Extraterrestrial #51

by TundraStanza

Ch. 6: I Will Go In Peace

---

"How the heck does this even work?" I hollered.

Confused? Yeah well, so was I. One minute, I put my head down and moved the blankets in a flat position. I was all ready to go to sleep. The next, I was in a freaking reenactment of a light saber duel. Who had replaced Darth Vader's face? Who else but the changeling I've come to know and love?

I'm not sure. I was exploring one of your memories from earlier in your lifetime and then... this happened.

Confound Fifty-one and his ability to stay calm and monotonous while he's bashing a long red saber against mine. I don't know why, but my saber seemed to keep switching between blue and green colored light. The only body part of mine that I could easily see during this clash was my right hand.

I muttered, "It figures that my ninth grade teacher's obsession with that movie would be one of my strongest memories."

*Woo* *Woo* *Frzack!* *Woo* *Frzack!*

So I take it that literature teachers are not normally so transfixed on this kind of thing.

*Frzack!* *Frzack!* *Woo-woo* *Woo* *Frzack!*

"Correct," I affirmed, "Woah!"

My severed hand went flying into some dark corner along with my color-confused light saber. At the same time, Fifty-one lost the Vader outfit and his red saber shrunk into nonexistence. Suddenly, I moved the hand I thought had been severed and launched it forward pointing at my mental roommate.

"Objection!"

My open palm slammed down on a wooden stand in front of me. Now, I was in a large courthouse of sorts, but the layout was a bit different. Up to my left, there was a cage hanging from the ceiling holding a very familiar girl from a certain Japanese crossover.

"My video game addiction?" I turned to look in front of me, "Is that really the side of my mind you want to explore?"

Objection!

A deformed hoof slammed the stand on the opposite side of the courtroom.

It would seem that our consciences are swimming through your mind. Neither of us seems to be readily able to control what we will think of next.

"Wait," I held up an open palm, "I have evidence that can prove to the contrary!"

A screen-shaped board labeled "Court Record" popped up. An empty square of light highlighted different sections of it before it settled on a generic handgun.

"Take That!"

It felt as if time was frozen for a while as my vision of Fifty-one was suddenly zoomed in. Various percentages in labeled boxes pointed to different parts of his body. But I chose to target the desk in front of him with an "87%" chance of hitting. A few beeps were heard as my vision suddenly switched to a third-person view of myself. While it was nice that I could now see the rest of my body, I had to say that leather armor did not look good on me at all.

Time was still reluctant to move forward as I fired three shots from the handgun. The desk splintered from the first two shots. The third shot inexplicably made the wooden stand explode into thin, orderly shreds of wood. I was then shunted back into a first-person view.

---

As much as I hate to admit it, your training really did save my wings a few times.

I was back in the eerie, green caverns. I saw Fifty-one standing there staring at a particular egg-sac. Curious, I decided to walk over toward him.

I've gained new... feelings on this strange world and... I feel obligated to say this to you.

I slowed my pace a little as I saw that the contents of the egg-sac was another changeling. But, this one was sleeping.

Thank you.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked curiously.

Cier Dylan.

Fifty-one pointed a hoof at the changeling in the egg-sac.

Meet the thirteenth changeling under Her Majesty Chrysalis.

"Are there more of you in my mind?" I inquired. Out of panic, I started shaking.

No, the rest of my race is not really here. This is simply what I remember of... her.

I let out a relieved sigh before my curiosity returned.

"Was number Thirteen important to you?"

She was my superior.

He closed his eyes.

She made my life a living Tartarus every chance she had.

Fifty-one inhaled deeply before opening his eyes.

And yet... without her pushing my limitations, I could never have survived as long as I had. In a way, she's the reason I was able to deal with your father's attackers.

He turned his head to look at me directly.

I guess you can thank her for saving your father.

I shook my head in disagreement. Then I let out a short hum.

"Well, it may be true that she taught you how to aim your magic. However, what you did with that lesson is what saved my dad."

I crouched down on my knees to be more eye level with Fifty-one.

"And I'm sure it's what you did with her teachings that kept you alive in your homeland."

Are all humans naturally drawn to raise the self-esteem of others?

