//------------------------------// // The Advent of Betaurus (b) // Story: The Majestic Tale (of a Mad-Pony in a Box) // by R5h //------------------------------// We now return to The Advent of Betaurus. Pinkie was enthralled. And how could she not be? This big ol' bull bonanza from the great beyond had been a blast so far, what with the ship from outer space and the aliens and the robots and... And Qeta! Pinkie realized that she'd just gotten so wrapped up in what she was excited about that she had completely zoned out from Qeta's story. “Mm-hmm?” she said, which was probably a good thing to say. “You bet! Anyway, we had to evacuate that island pretty quickly.” Qeta laughed. “So remember, never land on an active volcano—it never ends well! Macrin and the Captain got burns on their tushes that took three days to heal!” Pinkie laughed with her, her voice mingling with the others in the Betaurans' common area. The room hardly looked like it belonged to the ship as she'd seen it so far. For one thing, it was actually big enough for all five Equestrians, and the five Betaurans that had shown up, to fit comfortably. For another, the floor here wasn't metal, but looked something like wood—though it probably wasn't normal wood, but super awesome space wood—and one of the walls had a long, thin window. At the moment, all it showed was the view into the Everfree undergrowth, but Pinkie could imagine looking through it and seeing a million billion stars.... Oops! She was getting distracted again. “And then where did you go?” she asked, looking back at Qeta. “Oh, the next planet? Well....” Qeta did her flat-smile. “That was the best one. The ground where we landed was covered in gemstones, like the richest quarry you’ve ever seen. The locals called the planet Zeloa—or maybe that was just the city, we were never really sure about that—and they said it means 'Beauty'. We weren't really sure we'd get along with them at first, because... well... do you have spiders on your planet?” “Yes...” “Well, the Zeloans are all giant spiders—nine feet tall!” Pinkie screamed. “I know! Imagine how I felt meeting them!” Qeta laughed again. “I'd have hated to get in a fight with them, but as it turns out, they hardly know the blade of a knife from the handle. At least half of the ones we met were artisans, and besides that they had some workers, and some food-gatherers, but no warriors at all in the whole web!” Pinkie raised an eyebrow. “So? Ponyville doesn't have anything like that either. Why would you need them?” “Really? You can't think of any reason?” “Well, nothing's ever come up....” Qeta tapped a hoof against the wooden floor in what might have been glee. “Oh, that is just adorable! Anyway, you should have seen Macrin's face when he tried to explain the Code to them—our Code of Honor bestowed on us by the Archdukes, I mean—oh, he got so frustrated. He tried to find someone to challenge to single combat—thank goodness Adelbrand got him back inside, because that couldn't have ended well. No offense!” she called across the room. Macrin, sitting in a far corner, grunted. “But that's not the best part—this is the best part. We got souvenirs!” Qeta tugged at the bright blue coil around one of her horns. “It's made of their silk, and it's super stretchy; you can tangle it all around in your horns and it'll never break. Best fidget toy ever! And they were so generous, we got so many I don't know if we'll ever run out—oh, that reminds me!” She pulled open a pouch strapped to a belt that circled her torso; inside it were several more of the bands. “Here's one for you, and would you mind giving this one to Rarity? I don't want to forget.” Pinkie took one of the bands and pulled it up around her front right leg. “You have my word on my own personal Code of Honor, Qeta! This quest will be completed!” With that, she swiped the second band off of Qeta's hoof, saluted, turned tail, and bounced away with as much purpose as she could muster. “So adorable,” she heard Qeta say behind her. I'm not adorable, Pinkie thought, grimacing. I'm a mare with a mission. Her eyes narrowed, and her bouncing continued across the room—jumping extra high to clear the Doctor, who was crossing the room the other way. Eventually she reached Rarity, who was sitting in a chair by the window and sipping at a tall glass of some purple fluid. Okay, mission complete! “Hey, Rarity!” she exclaimed, eyes wide as usual again. Rarity looked away from the window. “Hello, Pinkie!” she said, quickly smiling. “Have you tried any Betauran drinks yet? They're quite invigorating.” “What are you doing all by yourself? Don't you wanna talk to anyone? Qeta's been telling me all about the spiders, you know. They're huge!” Pinkie stood up on her hind legs and swung her forelegs in the air to emphasize the hugeness. “No, thank you. I'm perfectly content with a nice refreshment and a window seat.” Rarity winked at her and looked back out the window. “Oh, okay. Anyway, she wanted me to give you this. Heads up!” Pinkie grabbed the second elastic band that Qeta had given her in one hoof, stretched it back with the other hoof, and estimated the angle. Pinkie Physics, don't fail me now! She fired, and the band ricocheted off the table, the window, and the ceiling before landing perfectly around Rarity's horn. “Oh my! Thank you, dear.” Rarity flinched, then looked up at the blue band, which had settled onto her forehead. “It's very nice.” “I know! The spiders made it.” Pinkie winked. “Well, gotta go! See you later!” She dashed across the room, back toward Qeta—but skidded to a halt halfway. Was it just her imagination, or had she seen Rarity frowning as she left? Like she wasn't happy about something? Pinkie considered this thought for a few seconds, then shrugged. Nah, can't be. She resumed dashing, and within an instant was back with Qeta. After all, how could you not be happy in this place? This is not how I should die, Ermi thought. She eyed one of the second Bullbot's horns, pointed directly at her heart. Her captors had taken her to a disused corner of the ship, where lights flickered and no sounds of life were audible. The first Bullbot's horns still bound her too tightly to escape—one horn was wrapped around her forelegs, a second was wrapped around her back legs, and a third was coiled inside her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Meanwhile, the second Bullbot stood in front of her, deliberately pulling its horn back to build power for the killing strike through her heart. It was monstrously inefficient—not at all how they should have killed her. There was already a horn in her mouth, making it difficult to breathe; the Bullbots should have just choked her to death several minutes ago. Why haven't they? she wondered. The answer came to her a moment later. Of course. I never programmed them to know anything about breathing. I'll need to fix that in my next upgrade. The second Bullbot's horn retracted further, and then stopped. Right, she reminded herself, priorities. I escape from this, and then I fix the bug. The horn shot forward. Ermi closed her eyes and torqued her abdominal muscles, pulling her torso up out of the horn's path. It kept going, breaking through the skin of the first Bullbot. The horns surrounding Ermi's legs spasmed, and she pulled herself free, falling hard on the floor. Inefficient and unreliable. I really need to fix the kids. She rolled to the side just as another horn pierced into the section of floor she'd landed on, then jumped to her hooves and ran, ignoring the pain in her legs. She heard the pounding