//------------------------------// // Act 3 Chapter 53 : An Excellent Weapon // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// "Revenge is a dish best served with a side of gravy, a decent starter, biscuits, and macaroons." - Rear Admiral Rye, after the Battle of Singe Pass when he managed to bring down the dragon Sortok, responsible for the attack on Shadow Valley. Rye's forces had been on forced march for three days and had not eaten the entire time. Of every unpleasantness she’d suffered while stuck with a body, Nightmare quickly moved ‘coming awake while vomiting’ right to the very top.  She coughed, clawing at her aching throat with both hooves as she struggled for breath. A steadying leg wrapped around her shoulders and something cold pressed against her lips.       “Drink.”     Greedily sipping from the flask, Nightmare gagged on something that tasted like battery acid lightly diluted with drain cleaner.     “P-poison!” she sputtered, shoving the flask away.     “Malt whiskey, aged twenty years, but the two are similar.  That makes you Nightmare Moon, then. Hard Boiled would suck this down like mother’s milk.”     Opening her eyelids, she found Bones standing over her.  Panic seized her for a moment, until she realized his glowing eyes had returned to their baby blue shine.  Glancing down, she sighed as she realized she was in Hard Boiled’s body once more. She’d rather enjoyed being an alicorn.  It certainly felt less awkward than having the dangling bits around her undercarriage.     Nearby, Limerence stood over a heap of black rags, gently rummaging through them with the end of his staff.       “W-what happened?” Nightmare asked.  “Where is Zefu Tome?”     The Archivist paused in his listless search, his thin shoulders slumped with an unseen weight.  He glanced over his shoulder at her, his gaze full of a profoundly weary sadness.     ----     Moments ago...     ----     “Now, brother, we can talk privately.”     “If you are party to the family’s business, you know strangling him is only likely to be an inconvenience,” Limerence, fighting the tremor in his voice as he watched Hard Boiled’s clutching hooves fall limply to his sides. “So, you intend to keep him alive, then?” Whether it was simple exhaustion or mortal fear, Limerence’s mind still felt surprisingly clear. He knew attempting to defend his friend would leave him open to attack and fighting a former Crusader with barely enough magic to swing his own sword was a losing proposition.  He turned back to his brother, hefting the blade a little higher. “He is a resilient one, isn’t he?” the zony said as tugged at his lower lip with the tip of one hoof. “Hard Boiled, I mean.  Broadside said he’d quite burned alive after a thorough shower of brass. Still, if I truly wanted Hard Boiled dead, I’d simply have that creature you brought along tear his head from his shoulders. I would much rather dissect the good Detective.  There’s much to learn in a pony who seemingly cannot die.”     “And me?  Am I to end up on your ‘slab’?” Limerence asked.     “Yes, though depending on how much you resist, I may have to part you out,” Zefu replied.  “I would prefer your body had as little damage as possible, however. Your mind was always the weapon you used best and undead do rather lose their charm if they’ve got bits hanging off.  Still, let us reminisce for a moment. Why did you take my staff from its resting place in the Archive?”     Limerence looked down at the polished wooden handle and the gleaming, jagged-edged blade hanging in a subtle blue glow.   “I thought to use it to kill your murderer,” he replied, softly.     Zefu’s perfectly shaped muzzle stretched into a more genuine smile, though ruined somewhat by a slightly strange way his flesh seemed to hang loose on his jaw.   “Mmm...Limerence, whether you believe it or not, I am genuinely touched.  Father wanted a strong pony to lead the Archivists.  I see you’ve become strong, if nothing else. Do you remember when we were children?  That first artifact father gave us to analyze?” Limerence nodded, his mind still sorting through his options.   ‘Keep him talking,’ he thought. “The music box that mesmerized ponies who listened to it.  I remember.” “We stayed up for days studying that box before I turned the handle and started the tune.” Zefu turned his back, staring out the fleshy window again.  “I wonder, how long do you think it would have been before father came to release me from that spell if you had not managed to use your silence?” “It was a lesson,” Limerence murmured.  “His lessons were meant to keep us alive.  The Mesmer Box was a harmless training exercise.” “Harmless, brother?”  Zefu snorted. “Do you know, that ‘training exercise’ only stops playing when the handle is removed or every last person who can hear it is dead?  I found the reference book Father hid from us before he gave us the box a few days later. Every member of the village of Mesmer died of starvation listening to that abomination and he gave it to a pair of foals.” “We’ve read all the same books, Zefu.  It was an exercise. He had precautions in place.” “Precautions.  Is this similar to the precautions you took when you laid your silence upon yourself just before I started the tune?  Why did you not lay it on me as well?” Limerence’s ears slowly pinned back against his head.  “I…” “Say it, Limerence,” Zefu murmured, cocking his head to one side.  “Tell me the truth, my dear brother.  Tell me why you let me think I heard the voices of angels.  Tell me why you let me think I heard my mother’s voice, singing me to sleep.” The librarian’s eyes burned with shame and he quickly shut them, then forced them open again. ‘He’s trying to rile you.  He’s going to attempt to kill you, soon.  You can’t let this be your end. The world is more important than your guilt.’ “I...I wanted to know how the box worked,” Limerence said, biting off the last word before his emotions could overwhelm him again. “I see,” Zefu nodded, thoughtfully.  “You dropped me into a maddening heaven so you could determine how father’s little toy worked.  Did you know, also, what The Channel Of Gorganth would do to a person who’d touched it with magic powered by frustration?  Is that how you closed it when I was held in that blazing inferno of wild magic, twisting my limbs out of shape?” Limerence stopped breathing for a long moment.       Despite the years, the memory was still fresh.       In his mind’s eye, he could still see his brother hanging in a ball of raging red light, his forelimbs wrenched from their sockets, screaming as the magic tore at his flesh.     He swallowed and swept the image aside.     “I knew,” Limerence whispered.     “And, you chose not to tell me?”     “Brother, we knew the consequences of using magical artifacts in anger!  We are scholars of—”     Zefu held up his hoof to forestall any further excuses.     “You are the scholar, Limerence, not I.  I deal in reality, not in theory. I relied upon you, again and again, to make sure the theory was sound before I took action, but while I risked, you played it safe.  You let me walk into danger so you could look damnably smart in front of father when you cleaned up.”     “Father loved us both, Zefu!” Limerence protested, “Yes, he was cold, but he never stopped loving either of us!  Not even when you slaughtered him.” “Love!?  Ha!  I was father’s shame,” Zefu hissed through clenched teeth. “His crippled half-breed.  His love tasted of ashes when I lay in hospital, my magic ruined, my legs warped!  His love was empty when I begged him to give me the spells to repair my horn and body!” “The blackest of magics,” Limerence murmured, one eye flicking towards where Hard Boiled lay, Bones still wrapped around him like a fleshless snake in a lethal embrace. “Soul killing magic.  You’d have burned your very being to fuel those spells. He...he thought he was saving you.” All at once, the fiery rage that’d burned in Zefu’s eyes was quashed and he drew himself up straight, pulling his robe around his well-muscled chest.  “Yes. And now, we are here. What shall we do to pass the time until your pocket watch runs out of magic?” Limerence lowered his staff a little.  “Would you do me the courtesy of telling me how you managed to avoid succumbing to the mind control magics of this place?” Zefu chuckled, waving a hoof toward the heavily sticky-noted control panels.  “I no longer suffer the slings and arrows of mortality, but...should you live another ten minutes, feel free to try to find the button labeled ‘dispense convoyer’.  Do you have a plan for living that long, brother?” “No, not yet,” he replied, carefully adjusting his few remaining knives in his vest with a quick burst of magic.  “I am still considering my options.” His robe swirling around his knees, Zefu strolled over and casually rested his hoof atop Bones’s head as the skeleton crouched over Hard Boiled’s dead or unconscious body.  “I could have the skeleton attack you and use the distraction to cast a flaying hex I learned from a very sweet practitioner who lived in the former dragon capital. Lovely girl.  We shared a glass of wine atop the draconic Temple of the Holy Flame and made love under the moon. She was dead before we finished, sadly. I did not really grasp all of the intricacies of how the soul capturing poison worked, then.” “That is how you obtained access to father’s vaults, isn’t it?” Limerence asked, trying to keep the seething anger out of his voice.  “You killed the vault holders and ripped out their souls. You stole the curator of the history museum’s soul to abscond with the Lunar weapons.” “Oh, Limerence!  Do tell me you pieced that together before now!”  Zefu smoothed his greased black mane and grinned. “That was my wish, after all.  Do you remember father’s very first lesson, the day we stood before him as children and he explained what it meant to be an Archivist?” “Secrets are valuable,” the librarian murmured. “A lesson to take to heart, no?  When my benefactors offered me a wish, I thought long and hard before realizing the most obvious of answers; what could be more valuable than a magic that steals all of a pony’s secrets?”  Zefu stroked Bones’s cheek, then reached down and gently touched Hard Boiled’s face. “What secrets do you think live in this stallion’s mind?” Flicking a knife out of his vest, Limerence levitated it alongside his staff as he took a few steps to one side.  “Too many for you, brother. He is beyond you.” Zefu pushed himself to his hooves.  “Ah!  Is that the sound of my baby brother coming up with a plan?  I will be most entertained to see the scholar finally taking action.  What will it be, then? A clever spell? A shot at my heart with a hidden blade?  I have pulled several knives out of my heart and still, here I stand.” “Nothing so complex,” the librarian replied, sweeping his staff out to one side as he adjusted his spectacles on the end of his muzzle.  “I propose a trade.” The necromancer’s brow furrowed, then he drew his rear legs together as he regarded his brother.  “A trade, Limerence? For what?  For the lives of the fools who came with you into this dark dimension?  I see very little you have to offer me and nothing I could offer you in return except, perhaps, a merciful death.” “As I said, a simple trade.  Do you have a weapon?” Limerence asked. Pulling his robe back from his chest, Zefu revealed a thin short sword tucked against his barrel in a black sheath.  “Much good may the knowledge do you, but I find my curiosity piqued. What is your offer?” “We both make a single strike.  You take yours. I take mine.” The short sword’s pommel lit with a ghostly green magic as the zony pulled it free of its sheath and levitated the wickedly sharp blade to hang in front of his face in a readied position.   “Do you truly believe you can kill me with my own phylactery?” Zefu asked, before casually pressing the tip of his blade against his own cheek, just below his eye.  Applying a little pressure, he sneered as the edge sliced deep into flesh that might as well have been paper and a thick black ichor spilled down his chin onto the carpet.  Pulling the weapon away, he leered smugly as the bloody wound immediately sealed itself shut, leaving no trace. “I don’t think you have considered this ‘offer’ of yours very carefully.  I gain nothing by allowing you to make this strike besides another amusing anecdote.” “Then I’ll ‘sweeten the pot’, as the detective would say.”  Limerence allowed himself a tiny smirk, just enough to get Zefu’s dander up.  He caught the shift in his brother’s expression as he returned his own knife to a fencing position.  It was a slight hardening around the eyes, but it was enough. “If we both survive a single strike, I will willingly drink your soul stealing poison.” Zefu’s ears perked a little.   “You...will, won’t you, Limerence?” the necromancer whispered, with just a hint of wonder in his voice.  “We both have father’s sense of honor, in our own way. You may lack his ruthlessness, but your word is ironclad.  Do you know, even if you manage to strike this body in some fashion that will kill it, you could only send me fleeing to one of my phylacteries until I can reconstitute my body?” “We have read all of the same books, lich,” Limerence answered. “No longer calling me brother, hmmm?”  Zefu raised his short sword and backed away from Bones and Hard Boiled, returning to his former place in front of the veined window.  “Well then, scholar, I accept your proposal.  Swear on our father’s name and honor that you will give yourself to me if we both survive a single strike.” Limerence hesitated for only a moment.  His brother’s gaze was probing, seeking for any signs of deceit; it found none.     “I swear it.” Hauling his robe back from his shoulder, Zefu freed his body for swift motion.  Taking a few practice swipes at the air with his sword, he fell into a well rehearsed combat stance, the very picture of relaxed lethality. Limerence, for his part, still looked a right horror; his vest was caked in dried blood and the stains on his fetlocks were unlikely to come out without a shave.  He sighed inwardly and backed up until there were a solid fifteen body lengths between himself and his brother. Glancing over to where his friends lay, he tried to steady himself for what was to come.   ‘This is going to be painful.  Oh well. Nothing for it,’ Limerence thought, raising his serrated blade as he took a firmer grip on the haft with what remained of his magic. “Take your strike, brother.  Then we’ll be on our way,” Zefu murmured.   Limerence took a deep breath and his mind flashed back to all the ponies he’d met, the friends he’d buried, and the strange adventures he’d been on in the last few weeks.  He remembered lying in Taxi’s legs, sobbing his eyes out as his father’s body cooled in the city morgue. He remembered the Detective offering him a choice to save his life: maddened, suicidal revenge, or justice.  He remembered the last moment he’d seen Swift, huddled in the back of the Night Trotter, holding Mags between her forelegs. He could hear his own heart thumping against his ribs and felt bile at the back of his throat, but all of a sudden, a soft serenity fell over him like a blanket of falling snow.  Many things could go wrong, of course, but he knew what his part was. The sacrifice suddenly seemed quite small. How many times had he sparred against his brother under his father’s watchful eye?   Too many to count. How many times had father told him that the only difference between heroes and monsters is who they sacrifice for? Too many to count. How many times had father warned him not to get into stupid duels with people who outclassed him in every measurable way on ridiculous, risky propositions that might end in death or decapitation?   Not once that Limerence could remember, though Don Tome tended to leave the more common sense lessons to the world to teach, with the ultimate understanding that ponies without common sense don’t live very long anyway. His brother waited—sword tip unwavering—to deal death and claim his soul.     ‘Hrmph.  I won’t even get to see father in the afterlife.  I’d have rather liked to tell him the rest of my life went well.”  He let out a soft sigh of resignation and met the necromancer’s eyes.  “Ah, well.  No time like the present.’     Limerence braced.  His back legs tightened.  He saw his brother’s body tense and the edge of Zefu’s short sword twitch in anticipation.     Both exploded into motion at speeds that almost defied the eye, charging toward one another.  Zefu blasted off the line like a linebacker, seemingly intent on crushing his smaller opponent beneath his superior weight and strength, while Limerence moved on the tips of his hooves, seeming to dance, his floating staff blade held just behind his head in a ready swing.  Sparks flashed as the two brothers clashed for an instant, then swept past one another. A hot splash of fresh, red blood decorated the nearest control panel.   Zefu barreled through the space Limerence had occupied just seconds ago and skidded to a halt, his back to his brother. Limerence continued a few steps, coming to a slow stop.  He stood there for a moment, his sword waving in his weak levitation field, before letting the weapon drop onto the carpet.  Blood trickled into his eyes, dripping off of his eyelashes. The pain was...not so bad.  It hurt, but he’d felt deeper agonies.   Reaching up, Limerence carefully touched his head, cringing as his toetip touched the open wound on the side.   Loss.  Hatred.  Injustice.  