Blacklight's cutie mark
✨✨✨
P.S. I shall always be by your side.
💡💡💡
Other words from the scroll she had dreamed slipped from Blacklight's memory even before she limped to the bathroom without opening her eyes and stuck her head under the cool water. It was a part of the unicorn’s waking-up routine. Then the anxiety melted away.
The last line stood before her eyes, perhaps a little blurry. A scroll with dark ink, both extremely outdated; somepony else's neat hornwriting in an unknown language. Blacklight had been sure of the meaning.
Moons did not seek loyalty — none of the three did. Everypony chose for themself, so there were cases when ponies were reassessing their first choice, feeling that other aspects, a different way to perceive the world or think about it, suited them better. Infrequent as they were, these, too, were decent choices.
Blacklight was not one of those outliers.
After taking a bath, combing her mane, tying it back in two tails with elastic bands and drinking three cups of coffee right there in her small kitchen, the unicorn returned to her only room. She cast a bedmaking spell that she herself had formulated long ago. It performed all the actions and checked edge cases — and yet, she watched the process over. This was a bad habit, a waste of time, because the spell simply could not make a mistake. She created it shortly after she had passed her entry exam for a university; now, three rounds later, she was in the middle of a study program and could create similar spells with a third of her mind, sleep-deprived or otherwise.
Yet, it was a pleasure to see how it worked, and that it indeed worked flawlessly. In this fashion Blacklight found her resemblance to Twilight Sparkle, and therefore did not blame herself for being alert and controlling. Not a favorite legendary pony's best trait, but still a favorite legendary pony's trait, wasn't it?
Twilight Sparkle was, of course, legendary, even if these legends were known to about three ponies per habitable sector. On the scale of Metropolis, the number of researchers and archivists who, along with Blacklight, understood who she was thinking about, would still be enough to fill a small stadium. Maybe even slightly more, leaving a small crowd outside at the entrance.
Blacklight turned on the projection terminal. She was devoting two-thirds of her computing quota to an astronomical project. More specifically, to search for ultra-distant, very dim, almost motionless stars on the sky map. Those that were absolutely impossible to see with the naked eye. Even telescopes would have to accumulate light for a long time so that a faint spot was then noticeable in the image. The eternal dance of many fast-moving nearby stars prevented these far away ones from being easily detected, and the ponies learned about their very existence not so long ago on a historical scale. Blacklight's grandfather was young then.
Strictly speaking, ponies had learned about them much earlier — nine generations ago, at least — but had long since put the knowledge aside on forgotten library shelves. They never had any importance for spells or ceremonies, unlike the nine major, zodiacal constellations and thrice nine minor ones that always kept their form through evershifting heavens and were an anchor for many rites.
But two generations ago, ultra-distant stars were listed as objects of particular interest to Black Moon, with the attachment of Her request for public cooperation on related issues. A square nine of rounds since that they never left the list.
Blacklight wrote a short letter about the dream on the terminal, accurately quoting the last line both in supposed meaning and — as a quickly and precisely drawn picture — in visible image too. She separately noted that this time she had no sensation of phantom wings.
With one touch she sent it to Black Moon. There was no need to enter the address — at one time Black Moon had explained to her how to unlock the direct personal access function built into each terminal. In Blacklight's apartment, this function was already unlocked and confirmed by the key and the consent of the Moon. Since then, to make contact she only needed to boop the nose of a specific 3D pictogram: a black alicorn with pink and purple strands in Her mane.
The pictogram turned around and silently sneezed; a three-dimensional neon green sign of loops and sharp angles was woven from a cloud of drops, and Blacklight peered into it. A quick glance would have been enough, but consent made it easier to receive: “I have read your message. Please keep sending messages about similar occurrences. There is no cause for concern. There are no other suggestions for you. Thanks."
As always, these were not words but meaning, interpreted by Blacklight's mind alike to her own thoughts. At one point she had asked the Black Moon to show her how to create such symbols herself, ones that could be understood by anypony who was watching, but received a polite refusal: “For this, you need to structure your thinking in a different way, which will complicate your work and your designation. I can help you on this path if you choose it, but please do not make such a choice."
The phase clock, weather forecast and monitoring of the surroundings gave a pretty picture: only White Moon was approaching full glory, but She was nearing the horizon at the end of the phase, and the glory of the other two Moons was not even in the middle of the rise. Short drizzle, only touching nearby streets, then clear sky all around until the very end of the next phase. Estimated probability of the Red was about zero. Two packs of unbounds in the sector, both mono-colored, "white" and "blue" — both in transit, without inclinations to make a den in the sector. Other possible troubles — Blacklight scrolled down the page, glancing over — were also highlighted in calming blue or green.
