//------------------------------// // Chapter 13 // Story: Archives of the Friendquisition // by Inquisipony Stallius //------------------------------// Chapter 13 “Come on!” Roughshod yelled. He had already swung Mystic onto his back, unable to wait on her limping pace. Caballus caught up to the others and let Hairtrigger hang a foreleg over his shoulders for support. As quickly as they could, the team left the torture pens behind and charged off into the tunnel beyond. Almost immediately, the passage led into a large room. The roughly domed space appeared to be some sort of hub, an intersection where countless other tunnels branched out in all directions. “Which way do we go?” Mystic said. Caballus looked back and forth at all the potential exits. “I don’t know. If we pick the wrong tunnel, we could end up getting hopelessly lost.” “We’ll end up hopelessly dead,” Roughshod countered, “if we don’t pick one soon.” The braying of the Grabbers seemed to be right on top of them, threatening to turn the nearest corner at any second. “Hold on,” Hairtrigger said, “I have an idea.” He began to adjust his augmetic eye with his hoof. “What are you doing?” Caballus asked, both impatiently and curiously. Despite the hurry they were in, their lack of options had given him a certain willingness to try anything. “Going blind,” said the pegasus. He looked down one tunnel for a moment, then another. “Their smoky cloaky… things play all manner of monkey business with my optics. So whichever door doesn’t give me any fuzz… should… be…” He stopped at a tunnel entrance slightly smaller than most of the others. “Ha! This one!” The four ponies took off down the passage as quickly as their legs could carry them. It seemed to twist and turn more sharply and more often than the ones they had previously explored. As they galloped, Caballus also noticed that the light-giving gemstones studding the walls appeared with diminishing frequency and strength. That could be a good sign, meaning this particular burrow had fallen into disuse. Or it could mean the opposite, in the not unlikely event the Deep-Grabbers happened to prefer darkness. But since they had yet to meet any of the zoonos coming to intercept them, it seemed Hairtrigger’s hunch had been right. After a few minutes, they slowed to a trot. Up ahead, there was a fork in the tunnel. “I think we’ve made some distance on them,” said Roughshod, panting. “That’s not a theory I’d like to test,” Caballus replied, coming to a halt. “These are their tunnels, and you can’t evade a predator in its own den for very long.” Hairtrigger looked backward, then down both of forward routes. “Eye says all clear. Which way, you reckon?” Mystic scrutinized both options. “They both look pretty much the-” “Quiet.” Caballus interrupted. They all paused for a moment, holding their breath until the cave fell into silence. “Is it them?” Roughshod whispered. Caballus had closed his eyes. His ears twitched. “Yes. That way,” he said, pointing to the right. Hairtrigger started toward the other passage. “I figure that’s all we need to-” “Hold on,” Caballus said, stopping the pegasus. “They’re… they’re not howling.” He swiveled his ears down the right tunnel. “They’re… cheering?” The Inquisipony took a step into the right tunnel. “Whoa whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” Hairtrigger protested. “First of all, going toward the Grabbers sounds like an awful mess of stupid. And if there’s something down there giving them something to cheer about, I don’t think I rightly want to know what it is.” Caballus could see on Mystic and Roughshod’s faces that they had similar concerns. “It could be important,” he said, continuing in the direction of the sounds. “We know next to nothing about these Grabbers. Maybe we can learn something we can use, or something that will help the Ordo Zoonos later. Just a quick look. Come on.” Caballus knew it was dangerous, but something had piqued his curiosity. And as Lord Banehoof had taught him, it was just as important for an Inquisipony to trust his curiosity as any other instinct. It was one of the many traits that separated the members of the Holy Ordos from the ordinary masses of Equestria. As the four of them crept down the passage, the cheering grew steadily louder. “What kind of intel are we looking for?” Roughshod whispered, his voice just loud enough to reach Caballus from his place at the rear. “Well, the size and disposition of their forces, for one thing,” Caballus said. “We don’t even know how many of the damned things there are down here.” “How many could there be?” Mystic said. Hairtrigger shrugged. “Out in the Rocklands? Who knows. The stories make ‘em out to be pack hunters, so I reckon that might be what we have here: a small hunting party come to our neck of the woods for some poaching. Any more than a couple dozen, and they’d have a tough time hiding as well as they did, even in a subsector as wide open as ours.” The pale light of the wall gems appeared to get brighter further down the path. As Caballus rounded the next corner, he found the tunnel ahead ran straight out into the air. The last few steps formed a ledge that jutted out into another huge cavern. Unlike the last cavern, however, this one was open, well-lit, noisy and thoroughly occupied. “You may want to revise your estimate, Hairtrigger,” Caballus said, still looking over the edge. Far below their outcropping, stood rank upon rank of Deep-Grabber soldiers. “Golden Throne, they’ve got an army down there,” Roughshod said in horror and awe. There was no longer any need to whisper as the excited yelps and cheers of the gathered zoonos