Those all hurt worse than the loss of an ear. “Now, then, brother,” Zefu murmured.  “You have had your strike, and we are both alive.  Will you fulfill your end of this bargain, or do I need to take your other ear?” Taking a deep breath, Limerence turned to the necromancer, straightening his vest as he wiped the dribble of blood off his forehead and tucked his mane into the ugly slice he was rather glad he couldn’t see to soak it up. “You are partially correct, lich,” Limerence replied, earning himself a confused look.  “I have had my strike, but you are dead. You just don’t know it, yet.” Something in the conviction in his brother’s voice set Zefu’s teeth on edge.  He quickly looked down at himself, then swept his robe back, feeling his chest and barrel.  Finding them pristine, he blinked owlishly at Limerence. “But...you did not hit me!” he said, a note of disturbed panic in his words. “A strike does not need to land to be lethal, brother.  Your master taught you very well, but he missed a few,” Limerence said, trying to ignore the burning pain in his ear.  “You followed all of his teachings to the letter, no less. Even the third rule of the Death Lords of Tambelon: always keep a phylactery on your person.” The zony’s eyes bugged out as he slapped a hoof against his side.   “Yes, Zefu,” Limerence murmured, his horn glittering as he lifted his brother’s thin, black spellbook from behind his back.  “As I said before, we have read all the same books.  That list does include many of those ugly tomes you thought you destroyed the last copies off.  An Archivist who does not know a spell to restore old tomes will not last long.” “Y-you are not a necromancer, brother.” Zefu hissed, taking a threatening step.  “The spells in that book are worthless to you.”     Limerence rolled his eyes.  “I have two pieces of your soul.  It does not require your ridiculous black arcana to merge them with the rest, only a vessel which already contains one and a working knowledge of thaumatological dynamics.”  He swept up the sword-staff with a burst of magic, sheathing it in one smooth motion. Zefu shot a look at where Bones and Hard Boiled sat.  “Give me the book or I will kill your friend, Limerence.  I can do it with a thought.” The librarian raised his head, and his horn flashed.   Zefu suddenly found his body locked in place.  He was unable to move even his eyelids, to force them shut. His lungs spasmed as they fought to draw a breath that wouldn’t come.  His pupils rotated wildly in their sockets, before centering on his brother. The expression on the younger stallion’s face made Zefu’s black blood run cold.   “No, lich,” Limerence said, silently weaving the binding spell around his enemy’s spirit, feeling the squirming, ugly little thing that’d once been a soul writhe within his grasp.  “No, you really can’t. Excelsia’s Principles of Necromantic Power, section eight, verse ten: a piece of the soul reflects the whole and the whole reflects the piece. I have two pieces of you. That is enough to take over your central nervous system.  Upon your death and resurrection, your soul will seek the nearest vessel. I’m afraid I have no way of making a brain aneurysm of the sort I intend to inflict any less painful.” Stepping forward, Limerence adjusted his brother’s robe, straightening the collar with the tip of his hoof.  “Father would want you to look good when you die. Unfortunately, circumstance dictates that I do not have the luxury of letting you go to your reward.  If there are any kind gods you still have the ear of, I recommend you begin praying that there is something beyond what we know as souls to pass on into the great beyond.  However, I will grant you one small mercy, before the end.” Limerence’s horn burned as he began to pump more energy into it, feeling fire fill his veins and singe his nerves; it was not so bad as other pains he’d felt in his life.   The loss of a home. The loss of a father. The loss of a brother.       Raising the sheathed staff above his brother’s head, the scholar yanked the tiny mote of soul out of Zefu’s spellbook.  It dangled in the air between them, a wisp of writhing yellow light hanging in a field of magical energy. It would have been so easy to crush it, then drive his blade into Zefu’s helpless body and and free his brother into the afterlife, where surely they had punishments suitable to his crimes.     ‘Too bad I need fuel,’ he thought.     Limerence finished weaving his spell. “Here is your small mercy, brother,” he whispered, as the glow of magic swelled around him.   A momentary flash of unbidden hope crossed Zefu’s face. “For my love for you...you may now scream.”     ----     Nightmare rubbed her sore neck as she got her hooves under herself.  Being back in Hard Boiled’s body was both pleasantly familiar and deeply disconcerting.  Looking down, she touched her breast over her heart, but found the low-power light wasn’t blinking.       “Limerence Tome, did you charge Hard Boiled’s heart?” she asked.  “I thought your reserves were empty.”     “They are,” Limerence replied, then continued poking through the pile of bones and tattered cloth with the end of his sword staff. “I simply made...efficient use of my resources.  I should have more than enough magic for most practical purposes, hence forth.”     Cocking her head onto her shoulder, Nightmare peered at the rags on the carpet, then noticed a thick bandage that seemed to be made of two handkerchiefs tied together wrapped around Limerence’s head.  “And...what of the necromancer?”     Bones flicked his eyes towards the remains at Limerence’s hooves.  “Gotta say, the only time I ever saw magic do that was some mighty nasty zebra necromancy.  You got something you want to tell us, colt?”     Lifting his staff, Limerence pulled it open, revealing six inches of the edge.  