Love.
Love is not pure; love is not noble; love is not transcendental. It is mucky, messy stuff. The besotted are often selfish, often stupid, often fickle.
Sweetie Belle was – or rather, is – in love. That was one of the first things I learned about her, and it was one of the first things I liked about her.
I, too, am in love.
Consider: Another different species, from a different world, born a million or more years apart. And yet I find in her a fellow feeling. Empathy. I find we are both aching bundles of desire.
As for my beloved: I waited for him for an eternity. And he betrayed me.
He betrayed me.
No, that's not fair …
Ugh. Nevermind. Onwards with the story.
Chapter 3
Ilmarinen
The creak and whirr of machinery, the shouts and grunts and chatter of workers and crewmen which nearly drowned out the daemons' whispers, the acrid stink of smoke mixed with cloying overtones of petrochemicals. On the far side of Docking Tower Three's inner chamber, a crane brought in yellow ochre barrels the size of ponies through a portal in the ceiling. A team of minotaurs unhooked them and lined them up, whereupon more minotaurs, assisted by clicking, buzzing chevaloids, rolled them down the walkway into Ilmarinen proper.
Sweetie Belle and the crewmembers she was with, Whicker and Petallion, followed them. They'd been granted leave almost immediately, and were talking about where to eat. With work and journey finished, Sweetie Belle was was again the centre of attention.
“You ain't been here before, have you?” asked Whicker.
“Nope,” said Sweetie Belle. She grinned at him. “This is as far out as I've ever come.”
“Then there's a fuckin load of stuff you gotta see!”
“Yeah, shops and everything,” said Petallion. “Stick a princess here and it may as well be Canterlot.”
A chevaloid returning to the docking tower stepped across the walkway, directly into Sweetie Belle's path and froze. She stopped, barely managing to avoid running to it.
“The fuck?” said Whicker.
The chevaloid buzzed as Sweetie Belle stared bewildered at its eyeless face.
“Woah! Sorry about that,” said the minotaur who walking behind it. He reached across the walkway, picked up the chevaloid and set it down on the side it came from. It started walking again as if nothing had happened. The minotaur shrugged. “They screw around sometimes,” he said, and continued on towards the tower.
Sweetie Belle looked back. Chevaloid – that was a misnomer. All these mechanical creatures had in common with ponies were the number of legs and something that passed for a head, consisting of a mouthlike clamp and a few sensory dishes. They had no real body – just a thick spine connecting the pairs of legs. They made excellent workers for simple tasks, but were too limited in behaviour to be useful beyond that. She had seen chevaloids working in Omphalos, and a couple aboard the first airship she'd been on.
Petallion snorted. “You finished?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “Sorry.” She cantered to catch up, and they continued onwards.
At the end of the walkway, the inside of Sphere Three, Ilmarinen opened up before them. Hastily assembled structures were strewn pell-mell in the bowl-shaped terrain at the bottom of the sphere: Domes and arches of adobe; boxes of corrugated iron and chunks of translucent plastic and whatever else could be salvaged; tents and cables of woven diamond; repurposed airship gondolas; occasionally shops and homes with ornate wooden beams. The paths were blotchy mixtures of brown mudbrick and grey tarmac.
Above, the superstructure of the sphere rose up, covering the sky. The jigsaw of triangles making up the skin were of varying quality – some were clear as polished glass, some cloudy, some opaque. A pale grey haze of water vapour clung to the ceiling, with the Scar, patchy and smeared, barely visible beyond. Sweetie Belle glanced at the her shadow. Not a hint of anything like orange; scarlight wasn't penetrating the sphere.
They wandered through the city, Whicker pointing out places he knew. The air began to smell of smoke – and something rather less pleasant. Sweetie Belle wrinkled her nose. The party rounded a corner to find an open air establishment filled with griffons and diamond dogs where skewered rodents were being roasted, flames crawling about their browning flesh.
