Adrift Off Fiddler's Green: The Final Conversion Bureau Story

by Chatoyance

3. Fortress Of Solitude

3. Fortress Of Solitude

Uncle Tumble lay sprawled out on the floor of the Acres Plantation. His tongue stuck far out of his mouth as he panted. Half laying across various sections of him were Jinx and Clover, their weight and heat making his panting less effective than it should have been.

The room was cooling down, finally. The long back-ordered Bevelmeiter crate had ridden with Tumble and Peony on top of their carriage to Courbette. Tumble had carried the heavy box all the way to the plantation on his shoulder, steadied with a strong paw. Peony often remarked that it was good to have a dog around the house; Tumble's great strength was often an enormous convenience.

Both had worked together to install the massive thaumatic tube into the cooling system in the basement. The Bevelmeiter was a long, ovoid tube, capped at both ends with golden domes. Inside the glass floated a black metal structure, resembling two fleur-de-lis facing away from each other. It hung silent and still within the tube, attached to nothing. Around the black metal shimmered very faint sparks of thaumatic force. Crimson's fillies, Jinx and Clover, kept getting in the way, fascinated by the replacement for the previous Bevelmeiter they had accidentally broken.

Once set into the cooling unit, Tumble and Peony went through the accompanying manual to try to activate the tube. The Bevelmeiter Thaumatic Engine Enchantment Operations Manual Version 26 made for difficult reading. It did not help that large sections had been printed in unicorn glyphs clearly intended for professional installers.

"Do we need to call in a unicorn? We've got the thing in there, but... I'm at a loss!" Peony licked the sweat off her husband's muzzle, which made him grin. Her tongue felt warm, but after it passed, his jowls felt cool.

"Answer is here. Tumble figure out. Must be way! Just haf'ta find." Tumble stood and thought. He scratched at the base of his short tail with a claw. "Box! Check box! Maybe sheet there for dumb dog who not read silly unicorn manual!"

Peony frowned. "You are not dumb. Don't let me catch you saying that sort of thing again!" It was a game, of sorts, really. Tumble knew he was smart, but he was aware of how most ponies thought of diamond dogs. It did seem to reassure him though, when she reprimanded and defended him.

While Tumble poured through the manual, again, Peony searched what remained of the crate the Bevelmeiter had traveled in. Under the packing material, taped to a strut, Peony found a small sheet of paper. "Instructions! I found 'em!"

Tumble shook sweat from his ears. Unlike earth canines, diamond dogs could sweat as well as pant with their tongues. The original universe and realm they had come from had been a warmer one than Equestria, and the dogs had adapted to that fact in numerous ways. "Give. Give sheet. Tumble make tube go. Can get water? Tumble thirsty!"

Peony smiled and nodded. She wasn't good with thaumatic technology, Tumble was - so long as he didn't have to deal with unicorn glyphs. In their home, he was quite the mister fix-it. He did carpentry and plumbing as a trade, but he seldom encountered Bevelmeiter tubes. They were rare devices, reserved for important or special things.

Clearly, princess Celestia REALLY liked bananas.

Tumble watched his mare dance up the steps. Her tail swung like a pendulum, swishing to and fro with every stomp of her hooves. Something in Tumble wanted to chase after the motion, run it down, pounce on it, and kiss the living...

"Unca Tumble? When'zit gonna be cool again? I'm hot." Clover was becoming frustrated by the endless, eternal, never-ending wasteland of boring stupid that adults always fell into. They never did anything fast. It was a real problem - they had the coolest stuff, but somehow they always made it boring. She resolved to remedy this asinine inequity when she was all grown up. Just slam it in and make things cool! How hard could it be?

"Me sorry, little Clover. Back to work!" Tumble took the tiny sheet into his massive paws and studied it. It wasn't unicorn glyphs, that was something. But it was complicated. Apparently there was an included bag of thaumatically activated chalk that was required. Tumble searched the Bevelmeiter crate yet again - there seemed to be no effort to make things easy to find - and discovered the bag at the far end, covered over by packing.

Tumble studied the sheet, and the chalk, then the sheet again. "Fillies move. Go far back. Tumble need space for sigil. Fillies move back!"

