//------------------------------// // 2. I'm not prepared yet. // Story: Beauty Will Tear Us Apart // by Meta Four //------------------------------// Writers frequently compared the Goggle Heights Art Museum’s floor plan to a nautilus shell. Most of those writers had never even seen a nautilus shell and, if pressed to describe one, would say, “Um ... like the Goggle Heights?” The museum had two floors, each laid out as a single, spiraling hallway. At the very center, a large, sunlit atrium linked the two. As Twilight Sparkle had alluded, Flying Buttress’ design for the Goggle Heights had solved the “ideal museum path” problem—by offering its visitors only one path. Ponies started on the outer edge of the upper floor and followed the spiral inward. At the atrium, they descended to the lower floor, then followed the spiral outward, until they reached the exit stairs. However, before exiting, they needed to pass through the museum gift shop. In the Goggle Heights’ ocean of class and subtlety, the gift shop remained an island of unrestrained tackiness. Hats, paperweights, toys, refrigerator magnets, lawn ornaments, and office supplies—gaudy knickknacks in every conceivable and inconceivable color—competed for the eyes and wallets of museum patrons. Ditzy thought she saw some prints and art supplies, but those were well-hidden in another corner. She and Time Turner were tucked away in the T-shirt corner. She was whispering in his ear. As Ditzy finished, Time Turner bit back his laughter as best he could. “Really?” he said. “Believe me,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if I had any idea I would see her again like this ... No, scratch that. If I’d given it any more thought, at all, I wouldn’t have done it.” “Ah, the follies of youth ...” “It wasn’t that long ago, you know.” Ditzy’s eyes wandered, scanning the racks and shelves of T-shirts surrounding her. Some bore the Goggle Heights logo; others had reproductions of paintings. Ditzy trotted a few feet and grabbed one shirt off the rack. “You like that?” Time Turner asked. “Maybe.” She held up the shirt so he could better see the art printed on its front. “I’d like to see this painting in person.” “It’s by Blue Rider, and ...” He skimmed the visitor’s pamphlet. “Ah, yes. They do have some Blue Rider compositions here.” “Alright, we can check it out when this is all over.” Ditzy returned the shirt. “So,” Time Turner said, “do you have a plan to get us into the museum after closing?” “I can scope for some higher-dimensional holes in the walls. If that doesn’t work, we can just hide in a bathroom until closing time. Do you have a better idea?” “Well, I wouldn’t want to impose, but my special talent could be useful ...” “Of course!” Ditzy slapped her own forehead. “That’s much simpler. I knew there was some reason I brought you along on this.” “You mean my charming personality isn’t reason enough?” Time Turner staggered back, holding a hoof over his chest. ”You wound me, Dizzy.” Ditzy rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t you start that now, too. ‘Bubbles’ was bad enough.” “Oh, right. Heh heh ...” Time Turner glanced to the side. “Say, I’m a bit hungry. Can we stop by the museum coffee shop before we get down to business?” “Sounds good.” They trotted to the gift shop exit. Ditzy paused at a display rack advertising rubber bathtub ducks. She picked one up—a white duck with black lines and a few rectangles of primary colors. It squeaked loudly when Ditzy squeezed it with her wing. “How much do these cost?” she asked the cashier. They descended the staircase of the Goggle Heights’ central atrium. Sparing a glance at the atrium’s centerpiece, Ditzy and Time Turner ducked into the low-ceilinged alcove beneath the stairs. “Did anypony see us?” Time Turner asked. “I don’t think so.” Ditzy peeked out and scanned the atrium. All the other museum patrons were focused on the massive mobile—a piece Sandy Stream constructed specifically for the Goggle Heights—hanging from the ceiling. There were no security guards in sight. She ducked back. “Yeah, we’re good.” Time Turner extended a hoof, and Ditzy took it. He bucked his hind legs. Only empty air was behind him, but his hooves connected with something all the same. A crack pealed, like a miniature thunderclap. Magic—a green aura—moved over Time Turner. It started at his rear hooves and engulfed him and Ditzy in less than a second. Two images from the transition stuck in Ditzy’s mind. The first was Time Turner’s hoof, still firmly grasping her own, but now apparently disembodied: the limb stopped at a ring of green magic just past the elbow. The second was an endless green void—a swirled mass of shades from emerald to lime, celadon to malachite, olive