//------------------------------// // Chapter Seven // Story: The Architect's Wings // by mushroompone //------------------------------// This little ship was starting to feel like a home all its own. Perhaps even more so than Eventide. All the zig-zagging across the universe had made this Rarity’s most constant dwelling these tumultuous months. And, where Eventide often felt distantly alien, the ship had a comforting familiarity and age. Same old metal grate beneath her hooves. Same squeaky, sticky seats which didn’t fit her quite right. Same stickers on Pinkie’s half of the console.  It’s possible that, had she been stronger, Twilight would have made an effort to look a little less at peace with her sudden foalnapping. But she was tired. Tired all the time. Tireder all the time. She had put up a fair bit of a fight, of course. Yelling and digging in her hooves and trying to close her door in Rarity’s face. Perhaps that was one of those hidden dangers of living on an empty planet—yelling in public was no longer a deterrent for Rarity. Now, though, Twilight was slumped quietly in the back of the ship. She breathed slowly and consistently, if a bit rattly, and seemed transfixed by the view out the front window. Nothing but a sea of stars. “Is this some sort of twisted farewell tour?” Twilight asked. “Because… y’know, I’m not quite that close to death. You can give it another year or so.” Rarity glared at her passenger. “Don’t you dare be so morbid on my ship.” “Right, right…” Twilight muttered with a little dismissive wave of her hoof. “Sorry.” “I still haven’t forgiven you, by the way,” Rarity said. “Just so we’re clear. This isn’t me forgiving you.” Twilight sighed, long and low. “It’s clear.” “Good,” Rarity said with a nod. “Because I have a zero-tolerance policy on lying.” “That’s a good policy,” Twilight forlornly agreed. “Can you please tell me where we’re going?” Rarity chuckled dryly. “You won’t catch me on a technicality. It isn’t lying if I simply don’t tell you.” “Is it someplace tourist-y? Because you know I hate that.” “No comment.” “It’s not one of those wellness retreats, is it?” Twilight all but whined. “I just—I always feel so awkward. Don’t you?” “I do not feel awkward,” Rarity agreed. “No further comment.” Twilight let out a low growl and sunk lower in her seat. “Fine. Are we there yet?” “Very nearly.” “Can’t this thing go any faster?” “Darling, I understand you’re still angry with me, but you really might want to enjoy the view,” Rarity said, without even a hint of exasperation. “Take my word for it.” Twilight didn’t reply. She squirmed in her seat a bit, and perhaps even thought about talking back a few more times, but ultimately went quiet and watched the universe go by. It was a wonderful thing. Even the worst trips were made beautiful when you could watch the universe go by. All those colors. All those stars. The deep swirls of violet and royal blue, even the occasional red or green or pink. The greatest abstract painting there ever was or ever would be. A representation of life and triumph, but also the crushing size of it all. The overwhelming endlessness of the universe and its mysteries. Twilight watched it. Her eyes locked on to star after star, planet after planet, blips and swirls and lights here and there, carrying her to her destination in relative silence. Only the humming of the engine. When the nav system began to beep, pulsing like the heart of a songbird, Rarity stalled the ship to a near perfect stillness. It took Twilight a long moment to realize that this was not, in fact, part of a landing procedure. “We’re stopped?” “I can’t go down with you,” Rarity said. “I’ll need to send you down on your own. So I’m going to talk to you up here. Is that alright?” Twilight looked around, much in the way someone might search for loved ones preparing to leap out and properly begin a surprise party. “I don’t… what’s going on?” Rarity sucked in a deep breath, clapped her forehooves together, and said, “you’re dying.” Though it took Twilight a moment to register the phrase, she actually laughed when she did. “Yes. I remember.” “But you aren’t dead yet,” Rarity said, a hoof raised as if giving a lecture. “And, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but acting as if you are is utterly unbecoming.” Twilight’s ears flattened against her head. “Where are you going with this?” “When I was studying on Aurora, I was working on two projects in tandem,” Rarity explained. “I always had trouble deciding which I like better: the Diamond Planet, a research utopia, or the Vacation Planet, a simple little place which would be placed in orbit around a magical anomaly to speed time up. In short, it could make a vacation longer without wasting real time.” “Uh-huh…” Twilight mumbled with suspicion. “In the end, I chose the Diamond Planet. Eventide, that is. A little less diamond than I’d planned,” Rarity said, a little bit of a giggle lifting her words. “But those plans for a planet where time moves faster… I kept those. I figured I might need them someday.” Rarity turned and withdrew the blueprint case from behind her. She only did this to wave it about, to prove to Twilight that she’d kept it around, but she ended clutching it to her chest as she continued to explain. “When you told me you were dying, that the magic was eating you up, I wanted time to stop,” Rarity said. “I wanted everything to stop until I could