Further on, from Petallion's directions, they found something more suitable – an indoor bar of salvaged metal and glass, served by two grizzled-looking ponies. They ate chewy, tasteless hay. Whicker insisted they have some ale too, which did make it easier to eat. Then, figuring they could afford it, they bought some lettuce – each leaf of which cost as much as the rest of the meal.
“Wow,” said Sweetie Belle. “I didn't know you could get proper food out here.”
“Fuckin' great, isn't it?” said Whicker.
Petallion nodded. “A couple of the spheres are used for farming,” she said. “The carnivores have it worst, I reckon.”
“Fuckin' trophic disadvantage,” said Whicker. “Poor bastards.”
As she was staring out the window at all the creatures passing by, something caught Sweetie Belle's eye. More colourful than everything else …
The statue.
It was facing towards her, almost looking at her.
Sweetie Belle stood to get a better view, but then it was gone.
“What's the matter?” asked Petallion.
Sweetie Belle peered out the window, searching for another flash of colour. Just the normal creatures; no antlers or glassy hides in sight.
“Nothing,” she said.
After dinner, now feeling comfortably full for the first time in weeks, Sweetie Belle said goodbye to Whicker and Petallion and set out on her own to explore the city. And, she hoped, to find some word of Scootaloo. She passed through the walkways, looked around the other spheres with their little townships, ensconced fields and aeroponic greenhouses, investigated the other docking towers. She listened in on conversations where she could, but in none of them was Scootaloo mentioned.
She took to asking in all the bars and restaurants and repair shops and salvage shops. Outside the sky darkened, and in the absence of Scarlight, hundreds of gaslamps flickered on throughout the city.
“An orange pegasus?” repeated the griffon at the salvage shop. “I dunno, I might've.”
“A mare,” said Sweetie Belle. “About my age, with a purple mane.”
The griffon's expression didn't change.
“With a cutie mark like this …” Sweetie Belle sketched a sparkling green image with her horn.
The Griffon stared at the image until it sputtered out, then flicked his wings in a shrug. “Like I said, I don't know. I don't keep a record of all the ponies who come here.”
“Oh, for … for fuck's sake” shouted Sweetie Belle. She swung around to leave and nearly ran face first into a jennet carrying a coil of glimmering cable around her neck.
“Woah, lass!” said the jennet. “Calm down.”
“I … Sorry,” said Sweetie Belle and cantered around her and out the door before she could respond.
Sweetie Belle continued, away from the town, the ground getting steeper and steeper until, at around 40 degrees, she reached the rim of the ground, where it stopped covering the sphere's outer shell and gave way to those triangular windows. In the night, Sweetie Belle couldn't see the desert outside. Just her own reflection, distorted and swimming in black.
She sighed. Had her lead dried up? After coming Celestia-knew how many miles, after nearly dying in the middle of an unnamed desert, after saving the whole ship? She couldn't even be sure that Scootaloo hadn't come to Ilmarinen – no one here seemed to know either way.
No.
This was just a setback. She could handle that. There were still ponies she hadn't asked. And if nopony could point her in Scootaloo's direction … There was the money she'd get from the statue. She could hire a place on another ship. Maybe even hire ponies to track Scootaloo.
Three months she'd started out from Omphalos with no idea where Scootaloo was. She could start again if she had to – and this time she was familiar with Amaranth. This time she'd have money.
Everything was going to be fine.
It was too late to keep asking around, but tomorrow it would be her first task.
Thus assured, Sweetie Belle heading back down to the city, and from there, to Hinny's Revenge
With perspective, an apparently insignificant joy can sweep away pervasive gloom and render it trivial in its turn.
Yes, the attempt to win over Scootaloo with a trip to Rannoch had been a disaster, both because of the awkwardness during and the aftershocks of oh-dear-Celestia-what-was-I-thinking wincing that followed for a week afterwards. And yet, thought Sweetie Belle as she applied her deep violet eyeliner, even though nothing had since happened to fix things, she could regard the events of the day with detachment.