nearly drowned him out. “There’s got to be at least a few thousand of them,” said Mystic. Fortunately, their unassuming balcony appeared to be on the back wall, near the ceiling, because all the Deep-Grabbers were facing away from them, toward an elevated platform at the other end of the cave. It gave the cavern the appearance of being part military staging grounds, part amphitheater. After a moment, one of the beasts strode out of a tunnel on the far wall, and stopped at one side of the platform. Even at a distance, it stood out—by its ornate armor—as some sort of leader, perhaps a chieftain or warlord. Though as far as Caballus could tell, “ornate” to a Grabber simply meant longer, sharper and more plentiful spikes. That, and instead of the drab grey, its armor was a lustrous, polished purple. A pair of Grabbers in the same color, wielding wicked-looking spears, flanked him on either side. Quite different from the barely-disciplined rabble that constituted the rest of the Deep-Grabber host, these four moved as one, gracefully, purposefully, and poised to react to any threat the instant it appeared. Caballus wondered if the bodyguards were a response to the alarm from the torture pens, or if this Grabber was expecting something else entirely. The Inquisipony pulled out his magnoculars, and zoomed in on the leader. He used the device’s pict-corder to take a snapshot of the creature, in the hopes that the Ordo Zoonos might find it useful. In the background of the scope, a large, green, out-of-focus figure approached. Caballus lowered the magnoculars, not even bothering to adjust. “Sniffles.” The Traitor Marine strutted out just as confidently as the Grabber lord before him, stopping a short distance opposite it on the stage. Looking again through his scope, Caballus could see a smug smile on Sniffle’s slime-encrusted muzzle. More quadrupeds appeared behind him. The first looked like another Pony Marine. This one’s power armor was a dark red, like the color of a scab, and trimmed with brass. Black stripes had been painted across the back and neck, broad on top and tapering as they reached the belly. Caballus wondered if the markings signified anything. His only guess was they marked allegiance to a particular renegade warband. The suit’s helmet was a brass-plated mask, the grotesque skull of a pony frozen in a snarl of rage. On top, a crest in the shape of a Mohawk swept forward between the ears. In front, two large tusks curved from out of the mask’s cheeks, like those of the fabled loxodonts said to roam the lands beyond the borders of Equestria. But by far, the Marine’s most striking feature was that his entire right foreleg had been replaced by a massive mechanical claw. At the shoulder, a bulky engine was bolted to the rest of the armor, which fed the hydraulic pistons that bent the elbow and snapped together the three scissoring blades where the hoof would be. Many parts had been coated in a brighter red than the rest of the armor, and smeared with glyphs that were sloppy even by heretical standards. Being so much larger and bulkier than his other leg, and not quite jointed like a pony’s hoof, the claw caused the pony to walk with an awkward gait. Taking a position just behind Sniffles, the red Marine appeared slightly taller than his fellow, but far more thickly muscled, if the shape of his armor was anything to go by. Being generally thicker, much wider in the shoulders and bulky on the back, Caballus suspected he was wearing a suit of legendary Termaneator armor. The warrior came to a halt, and was angled to where Caballus could make out the Cutie mark emblazoned on the armor’s flank: A yellow horseshoe with protruding spikes. The Inquisipony snapped another picture for later study. Finally, the newcomer was himself followed by two more hulking monstrosities. These, however, weren’t ponies. But even though they weren’t wearing any armor, they were still larger than either of the Pony Marines, and easily twice as tall as Roughshod. Their hunched backs rippled with thick chords of sinew, and the cave resounded with every step of their cloven hooves. Both had ruddy hides, but were so covered in ritual scars that they had a pinkish tint. The long horns that protruded from the sides of their heads had been fitted with jagged blades that matched the nose-rings looped through their broad, snorting snouts. “What the hell are they?” Hairtrigger said, disgusted with what his biotic eye was showing him. “They look like Bullgryns,” said Roughshod, squinting. “But they’re bigger and uglier than any Bullgryn I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something.” “You’re right,” said Caballus. Bullgryns were a bovine race, one of the inferior ungulate species still tolerated in the lands of Equestria. Possessing great strength and a weak intellect, Ponykind had allowed generations of Bullgryns to make amends for their heresy of being non-ponies by performing menial labor or serving as shock troops. But even the brawniest of them that Caballus had seen would have been dwarfed by these two. They took up positions right behind the second Marine. For a few moments, the Marines and Deep-Grabbers silently sized one another up in front of the crowd. The Grabber’s bodyguard seemed especially tense, even with reinforcements all around them. Caballus could hardly blame them, considering the giants standing across from them. Then Sniffles took a step forward, making an exaggerated bow. “Most esteemed Bismutt,” he announced, loud enough for even the Equestrians to easily hear, “exalted Barkon of the Kennel of the Black Paw, scourge of the wastes and taker of