to verdigris—visible for the briefest instant as the magic swept over Ditzy’s head. Ditzy found herself in a dark room, and she stepped back from Time Turner to shake her head. “Unpleasant?” Time Turner whispered. “Does it ever get easier?” she whispered back. “Much. These days, I find it rather refreshing.” “Great.” Ditzy shook her head again. “I’ve got something to look forward to.” The two were in precisely the same place as before—under the staircase of the central atrium—but several hours had passed in that flash of green magic. The atrium was deserted. The only light came from the moon, shining through the skylight. The massive mobile spun lazily just below the skylight, its metal discs and crescents casting large shadows on the floor. Ditzy finished shaking her head and noticed something behind Time Turner. “Hey, there’s a painting in here.” “What?” He turned to look at it. “Why would they stick a painting here, where hardly anypony will see it?” Ditzy held up a firefly lamp, and her eyes went wide. “Oh,” Time Turner said. “That’s why.” “It’s certainly ... striking.” “Oh, there’s a plaque.” Dr. Hooves leaned in to examine it. “Says this piece is on loan from the Museum Of Balmy Art.” Ditzy shook her head yet again. “That just raises more questions.” “Oh, well. Shall we begin?” They ascended the stairs in complete silence. At the first landing, Time Turner stopped and turned. “What is it?” Ditzy said. She followed his gaze, up to the atrium roof. “Do you think that skylight opens?” Time Turner asked. “Would that cut down on the echoes?” Ditzy spread her wings. “Good idea. It’s worth a try.” She soared up, towards the ceiling’s center. Just below the height of the mobile, she stopped. Hovering in place, she glanced back and forth between the skylight and the atrium floor. The glass of the skylight looked pink, but the moonlight through the window was white. She rose again, stopping at the same height as the mobile. From there, it was clear the pink color was an aura around the glass—a unicorn spell. Ditzy turned back to Time Turner and shook her head. The mobile spun a little further. One of its discs bumped Ditzy’s rear. Ditzy flinched. The sheet of metal rang, a low booonnng, as it bounced off her rump. She zipped to the edge of the disc. Pressing her torso to the edge, she clamped all four hooves against the two sides. The vibrations persisted for a few seconds, rattling Ditzy’s teeth, but they soon stopped. Silence fell on the atrium again as Ditzy bolted down to Time Turner’s side, but it only lasted a few seconds. Heavy hoofsteps echoed through the building, and a wobbling light approached from the lower hallway. A guard had heard them. Ditzy grabbed Time Turner’s forehoof and lifted just off the ground. “Come on, this way!” she whispered. She flew to her hlåv side, and Time Turner followed. After a few feet, she landed, her hooves crunching in the black sand below. “Well ...” Time Turner said, his eyes wide. “Another dimension, I presume?” Ditzy nodded. Her coat reflected the changing light in the sky, rapidly switching from red to blue to green and back again. “Amazing,” Time Turner continued. His own coat cycled through different shades of brown and black. “Another realm, completely outside the reach of Celestia or Luna. So whose domain is this? Summer Dawn, Princess of Disco?” “Ha!” The sky above resembled a puddle in the rain—if puddles were multicolored and luminescent. Dozens of circles, each a different shade of neon color, rapidly expanded across the sky, and were themselves covered by other circles mere seconds later. The landscape below was a jagged badlands of black stone and black sand. Time Turner said, “So, what do we do here?” “Oh, we just wait thirty minutes or so.” Ditzy sat down. “Maybe longer. Enough time for the guard to search, find nothing, and decide they were just hearing things.” “I see.” Time Turner sat down as well. “What was that you were trying to tell me, right before that gong hit you?” “I was trying to say I can’t open the skylight. There’s an alarm spell on it.” “Drat.” “Come to think of it ...” Ditzy groaned. “There are at least two guards on duty tonight. Because the one who heard us was not Trixie. Much too subtle. But that alarm spell was definitely Trixie’s ...” Ditzy squinted into the distance, towards the base of a stone bluff, and said, “What’s that over there?” Time Turner shrugged. “I assumed you knew.” Ditzy scratched an “X” into the sand, then both ponies trotted over to the bluff. The unknown object turned out to be a tarp. Underneath it were a set of wood crates—each several feet tall and wide, but only a few inches deep. The crate in front had a note taped to it: don’t open till you-know when! Time Turner