She put down the applicator and scrutinized her face in the teak desk's mirror. Almost. A minor adjustment to her ringlets – a little more asymmetry – and she was done. Perfect.
A glance at the clock. Five minutes to go. She wriggled a little, and her dress shimmered in shadow and silver and white.
She was going to fix things up with Scootaloo. Of course she was. Get past the awkwardness and maybe try again. Shame is fleeting, after all. (And besides, came a thought, how could anypony not fall in love with you right now? Her reflection gave her a coquettish smile.) But that could wait. She had something more important to do.
Sweetie Belle was performing. Supporting The Breezies in Canterlot Castle – the closest gig to Ponyville she'd had in months. And Canterlot Castle! Everypony was going to be there.
Her heart was fluttering. It always did, no matter how often she performed. There was always that mixture of fear and anticipation that was indistinguishable from joy and made everything seem at once more real and more numinous.
Another glance at the clock. Four minutes. To hell with it! She looked at her reflection a final time, took a deep breath, and headed on stage.
A piano and a harpsichord sat at the centre, angled so they they could both be reached at once from a single seat, with a microphone between them. She scanned the crowd as she trotted across the stage, the clonk of her hooves audible even over their cheering.
Purple. A flash of purple and white – Rarity. They locked eyes momentarily, even across the distance and her sister gave her one of the broadest and most supportive smiles she'd ever seen.
Purple. And orange? Yes, Scootaloo was there too, beside Apple Bloom. But before she could make out their expressions, she was at the instruments.
She smiled at the audience and gave her introduction, punctuated by the shy giggle that was, by this point, almost trademark. Then she began.
You're No Princess, Other Days, Sat On My Roof, and Sunset Baobab took most of the slot. There was time for one more song. Sweetie Belle paused, glanced at the audience. Originally she had planned to finish with Song For The Colt … but …
She smiled at the audience once more, coyly this time, and launched in One Day I'll Have You.
Afterwards, sitting at the side while the Breezies were playing, Sweetie Belle sat in a dazed euphoria, only half watching them. Even for the afterglow, sex couldn't compete. Memories of the past few minutes – of the applause, of the audience's expressions, of being the centre of attention, bubbled randomly. She wondered idly if the substitution had meant anything to anypony but her, then decided she didn't care. Everything would be fine. She could do anything.
The Breezies finished their set in turn to to applause that Sweetie Belle didn't think was all that much greater than hers, played encore, finished once again.
With the crowds shuffling in muted post-gig excitement out from the hall, Sweetie Belle headed into the adjacent castle gardens.
The aristocrats who normally haunted the area scared off by the music, it was empty save some of the royal guard (a few more than usual) and a few of the audience who wanted to wind down before heading onto the streets. The noise of those who didn't was muted to a sussurus by the great hedges. The air was cool, but not uncomfortably so. Dark rags of cloud hung in front of the moon, and most of the light came through the Great Hall's stained glass windows, throwing off the colours and giving everything a faint splay of shadows.
She sat watching the sky.
“Oh, Sweetie Belle, you were wonderful!” said Rarity, trotting up to her. Apple Bloom followed a little way behind.
Before she could respond, she found herself pulled into a hug. She squeezed back. “Thank you.”
“Oh, no, I really mean it!” said Rarity after they had separated. “You've come so far. I'm so proud of you.” And in a stage whisper that was barely quieter than her speaking voice, “Although I must confess I am entirely bewildered as to what appeal the Breezies hold for anypony.”
Sweetie Belle laughed. “Well, then, thank you for enduring,”
“Entirely worth it,” said Rarity.
“Yeah, Sweetie,” interjected Apple Bloom. “You were awesome.” She hugged Sweetie Belle in turn. “Sorry I haven't been able to see many of your gigs recently.”
Sweetie Belle grinned at her. “It's fine. Besides, now we have plenty to talk about.”
