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// Part 1: The Sort of Discovery One Doesn't Want to Make at the Best of Times 
// Story: Doctor Whooves and the Auton Invasion of Equestria 
// by The Minister of Scones 
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Bustling, bleeping, spewing out information on ticker-tape with engines and tapes and gears whirring away: deep below Canterlot Castle, in the dead of night, Her Right Royal Highness Princess Luna’s totally unofficial and ‘not-there-at-all-so-clear-off’ top-secret observatory and general research facility’s computers were working at full pelt. They had detected an anomaly, and, having never actually done this before, were apparently ignoring their programming and getting, frankly, a little over excited. White-clad scientists were hurrying all over the lab, trying to get the chaos under control.
Presiding over this activity was the Princess’s chief scientific advisor, the well respected unicorn Professor Crater Mash. At least, he had been well respected, until, in a misguided attempt to take control of a tidal system, he had accidentally nearly drowned half a continent. Now, he had not left the complex in over two years, and, in that time, had been declared legally dead. The employees were under strict instructions to tell no one that the professor lived on in secret. Royal laboratories are full of surprises. He was salmon-coloured, had a thin brown mane and blue eyes, and walked with a slight limp - the product of his early dabbling with alchemy. His cutie mark was a crater-covered asteroid. Only ten minutes before he had barged into the room, barking “What the Discord is going on?” He was not given to outbursts of this sort, of course, and, in his defence, had just been dragged away from his dinner by an obnoxiously loud klaxon that, as everypony knew, could only be overridden by him. Now, with the alarm silenced, he peered anxiously over a squat stallion’s head at a radar screen. 
“What in Equestria are they?”
“Don’t know, sir. They’re about two or three hooves* across, vaguely spherical, and seem to be flying in... well, in a formation, sir.” He was right. The eleven dots on the screen formed a definite spear-head.
“Well, they can’t be meteors, that’s for sure.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know, my boy. I don’t know. Maybe Princess Luna will have some ideas when she-” The Professor was interrupted by a massive gust of air that nearly knocked him off his hooves, and signified, of course, the violent arrival by teleportation spell of an alicorn. An irate alicorn who was still wearing a very expensive-looking dress.
“Your majesty, may I and my co-workers extend our warmest-”
“QUIET, CRATER MASH! THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD!” bellowed Luna, interrupting the unfortunate professor for a second time. The scientists flinched. The Royal Canterlot Voice was very rarely heard these days, and when it was, one knew someone was in trouble. Fortunately for their eardrums, she quietened. But not much. “I’ve left only my sister to entertain the Bovoid Prime and the Saddle Arabian ambassador, not to mention Crystal Jackpot, without whose support this laboratory probably wouldn’t even exist, and...” She trailed off as her eyes were drawn to the radar screen. “What in Tartarus are those?”

It might be worth providing some description of the laboratories and surrounding buildings of Midnight Gown Research Facilities. The whole complex was deep underground, in a network of caves located under Canterlot itself. These had been divided up by partition walls, floors and ceilings, to create a base miles across. It included bedrooms, kitchens and recreational facilities, and thanks to this many of the scientists chose to live entirely in the complex, among their friends – the other scientists.
This laboratory, which was dedicated to the study of astronomy, had one wall entirely made of stone, as it was adjacent to the side of the cave. It was crammed with machines and scanners and computers and displays, as well as direct magical links to several of the more advanced telescopes in Equestria. It was regarded by Celestia as Luna's 'welcome home' present, hence the name: Midnight Gown had been Luna's favourite governess when she was a filly. Even Princess Twilight had not been told about it, largely because Luna knew perfectly well that she would try and re-organise everything and everyone in the building. Luna counted the laboratory among her most treasured possessions, and her employees as her most distinguished subjects. She attempted constantly to maintain an air of decorum and dignity in their presence. They were not, therefore, accustomed to outbursts along the lines of “What in Tartarus are those?” They were quite surprised, actually.

The two scientists stared dumbly at their princess.
“Well?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.
“No idea, ma’am,” began the computer’s operator.
