//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: Celestial Mechanics 
// by Kiki3 
//------------------------------//


Celestial Mechanics
Prologue

 
 


 
 
It was the first day of spring. Not the arbitrary date determined by the Cloudsdale Weather Authority for Winter Wrap-Up, but the real date as declared by nature herself – the timing of which is as beyond the control of ponies as the very flow of time itself.
 
It was true that the citizens of Ponyville rolled out the red carpet for the change of seasons, clearing fields and scrubbing skies. They planted the seeds and pruned the wayward branches. They did many things to prepare for the coming of the new season, wiping away the old and setting the place for the new. But no matter how hard they worked, no matter how many bunnies they herded or nests they wove, they could not shed the burden of winter on their own. Spring was not spring without the spark of life, a gift only nature could provide. This was her show; she was its biggest star. Though the novel power of the Technical Revolution had reshaped the once rustic cities and towns of Equestria into hubs of modern industry, the wider world remained mostly unaltered. Nature still ruled supreme over the land; no number of roads or factories could ever overthrow her benevolent rule. And for the most part, the ponies knew it. They would play their parts in the Wrap-Up with the truest dedication, and once their duties were finished, simply step aside – faithfully waiting for nature herself to make her entrance.
 
And what an entrance it was!
 
From dawn to dark, today was alive. The birds sung with newfound vigour, the squirrels ran with a extra bounce in their step. The first crocuses opened their fresh petals of purple to flutter in the fresh, startlingly warm breeze, and the first bees buzzed lazily out to meet them, thoughts of sweet nectar filling their tiny minds. The sun was brighter; the ground was softer. Ponies everywhere revelled in the return of the season of life. Even the weary miners of the Everclear coal shaft west of town wore a dusty smile as they emerged from the black pit – no mortal toil could repress the joy of a day like today.
 
In an instant, the hard work of the Wrap-Up was rewarded. Nature was grateful: with all the energy of youth, she strove to return ponykind a million times what they had given her. After all, there was no way she could afford to leave their kindness unthanked in a world where industrial hooks clawed out her essence on a daily basis. She lit the sky with rainbows; the feathers of the pegasi practically glowed in prismatic light. The polluted streams ran clear with the water of the melting snows. Fish jumped higher, as if trying to touch the brilliant blue of the sky.
 
It was the kind of day you wish would last forever.
 
But even the most glorious premiere must end. With clockwork precision, the hours progressed. The glory of the day merged into twilight, and twilight gave way to dusk – that awkward dark that precedes the rising of the night, that rare time without both Sun and stars.
 
And soon enough, dusk gave way to let in the full glory of night.
 
 
*     *     *
 
 
Luna's moon hung low over the mountains, heavy and luminous with an aura of silver. Heavenly nightlight spilled out over the icy spires, igniting their glacial caps to a cold fire of white – a fire that quickly spread downward to the great towers and battlements of the royal city. Canterlot glowed in the clear night air, a distant candle silently burning with the power of the Princess of the Night.
 
But nopony bore witness to Luna's power: all the little ponies were sleeping now in the capital fortress. Their windows had gone dark hours ago, lights suppressed by the force of government curfew. Little trace of the hustle and bustle of the day remained. Only a few bits of litter marked the spots where crowded markets had been not long before. It was quiet. Even the fresh breeze of the day had faded to the faintest whisper, leaving an eerie calmness in its place.
 
Down in the valley far, far below, the silver light washed over the thatched roofs and chimneys of Ponyville. It painted the tall smokestacks of the now-idle factories and ran through the still-leafless trees, casting sharp shadows upon the ground. Here too, most ponies slept, their shop doors barred and bolted against an unknown foe. Not that any such enemy was in sight: the light of the full moon would keep even the most brazen burglar at bay. The very streets glowed in the dark, moonlight picking out tiny gemstones that hid in the brighter light of day, lost in a sea of dust and gravel. They glinted beautifully in the night.
 
The town was deserted, the night as silent as it was in Canterlot. The citizens slept to save their strength for the hard workday ahead. The animals slept too, tucked to peaceful rest by a gentle yellow pegasus with a soft touch and soothing voice. The road into town lay untravelled. Tonight, the welcome sign that stood before the Ponyville bridge proclaimed its message to nopony.
 