“Ah, I still feel a li'l guilty. Still, I hear Scootaloo's been keeping you company?”
Sweetie Belle swallowed. “What … ?”
Rarity frowned. “Speaking of whom, where have those two got to?”
“Huh. They were right behind me,” said Apple Bloom, looking round.
Through the muted chatter, Sweetie Belle heard clearly a laugh that was Scootaloo's laugh. Not long afterwards, Rainbow Dash came sauntering through the gate. Both were so engaged in conversation that they seemed barely aware of the world outside – ponies in their path having having to jump aside to avoid collisions. They were loud enough to be audible from across the garden.
“Oh yeah, and that version of Caribou? Best I've ever heard.” Rainbow Dash smirked.
“Totally! Actually, you know what? They have to use that track at the next Wonderbolts show.”
“Ohmigosh, you're so right!”
When the pegasi were close enough, Rarity cleared her throat. They didn't react, so she did so again, more loudly.
“Oh, hey guys,” said Rainbow Dash. She turned to Sweetie Belle. “Cool music! I mean, okay, a couple of the songs … sorta not my thing, but the rest was really cool! Well done.”
Beside her, Rarity had one of her smiles – the one that said she clearly wanted to chastise, but was holding the urge in.
“Yeah,” Scootaloo nodded. “Really cool.”
“Thanks!” said Sweetie.
They stayed in the garden a little while longer, talking and laughing. Eventually, Rarity announced that she was getting tired and intended to return to her room.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Rainbow Dash, stretching. “I could really do with with some shut-eye right now. What about you guys?”
“No way!” Sweetie Belle announced before the others could say anything. She looked at the castle clock. “Look, we've got ages to go before dawn! I know there are still a few places open – Bloom? Scoots? Crusaders' night out. Whaddya say?”
Rainbow Dash smirked and said to Rarity, “Just performed in Canterlot castle and still not ready for bed. I remember having that much energy.”
“Oh, please. You slept in until noon most days.”
“Well?” said Sweetie Belle.
“Yeah, sure,” said Apple Bloom said. She looked to Scootaloo.
Scootaloo looked at Sweetie Belle oddly for a moment and smiled. “Why not?”
Sweetie Belle grinned.
The following morning, Captain Gritstone summoned Sweetie Belle before she ventured into Ilmarinen. She's only been there once before, when she first signed on to the journey. With the old, creaking desk in place, it was barely large enough to hold another pony besides the captain himself. When she was settled on a frayed cushion in front of the desk, he began:
“I've talked to Lucille. She's coming this afternoon to see the statue. Around four. We'll negotiate a deal then. I want you to be there too.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sweetie Belle. “Thank you.”
The captain waved his hoof. “It was your find. You deserve a cut. And to be there when we sell it.”
“Still …”
“Don't think it's just out of the goodness of my heart.” The captain gave her one of his rare smiles. “Lucille's always on the lookout for lucky salvors. If you sign on with her, I'll get a fee. Anyway – questions?”
“No, sir.”
“See you at four, Sweetie Belle. Don't forget.”
Afterwards, Sweetie Belle headed back into Ilmarinen to continue her quest. This time she went docking tower to docking tower, asking the crews of the dozens of airships. The minotaurs in the freighter that shared a tower with Hinny's Revenge knew nothing. Neither did the the two salvor crews. The griffons of one ship didn't speak to her and just glared and clicked their claws until she left; those of another were very apologetic about not knowing anything.
Docking Tower One – nothing. Docking Tower Two – nothing. Docking Tower Three, Four, Five – nothing. That left just two more.
Sweetie Belle was ambling through one of the spheres when a donkey fell into step alongside her and said, in conversational tone, “Pegasus mare. Orange hair, purple mane, bit o' an attitude. Goes by the name 'Scootaloo', maybe?”
Sweetie Belle's head snapped round. “What?”
It was the jennet she'd run into last night.
