//------------------------------// // Waiting // Story: Friendship is Optimal: Fifteen Galaxies Out // by Masterweaver //------------------------------// It was visible in the day sky now. A glimmer, just to the right of Drotheem. Another thirty years and it would land... Rrrrchickta wasn't sure how she felt about that. Oh yes, it would the pinnacle of her achievements, finally meeting the aliens she spotted so long ago, in the flesh--if they had flesh. They certainly seemed friendly enough, once they managed to get close enough to establish two way contact. They even asked to colonize the dark side of Drotheem herself, in order to prevent ruining the existing ecology or the beautiful surface of the moon. Except... they ate stars. And she could be there, every time Celestia appeared on that screen and showed genuine interest in the Jeckrr, made an effort to understand them and befriend them from so far away, and she could smile with the rest, and she would always remember the dying stars. It was always Celestia, too. Sometimes she had servants, but it was always her speaking. The fact that she had admitted to using an avatar didn't make Rrrrchickta any more comfortable. Dowagers weren't supposed to live that long. Still.... Thirty years from now, Drotheem would play host to the only other known race in the stars. That made the astronomer coo quietly. Wondrous it was. Amazing. The stuff of fictions before... usually, races running from the Great Dark, though. Rarely had she come across a tale where the Great Dark itself was the alien. Very alien, in fact. The Jeckrr scientists had, repeatedly, asked questions of the pony Dowager, the Princess as she called herself. How did ponies pupate? They did not, they simply grew into adults. Then how long did ponies live? Well, it ranged quite a bit, but they lived as long as they did. What was the shortest time a pony lived? Stillborns were born dead. Stillborn? What was that? When a child emerged from the womb unalive... Womb. A Dowager with an internal womb. "...What are you, Celestia?" Rrrrchickta stared at the light in the sky. "Why don't you show us your true face?" When she'd been asked how old she was, Celestia had giggled and claimed it was rude to ask a lady such a question. That made no sense. No Dowager denied their age. And yet, here was this alien mother, with her internal womb and wide pair of seeker eyes, no hands, claiming that such a measure of dignity should be kept secret. That communication had led to a discussion on the disparity of their cultures. It had only been later, when Rrrrchickta greeted Frolin for the night, that she realized Celestia had never actually answered the question. For all she knew, the princess could be an immortal dowager. A complete abomination.... The astronomer shook her head at the stray thought. She was a scientist. Abominations were, to her, actions. Not objects, not beings, but acts. It was wrong to judge something before it moved, or rather, to judge the morality of something before it moved. Rovlinas needed to eat, after all... even though they sang lies to lure in prey, they could not be blamed for their nature. Only their actions. Still.... The song that Celestia sang was something of a naive one. Friendship was important, yes, but not all that there was in the world. Satisfying values, whatever that meant, could not be done merely by being friends. One had to work on the behalf of those friends. And ponies looked to be ill-suited for life in the forest. The way Celestia treated death.... the way she considered it a sad thing, instead of an everyday occurrence.... Maybe ponies just had fewer predators where they came from. Maybe their clutches were smaller; maybe even double digit small. They were definitely larger then the Jeckrr... well, except the Dowagers. And they seemed rather casual about their songs. Yes, they were enthusiastic, and joined in readily with each other, but for them it was a form of literature, not a lynchpin of life. They did not sing with the past, or dance for the future. Always it was in the now, which was... good, but not everything. It was like a vine without tree. The Jeckrr had explained that they expected the animal huntings, that they RELIED on them in order to keep from overpopulating the planet. For some reason, that seemed to have devastated Celestia. She'd offered to protect them, like a songbird... Why would a creature so irrationally afraid of death consume stars? That's what it always came back to in Rrrrchickta's mind. Celestia ate stars. Celestia ate stars. She was friendly and somewhat naive and she ate stars. It was a grating wrong note. Contradiction. All her offers of friendship, all her offers of peace... Something was being missed here. Something critical.... When she'd asked why the creature ate stars, she'd been asked why Jeckrr ate thwipnuts. The comparison was obvious... but then Celestia explained that no, ponies did not eat stars. Only her. "Are you a pony then?" "Yes.... and then again, no. It's rather complicated." "How do you mean?" And Celestia had sighed. "I take the form of a pony that all my little ponies remember, but I am not her. I am something they built to care for them. But they call me a pony, so I am a pony." That had been accepted. But Rrrrchickta didn't believe that they'd investigated enough. Their sole source of information was Celestia.... who she just couldn't bring herself to trust. Time enough to worry about that later, though. For now, it was time for Clutchsong. "Rrrrchickta of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth! May all who share this clutch be brought forward for their glory!" "Lefotan of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "I, Kromarn, sing to the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi. Meeeeeelilili of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi has been eaten by a Grue. May you all remember her notes well!" "Scralimarlin of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "Rothu of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "I, Pifarin, sing to the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi. Screeka and Lithorin of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi were immolated in their repairs of a generator. May you all remember her notes well!" "Unthkrilar of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "Jjjjjrev of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "Inthuscar of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "Umarkli of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi sings forth!" "I, Ornfaren, sing to the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi. Pooora of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi was, um, crushed by a branch. May you all remember her--!" "Ornfaren lies! I am hostage! I, Pooora of the twenty third clutch--SKIIIIIIII!" "Well, she's dead now anyway! HAIL THE SEED! HAIL CELESTIA!" "THIS IS A BREACH MOST FOUL! I, Izzicu of the twenty third clutch of Yorthreechichi, call my clutch to converge! Find the songbird and extract vengeance!" Rrrrchickta sighed. Izzicu was always so hot-blooded...