figure out how to fix it. I went over all of my old notes and textbooks, just in case there was something inside that might help. And I found these plans. And I made some changes.” Twilight was quiet. She stared at Rarity, eyes wide, gears whirring in those pupils as she tried to put the pieces together herself. “It was very simple, really. Rather than speed time up, I needed to slow time down. I needed to put you in a sort of stasis until I could find the cure,” Rarity went on. “So I… I made you a planet, Twilight.” She nodded. Very small and understated. Just to her left, out the front window. Twilight, weak as she was, leapt out of her seat and floated to the front of the cockpit. The moon, a tiny stolen thing, was lush and green. From this distance, it looked almost exactly like a miniature version of Equus. Patches of green, swaths of blue, all of it marbled together across a galactic marble orbiting a black hole. “You… how?” Rarity smiled. A sad sort of smile. “Eventide,” she said. “There’s something there. Magic. I think it could be the key to curing you, though I honestly have no idea where to begin.” She hung her head and laughed. Twilight’s lips parted as she tried to form a coherent thought, but she came up empty. “I don’t know how long it will take us to find the answer,” Rarity admitted. “But here, your disease will move much much slower, and you won’t need to use your alicorn magic. It’s a vacation. A nice place.” Twilight pulled herself even closer to the window. “Where did you learn to do this?” Rarity laughed. “The technique? Schooling, of course,” she said. “But the idea? You.” “No.” Twilight shook her head. “No, I didn’t teach you this.” “I’m not sure that you intended to. In fact, I’m fairly certain you intended the opposite,” Rarity said, laughter still nipping at her words. “You made a sacrifice. But you were wrong; a good leader would never abandon a team member. Especially not one that had sacrificed so much.” Twilight was silent. She gazed out at the empty planet, one hoof resting on the glass between her and the rest of the universe. “Not to mention all that talk of kernels and seeds and pioneers,” Rarity went on. “Always starting something new. They started something new with you, you know. And, since they neglected to finish it, I suppose I’ll just have to take it upon myself!” She puffed out her chest, doing her best to sound cheery and perhaps even a little theatrically pompous. Twilight did not react. She only stared out the window, watching the tiny planet below inch across the great void of the black hole. “I’ll be around,” Rarity said, her voice as soft as she could manage. She came up beside Twilight and gently caressed her shoulder. “Probably more often than you’d like. Running tests and all that. For you, it will probably only be a few days between visits.” “And for you?” Twilight asked. Rarity smiled. Again, that sad smile. “Well. It may be a few years before we have the answer. Maybe more,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But this is a sacrifice I’m making. This is me being a pioneer.” Twilight hung her head. The ship purred softly, its engines still warm, ready to deliver Twilight to her temporary home. Other than that, there was only silence in the cockpit.  The light of a nearby star shone orange through the window and decorated Twilight in its glow. She leaned into it, if only slightly, relishing its warmth and its richness on her fur. “I’m sure it’s lovely, Rarity,” she whispered. “A real work of art. But I already want to go home.” In the near-silence, Rarity could hear the tiny plip of a tear striking the metal grate beneath her hooves. She moved in to embrace her old friend without the slightest hesitation. Twilight accepted the embrace as quickly as it came, wrapping her own forelegs around Rarity’s back and squeezing gently in return. Though Rarity could hardly feel the pressure, she knew that it was likely every bit of strength Twilight had left in her. “You’ll be home soon,” Rarity cooed, stroking her friend’s mane slowly and firmly. “Before you know it. Only a few weeks, really.” “But what if you can’t help me?” Twilight asked. She squeezed tighter. “Well, then, I shall have to pass the work on to someone else,” Rarity replied. Her throat was hot and tight as she held back her own tears. “My student this time. And she’ll be brilliant, because I taught her how, just as you taught me. And if she can’t do it, then she’ll find another.” A tiny sob escaped Twilight. She squeezed tighter. She said nothing. She couldn’t have said anything if she wanted to. She shook like a leaf, all of her clinging so desperately to Rarity as the pair floated slowly through space, slowly through the cockpit, slowly closer to the moon awaiting its one and only denizen. Rarity clutched her right back, holding her together with those slender forelegs. They remained like this for a long moment. How long exactly is difficult to say. But, eventually, the orange light of the nearby star began to slide off Twilight like a curtain. The cockpit went dark, save for the lights on the console.  Rarity said, “It’s time for you to go. I have work to do, you know.” Twilight squeezed her friend, her student, her pioneer with everything she had. “I know you can do it,” she whispered. “You’re an artist. Do something creative and brilliant and come right back to get me.” “I promise,” Rarity said. “I promise.”