“Yeah, thought so. You have t'finesse of a brick flyin' through a plate glass window. Everyone in Ilmarinen knows who you're lookin' for.” She turned to Sweetie Belle. “Your pony were here. Come wi' us, I'll show you.”
“I …”
“Trust me, there's some characters here you don't want knowin' this. Are you coming or not?” With a swish of her tail, the jennet started walking again. “Name's Millie.”
“Sweetie Belle.”
“Am I right in guessin' you ain't been in Amaranth long? Knew it. You've got no clue at all 'bout how things work here.”
Reluctant to speak any further, Millie led her to Docking Tower Seven, through a port into a gondola barely big enough to hold the two of them. She flicked a few levers. The door closed behind them, Sweetie Belle heard the twang of steel rope under tension, and the balloon began to descend.
They dropped quickly, with winds whistling outside and buffeting the gondola. Each time the structure creaked and the angle of the floor shifted. There was a small porthole level with Sweetie Belle's head. Through it she could see above them, the spheres of Ilmarinen; around them, the great desert around them; and below them, the squat craft on the ground.
“You're reight naïve,” said Millie. “Comin' into a stranger's ship with nary a worry. You're lucky I'm on your side.”
“I'll do what I have to,” said Sweetie Belle curtly.
Millie snorted.
Soon, the whirr of gears and winding drums became audible and overtook the gondola's creaking. A juddering, a thunk, and the gondola came to a halt, and the doors opened. Sweetie Belle followed Millie out into a broad room with a low ceiling, sunlit through a row of circular windows along one all. Tools and pieces of machinery – gears, chains, coils of wire, plastic tanks, large batteries, gutted engines – lay strewn on shelves, workstations, tables, and the floor. A triplet of chevaloids stood to attention in the corner. The carpet underhoof had some abstract geometric design in electric indigos and vermilions, overlaid with irregular dark splotches and spatters of oil. She could hear more dameons here than up in Ilmarinen.
“Sorry about t' mess,” said Millie. “I don't entertain very often.”
“What is this thing?” asked Sweetie Belle, looking round. “It's not an airship, right?”
Millie grinned. “I never get tired o' that question. You're right, lass. You're standin' in Dignity. It sort o' … floats … using a cushion o' compressed air. Salvaged the technology myself.”
Sweetie Belle trotted over to a window and stared out. The ground was only a couple of metres below, under a puffy, greyish mound. It felt unnaturally close.
“About your friend,” said Millie. “And I'm only tellin' you this 'cause you clearly have no clue what you're doin' – she were in Ilmarinen a couple weeks ago. Came in on a cargo ship, I think.”
Sweetie Belle's head snapped round. “Where did she go?”
“She joined this big archaeological expedition, went off up north. Some big find there or summat, apparently.
Asked with a raised eyebrow: “Archeological?”
“Yeah. You wouldn't expect it of her, would you?” Millie's faint smile vanished and she looked Sweetie Belle in the eye. “Now listen up: She had someone on her trail. Not long after she left, a bunch of griffons turned up and started asking about her. Proper rough types. And afore you ask – no, I din't invite them down here.”
“She's being hunted?”
“Yeah,” said Millie. “Prob'ly why she went with t' expedition.”
“Oh, Celestia.” Sweetie Belle rubbed her face with a hoof. “I gotta get to her.”
“And pull off a darin' rescue, freein' her from the clutches of evil sky pirates, yeah?”
Sweetie Belle stared at Millie and jutted her jaw forward. “If … if I have to,” she said. The assurance came out a lot unsteadier than she intended it to.
“No offense, luv, but if there's gonna be any rescuin', it's gonna be Scootaloo doing it, from what I've seen.”
Sweetie Belle nickered, and went back to looking out the window. “How come you know about Scootaloo and nopony else around here does?”