“I’ll deal with her majesty’s questions, thank you, Turnip.” The professor was taking his turn to interrupt, and primly, at that. “We don’t exactly know, ma’am. They’re definitely headed towards this area. They should land in about twenty minutes. They don’t seem to be natural, or they would hardly be flying in so strict a formation.” He decided to try the only plausible idea he’d had so far. “They couldn’t be meteorites, could they?”
“Hardly. Believe me, Professor, I know meteorites. I would suspect Discord, if I did not know that he is asleep.”
“How do you...?”
“The first thing I did when I got your message was check in on his dreams. It becomes a habit after a while.” Luna flinched. “I only wish he would stop dreaming about those carnivorous squirrels.”
Crater, being a professional stallion, decided not to ask. Instead, he said “Then what, Princess?”
“Just a moment...” Luna closer her eyes in deep concentration as her horn began to glow, and, to the onlookers’ astonishment, a moving image appeared in mid air, surrounded by a purple aura. It showed the night sky, and the eleven translucent spheres. The Professor peered at the picture. The spheres were pulsing with light from within. Truth be told, they were not spheres, but irregular shapes, with some round planes visible amongst the curves. The matt surfaces made it impossible to see what was inside, and, despite his natural scientific curiosity, Crater Mash felt somehow glad. He was sure that, whatever it was, it was not at all pleasant. The ‘meteors’ gave off an unmistakable air of malevolence. He shivered.
“You don’t think they’re... bombs, do you, ma’am?”, he asked worriedly. Bombs, even of the magical sort, had not been dropped on Equestria for centuries, but the Professor had no idea what the spheres were, and was grasping at straws.
“Professor Mash, sir,” piped up the young stallion at the radar desk, “if they were bombs, I don’t think all eleven of them would be aimed at the same place. Surely they’d be spread out more?”
Luna looked pleased: “Good thinking, young stallion. And who might you be?”
“Turnip Grove, your highness.” Turnip brushed back a lock of purple hair. “Just started here a few days ago.”
“Harrumph!” harrumphed the professor, a little louder than necessary. “Be that as it may, I may not like them, but I can’t go on gut feelings alone. I’m a scientist, your majesty, I deal in facts. We need more data, so we can’t just sit here and monitor them...” Turning back to Luna's magically produced screen, Mash was silenced by what he saw. “Oh, ponyfeathers... er, beg pardon, ma’am.” To the consternation of all concerned, the ‘meteors’ had disappeared into thick rain and cloud.
Luna was the first to speak. “Odd,” she said, “As I recall, this is the first storm in this vicinity in quite some weeks. Almost as if someone planned this, knowing he would be able to hide the spheres...” Crater Mash opened his mouth to object, but she shushed him. She thought a moment. “Where were they last headed?”
Turnip punched a few buttons. “Ponyville, ma’am!”
A worried expression crossed the Princess’s face. “Then I must leave right away. We need an immediate investigation into these… these meteors. But... I don’t want to worry the ponies. Goodness knows they have suffered enough panic at my hooves. The purpose of my visit must be kept secret, is that clear?”
“Then you think these are dangerous?”
The princess looked at the professor, almost kindly, but with pity and worry, like a mother saying goodbye to her foal on his first day at school. “Almost certainly.”
A pale pink unicorn with a frizzy yellow mane pushed past a couple of pegasi and held out a clipboard, covered in data read-outs. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he complained, “according to these trajectory data, those things originated in deep space!” He angrily kicked a computer, whence emerged a cross ‘BLEEP!’
“Ah, thank you, Doctor Code,” said Professor Mash, taking the clipboard and studying it intensely, relieved to be back in in familiar territory. Alas, Binary Code had been right: the figures were quite unintelligible, unless one was prepared to believe that the orbs really came from the stars.
“I think things are even more urgent than I thought,” Luna said, peering over his shoulder. “I’d better get to Ponyville and make discrete enquiries as soon as possible.”
"Shouldn't we let Princess Celestia know?" asked the professor.
Luna considered. "No," she said sternly, “It is my turn to solve one of Equestria's problems. She is already horribly overworked entertaining our guests. Professor, you are on standby. I will arrange a teleportation incantation to send you down once I have arrived. Is that understood?” The scientists nodded dumbly. Before either could speak, Luna had vanished once again. Wordlessly, they shrugged at each other and went back to their work. Royal scientists are used to that sort of treatment.




