//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The String of the Stars 
// by computerneek 
//------------------------------//

It always seems to start with me, for some reason.  I was the first one of my birth family to seek higher education; I was the first one to move out.  I was the first one to get a job.  I was the first one to find a marefriend.

Then of course, between me and my wife, Dancing Hearts, I was the one to break the ice.  I was the one to ask her out on a date, to ask her to marry.  That was amusing; she’d wondered if it was even important to be legally married.  I was the one to do the research; it is, for numerous, predominantly legal, reasons.

I was the one to point out how much she wanted to have a foal.  I was the one that- can you believe, she still thought the stork delivered babies to parents that loved each other?

I still have trouble with that.  It was only a year ago, after all.  I explained the real process to her- and, shortly after, she was proud to be pregnant.  Now, as of about a month ago, we’re both first-time parents.  Our daughter is a joy to be around, even at only a single month old.

But we’re not enjoying it.

That is to say, she’s a delight during the day.  Other, more experienced parents have been warning us to beware of magic surges.  Especially with a Unicorn foal, I’m told, they can be dangerous.  Good thing I’m a unicorn as well.  We haven’t seen any such surges.  I’m hoping she’s just a late bloomer, rather than what everypony else is saying- that the lack of surges may mean she’s powerless.

My hope is dying out.  Her first, and smallest, surge is supposed to happen around the three week mark, but we’re at four and we haven’t seen anything.

But in any case, for as delightful as she is during the day, she’s the terror of our nights.  Every couple of hours, sometimes less, she gets hungry or something and starts crying.  We’ve taken to taking turns getting up to tend to her; that way, we both get at least some semblance of sleep.

I just took my turn, feeding her and rocking her back to sleep.  I’m trying to get back to sleep myself, when my ear twitches- and I’m able to confirm, she’s crying again.  I let out a low groan and prod my wife awake.

She awakens slowly, and raises her eyebrow at me.

“Your turn, dear,” I inform her.

She grumbles as she pulls herself free of the blankets, then swats me in the face with a wing before she rolls off the bed.

I’ll never get over that.  I might have a magic horn, but she’s got those natural husband-swatters of hers.

I don’t think much about it, though, and resume my descent to sleep as she ambles out to take care of her.

I’m just about to get it when it’s torn violently away from me.  That scream most certainly didn’t come from our daughter.  It also sounded panicked- and that’s not something that Dancing is good at faking.  Believe me, she’s tried.

This is where my being a unicorn comes in handy.  A momentary pulse of magic throws the blanket against the ceiling, leaving me free to leap out of bed and gallop to the filly’s room.  Funny, it seems young Lyra has stopped screaming.

The door flies open in front of me, and I screech to a halt in front of the crib, next to my panicked wife.  She’s holding Lyra in her forehooves.

“What happened?” I ask.

Even before she answers, I find an answer.  There’s a blood smear on Lyra’s muzzle, by the side of her mouth; this matches the bloody patch on her pillows.  Then, she’s lying, apparently asleep, in my wife’s hooves.

Dancing is smart.  She knows I’m a doctor, and she knows where I’m looking.  “She won’t wake up,” she states, tears entering her voice.  “She was choking.”

I cast a momentary spell.  “She’s not dead yet,” I state.  “Brace yourself!”  I then flare my horn, and teleport all three of us to the nearby hospital, where I work as a surgeon.  Had she been grown, I might have tried to treat her myself.  However, infants are not my specialty, and I’d be more likely than not to kill her.

Good thing there are a few doctors in this hospital that do specialize in infants.  We hoof her off to one of those doctors very quickly.  He is able to confirm- before he runs away with her- that she is still alive, but won’t be for long if he doesn’t act quickly.

We wait anxiously.  Every minute or two, Dancing starts to panic again- and I remind her that, in this case, the lack of news is good news.  At this hospital, if a patient dies, we try to deliver the news to anypony waiting as quickly as possible.

Eventually, Doctor Colt enters the waiting room in unhurried manner.  Lyra is not floating in his magic aura; rather, a clipboard is.  “Good news and bad news,” he states.

Dancing locks her gaze on him, as if daring him to tell her her daughter is dead.

I sigh.  “Good news first, please.”