“I imagine there are a few who do know,” said Millie. “Don't mean they're gonna say anythin' to the first pony who trots in there and asks.” She smiled. “Plus Scootaloo were my drinkin' buddy the first night she were here – always makes you wanna look out for someone.”
“She was? What did she say?”
Millie shrugged. “Not much. I don't go 'round askin' after sob stories, and I don't give mine out. Listen, I'm takin' a chance tellin' you this – and I'm only doin' it 'cause I'd rather not see Scootaloo get hurt. And 'cause you'll owe me a bleedin' big favour and might feel like repayin' it if we meet again. This mission of yours is none o' my concern – I'm not goin' to get involved, and once you're out of here, I'll have nothin' more to do with it. Clear?”
Sweetie Belle swallowed. “Clear.”
“Good. Now, hold on.” Millie rifled through a draw of papers and pulled one out. “Here we go. T' 'site of interest', it says here, is about a hundred and fifty miles north east o' Pinion Beach railway terminus.”
Sweetie Belle had only heard of Pinion Beach a couple of times – and even then only in passing. There were a couple of ponies back in Omphalos who said it was a legend, or at best a misnomer: There were no large bodies of water in Amaranth.
“'Site of interest'? Like what?”
“I heard they found some Amaranth animals – maybe even alive. Prob'ly a load of shit, but you never know, eh?”
“Thank you,” said Sweetie Belle. “I … I really appreciate it.”
Millie smiled. “Glad to help.”
They trotted back to the balloon gondola. Millie didn't return with Sweetie Belle. “You just hop in,” she said. “I'll send you back up from here.”
Ten minutes before four, Sweetie Belle returned to Hinny's Revenge and met Gritstone outside his office. Soon after, an officer arrived and told them that Captain Lucille had arrived, and they headed out the the docking tower to meet her.
Lucille was a griffon with brown plumage, flintgrey eyes, and painted red foreclaws. Almost as tall as Gritstone, but far more slender. She nodded to the ponies as they left the gangplank.
“Back already?” she said to Gritstone. “I'm jealous. I haven't been in a life-threatening situation for months.”
Gritstone smiled faintly. “Hello, Lucille.”
“And you must be the salvor who found our mysterious artefact,” continued Lucille, turning to Sweetie Belle. “Very pleased to meet you.”
“Hello,” said Sweetie Belle. She shook the offered talon. It was a little intimidating being alongside the two captains, both accomplished and close friends, it appeared.
“Keep an eye on her, Lucille,” said Gritstone. “She's a lucky one. Come on, I'll show you the statue.”
Sweetie Belle trailed behind the two captains listening as they walking across the deck of Hinny's Revenge.
Lucille clicked her tongue. “Maybe you'll be able to upgrade this old junkheap once this business is done.”
“For some reason, I find myself wanting to invest in better water reclamation,” said Gritstone. “And an ansible.”
Lucille laughed.
“How much are we talking here, anyway?” asked Gritstone.
“If I can make a sale … and after my fifty percent cut … around hundred and fifty thousand bits.”
“Celestia …” murmured Sweetie Belle.
Lucille glanced round. “Ha! Yes.” She turned back to Gritstone. “It was a smart move to go through me. And I'm not just saying that because it's making me money. This is some shadowy stuff, Grit, and I'd hate to see you get in the way.”
“Hrm,” said Gritstone.
As they entered the hold, several crewponies were removing the last of the canvas covering the stature. When they finished, Lucille clicked her beak and turned to Gritstone.
“It's worthless,” she said.
“What?” Sweetie Belle pre-empted the captain.
“Worthless.”
“I … Why!?”
Gritstone held up a hoof, a silent command to Sweetie Belle to stop speaking. “A reasonable question, though,” he said slowly. “Any reason?”
“It's not glowing,” said Lucille. “That was a key part of the description. The askers were very particular about it: Luminescent, not incandescent. Cold light.”
Silence cloaked them. Sweetie Belle stared at the statue. “It … was glowing,” she said. “When I first saw it.”