But not to no thing.
 
A shadow had appeared in the far distance – a formless splotch of black on the pale roadway. It flickered slowly, growing and shrinking in size. It passed through the shadows of the roadside trees and stones, melding in to each as it entered, only to be reborn seconds later on the opposite side. With each shadow it touched, it seemed to grow a little in size and shape.
 
Several minutes passed. The thing was much nearer now, and no longer formless. It was pony-shaped, more or less – strange lumps and bumps complicated the silhouette, making it difficult to be sure. Its gait was slow and unsteady; now and then it would stumble slightly.
 
Still the thing – traveller? – pressed onward towards Ponyville. Its shape grew clearer with each passing second, and the source of the flickering was now evident: tattered black robes flapped in the still air as it moved. They covered the traveller's body and head alike, seemingly several layers deep everywhere.
 
It was almost at the bridge. As it approached, the faintest of hoofbeats could be heard over the burbling of the river.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. . .
 
There was something odd about the way they sounded, dull and heavy instead of light and melodious like those of ordinary ponies. The hoofbeats weren't the only strange aspect of the traveller's appearance: the moonlight cast its shadow in sharp relief on the hard-packed ground, but somehow failed to illuminate it in any way. Whether it walked in light or shadow, the tattered robes sucked in every single drop of moonlight that fell upon them. It was almost like a hole in space – a hole with a shadow.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Tock.-
 
The steps stopped abruptly. The traveller had halted before the welcome sign. It stood stalk still, and blacker than the night itself. With no motion to stir the tattered robes, they fell limply to hang in statuesque folds. Very gradually, it tilted its head upward as if to read.
 
The ornately carved letters were clear enough in the moonlight, even though the paint was chipped and peeling.
 
Welcome to Ponyville, Population 1724.
 
Below the carved letters, two more lines had been painted on:

Main Gate Open 7 AM to 10 PM. No Admission After Curfew.
 
Griffins Must Carry Identification at All Times.
 
The traveller lowered its head, and turned to face Ponyville. It slowly scanned the horizon, presumably searching for the gate referred to by the sign.
 
It wan't hard to find. The Ponyville bridge was the gate. It had been radically modified to suit the position; the formerly rustic structure transformed into a glistening array of modern defensive equipment. Cobblestones had been replaced by tire spikes; on the sides, robotic entry turrets protruded from beneath coils of razorwire. Chain link panels barred the way across.
 
Hardly a welcoming sight. This traveller, however, appeared unfazed. It stood in the moonlight that could not illuminate it, staring forward at the fortification.
 
With a rustle of ragged robes, the traveller tentatively extended a foreleg.
 
...vvvvVVVV-click!
 
One by one, the sentry turrets flickered to life, or at least their crude mechanical parody of it. Glowing red lights emerged from the moon-darkened shadows as glass eyes turned to look upon the traveller. Above the bridge, a line of text appeared, also in red:
 
THE GATE IS CLOSED.
 
The traveller froze in place. Its head shifted first left, then right. Chain link and razorwire fencing backed the river in both directions, as far as the eye could see. No alternative entrance was available.
 
The robes rustled again. The traveller had moved, but not away. The soft thump of its steps echoed over the burbling of the river. The turrets whirred as they tracked the intruder.
 
THE GATE IS CLOSED. TURN BACK.
 
The traveller paid no heed to the warning, barely even lifting its head to read. The turrets clicked.
 
THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING. TURN BACK.
 
With surprising agility, the traveller slipped past the tire spikes, and onto the bridge itself. A low hum rose from the turrets, quickly rising to a screaming crescendo. Their light was now upon the traveller, but they were as powerless to illuminate the dark robes as the moon had been.
 
INTRUDERS WILL BE SHOT.
 
The traveller was at the gate, the heavy locking mechanism held between its forelegs. The turrets began to flash a last message as the intruder pushed desperately at the gate – to no avail. The steel was solid, and bore enchantments of great power. Of course it would not yield! A shot rang out in the dark –
 
– And everything turned black.
 
