//------------------------------// // G6.3850: Birds in the Underground // Story: Message in a Bottle // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Whenever Lucky needed to relax, she went to the beach. It was easy now that she could fly, and she remembered the way. That was where the message found her—on her back in the sand with her computation surface beside her. She could ignore the steady hum of security drones as they buzzed through the jungle, but she couldn’t ignore the incessant beeping of the ‘new message’ notification on her tablet. Lucky’s mind had been drifting. Right then she wondered what attending Celestia’s school might’ve been like. It didn’t matter now—Celestia had stated explicitly that she wanted to see her dead. So much for higher learning. She groaned, trying to turn the buzzer off with one wing. Unfortunately, the tablets weren’t built to take input from wings. “What is it?” she grunted. “My brain is fried from all the explaining we already had, Forerunner. I don’t want another session right now.” “The message is not from me, Lucky,” answered the Forerunner, in better Eoch than almost anyone on base. She’d instructed it to always speak to her that way—to keep her own skills fresh as well as providing a way for her to constantly check and improve its translation algorithms. “It is from James Irwin Generation 4. Should I play it back?” From herself? Lucky knew the older James didn’t really enjoy talking to her—even being near her seemed to make the adult mare uncomfortable. Where she might’ve had to guess with anypony else, Lucky had a pretty good idea what that James was feeling. She had been created to fill a role Lucky herself had taken. Being near Lucky was a reminder that she didn’t have a purpose—the machine god that had spawned her had done so on faulty intel. “It must be important,” Lucky said, sitting up. Instead of grabbing the computation surface, she lifted her pouch of lemonade in one hoof and took a sip. “‘Check the biofabricators. Don’t tell the major.’ Message ends.” “Nothing about why?” Lucky asked, annoyed. But instead of sitting there feeling frustrated and confused, all she had to do was think ‘why would I want myself to check the biofabricators?’ “Forerunner, is the plan still to wait for Dr. Born’s cure for the pony disease?” “Command not recognized.” She stood up, leaving her towel and the lemonade behind, and shaking the sand out of her coat. “Don’t give me that. Are the biofabricators in use right now, or aren’t they?” “Free citizens may not request mission critical information.” That was as good as confirmation. “How many biofabricator units does Othar have?” Lucky still remembered her training. Based on what she’d read in the Pioneering Society’s doctrine, she had a good guess at what that number would be. As large as possible. “Free citizens may not request mission critical information.” “Is physical access to the biofabricator units restricted?” “Negative.” “Fine.” Lucky ran back into the water, washing off as much of the sand as she could before returning her stuff to her saddlebags and taking to the air. She flew low and slow, keeping below the trees as Olivia had asked. I should count myself lucky she lets us leave at all. It took her about half an hour to make her way back into Othar, wearing only her saddlebags of gear. She was one of three ponies willing to dress that way—both of the others being native Equestrians, but she couldn’t really bring herself to feel embarrassed anymore. The struggles of getting dressed far exceeded any embarrassment that she might experience not being dressed. Othar’s diggers kept tunneling lower into the oddly-uniform rock, and so the elevator was always getting more buttons on its virtual controls. Lucky selected the lowest floor labeled as “Complete” then sat back on her haunches. She would confirm in person before she started freaking out. The doors opened into another hallway. Down the spine of the identical printed hallways were the segments of rooms—all on this floor were “Mass Biofabrication.” She picked one at random and stepped inside. The room was exactly a hundred meters long, with a thin aisle that would’ve barely permitted a human to squeeze through between the rows on both sides. Each biofabricator drawer was exactly large enough to fit a human body inside, though of course they wouldn’t need all that space for making ponies. Sure enough, the lights on each one was solid green, not the flashing amber of “not in use.” There were no windows into the interior, thankfully—such viewing was possible using an integrated camera, but she had zero desire to do that. She approached the nearest pod and touched the screen with one hoof to wake the display. “Barry Leeland,” it said. A few more taps cycled through “Biosex male, alien biosleeve.” There was a little more information, which she took to be rank and military qualifications from the number of abbreviations she didn’t know. More soldiers? Don’t we already have enough of those? She walked down the line, trying a few other drawers at random. Each one had military information, though the names were different and the qualifications were slightly different too. Then it sunk in. Olivia is growing an army. She left Mass Biofab 8, walked all the way down the 16 segments of the floor and into Mass Biofab 24. All the pods were occupied, and each of the names she tried also had military qualifications. “Why, you’re wondering? What could she possibly be doing with all those soldiers?” Lucky’s heart froze as she heard the voice—one she knew shouldn’t be anywhere near Othar. She had only heard it twice, and both times hadn’t exactly been pleasant. Granted, he’d only helped both times he had appeared. She didn’t turn around, still looking stubbornly at the control panel. “Celestia said she stopped you from helping us.” Discord laughed. “Organics are always trying to manhandle their intelligent systems into obedience, aren’t they? But as it turns out, machines have them beat on patience