of the Bullbots pursuing her, but while one was in perfect galloping rhythm, the other was slightly irregular. Clearly, the stab wound was affecting that Bullbot's motors; the sound of its hoofsteps grew fainter as Ermi went right, left, straight, left, left, right, straight down the ship's corridors. The uninjured Bullbot, on the other hand, was still right behind her. She glanced back as she ran down a straightaway and saw it galloping toward her, front horns straight out like lances. It would be able to run forever; she didn't have that luxury, especially after the strain on her legs from their bindings. This chase needed to end soon. She started to notice slight irregularities in the floor under her hooves—usually an impossibility in a ship so precisely built. Looking down, she saw slight fissures in the floor; she had to be approaching the backside of the Duchy, the side that had suffered the most damage during the landing. An idea struck her as she remembered which cracks she hadn't yet patched. She redoubled her speed, turned left, turned right, and saw it at the end of a short corridor—a gaping crack in the ship's hull, revealing the darkness of the alien forest outside. It was possibly large enough to fit through, and certainly large enough to be worth the try. As the Bullbot's hoofsteps approached, she twisted her head sideways, clamped down her jaw, and jumped. Her head, horns, and legs made it through the jagged gap cleanly; her body was not so lucky. She fought to stop from crying out in pain as the steel points scored her skin, only for the effort to be rendered meaningless when she struck the hard ground outside. All the air from her lungs was forced out, leaving her silent and dazed. She tilted her head upward, back at the crack. She saw the Bullbot run at the gap—and then, without hesitating, turn left and continue running within the ship. Her lips pulled back slightly. Typically inside-the-box thinking. Another thing to work on. After a half-minute of catching her breath, Ermi managed to stand up and assess herself and her surroundings. She'd almost certainly bruised her side, not that it would show under her purple coat, and the cuts on her body would definitely need to be dealt with—but she had escaped. Behind her was the crack-riddled hull of the ship; in front of her was the dark forest, which offered no more than a few yards of visibility. She thought she heard something howl, and backed up instinctively toward the ship—as if it were safer inside, where at least two Bullbots had tried to kill her. They tried to kill me. She'd shunted this fact to the side during her escape, but now it came back full-force. My kids just tried to kill me. Slowly, deliberately, and as a team. Her head lowered instinctively. Which means that this wasn't some malfunction. Someone ordered this. Someone's been messing with my KIDS! There was a tree conveniently close to her; she charged forward with a roar and drove all four of her horns deep into its trunk. Breathing heavily, she let herself seethe there for a few seconds. Then, she pulled her horns out and turned back to the ship. In the dim light that came through the cracks, she could see a service ladder running up the ship's outside, and she walked toward it. It's time to start investigating. “Excuse me, miss?” Applejack had been ambling aimlessly around the deck, unsure of what to do or talk about. After all, it was difficult enough to get it through her head that visitors from another planet were actually visiting; what topic could carry a conversation between her and one of them? How could they possibly interact? Then she looked up at the voice, and saw a bull standing in front of her. He had a white coat covering his body, with bulging pockets covering it. His horns glowed the same dark blue as his face, levitating a syringe in front of himself. Okay—this doesn't seem like a great way to strike up a conversation. “Yes?” she said. “Do you happen to have a circulatory system?” She raised an eyebrow. “Do I happen to have a what? And what was your name again?” “Lorio. I'm the ship's resident doctor. And in the essentials, what I'm asking is....” Lorio sighed and looked up at the ceiling, like the words he was looking for might be printed there. “Do you have blood?” he finally said, looking back at her. Applejack's mouth opened. “Uhhhh, yeah. Where are you going with this?” “Wonderful!” Lorio's horns glowed a little brighter, and the syringe in front of him spun to face her. “Do you mind if I take a sample?” Applejack jerked back from him. “You want to stick that thing through my skin?” “If it's not too much trouble.” Lorio tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What? Blood grows back passively all the time. You won't notice it's gone.” The syringe floated closer to her. “Do I look like an open cider tap to you, ya vampire? No.” Applejack put a hoof on the glass part of the syringe and shoved it down, harder than Lorio's magic was keeping it up. It struck the ground and cracked. Lorio gaped at the broken glass on the floor. “You... that was my favorite!” “Uhh... sorry?” Lorio kicked out behind himself with a back hoof as his horns lit up; a blue aura enveloped the broken syringe's pieces and raised them into the air. “I don't think I've met any other alien who was so selfish,” he muttered, walking to the wall behind him. “Selfish—excuse me? Selfish?” Applejack galloped over to Lorio as he used his magic to open a hidden panel in the wall and drop the fragments behind it, then slam it shut. “Your blood—or the blood of any of you aliens—is almost certainly guaranteed to contain compounds and chemical interactions that we have never even imagined back at home,” he said, turning back to face her. “Think of the possibilities for advancing the cause of science—but you can't! They're limitless!” He raised a front hoof and started gesticulating at her, swinging it around wildly. “The untold benefits, which we could then pass on to you aliens, free of charge. What personal hang-up could possibly outweigh that common good?” “Me, saying no. There's your hang-up.” Applejack glared at him. “And since when do we need you aliens to teach us anything?” “Ha! Are you joking?” Another bull showed up, one whom Applejack hadn't seen yet. He looked somewhat like Lorio—not that any of these bulls look too different—but was a bit shorter and a bit stockier, and wore a black vest instead of a white coat, revealing a bulky torso and legs. Moreover, there was a look on his face that Applejack could recognize even from an alien; it was the universal expression of contempt. “What was your name... Applejack?” he said. “Here's a question for you—” “My brother,” Lorio said, interrupting him with a raised hoof. “Luso, our pilot.” Luso glared at his brother, who snorted. “All right, continue.” “Gladly. So, Applejack, if we don't need to teach you anything, then why are we the ones flying through space to find you, and not the other way around? Or does that not seem suspicious to you?” The corners of Luso's mouth pulled back. Applejack frowned. It's not a terrible point, after all. But on the other hoof... “All right, I'll grant that. It's pretty amazing, standing on something that floats through the sky... like, for instance, a cloud. We have a whole city made of clouds y'all can walk on, with the most spectacular rainbow falls you've ever seen.” There; she had him. After all, she'd seen bulls with and without magic, but none with wings. She turned her frown into a smirk. Luso's irritating half-smile remained. “We have machines