A few miles away, strolling through a lightly wooded area of land, was a light brown stallion with a slightly darker brown, and, despite his best efforts, distressingly spiky mane. As he strolled, he marvelled at how kind the preceding centuries had been to him. He maintained, he felt, a sparkling wit, an incredible memory, a roughish charm that few could resist, a diplomatic and fair mind, a splendid memory, and a degree of humility that others marvelled at. These benefits, he admitted, were in part due to the massive cellular reorganisation he had but recently undergone, but were also, he was sure, a gleaming testament to a healthy and active lifestyle.
He had to accept, though, that his body had not gone through the regeneration without protest. For three full weeks now he had been recovering at the house of Fluttershy, the kindly foal (for so he viewed anypony under the age of three hundred or so) who had first found him in his weakened state: lost and, though he was loathe to admit it, afraid at the door to his TARDIS, which had, knowing the repairs she would have to make following a rather messy crashlanding, thrown him out onto the surrounding grass. This had been harder than it might sound, for the ship had landed on her back, the doors of the battered blue box facing directly upwards. Come to think of it, he thought, how had she thrown him out?
Smoke. I smell smoke...
As any knowledgeable reader will doubtless have guessed, this stallion was none other than The Doctor, the mysterious wanderer in Time and Space, the legend in his own (and several other ponies’) time, the saviour of the universe and archetypal hero; sadly now, despite a youthful outward appearance, in his declining years.
Every Timelord reaches sooner or later a point where he feels unable properly to perform his duties, for even regeneration cannot totally prevent the ravages of time on the brain. The usual procedure is for the High Council to find a safe planet, and to banish him there to live out the rest of his unnatural life. Every Timelord, that is, apart from the renegades.
Renegade Timelords tend not to live long enough to reach that stage. An ordinary Timelord might easily live to the age of ten-thousand or so before this happens to him, but for renegades (of which there are more than the Timelords' relentless propaganda would have you believe) this is a different matter. They are lucky if they make it to one-thousand years without running out of regenerations. The Doctor, however, was quite the exception to this rule.
Which I suppose must mean that something's burning.
For one thing, he had been very lucky, and had managed to keep some of his various bodies alive for incredible lengths of time. For another, he had exceeded the usual limit of thirteen bodies when, in return for services rendered and the like, the Timelords had granted him a second cycle: an additional twelve regenerations to play with! And, of course, his lifestyle meant that, poor fellow, he was continually exposed to all sorts of poisons, radiation and mind control rays, which had accelerated the ageing process of his brain.
So it was that the Timelords, having observed encroaching senility, had decreed his instant retirement to Equestria, where, they noted, he spent a significant portion of his time – it still made his blood boil to think of it. ‘Senile, indeed! Coming from a bunch of old...’ and so forth.
The fact was, however, that The Doctor was indeed losing touch with reality: so much so, in fact, that by the time the scent of burning grass that was wafting through the trees had even registered in his brain as unusual, his wanton mind had already drifted to thoughts of acorns. He brought it back with a jolt.
Now, let me think. This, through a seemingly perpetual brain-fog, was easier thought than done. Burning must imply... flames. No, no. Well, yes, but not the word I'm looking for. As a matter of fact, he was not usually quite this absent minded. The regeneration had jolted his brain, rather, and he had yet to fully recover. Begins with the same letter. F- f- fire! That's it. Ah, nice sit by a roaring fire, hooves up, mug of cocoa... This was, however, the first time he had left Fluttershy's cottage since his arrival. She had taken some persuading to allow him out on his own, as he was still very weak. The Doctor, however, found that in his new body, he firmly believed in fresh air. Although, now I consider the context in which I detect such fire, he thought, begining - if you'll excuse the pun - to warm to his subject, this is neither the time nor the place. Would hardly be a campfire at ten in the morning, so it must be... ah... now... this is a forest, so it's a forest fire. A forest fire? Oh, yelp!
Tracing the unusual smell to a clearing just ahead, and pushing aside a few branches, the Doctor found not burning trees, but smouldering grass. “Oh, no...” In a small crater in the earth, lay a roundish lump of semi-transparent plastic. From inside, there pulsed a regular light, accompanied by an electronic ringing sound. He recognised it immediately, and added his memory to the mental list of his virtues that he had been compiling. It was a Nestene energy unit. A lump of sentient plastic that could have spelled doom for the entire planet. “Awful timing,” he muttered to himself.