squinted. “That writing looks familiar. Is that ...” “Yep.” She met Time Turner’s eyes. “This is a good sign, right?” Ditzy and Time Turner reentered the dimension of the art museum without incident. In silence, they followed the upper floor’s hallway outward. As the atrium disappeared around the curve, the corridor plunged into complete darkness—except for Ditzy’s lantern. “You’re listening for the guards, right?” Ditzy whispered around the lamp handle. “Yes, yes.” Time Turner’s head was low, and his ears swiveled rapidly, pointing every which way. “Hrmmm ...” “Getting creeped out?” Ditzy said. “Honestly, so am I.” The dim light of Ditzy’s lamp, swaying back and forth in her grip, did strange things to the artwork they passed. A looming, bat-like silhouette, glimpsed out of the corner of an eye, turned out to be the shadow of an abstract wooden sculpture. The snarling face of some predator, examined more closely, revealed itself to be an indistinct swirl of paint. A massive, staring eye turned out to be ... “Now just one minute!” Time Turner hissed and marched up to the clock whose face had looked so much like an eye. “What is this, this ... travesty?” Ditzy took a few seconds to realize what was wrong with the clock. The hands were completely missing. It appeared a functioning clock in every other regard: its pendulum swung, and its tick-tick-tick was very audible in the museum’s silence. “Are there real art thieves at work as well?” Time Turner asked. “Did they steal this clock’s hands?” “No ...” Ditzy scanned the plaque to the clock’s side. “It says the artist deliberately built a clock without hands. He wanted to make a statement about—” “Hmph. Anypony who missed the point that badly can’t have anything worth saying.” Time Turner snorted and resumed walking. Ditzy shrugged and caught up with him. They reached the modular wall. “Oh, right.” Ditzy waved a hoof at the art pieces hanging on the wall. “We need to do something about those before we move this wall.” “Eh,” Time Turner said. “Just lean them against another wall. The museum can figure out where to put them.” “Works for me.” It took a few minutes for Ditzy to examine the paintings and make certain they wouldn’t trigger any sort of alarm. That done, it was quick work for her and Time Turner to take them down and carefully set them to the side. Ditzy scrunched her face as she looked back at the wall. “We’ll need to do the same for the ones on the other side.” They resumed trotting outward along the hall. A few minutes later, the corridor grew lighter, so Ditzy covered the lamp. They had reached the outermost loop. Tall, thin windows were set into the wall every dozen feet or so. Moonlight filtered through their curtains, illuminating the hall. Time Turner pointed at the nearest window. “Are there alarm spells on those, too?” Ditzy nodded. Time Turner chuckled. “Well. I guess this would be no fun if it were too easy.” They reached the other side of the modular wall. One painting came down from the wall without incident. Another painting joined it. Ditzy and Time Turner pulled a third piece off the wall—a mixed-media composition with machine parts glued to a painted canvas. Time Turner’s hoof slipped. There was a crack, as his corner of the canvas fell to the floor. Then there was another, as Ditzy flinched and dropped her side as well. The impact knocked most of the metal parts loose, and they rang and clattered onto the floor. Then there was a ting, ting, ting as one gear bounced across the floor—towards the nearest window. Ditzy dove for the bouncing gear. She pressed it to the floor, beneath her forehooves, but she continued sliding forward. Ditzy had too much momentum and, thanks to the bags on her hooves, not enough grip on the floor. Her eyes wide, she leaned back and spread her wings. She only had time to flap once. Her forehooves struck the wall. Her body pitched forward, and her head struck the window. “Aw, horsefeathers,” Ditzy said, her voice muffled by the curtain. Trixie had once described her alarm spell as “not a very subtle alarm”. This was true in the same way that a monsoon is “not very dry.” A klaxon wailed, a deafening, chest-rattling sound. Every window in the museum strobed a bright red light that even Time Turner could see. “This is bad?!” Time Turner shouted over the klaxon, barely. “The worst!” Ditzy staggered back from the window. “Then let’s go!” He offered his hoof. Ditzy batted it away. “No! First we have to shut off—” “Freeze!” An earth pony stallion in a black uniform approached. Ditzy could not make out his face, but his shape was clear even in the strobing light. He was of the same mold as Big Macintosh, or the chief of Ponyville’s police. Ditzy and Time Turner, together, might