that can fry clouds in a minute from the ground. Your city wouldn't have a hope.” Briefly, Applejack's eyes widened. She'd been expecting plenty of responses, but that.... “Our princesses personally raise and lower the sun and the moon!” “Give me a day, and I can personally use the missiles on this ship to split your moon in two. The sun might take longer.” “Luso...” Lorio said, raising a hoof in front of his brother. Applejack's mouth fell open. “You'd destroy the... wait. What are missiles?” She had a feeling that this was the sort of thing Luso would mock her for. She was right; Luso laughed, pushing Lorio's hoof down. “You don't know what missiles are? Big, long tubes that you shoot at things to blow them up?” “What?” Applejack turned to Lorio. “I thought this was supposed to be a learning expedition! Why did y'all bring explosives?” Lorio tilted his head to the side. “Why? Should we not have?” “No, you shouldn't have! What's the point?” Luso laughed again. “Listen to her! She's talking like there's never been a war on her planet before!” A few seconds later, his laughter stopped and his smile gradually faded away. “Wait. You have had a war on this planet before, right?” Applejack set her jaw, feeling like she might be able to score a point. “Not for thousands of years. Wars are for readin' about, not fighting in.” “I've done too much reading about wars.” Luso snorted. “The Last Grand Unifying War ended when my dad was a child—years before I was born. Oh, it must have been spectacular!” Okay, now which part of that sentence do I start picking on? Applejack wondered, her jaw slackening in disbelief. “Did you say 'the Last Grand Unifying War'? As in, more than one? How many have you bulls had?” Luso's mouth opened; it was hard to tell, but Applejack thought he might have looked shocked. I think I got through to him. “Oh! I think I understand now!” Luso laughed again. Okay, maybe I didn't get through to him. “Now, this is why we're in space, and you're not. You see, we've had a lot of wars—glorious wars. And do you know what a war forces you to do, if you want to win? To be better—stronger, faster, smarter. Wars forced us to innovate, and create the kind of technology that sent us to space first.” “So let me get this straight.” Applejack set her jaw once more and glowered at Luso. “A whole lotta times in your history, some bulls got so mad at each other that they started making a bunch of other bulls kill each other over it. And you think that makes you better?” As Luso opened his mouth to reply, a new voice cut him off. “Pilot Luso!” Applejack, Luso, and Lorio turned to look at Lieutenant Macrin, who had appeared next to them. “The captain has requested that you report to Bridge-1. I'll brief you on the way.” Luso opened his mouth once more—possibly to protest—but Macrin glared at him. “On the double, pilot.” As Macrin walked out of the room, Luso followed him. Just before he exited the room, he turned around and inclined his head to Applejack, then darted through the door and shut it. Applejack bared her teeth. “I'm sorry,” Lorio said, resting a hoof on her shoulder. Applejack jerked away from his touch and glared at him; he continued regardless. “He's... well, he's suffering from a malady of the mind called youth, and it makes him somewhat rash. I try to rein him in, but... you know what it's like, trying to keep younger siblings under control.” He paused for a moment, then added: “Although, do you know what it's like?” Applejack sighed, and looked out the window. “Yeah, I guess I do.... So, does that mean you don't agree with him? You know, about wars being anything other than horrible?” “Ah... not quite.” Lorio, quite possibly, grimaced. “As a doctor, I cannot say that war has never done a service to my profession. You can learn so much from a body that's been pre-opened for you.” “Of course you'd say that,” Applejack muttered. “What's one stinkin' life if you learn to make a better cough drop?” She turned tail and started walking away. “I never said I liked it. I just meant—” “Shut it, ya vampire,” she called, not looking back. There was an empty chair near the window; she sat down and looked outside at the bull-free Forest. We need to get out of this ship. Ermi opened a hatch on top of Duchy-3 and clambered into the ship—or, more accurately, fell in. Her legs were still weak from her capture and escape, and the rest of her wasn't in such good shape either; the cuts in her skin had gotten dirty in her landing on the forest floor, and were caked with earth and blood. Even her short climb up the ladder had been demanding. The conclusion was clear; if the Bullbots discovered her, she wouldn't be able to run for long. With a groan, she pulled herself to her feet and surveyed her surroundings. To the untrained eye, the square gray corridor looked like every other part of the ship. Ermi, however, saw the slight outlines of water droplets imprinted into the walls, and heard the faint hiss of steam; this was where Duchy-3's water was collected, purified, and recycled. She walked to a door and opened it, revealing a small room dominated by a massive blue boiler. Dozens of pipes and valves led in and out of it. Ermi grabbed the lever on the pressure release valve and pulled down hard; in response, a meager supply of water began to trickle out. She walked slowly under the droplets, wincing as the hot water ran over and through her wounds. It was cleaning off some of the dirt, but by all that was righteous it hurt, just as letting anything in a wound would. A loud, distant clunk took her mind off the pain for a moment. Her head shot up as more clunks followed—but they were irregular. The damaged Bullbot was on patrol, and judging by the sound, he was on her floor. She took a small step forward, then winced again as hot water made its way into a new part of her scratch. Another idea occurred to her. She closed the pressure release valve, then—using a clamp lying in the corner of the room—locked the valve shut. She twisted a handle on the outside of the boiler, then opened the door and departed. Behind her, pressure began to build. If it had been just his crew in the room, Captain Adelbrand would naturally have socialized—to an extent. With five aliens on board, however, he could think of no way to initiate a conversation and keep his captainly dignity. Thank goodness. Thus, he stood in the corner of the room, watching the nine others in the room. “Whoa!” said the brown one—the Doctor, if he remembered correctly—as he ducked under a jump from the pink one. Pinkie Cake... no, her name is Pinkie Pie. How utterly ludicrous. The corners of the Doctor's mouth pulled up, which—according to Rarity—was usually a gesture of happiness. How odd that he should use it now. The Doctor continued walking, and before too long Adelbrand realized that the Equestrian was approaching him. He clenched his jaw. I suppose that if someone else begins the socializing, I can't really get out of it. “Good evening, Captain!” The Doctor's 'smile' grew larger as he reached Adelbrand. “Is that your opinion?” Adelbrand's eyes narrowed. “Or is it an exhortation, as in 'have a good evening'?” The Doctor clicked his tongue. “Okay, wasn't expecting Gandalf. Yes and yes, by the way... unless you feel differently about it being a good evening?” “No... no.” Adelbrand did his best to keep his face neutral. “Exceptional, in fact. The mission has never succeeded so quickly.” “You're welcome! Glad I could help.” As if to remind him of its existence, the Doctor pulled his translation device from his pocket and flipped it on his hoof a few times. “Shame it doesn't work on the robots—love the robots, by the way, though if you could make them a bit more like dogs... do you have dogs where you come from?” Adelbrand, despite his best efforts, was finding it difficult to keep his eyes from narrowing. “Do we have what?” “Ah, nevermind—I'm biased, anyway. But getting back to the language barrier, Captain, where is your mechanic? She could help fix it—or at the very least, she could socialize.