Bravely, he attempted to lift the sphere, but had overestimated his own strength. The sphere was too big to carry in his mouth, and he was still horribly weak following his regeneration, so a trip back whilst carrying it in his forelegs, leaving only two legs to walk on, was unthinkable.
“Right. Can't carry that," he continued, not realising he was talking aloud. "All right then, I suppose I need more of me. No, other ponies. Yes. Need help. Er... that would be Fluttershy, then, wouldn't it?” He turned and scampered back to the cottage as fast as his legs would carry him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t very fast. Regeneration isn’t much fun for anyone involved.




Fluttershy’s cottage was a vision of tranquillity. Animals of all shapes, sizes and creeds peacefully grazed, grubbed or simply strolled about in the garden, whilst inside, a number of other creatures did much the same thing. Birds, bees, bears, hares, hedgehogs, chickens and rabbits. The occupier was employed about her usual business, tending to the various needs of her charges and humming sweetly to herself. Typically, the tranquillity was soon to be shattered. Somewhat atypically, the shatterer took the form of a worn-out Timelord, who came semi-charging out of the woods gasping something about the end of the world. Fluttershy paid her newest guest little heed: she had grown used to his ramblings about various monsters and aliens, and although she was sure he was harmless, she was equally convinced that he was quite mad.
As if to reinforce this thought, the Doctor gave up trying to open her gate and simply hurled himself over it, before collapsing in the grass in a heap of brown and sweat. Quite used to this behaviour, Fluttershy trotted over to him, tutting to herself. 
“Now, Doctor, what did we agree about getting over excited?” The Doctor was reminded of his nursemaid back on Gallifrey, and grimaced horribly.
“Miss Fluttershy, I can assure you that my excitement is perfectly justified. As we speak, the whole world could be in grave danger, and...” The Doctor lapsed into coughing, the run-cum-stagger to the cottage having been far too much for him. Fluttershy opened her mouth to continue chastising him, but the Doctor spoke first: “Please, you must come and look! One of the energy units has already landed, maybe more have, I don’t know, I, I, I...” The Doctor was whimpering gently, “...I can’t stop them like this, I’m far too weak. I need your help,” he admitted finally.
“Well, um,” began Fluttershy uncertainly, “I haven’t really finished feeding the animals...”
“Please?”
“I don’t know, I really ought to...”
“Please?”
“Well... okay, um, I guess, if it means that much to you, of course I’ll come,” she finished with a smile.
“You won’t regret this!” He called over his shoulder, already marching off in the direction he’d come in, apparently having made a miraculous recovery.
"Oh, Doctor, I think you should be a bit more careful. You’re only just back on your hooves!” Fluttershy insisted, trotting quickly to try and keep up with his purposeful stride.
“Pish-posh!  I’m right as rain, fit as a fiddle! None could deny my excellent physical condition! Why, only this morning I...” The Doctor was rudely interrupted by his forehoof’s rather sudden meeting with the protruding root of a tree, and his subsequent toppling into a large, and almost vindictively muddy, puddle.

Many similar bumpings and bruisings later (the Doctor, while striding powerfully, was far from well orientated, and would often veer off into a bush), the Doctor and Fluttershy arrived at the clearing. To the Doctor’s horror, and Fluttershy’s bemusement, there was nothing but a small crater where, as the Doctor knew, the sphere had once rested.
“Great whickering stallions,” he whispered, “it’s happening sooner than I thought.”
Fluttershy was confused: “Doctor, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, and, um, I'm not quite sure why you brought me here, and I don’t mean to be rude, but...” She trailed off, noticing the look of abject horror etched on the Doctor’s face. “Doctor...?”
“Miss Fluttershy,” he began, slowly, sorrowfully, as a world-weary judge pronounces sentence of life imprisonment, "Everypony in Equestria is now in grave danger. And none more so than you.”

*The Equestrian measurement known as the ‘hoof’ is equivalent to three of our inches, and, pleasingly, one twelfth of a yard. This means that, even in Equestria, there are thirty-six inches to a yard, which really only goes to show, doesn’t it?