Etched into the metal just above the wooden handle was a wide open mouth and a pair of lidless eyes, full of all the fear of an eternity lost.  As the ponies and their undead friend watched, the mouth seemed to move, very gradually, its tongue lashing at the backs of its teeth for an instant.  The mortally stricken gaze seemed to meet Nightmare and she felt a lump crawl up the back of her throat.     Limerence snapped the blade shut with a loud click that made Nightmare jump.     “Zefu was...a very poor sibling, but I like to think I learn from my enemies.  Astral Skylark taught me the use of burned souls to power spellwork. My brother will make an excellent weapon.”     ----     I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, other than that Zefu was apparently gone and Limerence’s staff now looked like it was shrieking.       “Well...that’s screwed up,” I muttered, my muzzle pressed against the glass-like surface of my little viewing hole.       ‘You’re telling me,’ a voice replied from out of the aether.       I jerked back from the swirling window in the black pit of my mind to find myself still alone.     “Is...is somepony there?” I asked.     ‘Yes.  Nightmare’s consciousness led me to you.  I will get you out as soon as it’s an option.’     “Gale?  Is that you?”     ‘Please just pretend I’m a voice in your head,’ the voice answered, sounding slightly abashed.  ‘I don’t want to make our relationship weird.’     “Too late,” I replied, hotly.  “Can you describe what’s going on out there?  I’ve got no sound.”     ‘You’re in a dream, but I might be able to route some of the stuff coming in your ears through some of the bits of your brain you’re stuck in. This might sound a little funny; you’re hearing with your memory of falling off a raft and the one of kissing that filly in second grade.’ “If anything about this day is other than funny, I want it pointed out so I can treasure it for the rest of my life, however brief a time that might be.”     ----     “Mister Tome, I don’t remember a damn thing that happened between that door opening and me getting to my hooves a minute ago. If you don’t mind me asking...are there likely to be other ponies who can take over my body like your brother did?” Bones asked as he studied the strangely organic-looking control panel nearest him.  He gave his hairless tail a little flick and rattled his ribcage. “Am I a danger to my grandson?”     “I have no way of knowing, but necromancers of my brother’s character do not play well with others.  If there is another, then yes, you may be a danger,” Limerence replied as he plucked a small brown pack with a zipper on one side and a strap for slinging around the neck from his brother’s remains.  “It is irrelevant,” he continued. “All of Hard Boiled’s friends are a danger to him. It does not bear deep consideration. We need to leave rather soon, but we have a mission to complete.”     “Yeah, the ‘Scry’ thing.  Don’t suppose anypony told you what it looks like, did they?”     “What about their recent luck makes you think these ponies have a piece of information as useful as that?” Nightmare interjected, blowing a loud snort through her nose as she trotted to one of the consoles and began reading the labeled buttons.  “Hrmph.  At least someone has translated many of these controls for us, though much of this seems to be gibberish.  What is an ‘employee impregnation chamber’?”     Bones joined her at the console, his glowing eyes roving over the mechanism.  Reaching up, he carefully tugged the sticky note down; there was another scrap of much older paper underneath with the words ‘rape chamber’ written on it, followed by three question marks.       “That’ll be one of Apple Bloom’s translations,” Bones said, then added, “I recognize the hoofwriting.”     Limerence unzipped the pack taken from his brother’s body, then nodded to himself before zipping it shut again and stuffing it into his vest pocket along with Zefu’s spellbook.       “If I may, you said not much of this was translated when last you were here and the resources of the Crusaders were considerable.  How is it that the Family have translated so much in the scant few years they’ve owned this property?” Limerence inquired.     “Don’t know, but it says to me they’ve got computing power the like of which would make those old crones back in the Skids drool all over themselves.  These translations are better than the ones we had. Looky here.” The skeleton pointed to strange dial with a glowing sigil above it.  The attached note said, ‘cosmic alignment to release’ followed by a hoofwritten note with an arrow pointing to the final symbol which added ‘This word doesn’t translate into Equestrian, but the algorithm spat out ‘The Stomach Which Digests God’.  Recommend not fiddling with it’. “Before he was...dealt with, my brother told me to search for a button labeled ‘dispense convoyer’ which might save Miss Sweet Shine,” the librarian murmured.  “Zefu enjoys taunting his victims, so I believe he was being honest. Hunt for that alongside anything that might suggest we could usefully disable the magics here.” Bones shrugged and strolled off to the other side of the room, happy to have a course to follow.  Nightmare considered objecting, but the last time she had everypony had threatened her with violence; pain, suffering, and the possibility of ending her corporeal existence were good enough reasons to go to the task with enthusiasm. ‘Nightmare?’ Gale whispered in the possessed pony’s mind.   ‘Ah!  Yes? I wondered where you were, ghost!  How much time did Limerence Tome buy us?’ ‘Not enough that you can screw around, but when you were knocked out, the mind control magics stuck you in the same spot they stuck Hardy.  I’ve got him tapped into his senses, so he’s seeing and hearing most of what’s going on.’ ‘Can he hear you and I?’ ‘Not unless you talk out loud, but I can relay messages.’ Nightmare considered for a moment, then thought, ‘I would like you to relay an image of me choking him to death, please.’ When Gale didn’t reply, Nightmare sniffed haughtily to herself (or at least, in a fashion she hoped sounded a bit haughty, since she hadn’t much experience with proper sniffing).  With nothing to amuse her, she set to scanning up and down the buttons on the huge control panel, doing her best not to consider the implications of many of them too deeply. A few were fairly straightforward in their horror; she didn’t need clarification on ‘Overseer flesh beast stasis status: negative’.  Some were more oblique.   One especially ornate, glowing display was labeled, ‘Begin planetary mantle extraction.’ Underneath there was what appeared to be a short exchange between two translators: From FJ - Check me on this, Minty, but Mango seems to think this means the Office could eat every mineral on Equis if you don’t keep fresh ‘employees’ downstairs.  What are your thoughts? From Minty - Check the binder, Funky Jazz.  The instruction is to notify command if this display changes at any point.   From FJ - Is that why we keep bringing in more hobos? Wouldn’t the troopers be more efficient?  They sure last a lot longer. Some of the same group that were in here when I arrived are still working. From Minty - The hobos don’t cost anything and the troopers are in limited supply. We’ll see about finding more ‘volunteers’ unless you want to try turning the breeding chambers back on. From FJ - Nah. I don’t feel like listening to the screaming while I’m trying to eat.   Pregnancy at those speeds tends to kill the hosts, anyway. Whatever species they used before ponies must have had litters if they were willing to speed the pregnancy by several thousand percent like that.  Ponies only replace at a one to one or a one to two ratio. I just wish we could get more than one convoyer every few hours, though. It’d be easier to have a whole analysis team, but the damn things die after a couple days. From Minty - We’re not here to analyze.  We’re here to keep the Scry linked up to the remote viewer and make sure the control field doesn’t spread too quickly.   From FJ - Good luck on that second count.  I monitored an eight percent increase in the last week alone. From Minty - You have worries, take them up with management. From FJ - We both know that’s a great way to end up stuck in a cubicle.  How long did you say this place had been operating? Half the controls are still in standby, but I’d feel a lot more secure if somepony could tell me what the ‘work’ is meant to accomplish. From Minty - If I knew, I’d be paid better than I am. I don’t think even management knows.  Keeping this place operating is a means to an end for them. Still, curiosity killed a whole heap of cats before the two of us got here.  You want to be the next kitty to stick his nose in the woodchipper? From FJ - No thanks, Minty.  Bring some fresh tunes on your next shift.  I can only listen to ‘The Best Of Zipper Tango’ so many times. From Minty - Will do Nightmare swallowed as she finished reading. “I believe...I believe I have discovered something pertinent,” she mumbled. “Pardon, Moonie, I didn’t catch that?” Bones replied, trotting to her side.  He peered at the notes from the two caretakers for a moment, then sucked a breath into lungs that’d long since rotted to nothing.  “Oh, yeah.  Hey, Mister Tome?  This says there’s some kind of ‘remote viewer’.  Something somepony can take out of the Office would be my bet.  I’ve got a note here that says it’s hooked up to the Scry.” “A remote viewer?” Limerence asked, cocking his head, then tapped the console.  “Ah! Yes. There was something here. See this indentation?” He gestured at a bowl-shaped protrusion on the panel.  Peeling off the attached label, he held it up. It read, ‘breeding perquisition traversal receiver’. As he touched the indentation, a spurt of neon green liquid spilled out of a hole in the bottom, then began bubbling, filling the hole right to the top and threatening to dribble onto the carpet.   “What is that?” Nightmare asked, recoiling from the glowing puddle. Bones leaned over and seemed to sniff at the liquid, before carefully dipping a hoof in.  Nightmare’s eyes bulged and she slapped his foreleg back, then looked all over her forelegs for possible drips.     “What if that had been acid, you fool?!” she barked,  “We need your expertise to escape this place!” The skeleton gave her a sideways glance.  “Were you worried I was going to lose skin, Moonie?  Maybe poison myself?” Chuckling to himself as Nightmare let out an irritated grumble, Bones wiped his toe off on the carpet.  “I’ve seen it before.  Princess Luna called us into her private lab in Canterlot Castle one night about...mercy, it’d be almost forty years ago, now.  This was when we were just commandos, mind you, before the Crusaders were formally inducted.” “Did she, perchance, tell you what it was?” Limerence asked. “We weren’t there to talk about her freaky experiments, but Twist got curious,” Bones explained, leaning on the control panel as he waved a hoof over the glowing fluid.  “Luna called it an ‘extra-dimensional adhered charm lattice in a viscous medium’, then went back to telling us the best way to climb through a dragon’s rectum to get to their heart.  Pardon if I was a bit distracted by the conversation at the time. Still, I remember it. It was definitely this color.” “A charm lattice,” Limerence said, almost to himself.  He scratched the thin stubble on his chin for a moment, then his eyes widened.  “Aha! Yes! Most fortuitous! This is what we came for!” “I no longer possess a horn or the knowledge of a goddess,” Nightmare groused, pointing to her forehead.  “What is this substance?” “An adhered charm lattice is quite the advanced magical construct.  