“Sweetie Belle?” Gritstone was frowning.
“I'm sure of it. And then …”
“Regardless, it's not glowing any more. What you have here, I'm afraid to say, is just a great big lawn ornament,” said Lucille.
Gritstone said nothing, but Sweetie Belle could see the muscles around his jaw were taut.
Lucille sighed. “Look, I'm sorry. I can't sell this.” She shrugged with her wings. “Can't win 'em all, right? I'll tell you what, though. I've been dealing with a couple of pawnbrokers who might be interested in it. I'll give you their details. Who knows? You might be able to get a couple hundred bits out of it.”
“All right,” said Gritstone. “Thank you. Let's go up to my office.” He turned to Sweetie Belle, seemed to be about to say something, stopped himself, and settled for, “Dismissed.”
Sweetie Belle, head hanging low, headed back into Ilmarinen. There, over a beer in the establishment she'd first visited, she mulled over the situation.
The statue had been glowing when she first saw it. She remembered how it had illuminated the cabin.
Had it stopped while she was away?
No. She remembered using her horn to light up the cabin when she left. Which was just after …
Sweetie Belle fumbled her beer, barely managing to catch the tankard before it spilled.
… just after she'd woken up. Yes, the statue had done something to her. She'd been unconscious. And she'd forgotten.
Mysterious magical artefact. Apparently highly valuable. And it had done something to her.
“Brilliant,” she muttered under her breath.
Who could she tell? The attack – or whatever it was – would surely put her on the radar of whoever was interested in the objects. Someone with a lot of money, working in secret, with a great interest in the statue. And out here in Amaranth nopony was under the protection of the princesses.
She could head back to Equestria, admit everything, see if Twilight could figure out what had happened … No. She'd return with Scootaloo or not at all. Besides, that would take weeks, and if that jennet Millie was right, Scootaloo was in danger right now.
And Scootaloo …
Sweetie Belle was the closest she'd been since arriving. But now Scootaloo was being hunted? (She snorted in amusement; trust Scoots to get on the wrong side of someone.) And to compound the issue, with the statue worthless, she didn't have enough money to hire an airship. She was close, but stuck.
Wait – she could ask Gritstone! He hadn't mentioned any plans after Ilmarinen. A dig site – that could very likely offer some profitable salvage. And he might still trust her instincts as a salvor – even if the statue wasn't as valuable as they'd hoped, she's still found water.
That was it, then. She had a plan: Go to the dig site on Hinny's Revenge. Rescue Scootaloo before the griffons found her. Head back to Equestria and get Twilight to fix whatever the statue had done to her.
Sweetie Belle took a long draught of her beer and sat back. It wasn't a watertight plan, no; it had more than few bridges to be crossed when one came to them. But it was a plan.
She approached Gritstone a few hours later in his office and told him everything she had learned from Millie.
“An archaeological dig?” said Gritstone with an arched eyebrow. “That's new.” He looked at Sweetie Belle. “Why? Why this site in particular?”
“Well, I …” She paused, brushed a few tangled curls with her hoof, and chewed he lip. May as well admit her intentions, right? “I'm looking for somepony. I think she might be there.”
“I see. And what –”
“There's profit in it for you too! Uh, sorry, sir.”
Gritstone was frowning, but waved his hoof. “Go on.”
“An archaeological dig could have some valuable salvage, couldn't it? And you said I have good instincts as a salvor. I'm not interested in any profit. I just need to get there.”
“That was when we thought the statue was valuable.”
“If I remember correctly, sir, all we wanted at that point was water. And water is what I found.”
“Hrm.” The captain was frowning very hard now. “What if I'm not interested?”
“I'll make the offer to Captain Lucille.” Sweetie Belle thrust her chest out, proud that she'd been able to come up with a save like that on the fly.
Gritstone look her in the eyes; she didn't avert eye contact.
He broke into a smile. “In that case, I think we have a new destination.”