He nods.  “We were able to stabilize her condition,” he states.  “She is out of mortal danger.”  He sighs.  “She’s on life support right now, but we expect to be able to send her home within the hour.”

Dancing relaxes, breathing out a long-held sigh of relief.

He looks at me.  “The bad news…  It’s Shock Learning Syndrome.”

Dancing looks at him quizzically, but unlike her, I know what he’s talking about.  Shock Learning Syndrome is very rare, usually inflicting retired scholars that have gone from studying day in and day out to simply relaxing all day every day.  Several scholars have stepped down their studying efforts in stages, reaching that relaxation; none of them were ever inflicted.  We think it’s the backlash of a brain that’s used to working simply…  stopping.  Not unlike a sprinter slamming into a brick wall, rather than slowing to a gallop, canter, trot, and walk, before stopping.  When it happens, their brain makes thousands of connections very quickly- usually, the same amount they’d normally make across a few days.

The problem with SLS is that the inflicted usually become vegetables.  Sometimes they’ll yap nonesense, but in no case have they retained an IQ above fifteen.  Once upon a time, it happened to a filly, almost a month after she got her cutie mark in studying; afterwards, the mental retardation was too severe.  She had to be cared for for every moment of her life, and was completely incapable of learning.  She’d held onto an IQ of about two.

I sigh.  “How bad is it?”

Dancing catches her breath, turning to look at me.

He shakes his head.  “We don’t know.  It’s a severe case, and she’s young enough her body wasn’t able to handle it without help.  We’re hoping she’s young enough her brain can adjust fully.  It’s trying to do that now, while she’s in a coma.”  He sighs.  “Either way, she’s likely to be a…  unique child.”

“Can…  Can we see her?” my wife asks.  I raise my eyebrow.

He nods.  “Yes, if you will follow me.”  He leads us both out of the waiting room, down the hallway towards the hospital room.

As we go, I ask a question.  “Can we measure the impact it’ll have?” I ask.

He shakes his head.  “Unfortunately, there is no way to do that while she’s so young.  We can check her for her birth instincts, but that’s about it.”

I nod.  “That’ll tell us whether or not she’ll need intensive care for the rest of her life.”

He nods.  “Yes.”





I stand next to the bed, watching the readouts.  In the few cases we’ve gotten Shock Learning Syndrome victims into the hospital very quickly, we’ve been able to watch this battle.  The even fewer cases when the doctors tried to interfere, to produce something other than the destructive outcome, have always resulted in total destruction- that is to say, brain death.

The filly’s brain is fighting against itself, trying to make sense of the structural changes the event forced upon it.  Every time I’ve seen, it hasn’t been able to, instead doing severe damage to itself before it gives up and lives with what it has left.  But it’s been theorized that it is possible for it to figure itself out before it does that irreparable damage.

Doctor Gentle Colt just left to inform the filly’s parents of what happened.  I watch the little orange lines appearing in the magic-powered readouts.  The little orange lines, corresponding to minor, repairable damages, normally found in the brain of somepony who has “burned out” on a sudden study surge.  They’re generally insignificant, though they can hurt, depending on severity.  I watch them grow.

There will be a point, like every other patient, when they start turning black- and most of the brain follows suit, before everything stops.  I watch the readouts.

Then I blink.  The activity in this filly’s brain is spreading.  Just like it did on all the others; the active parts will survive.  I’ve noticed that, the larger the active part, the greater the remaining IQ.

Only, the activity is spreading far faster than I’ve ever seen before.  I glance at the door, and back at the machine.  It’s now spread further than I’ve ever seen before.  The orange lines broaden, a new one forms.  Then, almost all at once, her entire brain starts working…  and everything stops.

I hold my breath, staring at the readouts, for what seems like forever.  Finally, I spot a little flurry of motion, scattered across the filly’s brain.  It flits around for a few seconds before the display goes dead.

I blink, and turn to look at the filly.  Did I…?  No, I didn’t forget to secure the thaumic channels properly.  Instead, the little green filly removed her oxygen mask, taking the scanning hardware with it, and is now sitting up, looking at it.  I think my jaw is hanging, but I really don’t care.