 
*     *     *
 

The moon once again shadowed the traveller as it walked through the deserted streets of Ponyville. There was no sign of violence upon its robes, and it walked with the same determined, if uneven, cadence as before. Its head was held high, and it gazed upon the barred storefronts with an air of implacable confidence. It flicked its head from one window display to the next as it passed. No more than a cursory inspection was given to each. Evidently, its business was elsewhere in town.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Cl-Tock.- Clop. Clop. Clop. . .
 
The gate grew more distant with each leaden hoofbeat, a glimmering outline at the far end of the main street. Its lights were now dark, and the turrets slept inertly on each side. Strangely, it too was unharmed by the apparent confrontation. The chain link gate remained as sealed as the guards had left it this evening, and not a scorch mark from the energy blast was visible on the polished metal. Absolutely no evidence of recent events could be seen, either on or near the bridge. Was there even a record of the incident stored in its electronic mind?
 
Maybe there was. Maybe there wasn't. Either way, the traveller didn't seem concerned about the possibility. It had reached the town square, and was now approaching the pavilion in the centre that was the town hall. It was darker here; the hulking brick office buildings etched long black pits of shade upon the ground, and their deep brown faces reflected little light, especially when compared to the whitewashed homes that made up the majority of Ponyville's residences. No living thing was in sight; the traveller had vanished in the darkness, as if consumed by the imposing structures.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Tock.-
 
The heavy steps fell silent, and all was still. Somewhere off in the Everfree, a lonesome timberwolf howled.
 
Without the continued influx of sound, Ponyville became a tableau. Nothing moved, spoke or felt. The silence was everything, and everything was silent. The night grew tight with anticipation.
 
Then a floorboard creaked in the pavilion. The noise shattered the silence like a gunshot, bringing it crashing down with the tinkling of a million echoes. Another followed, then another – each one splintering the night as it fled the scene at a thousand kilometres an hour. It was the traveller.
 
It stepped from the umbra of the hall, a scroll clenched in its mouth. The traveller walked to the light side of the square, stopping a few paces in front of a small whitewashed shop that squeezed between the featureless offices. Tidy flower boxes engraved with leafy patterns hung from the shop's windows, showcasing crocuses and early tulips. It was the first place in town with unbarred windows that the traveller had passed, and also the first to receive more than a moments glance. A small mouth-painted sign on the door identified it as Roseluck's Flowers.
 
With a soft rustling of tattered fabric, the traveller lowered its head towards the ground and released its mouth-held cargo. The scroll hit the ground with a crinkle, unrolling almost immediately on its own accord. The bearer reached out a cloth-wrapped foreleg and pressed it smooth on the ground.
 
It was a poster. Judging from the holes in the corners, it had probably been torn from the community bulletin board.
 
DUTY. HEROISM. GLORY.
 
Bold white letters screamed for attention against a backdrop of wind-torn stormclouds.
 
On the left side, bolts of lightning arced out to sear high black mountains. Vast hordes of deformed beasts swarmed in the air and on the ground alike. Their gaunt forms were revealed in stark relief in the lightning: grimy creatures with lethal talons and cutting beaks, somehow carried through the air on wings so thin and mangy they were little more than blistered skin and bone. Ragged fur covered their lower bodies, stained in what was presumably the blood of their innocent victims. They were savages; certainly monsters, perhaps demons.
 
Or as they are more commonly known, griffins.
 
On the right side, a triad of mares clustered upon a small patch of fluorescent green grass, their expressions proud and defiant. A Pegasus, a Unicorn, and an Earth pony. Their polished armour shone in a spotlight of sun that cut through the sinister clouds, and their finely crafted weapons blazed with righteous fire.
 
They were the ponies, protected by the grace of the Goddesses themselves.
 
Below this lurid scene was a second, smaller line of text, also in white:
 
The Royal Equestrian Army needs you!
 
And below that, in garish red:
 
ENLIST NOW.
 
The traveller stared at it, as if calculating. A subtle shake of the head.
 
It wouldn't work. With the softest of sighs, the traveller released its hold. The poster sprung back into shape, its slightly curved surface rocking silently on the packed dirt.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. . .
 
The leaden hoofbeats resumed, and back into the shadows it went. The pavilion creaked again.
 
