//------------------------------//
// Chapter 11 
// Story: Hand of the Ancients 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//

Lyra stumbled awkwardly through the bridge, still feeling the painful disorientation of decontamination. But as her head cleared, the true weight of their predicament became increasingly obvious.
Or maybe that was the large illustration on the viewfinder, showing three metal hulks from below. 
Comparing them to the Horn of Celestia was a little like trying to use her first levitation spell as a graduating thesis at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. There was no grace in the ships, nothing aerodynamic or streamlined.
They resembled the worst sins of lazy architects in some newer cities, harsh and square and blocky, with uneven protrusions and ports arranged entirely at random. Heavy sheets of rough metal packed in against the sides like scales of ancient chain mail, many showing signs of rust or uneven pockmarks of wear.
Her two transformed companions were in worse shape than Lyra herself. Time Turner held to the railing with one gangly limb, and dropped awkwardly into the very first chair he could find. Despite taking an elevator up, his voice was breathless with effort.
"I find myself... unsure of what I'm observing," he said, waving vaguely at the screen. "Those ugly things are... what,  precisely?"
"Destroyers of the Divine Griffon Republic," Computer said, speaking with simple neutrality. "These are their smallest class of interstellar ship, used primarily for salvage and anti-piracy measures. The Conflux is downloading tactical information to my database now. Initial projections suggest favorable outcomes in eight of ten simulated engagements."
What about the other two? Lyra still knew almost nothing about the ancestors or the arrangement of their ship—but one place in particular seemed to draw her to it. One chair rose above all the others, directly in the center of the bridge. That gave it a commanding view of the many empty screens and stations.
She settled into it, like a cat returning to her favorite sleeping spot. The chair fit her perfectly, exactly as comfortable as she required without making her want to drift off. Their hike through the jungle should've drained her to exhaustion, but somehow her energy remained.
She still didn't know what made the human tribe different from earth ponies or pegasi. Buck, she hadn't even found her cutie mark yet.
The chair responded to her. Little controls lifted from the floor around it, angling up towards her. Most were screens, though there were plenty of mechanical levers and buttons as well. Each had labels in Old Ponish, though she could do little more than sound each of them out. What was “active denial” and why should she activate it? What about “signal penetration” or “neutron bombardment?”
Sweetie was right about a lot of things, but chief among them was just how out of their depth they were. If Lyra sank much deeper, she might start drowning. 
A sigh echoed from the seat around her, almost as satisfied as what Lyra now felt. "I cannot tell how long I've waited to have a captain again. A crew would be a fantastic next step, and I see the Conflux took its own steps towards that outcome. Why did your romantic partner not reconfigure as well?"
Without a word, Sweetie settled into a sitting position beside the fancy chair. She eyed its many controls, with all the skepticism she had before.
"These Destroyers..." Time Turner continued. "I assume they have the ability to send and receive messages, yes? We should open a dialogue and explain our peaceful intentions. There's no need for this engagement to end violently for any involved."
The ships were getting closer—as the Equestria ascended through the atmosphere, the vessels’ true scope came into view. Distance made them seem so much smaller than the Equestria, but this was wrong. They were instead much larger, narrow boxy rectangles as long in one direction as a whole city. Their metal armor must be as thick as Manehattan's tallest skyscrapers!
"You said these were their... smallest ships?" Lyra squeaked. "They're huge."
"I know, right?" Computer’s neutrality faltered, turning to amusement. "I spent two millennia in stasis and look how little innovation they've made! Those vessels rely on fusion torch drives driven by magically confined D-T reactors larger than the spire of this vessel. To reach maximum acceleration, its crew must be cryogenically frozen, and remain that way until it reaches cruising speed. I do wonder how creatures like these ever threatened our dominion in the galaxy."
Lyra sat up straighter in her seat, squinting up at the nearest ship. The chair responded, adjusting to become more comfortable for her to hold that position. The display seemed to read her desires, zooming sharply to focus on the lead ship. It filled the entire viewfinder now, so close she could pick out individual windows. 
There weren't many, each one sheltered under a awning, narrow metal portals like those on the lower decks of many sailing ships.
I don't know what any of those words mean, but I bet Equestria would build something prettier than that. She imagined something like the spires of the Crystal Empire, hovering there in the air on a similar scale. Why bother building something so grand, if you weren't going to make it beautiful?
Until that moment, Muffins had kept herself occupied playing with a set of gloves she'd brought back from the Consensus Node. Now she stood up, wandering around the stations surrounding the room, and inspecting each of the screens in turn. 
So long as she didn't touch anything, Lyra could ignore her.
Not Bon Bon, though. "Computer, you promised us that when we delivered your report, we could go home. You would take us back to Equestria, change Lyra back into a pony. Will you still do that?”
The computer took a little longer to deliberate. "The one you call Lyra is Captain of the Equestria. She bears my mantle and holds Imperial authority over this vessel. I am required to obey all her orders, up to and including those that I believe directly contradict my mission. If Captain Lyra wishes to flee, that is her decision to make."
Those words hung in the air, as heavy and awkward as the huge griffon ships above them. Though with the rate of their ascent, they wouldn't be above for long. How long would those ships let them fly here? She still remembered the hatred burning in the soldiers she saw on the surface of the ancient homeworld, far more homicidal and destructive than the worst villains Equestria had ever faced.
"It might be a good idea," Time Turner said. "You heard the ship, Lyra. You're free to make whatever decision you feel is best. The danger does seem to be following an upward trajectory—maybe other ponies would carry this burden better than we."
So, Bon Bon wasn't the only one with second thoughts? I don't want to give up the mantle. The Conflux is right, Equestria shouldn't be a prison planet. We deserve to be free.