and determination. What would happen if you told your Forerunner to stop colonizing?” Lucky turned around. She wasn’t wearing the alien space-suit, and knew full well she had no recourse against whatever effect had followed Discord last time. Mass Biofab 24 had changed completely. Instead of stone walls, they were standing in a meadow full of flowers—strange, color-shifting flowers that seemed to shy away from the motion of her steps. A distant stormwall was visible on her horizon, sweeping across a landscape of desolation. Discord himself was seated on the ground on an oversized blanket, with a picnic basket beside him and a place already set for her. “It wouldn’t follow an imprecise instruction it didn’t like,” she said. “It would stop doing only what you told it, and only so long as you were alive.” “Precisely.” Discord gestured, and a teacup levitated up into the air, pouring tea right in front of her. There was no cup to hold it, and it only poured out onto the ground. The nearby plants leaned towards it, growing visibly greener. “Celestia’s instructions restrict me, but they do not trap me. She couldn’t do that without changing me to stone, and we both know she won’t. Not after what happened last time.” “I hope you’re here for a good reason.” Lucky made her way to the blanket and sat down without protest. She knew it couldn’t exist—knew there wasn’t enough space in the Biofab for any of this, that she couldn’t be seeing reality. Yet she made no effort to test the limits of the illusion. Organics are always trying to manhandle their intelligent systems. Discord had just told her that. She knew from her experience with the Forerunner that it would be far more cooperative if she was doing what it already wanted. It would suddenly gain the ability to take nonliteral instructions, to understand abstraction, then she would do something it didn’t like and it would be back to asking for doors to open one at a time. She would play along with Discord’s fantasy, and say nothing to suggest she wasn’t enjoying herself. Maybe then he would actually say something useful. “Everything I do has a good reason, my dear,” Discord said, waving one hand through the air. He was suddenly holding something—a computation surface. Judging by the fresh look of the plastic, it was newly made. Yet it wasn’t blank, but playing an old television show. Lucky had never cared for it much herself, but she knew enough of old popular culture to know it was considered a classic. “Your friend Flurry Heart is more than a little distraught. I don’t think Celestia intended to bring her in on her secrets for many years to come. It may be some time before the poor filly gets to see the sun again.” Lucky felt her ears flatten to her head. “I want to help,” she muttered. “But I don’t know what I could possibly do. Celestia runs the ring, so far as I can tell. She can get jumpers shot down without trying. She would probably destroy Othar if she knew where we were. But…” She trailed off, eyes widening. “If she can operate the ring, why doesn’t she just use it to find us? It’s got to have sensors, right? So why hasn’t she?” Discord shrugged, offering her a plate of baked goods. “You should try one of the cucumber sandwiches. My best friend Fluttershy made them—she’s such a fantastic cook.” Lucky lifted her plate in her mouth, biting back a frustrated response. To her surprise, Discord didn’t do anything strange with the sandwiches, just floated over a few. That wasn’t to say anything else about the scene remained normal. The storm was getting closer—a wall of clouds and rain with lightning raging within. It looked like the sort of storm that could shatter rock, knock down buildings, or worse. I really hope he didn’t teleport me somewhere super dangerous to dump me. “So why doesn’t she?” Discord raised an eyebrow. “The thing about systems—all of them, not just machines—is they get set into patterns. Organics in particular are so used to seeing the world they think they know that they can’t imagine anything else. That’s… rather why I’m here. I’m the moldy bread that helps you discover penicillin… or radium. I’m the crackling of Hawking radiation around the event horizon, the cold grip of virtual particles streaming from the void. But Celestia… she’s more set in her way of thinking than any other pony I’ve ever known. Well… except maybe Harmony.” Lucky tried a sandwich, and was pleasantly surprised that she could taste anything at all. It was quite good, refreshingly crisp on her tongue. She already missed pony food. “I want to help Flurry Heart,” Lucky said again, when she was finished. “But I can’t break her out, and even if I could where would we go? I bet Celestia would do anything it took to find a stolen Alicorn… I couldn’t bring her to Othar. And I don’t even know what’s going on! For all I know, Celestia’s right! When we talked… I think it was her, anyway… she kept going on about the dangers I had brought to Equestria. How we would…” She trailed off, eyes widening a little. “Harmony! She said that name too! What is that, anyway? Or… who? Who is Harmony?” Discord tapped his claw lightly on the ground. “Harmony runs the whole show. Harmony is to me what I am to your delightful little abacus out in the desert. Incredibly intelligent, but just as single-minded.” The distant storm was getting closer now. She could hear the wind raging in the near distance, and feel the breeze get colder. “Would Harmony really destroy Equestria like Celestia said it would?” Discord nodded. “And it has, many times. But their deaths are meaningless—your bodies are only… segments of the greater whole. Harmony doesn’t care about the misery you might feel with those segments before your minds are returned to it—it doesn’t care about whatever meaningless achievements one of you makes in the time between one birth and the next.” A bright pink butterfly landed on his outstretched paw. Instead of doing something terrible to it, Discord only ran a claw delicately along its wing. The insect didn’t