Before long, the traveller emerged. It carried another rolled-up poster, which it again deposited in front of Roseluck's Flowers. This one was newer; the paper stronger and ink brighter. Pumpkins and cartoon-y ghosts were in abundance, sharing the background with spooky-looking trees and tombstones. The foreground was occupied by none other than Luna herself, clad in sleek black armour. She gazed piercingly towards the viewer, a joyful smirk on her face. Underneath the picture was the caption:
 
PRINCESS LUNA RETURNS!
 
Ponyville's 1005th Nightmare Night will once again be graced by
the Princess of the Moon, maintaining her tradition of Royal visits
that has lasted for over a thousand years, dating back to before the time
when the Palace was moved from the Everfree forest to Canterlot.
 
Storytelling! Spookiness! Fun!
7-10 PM, Ponyville town square.
 
The traveller gave a small nod. It rolled the poster up and thrust it under the robes on its back, where it disappeared into darkness.
 
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. . .
 
A glance at the tower clock. The night was wearing on; it was time for the traveller to complete its mission and leave this place, lest the light of day reveal its secrets.
 
Moving to a trot, it slipped into the narrow alley that ran between Flim Flam Industries, Inc. and TrixieCorp (“Great and Powerful Wastewater Disposal Solutions”). It emerged moments later on the other side, passing behind Sugarcube Corner on the way down the street.
 
Its destination was in sight: the Ponyville Library was only a few blocks away. As elegant as ever, the ancient treetop rose above the surrounding houses, its bare branches just starting to show the earliest flush of spring leaves.
 
ClopClopClopClop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. . .
 
The traveller slowed its pace as it drew closer, back to the same methodical walk that carried it into town. It clung to the shadows now, as if afraid of being seen. The heavy robes swished in rhythm with its steps.
 
The swishing stopped as the traveller halted in the shade of Vinyl Scratch and Octavia's house, just across from the library. It cast a quick glance around. Finding nopony in sight, it lifted a forehoof to its back. Out of the  blackness where it had stowed the Luna poster came a book – a huge book, bound in black leather. Its embossed golden title caught a stray ray of moonlight:
 
Mechanica Caelestis.
 
Taking the book in its mouth, the traveller darted across the street. With an agile leap, it launched itself on to the low roof that overhung the library's kitchen.
 
Thump.
 
It was now on the second floor balcony, just below the lowest hanging branches of the living house. Golden letters flashed as the traveller set its burden down. It swiftly tucked the tome into a low cranny beneath the windowsill, then stepped back to inspect the placement. The traveller gave another quick look to each side, then a nod. It would not be visible from the street. It turned away, preparing to descend.
 
Just then, a soft sound like a whiff of wind blew over its ears. Somepony was stirring in the Library! A blaze of light appeared inside, shining out onto the balcony even through the drawn curtains.
 
The traveller had to flee. With only a second's hesitation, it jumped. Not down to the lower rooftop, but directly to the street below. It acred forward through the still air, barely clearing the railing in its hasty escape.
 
It landed on all four hooves, but stumbled. Its forelegs buckled, and its head dropped to the hard-packed dirt. Something crunched softly.
 
A moan escaped the traveller as it scrambled back to its hooves. No time for recovery, it had to move! It stumbled forward, tripping over the trailing ends of the robes as it broke into an erratic canter.
 
Down the street it fled, past the barred shops and quaint homes. Its shadow blurred into the distance as it swerved from side to side of the moonlit roadway like a fallen leaf borne on a nonexistent wind.
 
 Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. clop. clop. clop. clop. clop. clop. clop. cl-tock. clop. clop. . .
 
The hoofbeats faded to nothing. The traveller was gone.
 
 
*     *     *
 
 
Minutes later, the window creaked open. Homey light flooded out through the parted curtains.

A purple-maned mare's head emerged from inside, eyes dull with lingering sleep. She blinked once, then again, trying to force her tired eyes into focus. With great effort, she spoke.
 
“Hello?”
 
A branch creaked overhead. Silence.
 
“Is somepony there?”
 
She stared out into the darkness as if expecting an answer. Foolish pony.
 
Nopony – or thing – was there to respond.