"Computer, will these griffons let us go home? If we tell them we're going back to Equestria..."
"Unclear. The Divine Republic was barbaric at its best. Its ruling species evolved as ruthless solitary predators on their homeworld. Imperial biologists believe they never evolved the brain regions associated with compassion, empathy, and cooperation. When you see them, you must imagine the captains of those vessels viewing us purely from the lens of what they might extract from the encounter. Slaves, treasure, salvage... whatever."
"You said we were stronger," Bon Bon said. "I've fought griffons before. They're brave, reckless—but not suicidal. If you show them they're up against an opponent they can't beat, they'll back off every time."
The computer laughed. Its tone was more than just a passable imitation of alive—it was perfect. "I agree with your tactical assessment, EQ2.04. Perhaps you would consider a position as my security officer?"
Sweetie shook her head sharply. "Do I still have to change into what they are? No."
"Pity. Likewise, your tactical evaluation is accurate, but ultimately incomplete. Indeed, Griffons will always choose to flee unless they view an opponent as decisively weaker than themselves. That they have not suggests they will not be persuaded to release us. I am already detecting an increase in power flow across their vessel—auxiliary generators are coming online. They are preparing weapons. I am decrypting their radio communication now. Their encryption scheme is novel but appears to possess low quantum resistance."
Muffins settled into one chair in particular, no different from any of the other stations. Its screens and controls lit up for her, just as they had for Lyra. "Last time we went far, we could just... go. We went so fast I didn't know we were somewhere else until we got there."
She wasn't particularly loud, but Lyra still heard her clearly—was it something about the station? Maybe the captain was meant to know what everyone in this room was doing.
"Unfortunately not," Computer answered. "If we could travel freely across the galaxy, even a vastly more numerous enemy would have met eventual defeat. Unfortunately, the technique we use for gateless travel between systems is... delicate. The mathematics are beyond anything you would understand."
"I... would... like to understand," Muffins muttered, mostly to herself. "There's a lot I don't understand. Can you try to teach me?"
The computer didn't answer, at least not that Lyra could hear. Then Time Turner spoke. "There's... a light here. Why is it flashing so insistently, Computer?"
"That means we are receiving an incoming signal. Pressing that button would play it."
You could do that yourself, Lyra thought. Why do you want Time Turner involved? 
"Ah, well. Might as well hear them out." Time Turner extended one spindly finger and activated the button.
The screen ahead of them became solid black at first, absent of stars. Then a bird appeared before them, unlike any griffon Lyra had ever seen before.
The general body plan was the same, sharp beak and claws and avian features up front. But few birds dressed in such elaborate, layered robes. Even fewer had a clanking metal limb replacing one of their forelegs, or many wires and tubes passing along their body.
"Unknown survey vessel, this is the Triumph of Alavax. Intergalactic law does not allow the operation of unauthorized Relic vessels. Likewise, trespassing within Relic systems is forbidden. By order of His Majesty Claudavast Matholomew Obsidian the Fourteenth, your ship will be impounded, and its technology dismantled."
As he spoke, the space behind him gradually illuminated. Another bridge appeared, with rows of stations and little muttering birds hunched over each one. Walls fuzzed into being, then retreated further out, fuzzy suggestions more than actual space. Stations and controls materialized, but irregularly, and only ever when someone touched them. And strangest of all, there wasn't even a flicker of color to the image, all black and gray.
The old bird at the front shifted, and suddenly he wasn't standing, but reclining in an uncomfortable metal chair. "If you cooperate, your governing Persona will be preserved, and given a place of honor on another sacred vessel of the Republic navy. If you resist, you will be destroyed. Remain where you are. Any attempt to flee or activate your defensive systems will be met with lethal retaliatory force."
The sound abruptly ended, though it left the illusion behind on their screen, frozen in its most detailed moment. 
"Their cameras are worse than Equestria's," Time Turner said, staring up at the image. "That's dreadful."
"It is not a camera, but a visual reconstruction of their bridge based on their audio transmission. What you see is probabilistic, not factual in nature. But my last captain believed it still conveyed useful information when our opponents did not choose to show their faces."
"What do we do, Lyre?" Sweetie asked, nudging her leg. She barely even felt the pony's touch through her armor. Shame. "You're in the big chair. Do we surrender?"
Lyra stared back into the black and white face on her screen, and imagined another rotting bird, covered in fungus. Would this one look as hateful, if he knew he spoke to living ponies? What about the dozens of birds clustered behind him? Some of those were probably working the weapons that would kill her, if they discovered she was here.
"Can we talk back to them?" she asked. "I'd really like to give them a chance to leave us alone."
"Sure. Time Turner, there's another button in front of you. I've translated the text into your language, you should be able to read it. Select the vessel, and what you wish the signal to contain. I will handle protocol negotiation on your behalf. However... Captain, you should be aware:
"If they discover living humans aboard, I do not believe they will be open to negotiation."
"Could you... trick them?" Bon Bon suggested. "If they think the ship is empty, maybe they would let us fly away without shooting."
Computer replied without hesitation. "An unmanned Communion-Class Gardener vessel would make for the salvage of their career. Given what we observe, their technology has not developed in the intervening years. They would risk their lives to capture this vessel."
"Then... we'll try talking to them. Time Turner, do it. Just voices, don't let them see us. Maybe that will help."
"I..." He squinted down at the display in front of him, then fiddled with it. With each touch, his confidence grew.
Finally, a quiet, electronic beep echoed through the bridge. "I believe they're listening," Time Turner said. "Telegraph line open, captain.”