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Big get-together, first contact for a primitive planet, and she decides to stay holed up? Who does that?” Adelbrand decided to try something he'd seen Rarity do: he raised, then lowered, his shoulders. Apparently, this was a gesture of indecision, or ambivalence. “Oh, was that a shrug? Nice... form.” The Doctor's bottom lip turned down. “Blimey, translation circuit's up and running and there's still a barrier... makes a man think. But your mechanic—what did Qeta call her... ah, Ermi! She's seriously not interested?” “She hasn't been very interested these past few visits, in fact.” Adelbrand snorted. “To be honest, I think she may prefer the company of robots to Betaurans... or Equestrians.” “Oh, never want to do that... well, if the robot is nice enough....” The Doctor tapped his chin. “On third thought, nah. Get some people, lighten the mood.” A flash of pink caught Adelbrand's eye; startled, he looked up to see Pinkie Pie dashing back across the room, to sit with Qeta. The two of them sat back down together and continued their conversation. “Robots are consistent, though,” Adelbrand mused, looking at Qeta. “You tell them to do something and they do it. Not everyone can be trusted in the same way.” The Doctor looked in the same direction as Adelbrand. “Mind you,” he said, sidling closer to Adelbrand, “you won't have a happy accident with a robot. It won't really surprise you in a bad way, but it'll seldom surprise you in a good way either. Like, just hypothetically, bringing a bunch of new friends over for a great big interplanetary event.” “That's an optimistic way of looking at it.” “I do my best.” The Doctor grinned. “Well, here's hoping that Engineer Ermi shows her face. I'll go and see if I can't get some refreshments—liven myself up a bit. It's getting late, even for me.” He trotted off toward Rarity—possibly, Adelbrand imagined, to ask her where she'd gotten her drink from. What a peculiar philosophy, he thought, letting himself lean against the wall behind him. It's only for a moment, and then I can return to proper form. A few minutes later, he had—despite his best efforts—thoroughly zoned out; it was rather late, after all. He sagged against the corner until the sound of a voice startled him back to full consciousness. He blinked his eyes a few times, and the face of Lieutenant Macrin came into focus. “I said: Permission to speak freely, Captain?” Macrin tilted his head. “And are you quite well?” Adelbrand straightened his posture and stepped away from the corner. “I'm fine, Macrin,” he replied, though he was only half sure of this. Have I softened since we set out from Betaurus? he wondered. When was the last time I lost focus like that? “And as long as you're speaking freely, you don't need to call me Captain. We're friends.” “I know. It's a matter of respect, Captain.” Macrin backed into the corner of the room, keeping Adelbrand from leaning against it. Adelbrand tilted his head away from Macrin to show he appreciated the gesture, then waited for Macrin's free speech. Knowing him, it could be a while. Eventually, almost half a minute later, Macrin spoke. “Do you feel... that we are losing something, being on this mission?” “Losing what, Lieutenant?” “Ourselves. Our... uniqueness.” “Why do you ask?” They did not face each other; they looked out at the room at large. Pinkie Pie and Qeta were hugging; Rarity was by the window, sipping on mashed neka fruit drink; Applejack and Luso seemed to be engaged in lively debate, with Lorio standing to the side; and the Doctor was walking toward Bon Bon, who was sitting by a wall and not interacting with anyone. After a pause, Macrin replied: “Because it seems inevitable. We were told to learn from these aliens, and to instruct them in our own ways—but how can we pick up from other cultures without losing something of our own in the exchange? Look at Qeta.” He pointed at Qeta, who—improbably enough—had not exited the hug. “She's dived into every new planet, and I wonder if I recognize her anymore. Is that what must happen to all of us?” Adelbrand sighed. “I don't know.” “Then perhaps...” Macrin exhaled sharply through his nose. “We must choose. One or the other—to learn, or to instruct.” “I don't know, Lieutenant.” “But which would you choose, Captain?” Macrin turned to look at his captain. Adelbrand paused for several seconds; he could not think of a choice. Am I being indecisive? he wondered. Thankfully, he noticed something in the corner of his eye, and turned to see Qeta trotting toward him. “Officer,” he said as she reached him. “Captain,” she replied, smiling wide. “Okay, first of all, me and Pinkie Pie are going to be pen pals!” “Which means?” Macrin asked. “Some sort of correspondence between the two of us after we've left the planet. I'll need to ask her about specifics. And second of all, I just had a great idea. We should totally get airborne!” Macrin snorted. “Say that again?” “Pinkie's been telling me about the capital of Equestria. It's called Canterlot—and yeah, that's a stupid name, but their rulers live there. And now that we can talk to each other, we should go meet them and make things official!” Macrin lowered his head toward Qeta and glowered at her. “You should know better than that. I've spoken extensively with Engineer Ermi; the Duchy is in no condition—” Qeta playfully clattered her horns against his, knocking him back. “Don't worry about it, Mac. The engines work, don't they? We're not going into space, are we?” As Macrin continued to glower, Qeta pressed her point: “Just a quick hop from here to there. It's going to be fine.” “They will see our weakness, Qeta!” A muscle twitched in Macrin's lip, revealing his teeth. “No one's going to notice that anything's wrong with the ship, Mac—” “They will take the advantage and overpower us in our time of frailty!” Macrin's eyes grew wide. “Already their spies are here, discovering our weaknesses—” Adelbrand recognized the signs of one of Macrin's episodes, and turned to face him, but Qeta reacted faster. “Macrin!” She grabbed his face and looked into his eyes. “You're having a bad moment, Macrin. Deep breaths, like we practiced. In...” Grudgingly, Macrin obeyed, breathing in through his nose. “And out through the mouth...” Qeta exhaled; after a moment, so did Macrin. She smiled. “Good... and again. In... and out. In... and out.” Gradually, the tension in Macrin's face became less pronounced, and his eyes relaxed. About half a minute later, he gently raised a hoof and pushed Qeta's hooves off of his face, then stepped back with a smile. “I apologize,” he said. “I will control myself better next time.” “Talk to Lorio,” Qeta said, enunciating every syllable. “It's getting worse, and I'm really getting worried about you. He can help.” As Macrin took another couple of deep breaths Qeta turned back to face Adelbrand. “Thank you for that,” Adelbrand said. She smiled, though not as enthusiastically as she had before. “So, Captain... my proposal?” For the umpteenth time that evening, Adelbrand found himself at a loss for a decision. “I