Clover sulked into the back of the basement, next to the piles of lapine stage costumes and Plantain's spare top hats. Jinx stepped close and peered around her uncle's thick, muscular arm at the instruction sheet. "May I help, Uncle? I am a very good reader. I received a gold star at school. I am the fastest reader in my class." Beneath the quiet words was a boiling ocean of pride at that little star.

Tumble chuckled. "Fast not good here. This need care. Careful care. Must get right or we sweat all night!"

Several sticks of thaumatic chalk were shaken out of a bag into Tumble's tremendous paw. "Here. Help. Take chalk, put to side. Leave gold. Need gold."

Jinx carefully moved the chalk from Tumble's pads and placed them neatly on the floor some distance away. Clover whimpered from the back of the basement, unhappy that her sister was getting to do something and she wasn't.

Tumble carefully took the golden chalk between his claws and began to copy the sigil from the instruction sheet. The image was smaller than it needed to be, and Tumble silently cursed whoever decided that consumer instructions should be relegated to a single, small scrap of paper.

Exchanging colors with the help of Jinx, the sigil was gradually completed on the floor of the basement, a few toes from the Bevelmeiter tube inside the cooling unit. The chalk diagram was a circle interrupted by three smaller circles, with a large triangle connecting them. Additional circles and shapes filled the spaces within, and several dozens of unicorn glyphs had been ever-so-carefully inscribed just about everywhere around and within the sigil.

Tumble held the sheet up to the lightsprite lamp that hung from the ceiling. "Next part. Speak words. There is warning! All must stand back." Tumble waited until both Jinx and Clover were well to the back of the basement.

Hoofsteps came down the stairs. "I've got water - no ice left, sorry - and melonade and..."

"Peony! Much thank you! But not now. Time to make Bevelmeiter work. Must concentrate." Tumble began sounding out the strange words in his mind, trying to get the pronunciation right. The words were written in thaumatically active ink, much like that used in postal scrolls. Once spoken correctly, they would flash with green fire and vanish, and in doing so power the sigil, which in turn, would initiate the large tube.

"Oh! Let me set this down somewhere! I want to see!" Peony carefully backed up the stairs, the overladen tray shaking slightly on her back. She used her wings to steady it as she went.

"Tumble wait." In truth, Tumble was glad of an excuse to go over the words once more. There was a part of him that wanted to impress his nieces, and he knew they were already impatient. He didn't want to make any mistakes.

Peony performed tiny rearings to slide the tray off of her back and onto the table. She used her wings as a chute, to guide the tray and its contents, and prevent them from falling off sideways. When the tray was fully on the table, she raced to the basement steps and descended as rapidly as she dared. She had read about Bevelmeiter tubes. They were supposed to be fairly amazing when they started up.

Peony stood next to Jinx and Clover, in the back. "Okay dearest! We're ready for the show!"

No pressure then. Tumble gave the slip one last read through, and cleared his voice. He gave a short howl, to make sure his pipes were clean. "Tumble begin now. All ponies stay back, safe. Just watch now."

Tumble began speaking the words. The strange syllables began to take on a life of their own in his throat. His voice changed, as he spoke, sounding odd, as if far away, or perhaps entirely too close - the ponies felt his words tickle the inside of their minds.

The Bevelmeiter tube responded slowly, first just turning lazily inside the glass. As Tumble reached the middle of his script, the faint glow around the black metal suddenly sprang to life. It became a bright and pulsing cloud of gold within the tube, writhing and swirling around the floating metal shape.

The black metal spun faster and faster as ribbons of thaumatic force erupted from both golden caps at the ends of the tube. The basement was flooded with yellow light as the twisting ribbons sought each other out. Suddenly, as Tumble finished the words, the ribbons grabbed each other and ballooned out, only to suddenly pull tight and shrink inward until they passed through the glass and settled inside the dark metal.

The unicorn glyphs on the sheet of paper burned with green fire, then dimmed, and faded entirely away. They were gone from the paper as if they had never existed.

The chalk sigil also burned green, and burst with tall, cold flames for a second, before vanishing. There was not even any residue. The basement floor showed no signs that anything had been drawn upon it.

The glow from the Bevelmeiter tube dimmed and settled to a soft, gentle, constant light. The black metal inside spun steadily.

"Wow." Peony had not been disappointed. The two fillies joined in. Clover was bouncing on her hooves and cheering. Jinx babbled about her observations of what had just happened, with speculations on how it all worked.