Thus it was not unreasonable to leave her protective cap with a polarised visor at home.
Neither did she have the need to figure out the route to the nearest fully self-sufficient vault nor track on which side of the street entrances into short-term shelters were.
It was even okay for her to be habitually absent-minded on her way to the cafe, as the route did not intersect with either trajectory of the unbounds’ movement.
The latter fact was fortunate, everything beyond that was a variant of a norm. All the inhabitants of Metropolis who lived to adulthood and, therefore, survived the foalhood and unbound age, were always checking the state of the sky — for many reasons, but mainly because the Red did not always obey the forecasts; otherwise, it would not have been the Red.
Automated monitoring was only helpful in estimating the likelihood of future events. It could not replace personal survival skills.
Weather permitting, going out of the door, Blacklight was wearing nothing but a bag, thin-rimmed glasses and a communication bracelet on her left foreleg. The tall buildings of habitat sector 134-W, the playground carousel, the four-color traffic light pole all cast thick, trembling shadows. The air and paving stones were colored with a ghostly radiance, slowly shifting colors in an unpredictable pattern — orange, yellow, blue, white, yellow again. This Moon was undoubtedly White, according to the color of Her central disc, but the everchanging multicolored halo around the disk fascinated even those who saw it many times before. Even knowing that she very well could get lost in White Moon’s brilliance — could literally forget her destination and stray away to nowhere — Blacklight froze at her doorstep and took the picture in.
That was full glory — in this case not even a true full glory, just approaching such. Pretty much all times it was confusing, impressive and dangerous for those who did not choose this particular Moon.
White’s full glory was mostly causing aimless wanderings or a yearning to prove one’s worth.
Blue’s was associated with gradual and inevitable poisons that were bewildering best medics of Metropolis, or outbursts of suppressed and powerful emotions.
Black’s one — ultraviolet one; this Moon’s first gift to those who aligned with Her was an ability to actually see this color — was most cryptic in effect. It was about insights and doubts so powerful and all-consuming, that a pony caught in Her glory was often losing connection to their previous life and hobbies. Sometimes Black Moon rearranged the very ability to think and speak so that those caught for too long in Her ultraviolet were becoming effectively deaf and mute to anypony else, including others suffering from this affliction. Only strong and pure friendships were sometimes able to break through this shell.
The Net stretched over Metropolis was significantly mitigating these influences. Not cancelling it outright; and, as everypony chooses for themself, there were areas unprotected by the Net.
Blacklight pulled a camera out of her bag and took a few pictures, despite knowing for sure that the camera would not be able to convey this magnificence. On her way to the cafe, she voiced a short message to Plum Jam on the bracelet — the pink pony thought that Blacklight was too rarely out of the house, and she would probably be glad about the very fact of the walk, even if she could not join Blacklight right now.
But Plum Jam would not be Plum Jam if she did not know how to squeeze out at least a slice at every such occasion.
In the nearby cafe — a dimly lit one-story building with three entrances, one on each side — they already knew her. Blacklight's status permitted her to take a plate of fruits, a plate of cheese and a bottle of juice for free — it could be any other similarly valuable meal, of course, assuming it was provided here.
She was in that weird niche of age and skills when money for work was already coming in but the income was still completely insufficient to transcend options provided by her second grade of status, if only rarely, and she simply had no patience to make savings. The status was enough for decent food, a well-equipped one-room apartment, transport within the sector, rare trips to the cinema and additional services at the terminal — that is, to accumulate status further on without much trouble or worries.
Money were sometimes needed to access the closed wings of the central library, but even that did little to drain her income. So she donated five bits to the development of the cafe, ticked the box “contact me if necessary; preferred skills include chemistry, search and small-weight transportation.” Then she re-entered her biochem index, as either it was not remembered from the last time, or the system wanted to make sure that the last time it was entered correctly. Then, finally, she went inside, chose a table for herself and lay down there comfortably among the posts through which nopony usually comes. Personal space was personal space.
The marks on the menu, set by quick touches, let the kitchen know what to cook. Blacklight was in doubt for three beats, but to avoid a potentially awkward situation, decided to not order anything for Plum Jam, for now. However, the pink earth pony appeared a few beats later, as if out of thin air, together with a bunch of small jars of jam in a sling on her side and the namesake aroma — subtle but undeniable.