don't know... after all....” He snorted. “Fine. Let's do it.” Qeta hopped into the air with delight. “Thank you! I'll tell Luso right away!” She turned around and made to charge toward Luso, who was still debating with Applejack, but Macrin laid a hoof on her shoulder. “I'll do it,” he said, attempting a second smile. It wasn't very convincing, but judging how Qeta raised her head to him, she seemed to take it at face value. With that, Macrin let go and walked over to Luso. Within minutes, Ermi heard the first sign of the damaged Bullbot. The clang of its stuttering steps on the metal floor were audible from fifty yards away. Ermi, on the other hand, was able to keep her hooves light, and made no sound she didn't want to make. There was, however, one sound that she did want to make. She waited until the hoofsteps were close, then turned to a panel in the wall at her side. She stuck her four horns into four perfectly matched indents in the panel, lifted it above her head, then slammed it into the ground. The hoofsteps paused for a second, perhaps two—then they returned, and much more quickly this time. The Bullbot had taken the bait. Ermi turned around to run, but something in the space behind the panel—a tapestry of wires and circuitry—caught her eye. She looked directly at the wires. What did I just see? The galloping grew louder, and she smacked herself in the face. I just wasted five seconds. She turned around and ran from the hoofsteps. Leave the investigation for later. Within the minute, she was back near the hatch through which she had entered. She moved to enter the boiler room she'd left open, but the Bullbot appeared in her peripheral vision. Damn it, she thought, snorting and dashing into the room. I've got seconds. She glanced at the pressure release valve, and there was the clamp, still holding it closed. She glanced at the pressure gauge, and saw its needle in the orange—dangerously high. She got to the side of the boiler, waited a few heartbeats, then jabbed a horn at the clamp and knocked it away. A jet of superheated, supercompressed water blasted from the pressure release valve just as the Bullbot appeared in front of the door, his open side exposed to the water. It pierced into his wound, and Ermi watched the Bullbot shudder as the water destroyed his unprotected circuitry and motor systems. By the time the stream had subsided back to a trickle, the Bullbot was standing completely still. She'd killed him. Ermi sighed and knocked her head against one of the boiler's pipes. “Sorry, kid,” she muttered, before walking to inspect the damage. A few stray sparks jumped across circuits inside the Bullbot's innards, but she could see no other motion. So, plus side: he won't try to kill me. Minus side: there's no chance that I'll be able to get any data out of these electrics. She gently lowered the Bullbot to the floor, placing him on its damaged side in a resting position. Without his wound showing, he almost looked like he was just inactive. For a few seconds more, she stood over the Bullbot. Then she whipped around and trotted down the corridor, back the way she'd come. I know I noticed something behind that panel. What was it? Soon, she was back in front of the multitude of wires. Her eyes narrowed, and she considered each one at a time. At first, nothing showed up, but as she reached the lowest wires, she realized what she had noticed: a thick cord that had been cut in two. Her mouth opened slightly. That cord gets signals from the control room to the rockets. If someone cut that.... She picked up the panel and replaced it over the wires, then proceeded briskly down the corridor. It's not just the kids. Someone has been sabotaging my ship. “Bon Bon!” the Doctor exclaimed, returning to her corner of the room. She looked up at him and yawned. “You're looking peppy. I guess the excitement hasn't worn off.” “If you're yawning, I doubt it can have worn on for you.” “It usually doesn't.” “Well, maybe this will help,” he said, grinning at her. “There's a Bullbot headed to the kitchen right now, and in that kitchen are three neka fruit drinks with our names on them. Well, your name and Rarity's—hopefully, not my name per se. That would be very surprising.” Bon Bon yawned again. “Oh, come on.” The Doctor sat down next to her. “You're on a spaceship with technology you've never even imagined, about to taste the pulp of a fruit from another world, and you're... yawning. It's not even that late.” “Is too.” “Is not!” She smiled, if only just. “I just can't believe you're so excited about all this. It's almost irrational, depending on how you look at it.” “Irrational—irrational?” The Doctor was sure he sounded like he was squawking; he cleared his throat before continuing. “It's first contact with an alien planet; why would I not be excited?” “Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you've spent the last couple months in an alien universe?” She rolled her eyes at him. “And I don't see you Lyra-ing out about ordering flower sandwiches at the deli.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “'Lyra-ing' out?” “It fits, doesn't it?” “Point taken.” “Really, though, what exactly makes the bulls so exciting? Is it that everything's shiny and that there's robots?” She frowned. “Never knew your standards were so low.” “Well....” The Doctor pulled a hoof through his hair, as he considered this. “Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's... I feel like I can afford to be excited.” When Bon Bon raised an eyebrow at him, he continued: “Look, you remember seeing the Time War; you know that my life hasn't always been a lark. But since I got here, well... we faced Discord, and no one died. Vinyl, Octavia, and I stopped the Order in Fillydelphia, and no one died. Derpy and I saved the ponies trapped in that arcade machine, and no one died.” He grinned at her. “And... that's why you're feeling peppy. Because no one has died yet.” Bon Bon scooted away from him a bit, as if he were a mental patient. “Okay, those are some depressingly low standards.” “Point is, in my usual experience, meeting new aliens doesn't always go well... ever. But considering my more recent record, maybe I'm just letting myself hope.” Bon Bon grimaced. “Terrible idea. Never do it.” A low groaning sound from below the Doctor's hooves preempted his response. “That's interesting,” he said, standing up—then shaking on his hooves almost immediately as the ship began to rumble. “Captain?” he called across the room. “What's happening to your... oh. Oh!” He beamed. “What is it,” Bon Bon asked. “Ladies and gentlemen—or fillies and gentlecolts, if you prefer—get ready for takeoff!” He took Bon Bon by the hoof and pulled her to the slit of a window, the better to watch their ascension. And—as he realized a second later—the better to hear it; to feel it. Within moments, he'd staggered into the window's wall, trying to keep his balance despite the almighty vibration. He could hear nothing but the roar of massive rockets far beneath his hooves. He stumbled his way over to leaning on a table, just in time to look out the window and watch the trees begin to fall away. His mouth opened to laugh a laugh he could not hear; it'd been too long since he'd stumbled around a ship at takeoff. It's like coming home. The trees kept falling, the horizon grew more distant, and before a minute had passed the Doctor was looking up at clouds just above him. Here the Duchy stopped; the roar of the engines died down to a moderate white noise, and the vibration almost entirely disappeared. The Doctor