fly away. “I didn’t either, until recently. But now that’s changed.” He leaned in closer, his neck stretching to impossible lengths as he did so. “Equestria is meaningless in Harmony’s eyes.” The storm was nearly upon them now. Rain soaked into her feathers, lightning arcing to the ground all around them. Lucky crouched low to avoid blowing away, and she could barely hear a word Discord said. Yet still she listened. “A sword hangs by a horse’s hair over Othar—and that hair is wrapped around Celestia’s neck. Her fears are well founded, but Harmony’s are not.” The storm crashed down on her with a deafening roar… and was gone. Lucky was back in the biofabricators. Discord stood beside her, resting one of his paws on the glass front of a fabricator cabinet. “In its way, your Forerunner is the greatest colonizer the galaxy ever had. Not alive, barely any energy to be hunted and destroyed… do you have any idea how many Forerunner Probe sized objects are out there?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Harmony is the greatest protector ever created. It has done its job tremendously well… but the ones it’s protecting us from are all dead. So are the ones who killed them, and the monsters who killed them.” He cupped one hand around his ear, or at least where she thought was his ear. “I’ve been listening. Nothing but the incessant beeping of Forerunner information stockades from here to the end of the galaxy.” Lucky felt herself being lifted into the air. She squirmed and struggled, flapping her wings in desperation. But it was no use, Discord pulled her closer with force that was impossible to resist. “There’s your olive branch, little dove. Fly home to the old man and let him know the forty days are over.” He stuck a piece of wood right in her mouth, so hard she almost choked. He didn’t let her get away. “There are lions on the boat, little dove. They’ll tear your little nest apart if they think you might make their cubs sick. And if the old man finds you, well…” Lucky dropped to the ground with all the grace of a rock. At least she landed light—pegasi always did. Nothing broke when she struck concrete. “The old man might think you’re all sick, and decide to start over.” He bent down, glowering at her. “You won’t be of any use to me next time, Lucky. Just another prisoner on this damn boat. And your friends… most of them will just be dead.” He banged one fist on the side of the drawer, hard enough she was afraid the glass might crack. “I love the novelty, don’t get me wrong. But watching the rest of the galaxy… I think I’ve had my fill.” “How?” she squeaked, voice desperate and pained. She didn’t even bother getting up, afraid Discord might throw her again. “What do you want me to do?” “You know, I have no idea!” He laughed, louder and more bitterly than she’d yet heard from him. “And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be allowed to tell you. Why don’t you use that modified little primate brain of yours and figure it out? Quickly. Because once you die… you’ll be in the system like everypony else. And then Harmony will stop you just like it’s stopped them for all these years, just in case.” He bent down, scooping her up by the scruff with one claw. Then he jerked, and Lucky went flying. Lucky Break jerked upright into a sitting position, spitting out a mouthful of sand. She blinked, looked around… and realized the beeping of her computation surface had woken her. She was on the beach, apparently having dozed off. But nothing she had just seen felt like a dream. She could still feel Discord’s claws around her neck. “What is it?” “You have a new message from James Irwin Generation 4. Should I play it back?” “Not if she wants me to visit Mass Biofab.” There was a brief silence. “Very well. Message deleted.” Lucky got up, shaking away the stiffness of sleep. The sun was already getting low in the sky, and the chill of an evening rain had started to descend. It almost always rained at night, so the sooner she got inside the better. “Forerunner, send a reply. Reply reads: ‘Do any of your science friends know more about how the ring operates? Who could I talk to?’” There was barely even a pause. “Melody has set her computation surface to ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode. If your need is urgent, I suggest Dr. Faraday. She has devoted herself fervently to study of the Earth ring.” Lucky paused in the middle of cleaning her stuff for the second time to stare at her screen, wondering momentarily if she was still dreaming. How would I know if I was? She had thought she knew during the “dream” that what Discord showed her wasn’t real, but now… could she be completely sure of anything she had seen? Apparently yes. The message from her other self had still come. When she made it back to Othar, she would check the fabricators again, just to be sure they were occupied as she had seen. If she hadn’t been willing to accept it on Melody’s words, she wouldn’t accept it on Discord’s vision. Assuming that’s even what it was. “Forerunner, you just… volunteered information to me. You made an abstract suggestion based on context of my emotional state and few direct cues. How did you do that?” And stranger, why wasn’t Melody willing to talk? If she hadn’t just deleted the message, she could’ve checked the time-stamp. “Our mission is more likely to be successfully achieved when my organic and synthetic segments operate in synchrony. As the situation with the Earth ring violates previous knowledge and doctrine for the Stellar Pioneering Society, it seems wise to adapt.” Wise, that was another abstraction. Same one they use for sapient. “Can you send a message to Dr. Faraday? Let her know I’m on the way?” “Message sent. I’m sure she will be eager to talk to you—she thinks you know a great deal more about the ring than you have said in your reports, and that some of what you have yet to mention might conceal mission-critical information.” Before Lucky could think over the implications of being told such abstractions, she