have been able to take him in a fair fight, but she would much rather not find out. “It’s not what it looks like!” Ditzy shouted at him. “Shut that alarm off and we can explain!” “I’ll be the judge of that!” the guard answered. “Now are you two going to come quietly?!” “Yes! The quietest! We’ll make the winners of the Quiet Game sound like a rock concert! Just please shut off that alarm!” “Well, you see, little lady—” “Cower in fear, evildoers! The fury of Trrrrrrixie is upon you!” All three ponies facehoofed. Ditzy looked up just in time to see Trixie, billy club raised, leaping through the air ... towards the other guard. She swung hard, striking his head with a meaty thunk. He staggered a few steps and collapsed. Trixie landed and turned around. “So you see that Trixie will always triumph over evil, for ...” She dropped her club as she saw the slumped form of the other guard. “Oh, sh’cl’bl’zh. Trixie is so fired.” “Trixie!” Ditzy shouted. “Please shut the alarm off!” “What?!” Trixie looked at Ditzy and Time Turner for the first time. “Dizzy! What’s the meaning of this?!” “I’ll explain everything if you shut the alarm off!” “Oh no! You’re in league with the vandals!” “Trixie!” Ditzy grabbed Trixie’s shoulders. “For the love of Celestia and Friendship and Harmony—in the name of everything you hold dear—if you ever want to get your revenge on Twilight Sparkle—SHUT! OFF! THAT! ALARM!” “Dizzy, You sicken Trixie! How could you?!” “Aargh!” Ditzy stepped back. “Forget it! It’s too late!” “Dizzy! Trixie can’t hear a thing you’re saying! She’s gonna turn off the alarm!” Trixie’s horn lit up, and the alarm lights stopped flashing, plunging the hall back into pale half-light. The klaxon went silent, but its wails continued to echo. Flicking her ringing ears, Ditzy said, “We all need to get out of here. Now.” Time Turner was crouched at the other guard’s side. “And this pony needs a doctor,” he said. Trixie snorted. “Trixie thought you were a doctor!” “I have a Ph.D in chronometry, not medicine!” With Ditzy’s help, he loaded the unconscious stallion on his back and stood up. “Ohhh ... You’re a psychologist.” Time Turner rolled his eyes. The echoes of the klaxon faded and distorted into something that sounded almost bestial. This was not an absolute change in volume, but just the source moving further away. As Ditzy realized that, sweat broke out on her brow, and her stomach went into a free fall. “Less talking, more leaving!” Ditzy said. “I’ll explain everything when we’re outside!” GRRRRROWWWWR The sound came from the interior of the museum. The echoes of the klaxon had changed into a growl unlike any Ditzy had ever heard—and had flared up almost as loud as before. “What ...” Trixie said, her eyes wide, “is that?” “It’s why we need to leave,” Ditzy said, pulling on Trixie’s shoulder. Time Turner was already trotting outward, to the entrance. Trixie followed a few steps, then stopped. “Is that another Ursa Minor?” she said. “It kind of sounds like one.” “It’s worse.” Ditzy hovered behind Trixie and pushed the unicorn towards the door. “Much worse.” “A chance for Trixie to redeem herself?” “What? ... No!” It was too late. Trixie slipped around Ditzy. “For gloryyyyy!” she shouted as she ran in, towards the museum center. Ditzy groaned. To Time Turner, she said, “I’ll go save her butt. You get him to—” With a green magic burst, another Time Turner appeared—and with him, a mare in a nurse’s uniform. The first Time Turner, with the unconscious guard on his back, grabbed her forehoof. The nurse glanced around and said, “Whaaaaaaa ...” With another green burst, the first Time Turner, the guard, and the nurse all disappeared. “Works for me!” Ditzy said. “Come on!” They rushed down the hall. Time Turner paused only to pick up the discarded club. Ditzy caught up with Trixie at the top of the atrium staircase. The unicorn just stood and stared down, so it was no trouble for Ditzy to grab her from behind and cover her mouth. Trixie’s yelp came out as a faint muffled sound, completely drowned out by the continuous growls from below. “Shhh ...” Ditzy leaned into Trixie’s ear. “Don’t make a sound.” Ditzy followed Trixie’s gaze. The atrium below was barely recognizable. Most of the mobile lay in pieces on the floor, its cables severed and its metal sheets gashed and torn. The walls and floor were carved with the same gashes. The cuts were irregular: some clean, some jagged, some running parallel—marks carved by a predator with an ever-changing number of claws. As Time Turner silently approached behind Ditzy and Trixie, the final cable broke in three places, and the final piece of the mobile fell to the floor. The clang of sheet metal echoed and grew louder instead of diminishing—until