"SHHH!" Tumble had turned around and lifted a paw. "Ponies be quiet! Listen!"

From up the stairs came the sound of the large fans set into the ceilings of the rooms above. The Bevelmeiter tube was powering the house now, moving what needed to be moved, and generating cool air through thaumatic induction. In time, the tube would integrate with the house, with every door and window and cabinet. The old plantation house would come alive, after a fashion, not conscious, but strangely aware. Doors might open of their own accord ahead of those wishing to pass through them. Drawers would have their contents sorted in simple, but logical ways. Water would sometimes pump itself, should a glass be held in waiting.

"FINALLY!" Jinx and Clover galloped past their aunt and uncle and up the stairs.

Tumble dabbed at his dripping jowls and ears. His coat was drenched in sweat. "Tumble hot. Go up and lay down. Enjoy cool."

Peony walked to her husband and pressed her pink muzzle into his belly. She took a long sniff and exhaled in a happy sigh. "And melonade. I'm thirsty too."

"Like iced tea better. But melonade good too. We go upstairs and collapse. Wait for cool to fill house." Tumble bent down and held Peony's head in his enormous paws. "Peony pretty. Tumble keep."

This made Peony laugh. After a brief kiss - it was hot and humid in the basement - the two made their way upstairs.

When Tumble sprawled on the floor, Jinx and Clover decided to use his stomach and haunches as a pillow. They were too hot against his body, but he was too tired to care. Gradually, the fresh, new, delightfully cool air began to blow over them.

Frontpage watched the carriage pull away and continue on down the road that divided the southern Canterlot Mountains from the vast Everfree. The carriage was empty of passengers now, but still carried crates and packages bound for Ponyville and Canterlot City. As it shrank into the distance, he turned to look out over the forest.

The Everfree was supposed to be a scar on reality itself. The zone was the battleground where the princesses had defeated and imprisoned Discord more than a thousand years ago. The conflict had been so terrible that a permanent injury to the very structure of Equestria had been left; within the region, the normal laws of physics were bent, and sometimes no longer applied at all.

No pegasus could control the weather of the Everfree, like lost earth, the rains and winds came of their own. No unicorn could be certain of their control of thaumatic force within the place; at any time magic could fail, or result in unexpected events. Earthponies could not grow plants within the Everfree, they could not sense through the soil or feel the life of the land. But worst of all, were the monsters.

The latent chaos of the Everfree spawned impossible creatures, the thaumatically twisted plants sometimes altered and changed normal animals that entered. It was dangerous to eat or touch anything within the zone, and there were locations and spots that were risky even to look upon.

But within chaos was also all possibility. The strange and bizarre mutations of the Everfree produced more than horror - there were also wonders, and glories, and marvels greatly desirable. Fruits grew there that had been touched by chaos in delightful and positive ways, and medicines and cures grew side by side with perils and catastrophes.

The Everfree was a realm of contradictions, as befits a zone of chaos, where the most terrible terrors existed side by side with unutterable wonders. But there was a truth of the Everfree that nopony would dispute; the horrors far outnumbered the delights, and the wonders that had been found had often been paid for with blood and fear.

Frontpage turned from watching distant trees bend to the passing of some unseen, impossibly large thing, pushing its horrid way through ancient jungle. Crimson was shuddering, wide-eyed, staring out at the ocean of strange and twisted trees.

"It still chills me. Even now. Ninety-some years later." Crimson forced her eyes away from the forest, conquering her fear of displaying her backside to it. "Even the smell. Especially the smell."

"The smell?" Frontpage concentrated on his powerful pony senses, and sniffed the air. Green, sharp, pine-like notes rode high over low, muddy, swampy tones. A vague smell of rot brightened by distant, exotic flowers and spice. A faint wisp of unidentifiable animal-like musk. A hint of the scent of death, of dried blood, blended with the perfume of alien fruits.

"Nothing else smells like the Everfree, because nothing else is like it. Thankfully." Crimson began climbing the impossible length of wide, low, marble steps that switchbacked up the mountainside. "This is always the worst part of visiting my sister. Being so close to it."