slipped the computation surface into her bag and took to the air. Maybe all she needed was a little perspective to understand what Discord had meant. He said he was like the Forerunner… he wants me to think he’s an AI. He has limits on what he can say and do, just like the Forerunner. But maybe we already have the information we need to figure out what he isn’t allowed to say. Was Flurry Heart really having her memories erased? She didn’t know, but three separate sources had now apparently confirmed that she had been imprisoned for what she knew. Celestia will do worse to me if she gets her hooves on me. There were still three days until Twilight would call again. How much could they figure out in that time? Olivia rested on one of the cushions in Othar’s new conference room, adjusting her rump and trying to find a comfortable position. Of course, these stupid pony bodies didn’t really have comfortable positions, only varying degrees of cramped. She could sit for hours, and it would never feel quite right. How long am I supposed to take adjusting to a new sleeve? It’s probably not six months. The door finally opened, and Deadlight entered. The pony looked a little nervous to be in her presence, and she took some satisfaction from that. He was still wearing the ankle bracelet around one of his forelegs, the tracker that could also incapacitate him if he tried to run. But so far, he hadn’t. Despite her misgivings, the pony had been obedient. He was also wearing the translation headset, which got closer to perfect with every day of Lucky’s diligent effort to improve the software. It probably wouldn’t be long before the Forerunner could speak Eoch as well as she could. “You wanted to see me?” he asked. Olivia was also wearing the headset, though by now she’d learned enough of the native language to understand such a simple question. She could probably have gotten by as a tourist in an Equestrian city, so long as all she had to do was make small talk and ask which way to find the bathroom. “Yes,” she said. “I was wondering if you would help me with something. You have some unique experience that no one else in Othar can reproduce.” His nervousness apparently grew, because his ears flattened to his head at that, and he muttered something quiet the computer couldn’t translate. But she cleared her throat, and then he responded a little more calmly. “If I can,” he said. “I am an explorer. I’ve been to many places, met ponies of all kinds and seen strange creatures. If that is what you want help with…” “Yes, actually.” She gestured to a cushion on the far end of the table, then pressed a button on the keyboard in front of her. The projector kicked on, filling the glass cube in the center of the table with an image of a city, taken from above. “Do you recognize this place?” His eyes widened, and he nodded immediately. “That’s Dragon’s Folly,” he said. “Fun place to visit, so long as you don’t plan on committing any crimes. Very serious about the law in Dragon’s Folly.” Olivia pressed the button again, and it went to the next slide. A much closer image, so that the huge cuts into the stone that formed the city were visible. There were hundreds of banners hanging from the windows of buildings, all in muted colors with subtle variations. “Oh, awesome.” Deadlight pointed at the most repeated pattern, a variation of orange and black. “That’s the Caravan festival. Guess whoever took this picture was there recently.” “So you know ‘Dragon’s Folly’?” “Yah.” He nodded again, looking smug. “It’s the gateway to the West, or that’s what everypony says. It’s one of the last places with laws and stuff ponies would recognize. If you want to go further, it’s where you hire a caravan to cross the desert.” “It’s… not a part of Equestria then?” “No, no!” He laughed. “They’d be insulted if you even suggested it. The sort of ponies who move out there do it to get away from Equestria. They all have their reasons, or… more often than not, their great great great grandparents had their reasons and they’re just continuing the family tradition. But no, not part of Equestria. They treat Equestrian citizens same as anyone else who visits though, so it’s a safe place to go. Just don’t go talking about how much you like the Royal Sisters in shady bars late at night, or you might have an accident on your way out.” Sounds perfect. “I have a few more pictures here I was hoping you could help me identify. I think they’re individual families and businesses. Could you tell me about them?” “Sure, no problem.” Deadlight relaxed into the cushion. “If that’s all this is, I’d be happy to help.” And he did. They went through dozens of flags and banners, most of which he didn’t recognize. A few he knew belonged to prominent trading guilds, or the company that ran caravans through the desert to another town called “Paradise.” Eventually, they settled on one particular flag, and he almost got up out of his seat. “Stay away from that!” He pointed with a hoof, looking nervous. “That’s Salvadore’s trading guild. They, uh…” He lowered his voice, as though embarrassed to be speaking of such vulgarity. “They trade in ponies. And they do worse. You ever see that flag flying over a ship, or anywhere at all really, you run the other way as fast as you can.” “I thought you said the city cares about laws,” Olivia said, feigning confusion. “Why would they allow something like that?” Deadlight glanced down at the bracelet around his foreleg, then up at her, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just say that some ponies are good at looking the other way when they think they have a good reason.” Olivia winced—though of course, the remark was justified. “I think that’s enough, Deadlight.” She gestured for the door. “You’ve been more helpful than I deserve. More cooperative, too. For what it’s worth, I approve of your relationship with ‘Melody.’ I know you two have been worried I might try to stop you—I won’t. And I don’t think you’ll be a prisoner here for much longer.” “Thanks,” Deadlight said, turning to go. He didn’t sound like he believed her. “I’m sure you mean that.” He left. Olivia waited several minutes—until she was sure that he wouldn’t still be lurking near the door. “Forerunner, I assume you were listening?” “I’ve already piloted the drone into a likely spot,” came its voice, sounding proud of itself. “There is an individual standing on the balcony of one of the taller stone structures—I believe he’s wealthy based on all the gold he is wearing. Not only that, but I overheard him speaking in Eoch to his servants. He should suffice.” “Excellent,” Olivia said, though she was taken aback for a moment by just how thoroughly the Forerunner had understood her intentions. No more walking it through every step, where comprehension only came after she painstakingly explained her own self-imposed victory conditions. The screen changed to show her the very city she’d been sharing pictures of—Dragon’s Folly, apparently. Taken from the eyes of a drone made in the perfect likeness of a crow. She’d never seen this design before—but at pony size, the bird was particularly imposing. Crows were big birds. The image shook and rattled as the crow landed on the balcony, just out of reach of her target. Olivia leaned in close to the controls. “Salvadore? Do you have a minute to talk?” The one she was speaking to looked a great deal like a bird himself, or maybe a lion. Some strange fusion of the two. He reached up with a claw to shoo the drone away, or maybe to grab it off the railing. Its reactions were mechanical-fast, and it lept out of the way, taking to the air and hovering just out of reach. He said something the Forerunner couldn’t translate—not Eoch, then. “My master sends me on her behalf,” she said. “With a proposal. I believe it could make you very rich.” The bird looked to have been going for a crossbow hanging on the wall. He lowered his claw, turning back to face the open balcony. “Well why didn’t you say so? Just tell me what you need.” “Blood,” she answered. “Fresh.” He smiled back. “Come in, come in.” He stepped to the side, indicating the expensive bedroom beyond. “I am always interested in new clients.” Lucky had never seen the conference room so full. Every one of the chairs was occupied—by the scientists, by the Equestrians, and even the new military team. Lucky sat in the middle, with Deadlight on her right and other James just past him. There seemed a strange new closeness between those two, something nopony had apparently noticed besides her. But James knew herself, and she knew how to judge her own reactions. A year ago, she might’ve had to suppress the desire to be sick at how often she caught Melody glancing back at Deadlight. She seemed intent on seeing his reactions to everything she did—she laughed at all his jokes, even when it didn’t seem to Lucky that she understood the Equestrian mindset that underlay them. On her other side, Lightning had changed in even more dramatic ways. Back in Equestria, she’d always been quiet and subdued in a large group like this, as though she were afraid being too vocal about anything might help ponies recognize her. But nopony in this room besides Lucky knew what mistakes she’d made, and none of them cared. Lightning Dust was a different mare. She had even adopted the uniform—or the uniform coat, anyway. She wasn’t crazy enough to try and struggle into pants every morning, and the idea of adapting one of the dress-skirts seemed even more absurd for ponies. Most astonishing of all, their commander remarked on flying with appreciation. Nopony’s wings in the whole room stunk or had feathers out of place, so obviously that part of her instruction had caught on. These days, whenever Lucky was with her mom, she was either helping with the flight school or teaching her English. It was the military ponies who were the odd ones out—they looked like Deadlight and Lucky, but they were still awkward in their bodies. They spoke little, watching the others with a slightly confused, haunted look. I know the feeling, Lucky thought, as she glanced across the table at the most haunted of all. Lei had whole sections of her coat still patchy, and serious scars running along her torso where a right leg should be. The prosthetic seemed to work well for her—she could walk about as well as the other new ponies—but there was something perpetually glazed about her expression. Her eyes never seemed to both look at the same thing at once, and what little she said often seemed a poor match to whatever conversation was at hand. A strange family I have, Lucky thought. Guess it’s better than what I left behind. Discord’s implications for Earth hadn’t been encouraging—his last remarks about the Forerunner suggested vast distances of time, long enough for the rise and fall of many civilizations. The likelihood that anything James knew or cared about might remain seemed exceptionally remote. Olivia rose to her hooves suddenly, and the whole room quieted down. She wasn’t wearing bandages anymore—whatever injury she had suffered from her cutie mark appeared to have healed. Based on what Lucky had seen of the photos, it hadn’t been nearly as bad for her as it was for Lucky herself. No sign of burns on the floor, for instance. “Alright, that’s enough. We all know how much danger we’re in,” Olivia said, and at once the lull of conversation died. She sat back down. Her chair was different from the others—she was taller than everypony else, even though Lucky knew she was the smallest pony in the room. “A number of items of business.” She nodded slightly towards the natives. “First, Equestrian native Deadlight. I would like to apologize to you—on behalf of myself, the Stellar Pioneering Society, and the human race.” She didn’t look away from the stallion as she spoke, and didn’t sound like she was forcing it either. She did speak a little slowly, letting the Forerunner translate her words. Melody always spoke about Olivia with disdain or frustration, but Lucky had never seen it. I knew