it merged with the background noise into a fierce roar. All three ponies backed away. Trixie gulped and wiggled her head until her mouth was free. “What is that … invisible creature?” she whispered. “Not invisible. Not like you think.” Ditzy released her. “It’s a chladni. A monster made of sound waves. The Killing Echo.” Trixie continued backing away. “Sounds lovely. How do we dispose of it?” “We don’t do anything,” Time Turner said. His voice was quite clear, in spite of the billy club strap he grasped in his teeth. “We just get out of here.” Ditzy nodded. “This chladni’s self-sustaining—strong enough that opening a door or knocking down a wall won’t take it out. But I don’t think it’s strong enough yet to leave the museum. So we just need to get out and find somepony who knows the right sound magic to dispel it.” “Trixie knows sound magic.” “Whatever. We can talk about it outside. Can you teleport yourself there? It would be safer than walking.” “Of course not,” Trixie hissed. “Why would Trixie know how to teleport?” “Sorry. Twilight teleports all the time, so I just assumed …” “If you love Twilight Sparkle so much, why don’t you just marry her!” The three ponies cringed as Trixie’s shout echoed, growing louder and louder. “Come on, Trixie,” Ditzy said. “Take my hoof.” Trixie froze, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the offered hoof. The echoes of Trixie’s shout distorted into another roar. The six steps at the top of the staircase exploded. Pebbles and clouds of marble dust flew towards the three ponies. Trixie turned and bolted. “No!” Ditzy and Time Turner both shouted and followed her. Ditzy took wing. She flapped as hard as she could, but could not catch up with Trixie. Fear gave the unicorn surprising speed. Trixie’s hooves pounded on the marble floor. Each step echoed, then merged with the amplifying feedback of every step before, until the sound was just a continuous roar. “Trixie!” Ditzy shouted. “Come back here! I can—” “Nope!” The roar grew louder from behind. Ten feet behind Ditzy, jagged slashes appeared in the floor and ceiling. “Ditzy!” Time Turner pulled alongside the pegasus, on her right. “Can we outrun this?” “It’s not recommended!” A wall panel exploded five feet behind them, obliterating an abstract impressionist painting. “Trixie!” Time Turner called. “We can get you out of here safely! Just let us—” “Nope nope nope nope!” “Time Turner! Get over here!” Ditzy called. The roar grew louder to the right. Time Turner moved away from that wall, closer to Ditzy. A gash cut into the right wall. It destroyed a wooden bench and the floor, right where Time Turner would have stepped. “Trixie!” Ditzy called out between pants. “You can’t outrun this!” “Anything you can do, Trixie can do better!” “Time Turner, go right!” Time Turner and Ditzy both moved away from the left wall. The ceiling exploded on that side. Heavy stones fell right where Ditzy would have flown. “No, Trixie!” Ditzy called. “We can’t! ... Trixie! Help! Save us!” Time Turner shot her an incredulous look. “What?” Trixie spared a glance over her shoulder. “Yes, Trixie! If you keep running like this, we’ll—” A podium on the right side exploded into splinters. The explosion blasted an urn full of burnt money across the hall. It shattered against Ditzy’s head. The blow clouded her brain; the ashes and dust blinded her eyes. Before either could clear, she collided with the left wall and rolled to a stop on the floor. Her paper bag hat landed a foot away. “Ditzy!” Time Turner skidded to a stop and kneeled at her side. “Ditzy!” Trixie ran to her other side. “Wait a second ...” Ditzy shook her head. “Trixie. Sound magic. Can you magically amplify a sound?” Trixie nodded. The roar grew louder. Ditzy grabbed the paper bag. “Then get it ready. Time Turner?” “Yes?” Ditzy reached into the bag. “Batter up!” Three slashes appeared in the floor, cutting directly towards the three ponies. Ditzy pulled her hoof out—holding the rubber duck. She lobbed it at Time Turner. With a flick of his head, he spun the club by its strap. Trixie’s horn flared. The club struck true. The duck, amplified by Trixie’s magic, produced the loudest squeak ever heard in Canterlot. The slashes in the floor stopped, inches away from the ponies. The roars silenced. As the echoes from the rubber duck died down, stillness descended on the hall. Trixie and Time Turner stood rigid, their eyes darting every which way. “Don’t move,” Ditzy said, righting herself and lifting into the air. “And don’t make a sound. I’ll be right back.” Ditzy flew down the hall until she reached the outermost loop. It took her a few minutes to open every window. When she finished, she sighed and took the paper bags off her hooves. “Alright ...”