Frontpage followed after, unable to find the same distaste as Crimson. He had found the scent of the Everfree intoxicating, filled with a sense of excitement, of mystery. The smell had not been entirely pleasant, but interesting things do not always need to be pleasing. The Everfree smelled like news to Frontpage, and that was the best smell ever.

The climb was long and would have been arduous to a unicorn, and avoided entirely by a pegasus. To the pair of earthponies it was trivial, and the half hour ascent was spent in constant motion. When they reached the crest, and the grounds of the institute, neither was the least out of breath.

Frontpage and Crimson trekked across a wide, circular dais balcony. It was of a single piece, created from conjured marble, in the style of Canterlot castle itself. The single, sweeping rail was golden, supported by curving, curlicue struts. Across the vast disk were spaced raised gardens filled with strange and unusual flowers. Frontpage's nose informed him that they must almost certainly be plantings taken from the Everfree below; his eyes confirmed this. As they passed one caged garden box, the sharp-toothed flowers behind the bars followed him, turning on their stalks, their centers drooling strange nectar.

Crimson seemed utterly indifferent to the wondrous and vaguely unsettling gardens. She trotted on directly to the entrance of the massive institute. "Come on, mister Frontpage, surely you've seen flowers before."

Frontpage leaped back as a bush covered with what had appeared to be round fruits suddenly opened its hundreds of eyes. "Not like these, Ms. Acres. Not ever... like these."

"I have no doubt that Plantain will take you on a tour. She's always eager for any publicity for her projects. Show any interest in bunnies, and she'll be your friend for life." Crimson stood at the huge, twin, metal banded doors and took the golden ring that served as a door grip in her mouth. "Umn on, less go inthide... OWWW! OWW! OWW!"

Frontpage galloped to the entrance door. Crimson was stomping erratically while still holding the large, circular door handle in her mouth. Something white and powdery was flaking down from within the divide between the two large doors every time they rattled. Crimson kept howling and stomping, shaking the massive doors.

"Let go!" Frontpage gaped at the scene, unable to comprehend.

"I HANT! HELK! OWWW! HELK EE! HELK! HOLD! ITH HOLD!" Crimson was beginning to panic now, tugging and pulling away from her own muzzle, her eyes rolling disturbingly. It was as if she were trying to rip her own mouth from her head!

"I don't understand! I..." Frontpage's sensitive pony nostrils caught the brittle touch of deep, penetrating cold air emanating from the double doors. The white flakes were ice crystals. More ice crystals were spreading from the corners of the doors, and outward from the center, coating the banding and covering the wood. He stared at the metal handles, at the golden ring that Crimson still held in her muzzle.

Crimson's mouth, her tongue and lips, were frozen to the ring. It must be agony, it was certainly terrifying to watch. Already her thrashing had caused her flesh to tear. Beads of blood were forming in and around her lips.

Frontpage had been a reporter for a long time. He was the first reporter to become a newfoal and report from Equestria. He had traveled between the universes, doing stories for both sides, right up to the week before Zero Point. On earth, as a tough little pony, he had covered riots in the favelas, and bloody coups in corporate halls. He had seen the aftermath of the Squamous New Mexico incident, where the Human Liberation Front had fallen. And he had been allowed to visit the McMurdo Arcology, where the elite of the elite found refuge from the heat and the smog.

There, he had seen the young son of one of the Good Families bullied into sticking his tongue to a metal flagpole, out in the Antarctic cold. It was away from all help, on a tour of the still partially-frozen landscape. The useless wealthy were paralyzed by the situation, and the father had screamed at his child to rip his own lips off. Because it was all an embarrassment.

But the driver, a lowly serf to the elite, knew what to do. He had saved the poor boy. And for it, he had been taken into irons by the Blackmesh, and likely, his services had been... terminated.

Survival is not for the squeamish. Survival takes total commitment.

The advancing frost was still expanding across the doors. In moments it would engulf the golden handles, and likely spread to Crimson. The speed at which it spread! It looked to Frontpage as if the twin doors were holding back an ocean of liquid nitrogen. Clouds of falling, drifting vapor streamed from the edges of the doors, and from between them now.

Crimson was screaming, a single ululating tone like a pony siren, wailing the essence of despair itself.

Frontpage turned, faced partially away, and raised his right rear leg. He braced his hoof on the door above Crimson's head, and felt a terrifying cold rush through his frog and into his pastern. Then Frontpage let loose, and pushed, squeezed inside himself with all of his might.