It attaches a spell to something - most often a gemstone - and casts it continuously so long as it retains enough magic.  The simplest example is, of course, mage lights. Hard Boiled’s heart is likely another. This, however…” The librarian shook his head with wonderment as he peered at the bowl of green fluid.  “To attach a complete spell matrix to a liquid was thought quite impossible!” “Trespassers who kidnap the local populace of other dimensions to complete their ‘work’ seem like they would obey few rules,” Nightmare muttered.  “I assume this spell could be the one which tracks the ponies of Detrot?” “I do not care for pure conjecture, but...yes.  This ‘binder’ that is mentioned here may be useful.”  Limerence ran his eyes over the console, then slid down onto one knee.  His horn glowed for a moment, and a bright red file folder slid out of a crack between one panel and its neighbor.  Laying it open, he lifted the first sheet which had the words ‘Dimensional Incursion Known Systems’. “Useful though that may be, if our opponents have the remote viewer, how are we to disconnect it from this system?” Nightmare asked.  “I do not believe any of us brought other weapons adequate to the task of causing damage in here and the Crusader will kill whoever uses it.  I doubt the two of you can carry both Hard Boiled and Sweet Shine, should we fail to contravene the control field.  Your physique leaves much to be desired, no matter how strong the skeleton is!” Reaching over, Bones swatted Nightmare across the back of the head, sending Hard Boiled’s hat down over her eyes. “What was that for?!  I said nothing that was untrue!” she demanded, taking a couple of stumbling steps as she righted the hat. “You’re not wrong, Nightmare.  You’re just an ass,” the skeleton replied, “Now quit complaining and look around for this ‘convoyer’ thing.  Maybe we won’t have to carry Sweet Shine. I can haul Hard Boiled if it comes to having you fire the Crusader in here.” “Give me a few moments to study this while you attempt to find the ‘convoyer’ button,” Limerence interjected, his nose already buried in the manual.  “We will reserve the Crusader as a ‘last resort’.” “I do not wish to commit suicide!  It sounds incredibly painful!” “What I’ll do to you if you piss me off any worse will make that a perfectly cheery alternative.  Either help me look or find a corner to sulk in.” Nightmare wasn’t entirely sure how to glare at somepony in a way that said ‘I hope you get a fungus that eats bones’, but she gave it her best shot.  Unfortunately, Bones had already turned his flank on her and was scanning another section of the console. Limerence hadn’t waited for their exchange to finish before heading off himself, his sword-staff floating around to sling itself across his back. She took a step back and her hoof came down on something that squished wetly against her frog.  Slowly, reluctantly, she picked her foot up and stared down at a bit of blue, bloodstained flesh flattened under her toe: the remnants of Limerence’s severed ear. “Oh, that is it!” she hissed, furiously smearing her hoof clean on Hard Boiled’s trench coat before storming over to the exterior viewing window.  Reaching up, she poked at the surface, finding it to have a slight give to it. Worse, it was slightly warm. She did her best to put that fact out of her mind.   Outside, she could see a half dozen of the ‘Overseer’ creatures, the giant spider entities wandering the cubicles like massive, demonic cranes.  Other beasts would occasionally dart between them and she once caught sight of something swooping overhead. While some magic allowed the view through the window to partially pierce the fog, it wasn’t perfect and the distance was still obscured. Nothing was normal. She had not experienced normal in her short life and yet Nightmare knew, in her heart of hearts, that what was happening to her was not how the universe was meant to be.  Things had been so much easier before she’d had an actual, proper mind. Sweeping her tail under herself, she sat down hard.   ‘I should not even have a proper mind.  I hope ripping me out of Hard Boiled’s nice, comfortable memory centers shall make him forget how to properly put on a tie one day,’ she thought bitterly, half hoping Gale would respond, if only to tell her to hush.   Peering out the window, she caught a bit of odd movement toward the distant edge of the fog.  It looked like little more than some black shapes moving through the cubicle farm, but unlike the other beasts in the local ecosystem, they seemed to be very intently heading in the direction of the control room.  As they got closer, the shapes gradually became those of six ponies in black body armor. The overseer beasts were ignoring them. “Ahem...A new problem has arisen,” Nightmare said, loud enough to be sure both stallions heard her.   “What sort of problem?” Limerence asked, not glancing up from the console he’d been examining. “Six problems, actually,” she clarified.  “They seem to be ponies in heavy military gear.  The creatures outside are letting them pass unmolested.” “Well, good news for us, then,” Bones chuckled, stepping back from his end of the panel.  Reaching over, he snatched a knife off of Limerence’s vest and flipped it around so the blade sat between his teeth.  “Shall I pop downstairs and greet them?” “You can incapacitate six armed P.A.C.T. troopers?” Nightmare asked, then caught additional movement further back.  “Pardon, twelve.” “Ah...six, probably,” Bones replied, “Twelve might be a bit much.  Bullet resistant is not bulletproof.  Don’t need to walk around with a giant gaping hole in my head.” Limerence’s lips drew into a thin line as he came to the window and watched the slow, steady progress of the troops coming for them. “Tight formation, close enough to communicate.  Standard deployment for a small squad in known territory,” Limerence muttered,  “Probably a patrol that found the bodies we left back at their outpost. They must have convoyers on them.  