looked at Bon Bon, jumped a bit as the ship shook, then smiled at her. “Worn on yet?” “Oh, all right. It's not bad.” She shrugged, smiled back at him, and then looked back out the window, where Canterlot was now visible. As the Doctor watched, he detected the slightest movement toward it; they had to be engaging side rockets, ever so slowly. “This is going to freak a lot of ponies out, isn't it?” Bon Bon said. “It can be fairly traumatic, yeah,” he replied. The corners of his mouth were approaching his ears. “Sometimes people just prefer to ignore it.” “Do you think that's going to happen?” “Goodness, I hope not.” The Doctor looked down at Ponyville, where—unless he was very much mistaken—small shapes were emerging from their toy houses, and staring up at the behemoth drifting above them. Not ignoring it, then. “I get it!” Suddenly, Pinkie Pie was beside them—not that the Doctor had yet encountered another way of Pinkie Pie being beside him. He noticed a blue ribbon tangled up in her already-tangled mane. Her attention was not directed at him, however; she was looking at Bon Bon with an unhealthy smile on her face. “Um,” Bon Bon replied. “The thing you said when the Doctor couldn't open that door—I get it!” Pinkie's eyebrows wiggled. “Oh, Bon Bon, you saucy mare.” Bon Bon stepped away from her and stared out the window. Pinkie Pie, apparently oblivious to any discomfort she was causing, grabbed Bon Bon and pointed her toward the door. A Bullbot was walking through it, holding a number of cups on a tray. “And look! Drinks! Quick, say something saucy about the drinks—owie!” Bon Bon drove her front right knee into Pinkie's chest, then walked away. “Aw, was it something I said?” Pinkie asked. Bon Bon turned back to her and opened her mouth. “Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie, and I've never heard the words 'personal' and 'space' in that order! It might be because I was too busy not shutting up to notice what anyone else was trying to say or do!” It wasn't just the voice that was perfect: Bon Bon was hopping in place every few seconds, her mouth was curled into a sugary grin, and even her hair seemed more animated than usual. “And now I'm gonna do something pointless and random okay bye!” With that, she jumped up one more time and spun around in the air. As soon as she landed, all the bubbly energy was gone; Bon Bon was her usual surly self again. She stomped away from Pinkie Pie, who by this point was gaping. “Hey!” Pinkie yelled a few seconds later. “My random things are plenty pointy!” Bon Bon didn't react. “Boy,” Pinkie said, pouting at the Doctor and pulling at the ribbon in her hair, “she's a real Grumpface McGrumperson, isn't she?” “Help!” came a yell from behind the Doctor. It was nice, knowing what to look for. After she'd seen the snipped wires, Ermi had made a mental list of key places on the ship she'd want to visit—places where a saboteur would be able to cause the most damage with the least notice. First on the list was an access panel on the ship's bottom floor, with cables that connected the ship's smaller rockets to the bridge. What was less nice was the sight that greeted Ermi's eyes as she stepped out of the stairs and onto the bottom floor. Here, the cracks ran through the floor, exposing mostly charred soil beneath. A few green plants rose into the ship, filling the air with annoyingly organic smells; Ermi could see insects crawling up and down a few stalks. Something moved in her peripheral vision, and she looked up to see a thin tail disappear down a corridor. She set her jaw and started walking in careful steps, so as to keep her hooves on the metal and off the ground. This slowed her down, but the pace suited her; the ache in her legs had only gotten worse as she'd kept moving. Within the minute, she was around the corner and standing next to the wall she'd been looking for. On the other side of the wall were four of the ship's auxiliary rockets, used for fine steering—the exact sort of steering that had stopped working before the ship's untimely landing. Ermi placed her horns into the four grooves of an access panel, and prepared to lift it—but something stopped her. She wasn't quite sure what she noticed, not at first, but it was enough for her to freeze in place. Her horns hung in the wall's slots as she strained her senses, trying to determine whatever minor detail she'd detected. Was it the flickering light above her head? Was it the insect that crawled across her hoof? Finally, Ermi realized that it was the faint, rhythmic sound of metal striking metal. The second Bullbot was patrolling somewhere near—and if she could hear him, then he would be able to hear her. She breathed in, quietly as possible, then took a step backward. The panel failed to fully disconnect from her horns—it parted from the wall and fell with a clang to the ground. Ermi froze; briefly, so did the hoofsteps. Then they began again, but louder and faster. He knew where she was. Ermi cursed and ran away from the hoofsteps—she hoped. She was tired; she didn't know just where the Bullbot was; she didn't know where she was. She just ran, ignoring the torn metal and the charred ground—a mistake. As she tried to turn the corner, her hoof caught in a fissure in the floor, and she cried out in pain as her knee twisted past its limits. She pulled the hoof out and hobbled down the corridor, still hearing the Bullbot. In her brief pause, she'd placed the sound; he was above her. She ran on three hooves past the stairs—she turned right—she turned left—she went straight, tripped on another piece of floor, and collided with a door between two sections of the ship. She pulled herself up and pressed the door open button, heaving a deep breath. The hoofsteps were descending; the Bullbot had reached the stairs. The door remained shut. “Open,” she hissed, pressing the button again, and waited. Nothing happened; the door's circuits had been damaged. “Open.” Still nothing. “Open.” She heard a door open, but it was not hers—it was the door from the stairwell. “OPEN!” she screamed, punching the button with all of her strength. “PLEASE!” She was betrayed. She looked back down the corridor and saw the Bullbot charging her, two horns pointed forward. They would not lose speed as they speared through her meat, as they affixed her fresh carcass to the wall. She pressed her body against the door, buying herself useless milliseconds. She felt the door sliding, and without realizing what was happening she fell backward. The robot was still running at her. She regained just enough presence of mind to stand up, shove her horn through the door's button, and jump back through the closing door. It closed as the Bullbot neared it; it would not open again from that side. She collapsed like a gel in the corner of the door and the wall, panting hard and thinking little. There was about enough room for one thought in her head. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. She felt her heaving chest—pressed a hoof against the places where the Bullbot had not left mortal wounds. I'm not dead. WHAM The door dented inward, punching her in the back. She wrenched her mind back to the situation at hand, and managed to get on her hooves. WHAM Another dent appeared in the door. Within the second, she realized what was happening—if the Bullbot could not open the door, he would break it down. Some instinctual mental math told her that she had a minute at most. Think! she screamed inside her head. She'd come through the rightmost door on the bottom floor between Duchy-1 and Duchy-2. Within two hundred and fifty feet of any potential entrance to the ship, there was an armory. In this case—she called up mental maps of Duchy-2—it was two hundred and seventeen feet away. She could make it—maybe. There was a chance. She heaved herself into motion one last time, willing the hormones of her stupid inconsistent fleshy body to kick into action. Another WHAM from the door behind her helped; she redoubled her speed. She turned left. She heard another WHAM. Right. Another WHAM. Left. WHAM. Right. The largest WHAM of all—the door was down. She heard the metal hoofsteps once more, and forced her legs to go even faster. The armory appeared on her right; she didn't bother opening the door, but charged it and knocked it down with a shoulder. The hoofsteps got louder—she grabbed one of several lightguns from the rack. Louder—she struggled with her twisted hoof, trying to get the lightgun onto the other hoof. LOUDER— It was on. She turned. She fired. The sphere of light traveled the length of the armory in a moment, and struck the Bullbot's leg. With a little metal groan, it snapped off at the knee—but the Bullbot was still approaching. She fired again, blowing off the other front leg. She circled around him, staying away from the swaying horns, and shot each back leg; they crumbled into blackened pieces. The Bullbot was now fully crippled, but his horns waved around defensively. She raised her gun hoof, and was struck with how helpless the kid was. “I'm sorry,” she said, before firing four last shots. The Bullbot's horns were disabled; the stumps flailed helplessly as Ermi pulled the lightgun off her hoof and rushed to him. Her horn went for a little tab in his back, which opened up with a pull. She reached in and pushed one of the buttons, and the horns finally stopped moving as the robot entered sleep mode. Ermi stood a moment longer—then she let herself collapse next to the Bullbot. A bit of broken leg poked into her side, but she barely noticed. In fact, for a few minutes she allowed herself to notice nothing at all. It was over; she was safe. After this quiet period, she stood on three legs and reached a hoof into the Bullbot. It was not, after all, over; someone had sabotaged her ship and turned her kids against her, and she had to find out who. She pressed the button and held it down for three seconds, then released it. The Bullbot's horns—what was left of them—untwisted themselves and returned to their default, upright, positions. All active commands had been countermanded; he wouldn't try to kill her now even if he could. “Bullbot,” she panted, “play back audio records of previous commands, starting with the most recent, and then I'll do my best to fix you.” “Understood,” he said. “Playback begins.” As Rarity stared at the Everfree Forest, she took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled. She rubbed her left foreleg along the table, letting the tactile sensation distract her for a moment, and wished that that Bullbot would get her drink so that she would have something to do. She'd considered going to talk with Qeta—after all, she'd been the main Betauran liaison over the past several days—but Pinkie Pie had been monopolizing her. So, she'd looked around, only to see every other bull in conversation with each other or some Equestrian. These were the historic conversations which would create the first bonds between these two planets—because, apparently, her contributions and her bonds weren't relevant now that the Betaurans no longer needed a translator. She took a deep breath, held it, and snorted it out through her nose. An orange shape moved into her peripheral vision, and she turned her attention away from the slit of a window to see Applejack sit at, then slump upon, an adjacent table. Rarity threw on a smile. “Good evening, Applejack. Has this evening been as interesting for you as it has for me?” Bien fait, Rarity, she thought. Not a hint of anything besides sincerity. “We need to get outta this loony bin, Rarity.” Rarity's mouth opened slightly, and she leaned over to place a hoof in front of Applejack's mouth. “Really, Applejack,” she whispered, “to say something like that of our hosts!” “The last two bulls I talked to tried to steal my blood and wanted to blow up the moon, in that order. That ain't normal.” Applejack's mouth turned downward into a hard frown, and she pushed Rarity's hoof off of her table. “They're loonies, and the sooner they're gone the better.” “Well, I'm sure they can't all be like that—maybe you're just overgeneralizing?” Applejack rolled her eyes. “I thought these were the guys that were chosen especially for this kind of mission? We wouldn't send Flim and Flam to trumpet Equestria across all creation, would we?” “True, but....” Rarity tried another tack. “Even so, you surely can't want them gone entirely.” “I want them gone entirely. And I want them gone right now.” Rarity's mouth went through the motions of saying “What?”, but somehow nothing came out. She tried to speak again, and more successfully this time. “But... the destiny of two planets! The untold insights we could gain from their culture—” “The way I see it, all we stand to gain from them is a giant crack in the moon. We can't have this bunch of warmongers flying over Equestria with a ship full of bombs!” Applejack emphasized the last word by slamming her hoof on the table. “It ain't safe and it ain't smart. They can pack up, leave, and take their act to some other neck of the universe.” With that, she stood up and started walking toward Captain Adelbrand, who was standing at the room's other end. With a moment's thought, Rarity enveloped Applejack's tail in the blue glow of her magic and pulled. “Applejack, you're being ridiculous! You can't just... tell them to leave! Why don't you just, ah, have an energy drink to clear your head?” Applejack glared at her, but after a few seconds she shrugged and sat back down. “Fine—I'll go talk to the rest of the girls, and we'll talk to the Princesses, and they'll get these crazy bulls off the planet.” Rarity glared right back. “Well, I won't let you.” “Oh for the love of—” Applejack's right back leg spasmed, as though it were fighting the urge to applebuck the ship right off the planet. “They yanked you into the Everfree Forest and left you to wander back by yourself in the middle of the night! That lieutenant belongs in a straitjacket! And do I need to mention the moon thing again? Why in Celestia's name do you want them to stay?” Rarity tried to keep her face impassive. “Rarity?” Applejack asked. “Hang on, ya do have something riding on these bulls staying?” “I'm, er, not sure I know what you mean,” she said, though in truth she knew her fib wasn't worth the breath she'd spent saying it. Applejack just raised an eyebrow, looking about as credulous as if she’d claimed to be an alicorn. Rarity took another deep breath. So that was a failure. Well, the secrets always make it out in this group of friends. “Applejack,” she began, “what was it like for you, to be an Element of Harmony?” Applejack raised an eyebrow, and opened her mouth in protest, but Rarity cut across her. “Bear with me for a moment. What was it like for you?” “Well... shucks, I dunno.” Applejack shrugged. “I mean, other than the world-savin' every so often... heck, since that pegasus got the Element of Honesty basically nothing's changed.” “Didn't you ever feel... meaningful? Like... like you had something worthwhile—monumental, even—hanging on your shoulders?” “Heck, I feel like that already! I've got a farm to run!” Applejack smiled at her. “Same