The filly looks at the thaumic equipment, one hoof pressed against her forehead, for only a couple more seconds before looking at me.  “Uh, hethpo...”  She scowls visibly, before dropping herself back down on her back, her other forehoof coming up to join the other in massaging her temples.  “Ow,” she mutters, closing her eyes.

I…  I think I just fainted.  I lift myself off the floor, rubbing the side of my own head for a second, and look around.  Nothing’s changed; the filly is still rubbing her temples.

“I…”  I mutter.  “I need to get the Doctor.”  I walk towards the door.

“Okah.”

I pause and look back at her.  It sounded very much like baby talk, but it was also clearly a word.  “You are a very strange child, you know?”

She nods.

Somepony knocks on the door.

I let out a small yelp, jumping slightly as I turn to the door.  Then, while she giggles on the bed, I open the door, probably blushing furiously.  “Sorry-  Oh, Doctor Colt.  I wasn’t, uh…”

He sighs, and opens his mouth to speak.

The filly behind me beats him to it, projecting her voice slightly.  “Hai,” she states.  The pegasus mare behind him- presumably the mother- perks her ears, her head rising as her gaze locks onto the opening.  Doctor Hamstrings, probably the father, does something similar.

“She already finish?” Doctor Colt asks.

I nod.  “Yes.  She…”  I swing the door open, stepping back- and looking back towards the bed, as well.

“Hai,” she repeats, and puts on an innocent smile.  She’s sitting up again, propped forwards on her forelegs, both ears pointed forwards.  The oxygen mask and scanning equipment are sitting next to her on the bed.

Both doctors blink.  “Uh…”

I look at them.  “Full recovery,” I state.  “And yes, she’s…  talking.”

The filly chooses that moment to raise one hoof, to point to the trio standing in the door.  “Hu?”

Doctor Colt falls on his face.

“Uh, oopth…”  She scowls at her sheets again.

I hear the sound of another pony hitting the floor.  I glance over; it’s Doctor Hamstrings.

“Uh…”  I begin, before I glance at the mother- staring with her jaw hanging- and turn back to the filly.  “Do that again?”

She grins, and looks at her mother.  “Wat…  meh…  na-meh?”

The third pony falls to the floor, eliciting a giggle.

I smile, glancing at the three ponies on the floor.  “Uh… that was, ‘what’s my name’?”

She nods.

“Ahh…  Um, I don’t know what your name is, but I’m Nursing Intern Redheart, and these are Doctors Colt and Hamstrings.”  I indicate each in turn.  “I…  don’t know who she is.”

“Ta-nka… Uu.”  She scowls briefly at her sheets.

Very suddenly, the pegasus flies back to her hooves.  “Did-!” she begins.

“Gah!” the filly calls, mirroring my reaction perfectly before she starts giggling.

The mare shakes her head briefly, before looking at me.  “Did I just hear my daughter ask what her name was?”

I nod.

The filly also answers.  “Yyy-ah!”  It sounds like she put in a lot of effort to make the Y sound.

The pegasus looks over at her daughter, eyes wide.

“This is the first time in recorded history, to my knowledge, that a pony has fully recovered from SLS,” I inform her.  “We…  I…  don’t know what to expect.”  I look down at Doctor Colt.  “Doctor Colt might, but…”  I look back up at the mother.  “I think she might want to know your name, too.”

“Yy-ah!”

The pegasus looks back at her daughter; she’d turned towards me while I spoke.  “...  Oh.”  She steps up closer to the bed, looking at her daughter.  “...  Hi,” she states.

The filly nods.  “Hai.”

The mother blinks.  “Uh…  Hi.  Um...”

“Lll-oh.”

“Low?  Uh…  Okay.  Um…”  She takes a deep breath.  “Hi, my name’s Dancing Hearts, and…”  she takes another deep breath.  “And you’re my daughter, Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Ll-ie-Rrr-ah,” she pronounces, before pointing a hoof at her mom.  “D-Daa-nnn, t- n- tst-”  She gives a little huff, then shakes the hoof slightly before speaking declaratively.  “Mom.”

Dancing Hearts smiles really wide, tears spilling from her eyes, before she draws her daughter into a hug.  “That works,” she states.  “That will always work.”