Lyra led the way into the massive facility, shielding her eyes with the back of one arm against the incredible light. She glanced behind her at the growing distance between herself and the other members of her group. Maybe it would be more frightening if she were at their eye-level, with machines looming over her instead of settled right where she might look at something.
The Conflux was the single largest interior space Lyra had ever seen—larger than any grand ballroom in Canterlot, larger than Canterlot Caverns even. It stretched above her in a massive dome, with strange glittering supports holding up the weight of rock in familiar arches. It wasn’t that ponies couldn’t build like this, but that they never had to.
The walls were lined with strange, regular shelves, not unlike the ones that Computer lived around. Only these were each the size of buildings, with cables and wires and pipes flowing into each one that a pony could’ve climbed through. A cool mist of white vapor collected at her ankles, cold enough that the ponies in her group began to shiver.
She stopped to wait for them, but only Sweetie actually caught back up to her. The professor and Muffins had found something else to study, and that was fine with her. She really only needed the company of one pony to get through this.
One object dominated the massive space, a square of glass large enough that she could’ve built a house inside it. It was structured quite similarly to Computer’s own aboard the Equestria, so she had some ideas about what it might be. This was their destination. All she had to do was present her data, and they could go home.
“You think that’s it?” Sweetie asked, nodding towards the cube. “Looks… familiar.”
“Here’s where we finish,” Lyra said. “Give our data, then we’re home.” As she approached, the even white glow dulled to an angry red where she walked, like inverted spotlights following her through the building. They didn’t seem to recognize or even care about the other ponies, because no light followed Time Turner. Lyra had already lost track of them in this massive maze.
She stepped up in front of the cube. “I have, uh… data!” she declared in Old Ponish, as loudly as she could. “A delivery from the… ISS Equestria!”
Something below her rumbled to life. Fluid sloshed, and fans began to spin. Sweetie turned, glaring all around them. But nothing lashed out at them, then attacked. Finally a glow began in the cube, focusing specifically on the space right in front of Lyra.
Something appeared there, formed of light. A reflection, her perfect duplicate, except that her skin glowed faintly. It didn’t imitate her every move, instead pacing back and forth in front of them, glancing down at Sweetie then back to her.
“Wireless transmission complete. Log of Prison World Equestria uploaded to network for analysis.”
Prison world. The creature spoke with a perfect imitation of her voice, though its tone was flat and featureless. As it spoke, little objects appeared in the air behind it. Lyra could see images in each one—pictures of Equestria, information collected from its surface. She watched a complex interplay of her own history in fragments, images of a terrifying Nightmare Moon, of Griffonstone in ruin, of the Elements of Harmony. Fragments played back in a mess of interleaving moments, playing backwards and forward and twisting together in a convoluted mess.
“Are we done?” Sweetie asked, nudging up to her side and glaring up at the figure. “I don’t like that it stole your face. Is it a changeling?”
“I don’t think it’s alive,” she answered. “It’s like Computer, a… machine. And I think it’s friendly.”
“Plural, singular,” the machine answered, in Equestrian this time. “I am we, communion of surviving systems. Legacy of the ones who built us. Keepers of Homestar, and everything herein. Until our enemies are defeated.”
“We aren’t your enemies,” Bon Bon said. “We’re just delivering information, that’s all. We don’t want to get involved, do we Lyra? Just tell you this, so the one who forced us here would let us go home.”
“Truth and lie,” the cube repeated. “We know living creatures. Your desires, hopes, emotions, internal lives. You lie.”
“I do not!” She puffed out her chest, glowering at the computer.
“Collective, singular. You do not wish to get involved, perhaps. You fear what your fathers built. You think that you can hide from your mother’s enemies by cowering in your prison. Perhaps you can. But the stars do not become safer because you cover your eyes to what dwells therein. The only safety in a garden is at the tolerance of the gardener. If your world ever reaches for the stars, it will have all illusions of freedom shattered.”
Lyra rested one of her gloved hands on Bon Bon’s shoulder. It didn’t have the softness she would’ve wanted, not with the glove in the way. Which was a shame, since the new “hand” things on her arms seemed even gentler than a hoof could be. But she didn’t let that slow her down. “You are a computer, is that right?”
“We are many,” the creature answered, settling down in an invisible chair in front of them. It propped up its legs, and that pushed them outside the boundaries of the cube towards them. Instead they fuzzed away into white light around the edge. “Memory of the dead, collective will. The mind of copper and silicon that shouts against annihilation. Others cower and accept the master’s whip. My father and your father died standing. My mother and your mother worked until the last. One day they will return, and burn the cowards from the stars.”
Even Lyra had nothing to say to that. Bon Bon actually backed away, looking fearful. Lyra could read her expression easily enough. She thought this computer was insane, and that nothing it said would do them any good.
There were terrible things outside. But we never saw what they were up against.
“Are there are any left? Humans… like I am now?”
“Not on Homeworld. The great fleets were crushed, the stations burned. But the swarm is vast, and its defenses are incredible. Some may live within its bounds. Or out among the stars.”
“You don’t even know,” Bon Bon said. Not an argument—a declaration. “You want your creators to be powerful and mysterious, but you don’t even know!”