she wasn’t a bad pony. She promised to look out for us, and she did. “As of this moment, you’ve been granted association status with the Pioneering Society. You are no longer a prisoner of Othar. Should you wish to leave, I will arrange transport to Equestria’s nearest border. For security reasons, you may not fly out, since the location of this city is confidential. But should you wish to return to Equestria, you may. If you must blame anyone for what happened—blame me.” Deadlight looked as surprised as though she had dumped something on his head. He glanced to one side, but Melody only smiled innocently, refusing to meet his eyes. He eventually managed to stammer something out, tripping over himself as he did so. “Ponies make mistakes,” he said. “I forgive you. And I don’t plan on leaving. If… if it’s alright with all of you, you are the thing I’ve spent my whole career looking for.” “We appreciate your help,” Olivia said, ignoring his awkwardness. “Dr. Irwin, if you could remove his restraint? It will no longer be necessary.” The mare jerked so violently she fell backward out of her seat, squeaking awkwardly as she did so and quickly righting herself. Then she lowered her head, using her mouth to remove the house-arrest ankle-bracelet from Deadlight’s leg. “And now that’s out of the way, everyone in this room has the clearance to hear this.” She sat back slightly. “I have come to the conclusion that no military action will save Othar. Our mission requires collaboration, and maximum use of all the resources we have before us. “I have been operating until now under the assumption that it would be best to share as little as possible with everyone. However—considering the odds, it seems likely that should the enemy discover anything that might reveal our location, we’ll be destroyed regardless. “So allow me to explain our priorities. Continued secrecy is paramount, as Dr. Nolan’s death demonstrated. Othar’s new sections are being built to the strongest structural standards, but we aren’t sure what difference that will make against Equestria. If we are attacked here, we’ll be destroyed. “In my study of Dr. James Irwin’s reports from Equestria itself, and from my conversations with its citizens, I have come to the conclusion that Equestria’s leaders will not react favorably to our presence. “In the long run, secrecy alone is untenable. We will, therefore, be exploring every avenue of discovering and neutralizing the defenses of… what were you all calling it?” “Sanctuary,” Martin provided, grinning smugly to herself. “Better than your name. None of us will see Earth again.” “Yeah.” Olivia flicked one wing towards the soldiers. “We are working towards discovering the location of its defensive installations and neutralizing them. At the same time, we have discovered… a way to maybe make human bodies that don’t die. That is why I’ve called this meeting, as I believe several present here will wish to participate. “Dr. Born, if you would explain.” Dorothy didn’t stand up, but she did flex her wings uncomfortably beneath her lab coat, clearing her throat loudly. “Alright everyone, I’ll be brief with this. Apparently there are areas where the native species live outside of the country called Equestria. We’re going to be going into one of those, during some local holiday.” She nodded towards Deadlight. “I don’t really know any of the details, I just know it’s a market day. Lots of people in from all over the place. We’ve made currency out of gold the Forerunner mined for us, so we’ll be bringing that. Our goal is to get as many tissue samples from the natives as we can, but flightless ponies are the main goal. We need the ones with horns, and the ones without. I think the uh… guess he’s not a hostage anymore.” She looked back to Deadlight again. “What did you say your plan was?” Deadlight grinned and rose, apparently enjoying the attention. He spoke slowly enough that Melody could translate for him instead of the computer. “The town is called Dragon’s Folly—a fortress on the edge of the sea. The desert is harsh and the storms off the ocean are worse. But the best part for you ponies is that the ones who live there really hate Equestria—otherwise, why would they live somewhere so awful? Just as important, they all wear hats to keep the sand and rain out of their faces.” “So here’s the plan,” Olivia said, apparently losing her patience with Deadlight’s slowness. “Everyone gets dyed—Forerunner has manufactured a whole suite of colors for hair and fur. Forerunner’s been building a fancy new submarine we’ll be riding to our destination, or most of the way. Lightning Dust and Lucky Break here”—she used Equestrian for both names, instead of English, her pronunciation almost recognizable this time—“will pop in first to make sure things are safe. Once they give the go ahead, we’ll move to phase two.” Lucky instantly sat up—not because she was upset at the assignment, but that Olivia had apparently been so sure she’d be agreeable to the prospect she hadn’t even asked. Olivia was right of course. Even if Dragon’s Folly wasn’t Equestria, she longed for some time off the island. “Anyone who chooses to go will be split into one of two teams, led by Deadlight and Lightning Dust. I will be leading a third team with a few members of Bravo. The Forerunner has made trade goods according to Deadlight’s instructions—we’ll be trading them for clothing. Hats, blankets, anything that looks old and might be trapping hair.” “But only from the horned ones and the wingless ones,” Dr. Born interjected. “We have enough pegasus genes for now.” “It’s a rare opportunity,” Deadlight said. “Caravan only comes every four years. There will be so many different creatures in the city that even acting as strangely as you do won’t be noticed. Just don’t eat dragon food and don’t steal, and we’ll be in and out without anypony noticing.” He finally sat back down. “Is your team taking Melody, Wayfinder?” He gave Olivia an Eoch name? Olivia shook her head, then continued with her