The initial stream missed the target, but with quick adjustment, he managed to hit the ring... and Crimson. The golden fluid steamed from the ring as if it were boiling water. It sent up a cloud of vapor which rose, and then fell to the ground. The cold continued to flow up his raised hindleg. Frontpage suddenly realized that he could no longer feel his hoof.

Twenty-one seconds. That is all he had in which to save Crimson Beauty from losing her jaw, lips and tongue. Whatever the size of creature, large or small, simple physics dictated that urination took an average of twenty-one seconds. This was as true in Equestria as it had been on Earth, and this fact circumscribed Frontpage's effort to use this most ancient, aboriginal trick to release frozen flesh.

He had missed initially, losing five to ten seconds of precious liquid heat. Would it be enough? The cold was unimaginable, unearthly, impossible.

Crimson, stunned by the situation, had stopped in mid-scream. Her mind was torn between agony and shock at a sudden turn of events that, to her, made no rational sense. She felt anger towards the reporter - how could this stallion DO such a THING? She was in trouble, she was in danger and he was... was... suddenly she realized that she was no longer stuck to the door. Her damaged lips slipped free of the metal handle, her tongue unglued from the golden ring.

Crimson found herself stumbling backwards, tripping in confusion and relief on her own hind legs. She fell, onto her tail bone, but did not even notice. Her mouth was agony, she could taste blood and ammonia, and her unimaginably sensitive pony nose was reporting hot news that she did not want to know.

"Help me! Crimson! I'm stuck! My leg is stuck!" Frontpage had discovered, to his horror, that he could not remove his limb from the metal banding of the door. Already ice was coating his hoof and creeping past his coronary band. Although his yellow journalism had saved Crimson Beauty, now he was in the icy grip of peril.

"Ooo thust theed on me!" In shock, Crimson still had no idea of how severe her injuries were. Blood from her torn lips and muzzle spattered as she tried to speak.

"Crimson!" Frontpage tried his best to focus his thoughts and suppress his rising panic. "I am in trouble!"

"Yoorin thruddle? Ook ath nee!" Crimson looked around herself, where she sat, unable to process the import of the tiny red spots everywhere.

Frontpage thought, hard. He couldn't pull away, and soon the meat of his leg would be frozen solid. Crimson's thrashing had disturbed or broken whatever layer of ice that had sealed the doors of the institute. Now some terrible cold was seeping through every crack and junction at a deadly speed. The expanding frost was sheeting the double doors - and his leg, and the process seemed to be accelerating. He needed to be broken free, to have the ice enshrouding his hoof and pastern shattered.

"Buck me!"

"Thame thoo yoo, yoo thassard! Yoo theed on nee! Yoo athully THEED on nee!" After more than ninety years in Equestria, it was a shock to hear any pony use earthly expletives. Crimson must be well beyond tolerances.

"No! Get up and kick me! Do it filly! KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME YOU BITCH!" His words were calculated. She had shocked him... maybe he could shock her back. Force her to action before he lost his leg, and possibly his life.

Crimson Beauty stared. She had been raised as the child of the elite of the elite. Her servants had possessed servants, and her guards had been watched by other guards, who were observed in turn. Not once, in all of her life, on earth or in Equestria, had any peasant ever spoken to her in that manner. She was in pain, she was hurt, and that scabby little reporter had... he had... what he had done....

In an instant, drooling blood and spittle, Crimson was up and galloping towards the loathsome little filth stuck to the door. With all of her considerable earthpony might, she spun and roundhoused the little shit with her hindlegs. There was a loud CRACK as frost and ice exploded around him.

Frontpage spun away from the white, frosted double doors and crashed to the ground, crying with pain. He rolled slowly over, onto his side, then abruptly wrenched himself onto his other side to protect his broken ribs.

Frontpage cried like a foal, curled up, unable to move, staring through tears at his bent, broken hind leg.

Crimson Beauty advanced, with human-scaled violence in her eyes. She trembled with shock and rage.

Frontpage could not bear to move his body or his neck because of the pain from his leg and ribs. His large eyes rolled towards Crimson as he whispered, through agony-clenched teeth "...please..."

And then Crimson Beauty fell to the ground, mercifully unconscious.