That means there’s a supply somewhere outside the Office.” “Not real useful information, now, is it?” Bones added,  “I suppose I can go down and take one off a corpse.  Moonie, you feel like playing ‘bullet shield’?” “Most assuredly not!” she snapped, irritably.  “Death is an experience I intend to avoid!” “Worth a shot,” Bones turned to the other stallion. “Mister Tome, you got anything that might help?”     “Yes and no.” Limerence replied, wiggling the binder in his levitation field.  “Unfortunately, this is largely a collection of conjectures made by a series of translators all working with the same spells, spells they did not understand and were given to cast, sight unseen, for sums of money that border on the ludicrous.  I suspect most of them were killed when their work was complete. That said, I think one of them hit upon something important.”     Turning the binder around, he flicked to a particular page and put a toe on a slip of paper tucked under a dog-eared corner:     ‘From Flute Song - Translation finished on the series of sixty gold switches in quadrant six. Whatever you do - DO NOT TOUCH! - Unless you want to become a permanent resident.’     Nightmare lifted one eyebrow.  “Golden switches? What good does this do us?”     Limerence pointed over her shoulder at the far wall at two rows of shining, golden toggles just above head height.  “Reading from context and the translator’s notes, they may control the portal. If we can send the portal far enough from Equis, it should break the remote viewer’s connection to the Scry.”     “If this is a plan, I want to be clear that ‘should’ was usually the word that Scootaloo used to use right before she blew something up,” Bones said, after a moment’s consideration.  “What do you want us to do?”     “Buy me time,” Limerence replied.     “One against twelve.  I don’t fancy those odds.  If I had a distraction, maybe—”     Rolling her eyes, Nightmare snatched the binder out of Limerence’s magic with her teeth and flopped it on the carpet.       “I swear, even when I am occupying one, stallions are stupid,” she sniffed, flipping to the back of the little collection of papers and stabbing a hoof down on the revealed page.  “Somepony presents you with a manual and you do not even check for an index!”     Limerence’s ears lay back against his head.  “It..I...well, I assumed since it was largely hoofwritten…”     “Look!  Blue tab, section eight.  Anti-control field procedures!”  She nosed open the relevant section, eyed the diagram, then jabbed her leg at what seemed to be a tiny drawer nopony had noticed, positioned just below chest height next to the elevator.  A blue button on the front had the words ‘dispense convoyer’ taped underneath in looping letters on a scrap of poster board.     “I hate to agree with the brain parasite, but I’m pretty sure if my grandson were here instead of riding shotgun, we’d still be hunting through controls,” Bones muttered, trotting to the wall and tapping the ‘dispense’ button.  There was a sound like an egg cracking over a bowl of melted chocolate and a section of the wall separated on a rubbery hinge, before sliding free to reveal a tiny drawer with a rather sticky looking alcove behind it.  “Oooh...yuck.  Once again, I am glad I don’t have skin anymore.”     Reaching into the alcove, Bones lifted out a small, writhing blue object, holding it up for Nightmare and Limerence to get a good look at as it slid back and forth, probing at the edges of his hoof as though looking for flesh.     The ‘convoyer’ was an ugly little abomination that existed on a bizarre genus somewhere between squid and beetle.  It had a hard shell the color of a clear morning sky beneath which two malevolent little eyes rolled back and forth.  Eight tiny, wriggling tentacles spasmed and twitched underneath as it squirmed in circles on Bone’s hoof. Another, larger protrusion with a softly squeaking pair of uncannily equine lips on the end lashed back and forth on the creature’s back.     “May I have that?”  Nightmare asked, holding out her hoof.  “I would like to surrender this body as quickly as possible.”     Bones shrugged and held the tiny creature out, only to find his hoof wrapped in Limerence’s magical field.       “The convoyers are single use,” the librarian interjected, holding up the binder.  “Once removed, they die within minutes. We won’t get another for at least two hours.”     “You’re kidding!  You’re kidding, right?!” Nightmare snarled, bopping the ‘dispense’ button.  There was a loud buzz that needed no translation and the door of the little compartment stayed tightly shut.  “We have only moments before the troopers are here!”     “I...mmm…”  Limerence cocked his head back, settling his glasses further up his nose.  “I do believe I have the outlines of a plan.”     “Explain quickly,” Bones replied, glancing out the window.  The troopers were still approaching, at a faster gait than they had been and with only half the caution. “The binder says whosoever designed the Office made use of a base sixty numerical system, yes?” Limerence continued. “Quicker!”   “Right!  Sixty switches.  Ancient Mesponytamians used a similar system for measuring time, angles, geographic coordinates in extreme precision.” “You have ten words, Mister Librarian, then I punch you in the ribs once for each extra you want to buy.” Limerence sighed and tossed the binder onto the control panel. “Get Taxi through the portal.  I will follow. Move. Now.” “That’s ten!  Come on, Moonie!  We’re going to go kill ourselves some professionals!” “I...I do not wish to kill ponies,” Nightmare mumbled, “—except Hard Boiled, but he is not an option.” “Thankfully I won’t be relying on you to shoot anypony.  Your part is idiot-proof. By which I mean, I need an idiot and you’re it.”