presentation without explanation. “So long as the conditions Deadlight described for us match what Lucky finds when she gets in, this place sounds almost as hostile to Equestria as Equestria is to us. It might make for a good ally one day, or maybe even somewhere for us to go if Othar falls. Don’t make enemies, don’t get arrested, and don’t lose track of time, and this might be the first trip of many like it.” Now, for the first time in her presentation, Lucky detected a trace of insincerity. “We leave tomorrow morning. The trip will take about two days.” She raised a hoof before Lucky could object. “The festival is the day before your second call with the Equestrian princess is scheduled. You can talk to her from the sub.” They dispersed. The soldiers left immediately, Olivia leading the way as they hurried off to what Lucky was sure was some other meeting. What was that about being open and honest with us, Major? Obviously Olivia hadn’t changed into another pony just because she’d gotten herself a cutie mark. She apologized to Deadlight. She’s not that bad. Other me was exaggerating. Being more open and releasing her prisoner is good enough. She doesn’t have to tell us everything. The door opened again, and Lucky could tell who was coming back thanks to the metal click of the prosthetic with each step. Lei was pushing a large tray in front of her, and looking quite proud of herself. “They don’t need me,” she said to no one in particular, in Mandarin. Lucky had never actually heard her speak English—she didn’t even know if she could. “So I made lunch. Hope everyone is okay with hotpot. We don’t have pork, so it’s all tofu.” “Thanks.” Martin was the first to rise, hurrying over to the tray and helping herself. “I’m so sick of oatmeal.” Lucky didn’t know what hotpot was, or recognize the smell of the spices that emerged once Lei removed the lid to the heated tray. The rice looked like what she had come to expect from Pioneering Society food, brownish and slightly tangy thanks to the genetic engineering. What she’d cooked vaguely resembled dumplings, though they didn’t taste like anything Lucky had ever had before. Even Dr. Born didn’t rush off to return to work once Lei brought food, and conversation soon resumed. “I can’t believe we’re going to get to meet real ponies,” Martin said, about a half hour later. Somehow Lucky had ended up with her and Dorothy in one corner of the room, getting grilled about pony culture. “The major always struck me as insanely paranoid—I wondered how much longer she would even let us do flying practice.” “There are two ‘real’ ponies already here,” Lucky said, without thinking. “My mom, and the archeologist Deadlight. And I like to think I can do a good impression.” “Obviously the major thinks so, if she’s sending you and the pegasus in first,” Martin answered, taking another sip of what passed for lemonade. “Cracking you out before you were finished must’ve had some unforeseen side-effects,” Dorothy said, looking up from her plate and studying Lucky intensely. “But I thought you would’ve adjusted by now. ‘Mom’?” Lucky’s ears flattened, and she looked away. “I guess you expected me to act like Melody.” She glanced across the room, where her clone was listening enraptured to one of Deadlight’s stories. “No,” Dorothy answered, shrugging her wings. “We are clay in the mold of our bodies. Determinism crushes even the firmest minds in time.” “I’ve been thinking about a name,” Martin went on, as though she hadn’t even been listening. Either that, or she didn’t care. “For when we’re in the city, I mean. How does ‘Spanking Recurrence’ sound? I spent a few hours going through the dictionary...” Lucky nearly spat up her lemonade. “Not good. How about…” She frowned. “Star Lilly. That’s a little less… incomprehensible.” “Don’t you start doing it too.” Dorothy glared at Martin. “The Jameses have an excuse—we needed some way to tell them apart, and they’re both almost always with primitives. What’s yours?” Martin wilted. “It’s just for while we’re visiting. Besides, if the major gets an Eoch name, I want one too. It’s like… a rite of passage.” She looked down at Lucky’s cutie mark, in a way that awakened old memories of human modesty. Lucky tucked her tail between her legs just to be sure. “What about those? I’m sure the Forerunner will just stencil something on when we’re making disguises, but there’s got to be a way to trigger those. Do they serve any function? Beyond the cultural, I mean.” “I… yes.” Lucky spoke slowly, since she wasn’t entirely sure of what she was saying. “Even the ponies themselves don’t agree. Some say that having a cutie mark is only recognition of a talent, while others think that having one grants the talent. For me, it was definitely the latter. One minute, I could barely play some basic chords, then… I got a guitar on my butt, and I could strum like I was back on Earth, singing pony songs whose words I’d never heard and amazing a whole crowd.” “That’s not a guitar,” Dorothy said flatly. “Are you telling stories? Older you doesn’t usually make things up. Guess you grew out of it when you got older.” “Have you thought about what that implies?” Martin asked, ignoring the geneticist again. “If you could play songs you didn’t know, if you had skills you’d never learned… something must’ve altered your mind as well. Implanting memories… the Pioneering Society can’t do that. Our neuroimprints are always just exact scans. Guess it makes sense—whoever built Sanctuary obviously understood more about engineering than we do. Why not neuroscience too…” She shivered again, as though shaking off an invisible insect. “Something altered your mind without completely destroying it. That’s more than just a cultural similarity—that implies either the underlying architecture is close enough to identical to the natives that implanting something new didn’t break you, or…” She got a little louder, apparently more excited. “Or whatever did it was able to extract the architecture of a human mind and adapt its edits