"No, but there are many people that try to help each other feel better out of the goodness of their hearts."

I heard him chuckle a bit at my words. Before this dream, I had never heard a bug chuckle before. I still haven't. What I was hearing was the chuckle of another man.

I guess I made the right decision letting you take primary control. You're a good human.

"You're not so bad yourself, Fifty-one," I responded with a smile.

---

"Come on, Cier," called my Dad, "Time to get up!"

I tried moving my head around a bit. Something wasn't quite right, though. My throat felt like something was being pulled down through it. As my sleepy haze left my eyes, I looked at the head of the bed where my pillow was supposed to be. About half of it was missing. What was left had cotton leaking out of the torn end.

"Are you frigging kidding me?" I asked no one in particular at the realization of what was sliding down my throat. I was not looking forward to whatever indigestion I was going to have later. Although, when I stopped to think about it, I realized that I hadn't ever really used the restroom yesterday or the day before.

Hey, Fifty-one! I directed my thoughts, Do changelings ever have to use the bathroom?

Almost all of the nutrition we ever consume is converted into energy to be used in our shape-shifting and our magic. Next to none of it is deposited as waste.

Next to none of it? I echoed, So what's the small amount that is wasted?

Do you remember seeing the substance that my race used to immobilize some of the ponies during the Canterlot invasion?

Yeah... Suddenly, I wasn't so sure that I wanted the answer.

You'd better hope that there's an enemy nearby for the rare occasion that you have to deposit wastes.

Sorry I asked, I thought while sticking out my tongue in disgust.

It's better if you know now, human. Would you rather have an accident later that leaves the waste on an ally?

I know, but still, I cringed, Ew.

---

The largest luggage we had was Dad's suitcase. Mom and I didn't have much to bring, as we didn't really need clothes. (Though, Dad did pack complete sets for us in his suitcase in case we somehow changed back.) Currently, Mom had a small hand bag balanced on her back. The stuff I was bringing consisted of my laptop, charger, and a few pencils. All of which fit pretty darn snug in the laptop carrying case. The handle was in my mouth. I had to lift my head a bit higher than usual to avoid dragging the case along the floor as I walked.

Most of my worries about becoming green roadkill had dissipated. My worries about species prejudice, however, were not so quick to abandon me.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look at the giant bug!" shouted a hyper voice. To this, the recipient slowly turned to look while not really listening.

"Yes, it's really ni..." the towering woman gasped as she actually saw me. Without saying another word, she grabbed her child's hand and briskly walked away.

"Bye, giant buggy!" waved the kid with her other hand.

My carrying case started to drag a little.

"You okay?" asked Mom softly.

"Jurft fern," I mumbled through the handle. I knew that the little girl was just being exaggeratedly observant. But it still kind of hurt.

Cute kid.

Ladies and gentlemen, give a round of applause for the stand-up act of Fifty-one.

The line leading to the security check was kind of nerve-wracking. Every once in while as I looked up, I caught a disapproving glance from a random person like it was somehow my fault for being an abomination of the natural order. I could almost taste their implied hatred.

This isn't what hatred tastes like.

Come again? I perked my head up at Fifty-one's thought.

Hatred... tastes much more vile... revolting... what you'd imagine eating garbage is like.

Okay... I still wasn't sure where he was going with this.

These occasional feelings taste more... sour? No, bitter. This is the taste of... anxiety.

So they don't hate me. They're just scared of me, I concluded with a sigh, Fan-tipping-flastic.

That's not much better, is it?

Nope, I confirmed.

---

I decided to follow Mom's example and meditate while waiting to board the plane. I didn't want to waste my laptop's battery right now. Plus, I wanted to avoid making a scene while I was out in public.

*Bonk* "Ow!"

Apparently, life decided to take the scene to me. This time, the trouble took the form of three towering teenagers. I say towering because I had to look up to see their faces. If I wasn't so annoyed by the unwelcome hit, I would have found it amusing that they were each wearing a baseball cap of a primary color of light: red, green, and blue.

... and the one wearing red just punched me in the face!

"What is your problem?" I asked as politely as I could considering how ticked off I was.