Plum made a few optional — pompous and embarrassing — congratulations that Blacklight had once again dared to look out the door. That was to say, aside from going to work or the university. Then she sat down opposite the unicorn, arranged her jars of jam in a row in front of her, and with a sweeping gesture offered Blacklight her choice. A beat of honest thought later, Blacklight drew in some strawberry jam. It could be a big nuisance in itself, if Plum did not dye it blue, as blue as Blacklight's magic.
Plum knew how to change the color of berries, although she did not like to do it. After several instances of food poisoning that had had no reason beyond the natural strawberry color left untouched, she considered the color change to be the lesser evil. To ease the deed, Blacklight herself had been helping her friend out in selecting food dyes to mask the forbidden color. But still, sometimes Blacklight saw that this stage of preparing the sweets made Plum upset. "It is no worse than the other colors!" she had exclaimed once, in a bout of frustration. "All of this over a big dumb superstition."
Blacklight had nothing to say then. Everypony could name among their acquaintances those who had a close friend who, in turn, was a living — or, more often, dead — example of the fact that the cursed color was, objectively, worse. She did not want to distress Plum even more.
Pancakes, sour cheese and jam were wonderful, and Plum was really interested in Blacklight’s work endeavours, although the brisk pink pony got confused about reagent names. Soon the conversation turned to Blacklight's designation — that was, to the Six and their stories, exploits and adventures. More precisely as to Blacklight’s research focus, the distribution of Applejack's descendants in Metropolis.
They could be found everywhere, in almost every sector, on any outskirts, but still noticeably more often at the very edge of the Great Desert. It was a strange choice for a home — the rather unfavorable weather required the constant intervention of pegasi, so that at least something worthy of attention would grow there.
“Maybe she just does not want to give up before a hard task?” Plum suggested, leaning across the table, all but touching her nose to Blacklight’s. “You have difficult topic too, and it is more than just your Moon and Her designation you agreed to follow — even without that you still really want to research the Six, don’t you?”
“Who is this ‘she’?” Blacklight asked.
“Applejack, of course.”
Blacklight coughed. "Um— she's been dead for a long time. We have talked about this.”
“Uh-huh.” Plum nodded. “You’d think so, but the reality is more tricky than you think. Just try to ask your Moon whether they are alive or not. Moons do not lie, let's see what She answers you.”
Blacklight nodded. “I have asked recently. Although this is nonsense, nopony returns from the Forest, nor from soul vaults. They did not undergo soul reimplantation... and Black Moon did not answer me anyway.”
“Didn't answer?” Plum tilted her head. “I think this is the answer! And it's positive!”
Blacklight chuckled. “Then why not say so? There are many ponies who would be happy to see them.”
“Many? You, me, your archivists, and that’s it? One small feast is enough, even this cafe would not be occupied for long.” Plum circled her hoof around. “The rest of the ponies have their own lives. If anypony remembers the Six, it is Metropolis Herself, not Her citizens. So, do you want me to tell you what's really going on?”
Blacklight nodded, and Plum whispered mysteriously, “They really want to be forgotten. They are ashamed that we made all this as we did. But don't despair. A lot will change soon, because the traveler returns victorious.”
“What…?” Blacklight blinked.
“Nothing!” Plum Jam giggled. ”You just misheard everything. So, three more pancakes and let's go to your house. I'll at least clean up there. The wrappers are probably all around the corners and dust is up to your ears.”
Blacklight blushed but curtly nodded. It was very impolite, very Plum-style, but very pleasant in the sense that there was a pony who cared.
Unlike many of Jam's other plans, she did not forget about this one, and for the rest of their common time, several slices until Jam became drowsy — as ponies of different Moons were active at different phases of a cycle — Blacklight had to endure the company of a hyperactive pink pony. Her room really became noticeably cleaner in the meantime.
"Endure" needed to be put in quotation marks, honestly. For all her oddities, Plum knew how to behave, so there was the only one occurrence of a hug without asking in advance. Like the last time, Plum asked no questions about the large, clear, pony-sized mirror standing against the wall. This distinguished their friendship from acquaintances with other ponies.
Given the difference in phases, an empty bed for Plum was trivial to find — she could simply sleep in Blacklight's. Though for the next few cycles, Blacklight would have to fall asleep to the distinct, sugary smell of preserved fruits.