way you've got a business to run.” “Oh, don't be ridiculous.” Rarity raised a hoof in the air and began waving it. “I used to vanquish threats to the very fabric of reality! The forces of corruption, of evil, eternal darkness! I fought the changeling hordes hoof to hoof! And now....” She slumped back down to the table. I could really use that drink. “I'm sorry, Applejack, but there's a difference of kind, not just of degree.” A new frown came onto Applejack's face and struggled with the smile that was already there; after a few seconds, she sighed, and her face resolved itself into a neutral expression. “I don't see it, Rarity. I mean, I don't need any magic necklace to be the best darn applebucker in Equestria, do I?” “But I'm not 'the best darn applebucker in Equestria'! I'm not Celestia's protégé and the most powerful unicorn in the world. I can't make Sonic Rainbooms, my stare can't tame dragons, and I most assuredly cannot do... whatever it is Pinkie Pie does!” “Rarity... uh.... do you hear...” “Oh, but then there's a big crack in the sky, and a meteor lands in the woods, and I go to investigate, and what luck! It's aliens, and I can single-hoofedly usher in a great new age in Equestria—and then he comes in,” she shouted, jabbing a hoof at the Doctor, “with his ridiculous coral lump, and renders the whole translation issue moot, and here I am—a millstone once again!” Breathing heavily, she noticed that she'd been shouting. She grinned nervously and looked around the room, but it seemed that no one could hear her—and, belatedly, she noticed the reasons why: the floor was shaking, a low roar filled the room, and they were rising. I really have lost my composure. That won't do, Rarity! She shook her head several times. If you have any remaining areas of expertise, self-control is certainly among them! She breathed in, held it, and breathed out. “Well, Applejack,” she called, “I'm afraid we may not be exiting the ship for some time.” “What in—hey!” Applejack yelled, once more facing Captain Adelbrand. “You can't just yank us into the air like this! I have rights, consarn it!” “Oh, don't be that way, dear.” Rarity walked forward and patted her on the shoulder. “You have to admit, the view is amazing.” They were well above the treeline by now, and Rarity could see the great mountains of Canterlot in the distance—almost close enough to grasp, if she let herself slip into fancy. Applejack took one look out the window, then harrumphed, turned away, and sat back on her chair, forelegs crossed. “Seen it.” Rarity rolled her eyes. Well, there's no convincing some ponies. As the rockets' roar died down, Rarity was able to perceive the regular sound of metal on metal. She turned around and saw the Bullbot she'd been waiting for, with several drinks on a tray balanced upon its back. One of its front horns twisted back, curled around one of the cups, and lifted it to her. “Oh! Thank you, dear,” she said, tugging at the cup with her magic. Unfortunately, the Bullbot's grip was a bit too firm. “Do you mind loosening up?” “Dek noda kot.” “Oh, of course.” Rarity grinned. The Doctor's contraption may have rendered her obsolete in the organic arena, but here was her chance to shine! She recalled an approximation of the correct words, and then said, haltingly, “Boqe krig skikkanta?” “Dek noda kot.” Rarity frowned: she was almost certain she'd gotten that one right. She tried another configuration. “Boqe deg skikkanta?” “D-dek noda—noda k-k-k-kot.” Unless her eyes deceived her, the horn around the drink was tightening.... The glass shattered in her face. Rarity screamed and lifted a hoof out of instinct; several shards stuck into her leg, but her face seemed to have missed the worst of it. Instinctively, she toppled backward; a moment later, the horn suddenly unflexed, swinging like a club through the space where her head had been. “Help!” she yelled, just before she hit the ground. “What in—Rarity!” Applejack yelled. She tried to run forward, but the Bullbot's other horns were waving wildly; one caught Applejack in the side, sending her flying back several feet. The Bullbot's legs were spasming too, and the thing barely seemed capable of staying upright. “What's happening?” Rarity heard the Doctor say, as she crawled backward. “Equipment malfunction!” said Macrin's voice from her right. “I told Ermi to prioritize the bots....” She looked over to see him leaning against a wall. His eyes were fixed on her, but he made no attempt to even approach, let alone to help. Rarity opened her mouth to reproach him, but her words turned into a shriek as a horn whipped over her head. In her moment of distraction, she'd failed to notice that the Bullbot's random movements were bringing it closer to her. She scuttled backward until she'd gotten her footing, then turned around and ran heedlessly out of the room. No, she told herself. Never heedlessly. You have a mind, Rarity, and you will use it to escape this rampaging beast! There was a corridor branching off to the left; she glanced down it and saw that it went straight for several yards, then turned right. The corridor to her front went straight for much longer. If I take the left, I'll be able to get out of this thing's sight more quickly. I'll evade it! She ran left, straight, and then right—and stopped. There was no corridor in front of her, just a door. She slammed a hoof on the wall next to her, hoping to find one of those hard-to-see buttons. After a few tries, the door opened, revealing a janitorial closet—one so packed with equipment that she couldn't even get in to hide. I made a mistake. Without really thinking about it, she took a few slow steps backward, before stopping herself. Back down the other corridor, then, and quickly! You can do this! She turned around with a growl of frustration—which immediately turned into a shriek of panic. The Bullbot was at the other end, with its horns wildly bashing against the walls. “Keep calm,” she whispered, darting forward a bit; she'd noticed another door's outline on the wall. “You can do this.” With the push of a hoof, the door opened, revealing more cleaning equipment. She forced herself forward once more. “You can do this.” Another door opened, revealing—a room large enough for her to fit! She could run inside and shut the door on the Bullbot— A horn slammed into the door, buckling it inward. Rarity screamed as it whipped back the other way, its tip inches from her eyes. She backed away, only to tangle her hooves and fall. The Bullbot got closer. “Help!” she yelled, crawling away. The Bullbot took another stomp toward her, and she noticed how the floor dented beneath its metal hoof. “Rarity!” Applejack yelled. Rarity looked up to see Applejack weaving around the Bullbot's tentacles. Pinkie Pie and the Doctor were not far behind her. “Hold on!” An orange hoof thrust out and met the Bullbot's metal head—it didn't seem to notice. “Help!” Rarity screamed, pulling herself backward, not even trying to get back on her hooves. I can't do this. The Bullbot drew closer. She tried to concentrate—to use her magic and push the evil thing away—but all she could think of was what one of those metal tentacles they called horns could do to her skull. I can't do anything. “I can't—it's still not working!” the Doctor yelled. The Bullbot drew closer. Rarity backed further away, and felt the cold steel of the back wall on her skin. She huddled herself into the corner and whimpered. I can't do anything. I can't do anything. I can't... The Bullbot drew closer. Stay tuned for the ending to The Advent of Betaurus.