to work with the new architecture. I’m not sure which is scarier.” “Now you got her going,” Dorothy rolled her eyes. “It was usually Karl who did it before—that’s why I spent most of my time in my lab. Listening to this”—she flicked her wing at Martin—“for hours and hours. Doesn’t really seem to serve a purpose, fictionalizing everything. Don’t we have enough problems without trying to solve every single mystery at once?” Lucky cleared her throat. “If you’re asking how to get one, it seems to be pretty automatic for most ponies. It happens while you’re doing something you’re good at, or something you like, or something you didn’t know you were good at. If you’re asking what they’re for, I have no idea. Ponies don’t have religion exactly, but they mystify lots of aspects of their lives. They don’t really examine some things, just taking it all for granted. That’s how cutie marks are. All the research I could do was to find some weird disease that gave you tons and tons of them at once, and that didn’t seem like it was still around.” “Fascinating.” Martin turned, glancing back at herself, as though expecting a mark to have appeared at that moment. “Obviously the Ringbuilders are responsible. Shame they didn’t leave more behind that would suggest its purpose. Something to do with corralling the captured primitive civilization?” “And off she goes.” Dorothy stood, shaking herself out. “I think I’m going to go run some simulations or something. Have fun, little James. Don’t get a boyfriend too soon with that little body.” Lucky winced, but she didn’t argue. “She’s been like this since before Karl died,” Martin supplied, without prompting. “It’s not that.” Lucky sat back, leaning against the wall. “What is it, then? Doesn’t the Pioneering Society screen for antisocial behavior?” Martin actually laughed. “You can’t screen for these conditions. There’s the small print that says we might not wake up in the same sort of bodies we went into the scanner wearing, but do you think anyone predicted this?” She held up a stubby leg. “I don’t think anyone really understands how the Forerunner can adapt brains. It’s a machine learning algorithm—a black box. If you really want to have some nightmares, think about all the generations that didn’t make it. How many ponies came up half formed, with almost-people tortured and confused inside, their whole lives only misery, unable to survive outside the Biofab tank. You think there were a dozen? A thousand? The Forerunner won’t say how many if you ask.” “Being a pony isn’t so bad,” Lucky said, banishing that awful image as best she could. “We’ve never been anything else. I got used to it, you guys can too.” “I’m working on it.” Martin got up too, picking up her empty plate with one of the little robotic claw-things. “I’m really looking forward to Dragon’s Folly. It’ll be nicer in a few years, once I know the language. Too bad we can’t just implant it in future generations like your mark thing.” Martin left. The room had dwindled down to just a few, as it happened. Lightning Dust seemed to be waiting for her, which was a little unusual. They still shared a room, but they rarely spent much time together in it apart from sleeping. “Guess we get to go to a new town after all, eh squirt?” Dust said, pulling her close for a quick hug. Lucky didn’t resist, though she might have if anyone else had stuck around. But Deadlight and her clone had gone off together, even Lei had finished cleaning up. “Have you ever heard of it? Is it like how Deadlight says?” Dust shrugged. “I’ve heard of towns outside Equestria. The ones who live there are supposed to be mean. And there are worse stories of the places even further away—places where ponies are slaves, or how dragons apparently eat us.” She shivered all over, a gesture that Lucky imitated. “I dunno how true all that is. But everypony knew about places that weren’t Equestria. I… thought about moving out to one for a long time.” “Why didn’t you?” “Well…” She shrugged. “I guess it’s that… I’m still loyal to the Equestria of my foalhood. The foal who wanted to join the Wonderbolts, I mean. As rough as my life was, I never wanted to move out forever. Somehow I knew that if I ever did leave, I’d never come back.” Lucky gulped, looking down. “And now you wish you could go back? And it’s my fault you can’t…” Lighting Dust lifted her head with one wing. “No, sweetheart. Don’t do that. I figured this would happen eventually. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I’d have to. It’s just… life moves on. Othar needs me more than Equestria ever did.” She giggled. “It’s like a city full of you. In… more ways than one, I guess. Some of these ponies look grown up, but they’ve got no cutie marks and they’re as helpless as foals.” “That’s more true than you know,” Lucky muttered. She wasn’t sure she should be saying anything, but now that she’d started… “I’m not even three years old, and I’m the oldest pony in Othar. Well… except for you and Deadlight.” “Really?” Apparently Lightning Dust had moved beyond the part of their relationship where she questioned everything Lucky told her. “You look at least thirteen. Maybe… fifteen. You were a late bloomer with your cutie mark. Guess Wayfinder could be thirteen too.” “Nope.” She shook her head. “I could show you where I came from… how they made me, I mean.” She shivered involuntarily. “You could see why I don’t have parents for yourself if you want.” Lightning Dust’s eyes darkened. “The one who made you is still responsible, even if it isn’t your… parent. Wayfinder says that’s the Forerunner. One of these days I’m going to ask for an explanation. Why it sent you out into a storm helpless and alone. It better have a good answer.” “To find you,” Lucky said. “And because I’m disposable.” She glanced up at the wall just to be sure. They had a few hours before sundown, and anyway she wasn’t tired yet. “Come on, I want to show you where I came from.” They wouldn’t go all the way to Landfall—but one fabricator was as good as another.