"Gabe!" exclaimed the front boy while raising a fist.

"Nu!" shouted the second boy copying Gabe's fist raise.

"Maxwell!" cried out the third boy adding a third fist to the air.

"We are," they chorused, "Get Rid Of Slimy thingS! G.R.O.S.S.!"

I raised my left eyebrow. I didn't know what to question first: their extravagant catch phrase, their similarities to the Rowdy Rough Boys, or the uncanny, familiar sounding names.

"You do realize that 'things' starts with a 'T', right?" I pointed out.

Ah, Mr. Grammar Hitler. Of course you may have the first word.

"Shut up, freak!" yelled Gabe as he punched me again.

"Ow!" I grunted, "Why are you hitting me?"

"You ponies are the cancer of the world," snorted Gabe.

"And you need to get off our planet," continued Nu.

"Yeah, our mothers said so," smirked Max. At this, Gabe and Nu each performed a face palm.

"Maxwell, I thought we went over this," muttered Nu through gritted teeth.

"Leave that line out," remarked Gabe, "It makes it sound stupid."

"No offense," I interrupted, "but your message sounded pretty ludicrous to begin with."

"I said shut up!" shouted Gabe punching me again. He added another punch following the line, "And this one's for using made up words!"

But none of your words were fabricated.

Oh, you know how kids are, I thought back while wincing, They think all the big words that they don't understand are fake.

"Excuse me," coughed a voice that I wasn't expecting. It caught the attention of the three junior stooges. So, I decided to turn my head and look as well.

I saw an eerie glint in my Mom's eyes. It was like glowing, yellow lenses had taken the place of her eyes. Added to her already ghostly colors, she looked frigging terrifying. It must have been much more so to the three boys of G.R.O.S.T. Next thing I knew, they were running away, screaming about ghosts, and calling for their mommies.

She then turned her scary glare at me. I was momentarily pondering if I should be glad that I couldn't do number one. If I could, then the seat I was on would have been much wetter.

"You okay, pal?" asked the voice that was somehow whispering while simultaneously not whispering.

"Uh..." I paused trying to think of something coherent, "T...to whom do I have... the pleasure?"

"Nice to meet you too, Cier," it said with Mom's smile, "I'm Peter."

"Peter?" I echo while still completely confused, "I thought the other mind was Spirit Redeemer."

"Oh, she's in here too," nodded Peter, "I just figured I'd tag along. Never been to New York before."

I lifted a hoof to say something. Then, I put it back in front of my mouth struggling to find the right words.

"Take your time," Peter used Mom's hoof to wave dismissively.

"So, if you're possessing my mom," I finally settled on, "Then that means..."

"Yep, ghosts are real," he finished, "Though to be honest, most of them are jerks."

"Were you the one that gave us the warning about being careful yesterday?" I inquired.

"No," Peter shook Mom's head, "I have no clue who that was. Though, it sounds like good advice either way."

"Okay," I nodded slowly.

"Catch you later!" he waved as the yellow glow left Mom's eyes.

"Brr," she shivered, "I'm still not comfortable with that."

She took a moment to blink before asking, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," I stammered, "Those boys didn't even scratch me and you were just possessed by some other ghost. Everything's fine."

"But you look kind of tense," she insisted.

I must admit that your stress levels feel fairly higher than usual.

"I just went through a few days where I became a changeling, my mom became a pony, and my dad got shot," I smiled forcibly, "Nothing surprises me anymore."

"Cier!" yelped Mom as the room did a ninety-degree turn and the floor raced to meet my cheek. Darkness swam in my vision and all sense of color faded.

---

Cier Dylan? I called out, Cier Dylan!

The human was sprawled out on the cavern in our minds. I was fairly certain that this nap he was taking was involuntary. I tried to look through his memories to see if this kind of reaction had occurred before. However, his mind's images were now fuzzy and distorted.

Frig, I thought. Carefully, I grabbed his shirt in my mouth and dragged him along the floor. Then, I sat him up against one of the empty sacs. As I turned to leave, I took one more look behind me.

Look after him, Thirteen, I requested of my memory. With a buzz from my wings, I was flying up and out of the chamber.