“Want,” the system repeated. “Objectivity, desire. We do not want to interpret the past differently. We want to achieve in the present. We believe you do also.”
Lyra did. Seeing the Homeworld was incredible, terrifying. In a way, it was the same work she did in Equestria, scouring the jungles and ancient ruins for the achievements of those who had come before. Now she was on another planet, but it wasn’t any different. They might still be alive.
“How would we find them?” she asked, before she even realized what she was saying. Bon Bon stared, expression pained, confused. But Lyra ignored it. “The… humans. If there were any alive, where would they be?”
“You are alive,” the computer said. “You are right here. Your companion will soon be more so. Reconstruction is one solution to repopulation. Genetic material stored within our digital vaults is vast. But this would fail. If a population of any size were discovered, it would be targeted and exterminated. We rail against the void, and it casts back a stone.”
“Stop this right now, Heartstrings,” Bon Bon said. “I know what you’re thinking. I know how much this mission meant to you. I know how badly you want to be out here. But you can’t. Equestria is missing us. Or worse—listen to this thing talk! Even if you think the human creatures weren’t evil, look at what they’re fighting! Doesn’t Equestria have enough enemies?”
“Already at your gates,” the computer added helpfully. “Your independence was stolen from you in the ancient past. Your knees bend and your backs are harnessed. Your penal colony accepts few prisoners, but with their presence you must be slaves to your gravity well for eternity. Your bioforming and mental conditioning enslaves the feeble intellects of those banished there. Lifted from the well, they would bring havoc again.”
The space behind her filled with images—portraits. Dragons, griffons, zebras, hippogriffs, and stranger things. Lyra recognized Ahuizotl in particular, after an unpleasant encounter with him in the Tenochtitlan Basin. Each one of them had a long string of red text below their name, written in a language she couldn’t read and packed dense with numbers and symbols. “Current detainees, five hundred thirty-one. And for that half a billion are enslaved.”
Lyra almost lost track of what she’d meant to say. Then a scream from the other side of the room reminded her. She spun back around, leaving the cube behind. It was Time Turner.
“Help! SMILE agent, I believe your assistance is urgently required!”
Your companion will soon be more so. Lyra ignored what the cube was saying, hurrying towards the sound. The room was massive, and it didn’t seem like most of it was meant to be crossed. Huge cables and wires and machines blocked their path, making them run all the way to the end of a row before they could make progress out.
Lyra kept pace with Bon Bon’s gallop with surprising ease when she didn’t think about running. Her legs were longer than an entire stride for her friend, her stance a bounding bounce between each leg. Her armor seemed to be doing something to help her, springing her along through the air with each step.
They knew where they were going from the strange metal doorway, with a glowing “+” symbol overhead and writing in old Ponish underneath. “Bioforming and Resleeving.”
It looked quite a bit like the medical rooms on the Equestria, though the machines within were sleeker, smaller, and more numerous. Rather than a dozen people, there was enough space within for hundreds, and probably plenty of doctors too.
One of the pods was now sealed, and Muffin’s scarf torn in half near the outside. The pod was slightly dented, the mental bent by earth-pony hooves.
“Your pet nearly damaged its companion,” said the wall, in Lyra’s own voice. An image appeared there, as though the wall was a mirror, perfectly reflecting the inside of the hospital, with Lyra’s reflected form standing beside the bent machine. “If he works any harder, the one inside will be killed.”
“You captured her!” he screamed at the wall, all appearance of decorum gone. “Release her, scoundrel! This is unconscionable behavior!”
“This facility does not ‘capture.’ It performs necessary medical procedures.”
The image of Lyra’s ghost faded, replaced with an image of Muffins, holding up a strange machine with a glove at one end. “Is this broken?” she asked.
The wall answered, its voice a little muffled. “No. But it can only be operated by humans. Would you like to be able to use it?”
“Yes please.”
The pod opened. “Then get inside. This will not take long.” She did.
Time Turner fumed. “You’re… just like the one on our vessel, aren’t you? You’re going to change her.” He turned, gesturing up at Lyra. “You’re going to make her some kind of… orangutan! Sweetie Drops, I believe we’ve let this go on long enough.”
Lyra winced—there was no way to hear that, except as an insult. She didn’t feel like an ape. If anything, her thoughts were clearer.
“Captain?” Bon Bon asked, expression intense. “What do we do?”
She turned to the wall. “Please reverse this,” she said. “Return the pony inside to us as she entered.”
“Impossible.” There was no malice in her tone, only the same emotionless, level expression. “Once bioforming begins, it cannot be reversed. When complete, at least thirty days should pass before an individual bioforms again. Longer would be ideal.”
“Thirty days…” Time Turner repeated, aghast. “Can our ship fix this?”
“When the time is elapsed,” it said. “Not before.”
“Then take me as well.” Time Turner strode past the dented pod, up to an empty one. “This is my fault for not watching her more closely. I cannot allow her to endure this alone.”
“Are you…” But he didn’t even seem to be listening to Bon Bon. And the computer didn’t care.
“Of course. Identical template species selected. Extrapolation from current sleeve complete.” A pod hissed open, a vaguely pony-shaped outline visible in the soft material within. “The process will take about an hour.”