Luna woke to a door hissing shut in her face. It was a thick door, like the airlocks in the Eagle. It sealed with a final clunk, and she glanced around, taking in her surroundings.
She was in a small metal room, with some basic comforts and a few beds.
Oh, and there were several armed soldiers pointing guns at her. Why would they be doing that, again?
Then, something in her mind stirred groggily and awoke, and Luna remembered. The sudden and unexpected betrayal by the two men. The shooting of the third.
And then Nightmare Moon and the strange entity.
One of the soldiers noticed her eyes move, and the gun clacked ominously. “Don’t move!” he ordered, muzzle aimed steadily at her temple. “Stay down!”
She complied, but asked, “Where’s Neil?”
“I’m over here,” Neil’s voice came from behind her, where she couldn’t see. She rolled an eye back, trying to spot him, but couldn’t. When she tried to move her head, the soldier jabbed his weapon threateningly, and she subsided back to her old position.
The Nightmare asked her, as it mentally stretched, “When did you wake up?”
“Just now,” she replied, moving to lock the mental gate—only there was no gate, anymore.
In fact, there wasn’t even a doorway. The prison to which Nightmare Moon had been banished for twenty-four years—and Luna for five minutes—was gone, with not even a trace remaining.
Which was impossible. There was always a trace of mental magic, even if it was benign. One could always tell if anyone else had had mental magic worked upon them—and usually, what it was. It was one of the great flaws of the art, that it was impossible to hide.
But the proof was undeniably there, and it meant she could not hold the Nightmare back—and it would not be able to corral her, either.
If they were to fight once more over her own body, like in times past, instead of one remaining in control for long periods, it would rapidly seesaw back and forth, back and forth, in a never-ending battle at the speed of thought. At least, until the strain tore her mind asunder.
She shuddered.
“I’m impressed at how fast you recovered,” the Nightmare complimented, still moving a bit sluggishly. “You didn’t even see it coming.”
“See what coming?”
“The breaking of the magic fields! ‘Twas incredible—I never thought something like that might happen. Of course, it was quite painful when it ripped the magic out of my skull.”
“Your skull? It’s my head, thank you very much,” Luna snapped. “And what do you mean, the magic fields broke?”
“Just that. They broke like a string pulled too tight. Painful discovery, it was.” Nightmare Moon smirked slightly. “It hit you like a linebacker in hoofball. Out like a light!”
The soldier motioned. “On your feet!” he said crisply, but stumbled, “Or...um... hooves.”
Luna rose gracefully, looking behind her to see Neil sitting wearily back on a couch, foot propped up and a bandage wrapped around his head. A man was working on his foot, white box open beside him and a variety of medical equipment within. Collins and Buzz sat further back, similarly battered and waiting to be tended to. It looked like Collins had fallen asleep.
The soldier warily retreated to the far corner of the small room, gun pointed at her all the while, before saying, “You can have your injuries tended to, ma’am. But don’t try any funny business.”
“Funny... business?” When was business ever funny? Unless one ran a comedy shop... but... this language didn’t make any sense. There were far too many nonsensical phrases for her liking.
“That’s right, funny business.” He pointed at her horn. “None of the glowy stuff.”
Ah. So he meant no magic.
“As you wish.” She turned and moved over to Neil. He smiled unconvincingly, and she noticed him flinch. It was well-concealed, but it was there.
And, she found, it hurt. She’d only known the man for a few days, but in their forced proximity, she considered him—and the others—to be friends. It was clear, though, that he wasn’t sure about what he thought.
“Luna,” he asked, a plaintive note in his voice, “What just happened out there?” He gestured wildly. “The gunfire—and the bat wings—and the blackness... the screaming and the snap, and then you were unconscious...” He pleaded, “I have no idea what was going on—it was so fast. Can you explain it any better?” He passed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry if I sound like I’m whining—the doc tells me I’ve got a decent concussion, so I’m just a little out of it. I caught even less of the action than anyone else, and no one got anything much.”
Collins interjected, “What was the deal with the whole scary act, and why’d you tear that man into pieces? I mean, I get that he was an enemy and a danger, but did you really have to be so vicious?” He shuddered. “You weren’t acting at all like yourself, Luna. What gives?”
Luna looked down. “That’s because it wasn’t me.”
“What?” both questioned simultaneously. Neil followed it up with a second “What?”
She nodded and forced herself to meet their confused eyes. “It’s a long story.”
Collins snorted. “We’ve got several days in here, at the least. Probably longer, seeing as how it’s not just a formality.” He tried to reach for the walls, but stopped as his sling shifted. “We’re in quarantine ‘until further notice.’ So tell us the story while we wait. I know the President and just about everyone with more than one star is going to grill you for it anyway as soon as we get out.”
Neil said, “They’ll take little things like the betrayal of Secret Service agents and an alien then killing them pretty seriously, and they’ll want everything they can get. Wouldn’t you?”
The doctor was doing an admirable job of pretending he wasn’t hearing any of this, Luna noticed. The only sign was a slight tightening of the shoulders—or maybe that was just him working on Neil’s foot. He really was composed.
“I suppose this is not something that can be hidden, anymore,” Luna said, slowly. She sat back on her haunches heavily. “The story starts... a long time ago. About four centuries ago—has it really been that long?—I don’t remember exactly.” She shook her head. “I’m getting old.”
She cleared her throat. “It was—“ she coughed, once, then twice. There was a sudden coughing fit, and when she straightened, she found that she was no longer in control of her own vocal cords.
“To be exact, it was three hundred ninety-four years, two hundred thirty-nine days, sixteen hours, seventeen minutes, and eight seconds ago,” Nightmare Moon said. “I remember it quite clearly.”
Neil jerked violently, foot falling off its pedestal and smacking the doctor in the face. “The hell?”