The squeal of an unwinding winch.
“ … and all things pass. Love fades, friends betray one another, flesh ages, homes crumble and become dust. More than that – hopes are disappointed. Reality never lives up to the expectations we place upon it. Suffering is guaranteed – the only reprieve being an unexpected and instantaneous death.”
Blueberry Pancake paused and silently looked at her two bodyguards who sat opposite her in the descending cabin, holding eye contact each for several seconds. Cannons, almost as large as a horse and considerably stronger; and Sorghum, so wiry he looked like he could outrun a cheetah. They were rapt, attention directed entirely towards her, brows creased in concentration.
Their attention was mostly due to her oratory skill, she was sure. She had only touched them lightly with a thrall spell – it had a tendency to remove all ability for independent thought if overused.
She continued so softly they had to lean forward to hear: “Is there no hope for us? Is this state of affairs necessary?” With a smile she sat back. Truth be told, she was glad to have finished her lecture; a daemon was whispering about glory in her left ear, which was more than a little distracting.
The clang of metal, and the cabin came to a halt. Blueberry glanced out the window. Above them, directly in front of the Scar, hung their airship. A woven cable linked a port in its belly to the cabin. Below them, the wounded hull of a derelict lying on the salt flats.
The three ponies left the cabin, and Blueberry led her bodyguards a few metres to a hole on the hull and into a corridor. A moment's pause to orient herself, trying to ignore the voices of the daemons, squinting at the barely legible text on the walls and she set off. Her heart was hammering – as if she were a filly on the eve of the Snowflake Solstice (or Hearth's Warming now, came a sour thought; she pushed it from her mind). She was here. She was finally here – at the final repository. Her journey was nearly at an end!
Finally, unable to contain herself, she broke into a canter, hooves clattering and thudding on the partially carpeted floor. Sorghum and Cannons, good boys that they were, followed her lead. They passed through two more corridors, rounded a corner into the repository's chamber, and –
The repository wasn't there.
The chamber was empty save some bones on the floor, and dark enough that she had to illuminate it with her horn. Blueberry came to a halt and sucked in air through her teeth.
“What's wrong?” asked Cannons, head tilted to one side.
Blueberry stared at the far wall, at the emptiness. “This is it,” she said. “This is the place.”
“But …”
“It's not here.” She walked forward to the bones, and held up a forehoof in the space the repository should have been.
“Maybe we got the wrong ship?” suggested Sorghum.
Blueberry turned on him, and he cowered. “No!” she growled. “We did not get the wrong ship.” She stared at him until he looked down, then continued: “It was right here. I felt it. I … wait.”
She perked up her ears and closed her eyes, listening. The daemons whispered. There were at least half a dozen of them here. She'd thought she'd heard … yes, that was it.
“Yes. It was here,” she murmured to her bodyguards. A pause. Listening again.
… like this one …
… the saviour like the saviour …
… interlopers some with but a single antler who swarm artefacts they know not of…
… great and glorious and she shall grow mighty for she is the nascent apotheosis and the immanent eschaton and the …
… interlopers who took the repository though they were ignorant of its …
“Someone – somepony – took it,” Blueberry told them.
… is not life suffering …
… interlopers ensconced in a vessel …
…. four times has the sun fallen since …
… like the saviour but white of coat …
… female but with a lone antler …
… full of resolve and love and grace and hidden motives …
… like the saviour …
Blueberry grinned at her bodyguards. “Yes, somepony took the repository. But don't worry, I know how to get it back.” She paused expectantly.
“Um … how?” asked Cannons.
“We were beaten by some salvors. But just barely – four days. Ilmarinen is the closest city, so they've probably gone there. Just in case, though: Sorghum, when we get back, send a message to our allies about a white unicorn mare working with salvors, and see if anyone's brought in a new repository.”
She headed for the door. “It looks like this journey is going to take longer than expected. Come along, boys. We're going to Ilmarinen.”