many trophies, I bid you greetings.” The Grabbers in the audience cheered at hearing the mighty pony pay their Barkon such homage. Bismutt held up a paw, and the applause petered out. Sniffles continued. “I cannot express my delight at seeing you and your noble brethren gathered here on this auspicious occasion. I trust that the tender soil of Equestria has been adequately-” “Sick pony wastes time,” Bismutt growled, his voice deep and raspy. “We wish to hunt.” Sniffles’ grin only widened. “And you shall, great Bismutt, you shall. But I’m afraid I must insist on first settling the matter of your final piece of the bargain…” The Zoonos lord gave a sharp bark, and a single, runty Grabber scampered into view, carrying a small chest. The creature tentatively placed the container at Sniffles’ feet, and then scurried away as fast as he could, holding one paw over his nose. The Traitor Marine gently lifted the lid and scrutinized its contents. “What do you reckon he’s got there?” Hairtrigger wondered, his fleshy eye clenched shut as he tried to focus in close enough to see inside. “I don’t know,” replied Caballus, doing the same with his magnoculars, “but I want to find out.” “Could it be more gems?” Mystic asked. The Inquisipony shook his head “Tier may have been exaggerating a little, but even as a middlepony, he was earning far more than a little chest of gemstones.” Satisfied, Sniffles took the chest’s contents and transferred them to his own carrying case. Caballus still couldn’t see what it was, but he managed to get a quick snapshot of the container. “Excellent! Excellent! ” the Marine laughed. “You’ll find everypony right where I described, completely defenseless. I’ve even taken the liberty of posting ‘sentries’ outside. They’ll probably flee at the first sight of you, but it should provide you and your… friends with a little sport.” From their whoops and hollers, it was clear the Grabbers endorsed the idea. “If there is nothing else, I’ll be taking my leave. I wish you good hunting, great Barkon. May you take many slaves.” Sniffles bowed once more, before departing the way he came. The red Marine and his two Bullgryns, none of whom had said a word, or even moved at all since arriving, silently followed. As soon as they were gone, Bismutt addressed his army in the guttural yelping of his own language. Despite the brevity of the speech, it riled up the Grabbers more than anything before. The Barkon pointed toward the back of the cave, and all the Grabbers did an about-face. For a moment Caballus feared they’d been spotted, but it became apparent that their ledge was directly above a larger exit, one that the Deep-Grabbers used to march out of the cavern. Amidst the sound of tromping paws on the stone below, Caballus took a data-scroll out of his saddlebag. “What’s that,” Roughshod asked. “I’m writing a letter,” the Inquisipony replied, a quill in his teeth. Hairtrigger cocked his head. “Right now? Don’t you think we have more important things to worry about? Besides, how do you figure you’ll send it?” “If we don’t get word out, every stallion, mare and foal in the subsector will be defenseless from a Deep-Grabber invasion. Reinforcements are at least days away from here, and I doubt Applemattox will last even an hour. But if we can alert the sector fleet, they can begin to organize a response for the surrounding towns. Maybe even track the Grabbers down and destroy them.” Finishing the note, he rolled the scroll up, and Mystic levitated a red ribbon tightly around it. Caballus pressed the back of his rosette against the ribbon, and when he lifted it there was a red wax seal bearing the Friendquisitional ‘F.’ “My rosette can dispense an emergency seal, addressed to the nearest pony with Friendquisitional clearances. It has enchantments that mimic the effects of dragonfire without the need for a fully trained Dracopath.” “Beggin’ your pardon,” said Hairtrigger, “but if you’ve had that all along, why are you only using it now?” “I was hoping to use the Majesty’s transmitter once we reached the surface. But now…” Caballus looked each of them in the eye. “We can no longer assume that any of us will make it out of here alive. The rosette can only hold enough magic for one seal at a time, so they’re only used when there’s no alternative. A small town full of heretics is a problem, but a rampaging zoonos army is what the Friendquisition qualifies as an emergency.” Mystic held the data-scroll in the air in front of her and concentrated. The paper ignited in a brilliant ball of yellow flame. The ashes formed into a twinkling green cloud, which zipped away toward the tunnel that Sniffles and his entourage had used. Caballus watched until it slithered out of view. “It’s also a tad conspicuous, but the Grabbers already know we’re here. Since Fyzzix is authorized to receive such messages, it will go to him first. It might give away his position, but he can relay it to headquarters, and then come looking for us.” “Luckily,” he added, nodding toward the route the magical smoke had taken, “it’s just conveniently showed us the fastest way out of here.” He pointed to several other holes like the one they were standing in along the cave walls. “This is probably a ventilation shaft. I bet if we double back, the other tunnel will curve around and bring us to the same exit Sniffles used.” “Um…” Hairtrigger said as the Inquisipony walked past him, “are we sure we want to use the same door as ol’ crusty-nose?” Caballus didn’t even look back. “Positive. In fact, I’m hoping to run into him.” “But… why,” Mystic asked, dumbfounded. “Because I need to know what’s in that box,” he said.