrical nature of the being, but it was less pronounced and there were fewer extraneous or shifting parts. What Twilight was most surprised to see, though, was that one of the creature’s eyes was exposed. It appeared to be large and organic.
The hologram began to speak. Twilight could see a mechanical system in its metallic neck engaging and disengaging, looking something like the control valves for a complicated wind instrument. Upon hearing this, Twilight quickly attempted to engage the translation program that Silken had given her. She was relieved to see that it still functioned, if only partially.
“…and retrieval survey,” it said, “the news was grim. The Builders found no signs of new construction, nor indication of life. No knew Marker had been placed, either, meaning that the Ceremony of Passing had not been performed.” It paused. “This leads me to believe that the civilization is now extinct. This…saddens me.”
Part of the message was damaged, and Twilight could not translate. For a moment she feared that she would not be able to understand the rest, but the system resynchronized after a few sentences. “With regard to the Project,” it said, “I can finally answer that I have succeeded, if only partially. The latest group is viable.” She paused and released a slow hiss that despite its alien tone sounded curiously like crying. “Viable. After all this time, viable. I locked their development. They will remain in stasis indefinitely.” It paused for a long time, and the organic eye seemed to look to the side. “But that does leave the problem of the sixth. The alicorn. All my attempts with her have failed. It may be due to the nature of alicorn biology, that I just cannot replicate it with the samples I have…or…” It paused again, “but that would be impossible. It’s been too long. She can’t be…but if she was…the implications would be profound.”
The eye suddenly turned and seemed to stare at Twilight with such force that Twilight took a step back. “But that does raise the question. My personal life. Or what is left of it. I can’t…I can’t remember why I made them…”
The eye continued to stare at Twilight as the hologram flickered and went out. With it gone, Twilight felt profoundly alone.
unt:1'> ��F?B:�*