//------------------------------// // Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions Or; The Double Pelvis Shuffle // Story: The Ninety-nine Nectars of Princess Luna; Or How Twilight Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Her Wings // by NoeCarrier //------------------------------// Emboss awoke again, and felt equine for the first time in a week. He was lying on his stomach on a huge pouffe or futon, which was made of the most impossibly fluffy material, like the milk fur of a foal. Nothing hurt. Nothing ached. If he concentrated, near-imperceptible twitches and twinges ran through his joints and muscles, but they had the warm sensation of a job-well-done. There was the feeling that he could drift off into sleep at any moment, and he was only holding himself awake by the merest thought. Fragrant perfume wafted through the air, bringing notes of saffron and cinnamon, as well as of sugared fruit. Candied plums, loganberries, peaches in syrup, and several others he didn’t recognize, but which smelled equally delicious. He immediately suspected that he was dead. There was the sound of hooves on hard stone, moving gently and without hurry. Emboss tried to lift his head, but found it was made of lead. Someone did it for him, lifting him up and adding to the mountain of pillows. The smooth snouts of others felt along his sides, drifting dangerously close to his stifles, but never coming near enough to violate his personal space. He felt teeth on his withers. His mane was delicately brushed, such as it was. His attendants smelled like mares, none his wife; he managed to scare up some strength to resist their ministrations. He tried to speak, but it came out as gibberish. It seemed to be enough, as they stopped at once. “He wakes,” said a mare, in surprisingly perfect Equuish; he detected a hint of Canterlotian. “I shall fetch the Grapher,” said another. The teeth and combs withdrew, and there were further sounds of hooves leaving. Emboss tried to struggle up onto his rump, tried to summon the words needed to ask the questions that boiled fuzzily in his mind, but it took him several minutes even to open his eyes. The world was blurry. He subconsciously felt around with his magic for his glasses. He eventually found them at the side of the bed; it was another immense effort to heft himself over and drag the little spectacles up and perch them properly on his face. The room reminded him of a spa. Truth had taken him to such places on several occasions. Fluted columns of polished white marble held up the corners, and a vaulted ceiling with a decorative floral boss in the centre held station over the bed. Very solid looking tables, made of some kind of granite, held the food he had smelled, as well as a dizzying array of equipment he didn’t recognize. It was made of a brassy material, and looked like it could have been used to unclog bathrooms or deal with the intestinal problems of dragons. Several of the attachments appeared to be more at home in an armoury. He heard hoofsteps again, and a zebra came in through a neatly curved archway. He was short, even for his generally compact species, but very stocky and muscled. He was immediately distracted, though, by the appearance of Truth behind him. His heart soared, and she cantered in, practically slamming him onto the bed. She nickered and hugged him, as if trying to climb on top of him. “Thanks be,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “To any Gods that can hear, Celestia, Luna...” She looked like she’d been crying. Her mane, usually so carefully kept, was a tangled mess, and her eyes were shadowed as if she hadn’t slept. “What?” said Emboss, throat taut. “You died, you stupid nag, you died, and--” she stopped, turned to glance at the zebra. “They brought you back.” “Seem to be doing well for a dead pony,” said Emboss, kissing her weakly. “You were reanimated by the kind intervention of our ancient friends, working through the tools that they have left for our use,” the zebra said. He had an accent Emboss couldn’t place, but which was deep and mellow, and had a hint of roughness, a raspy aftertouch that suggested the owner had spent a lot of time in coal mines. It was the kind of voice adapted to public speaking and politicking. The zebra conducted himself with that same unabashed confidence, too. He moved like an apex predator, some weird combination of puma and equine, slinking through a prey-rich environment. “This is Grapher iZen,” Truth said. “He’s the leader, here.” “As I have said before,” iZen said, quite pleasantly. “That is not entirely true. Graphers hold no ranks or titles beyond the birthright. I am only the most apt person to be dealing with your current situation. We are a pure meritocracy.” “That’s, uh,” Emboss mumbled. “Lovely, that’s it, that’s the word, lovely, for you, but can we consider our message and warning delivered?” He coughed, wincing as a little pain intruded on his thoughts. “We just want to go home.” “What you have to understand, Mr Emboss, is that our ancient friends are not merely ancient in your sense, of a few thousands or tens of thousands of years old. You will say ancient, and mean your Palace, or your cities, or your Princesses.” iZen smiled amicably. “It is an understandable frame of mind, a perception born of limited information. Our ancient friends have a different view of things. They were children born of the last great cycle of evolving and emerging intelligences to which this world has played host.” Emboss’ brow furrowed. He closed his eyes, blew air through his nose. Inertia came over him, a pure psychological need for simplicity, for calmness, for safety and rest. He felt as if a thousand nights would not be enough rest. “Patience, there is a point to be made,” iZen said. “These ancients still remember the works and machinations of their long departed masters, who often warred and quarrelled among themselves. Toward the end of their occupational period, their rates of change and evolution had become so rapid that aggressor factions and extreme clades, offshoots of the family branches, occurred regularly and with… consequence.” iZen smiled a curious little smile and looked away, toward some unimportant spot on the ceiling. “Can you imagine it?” “No,” said Emboss. “Then merely imagine that our ancient friends have seen it all before,” iZen said, features rumpling a little, as if in mild distaste. “Been there, done it, got the pocket universe generator.” “So they won’t help us?” Emboss said, as the very comfortable bed suddenly felt like it had dropped away from under him. “But--” “They will consider the matter carefully,” iZen said. “I am merely making you aware of the salient points in their decision trees. Sticking points.” “This situation affects everyone!” Emboss said, trying to lift himself up further. “The Thiasus will destroy everything!” “Are you really so sure?” iZen said, licking his lips. “They remember the last time. We remember the last time. It was a catastrophe for one nation, lied about, spun, played down, the details carefully amended. A coup attempt, the War in the Night?” iZen stepped back, threw his head mockingly. “Yes, said the Diamond Dogs, we understand that. Sisters fight, don’t they? It’s nothing to do with us. Hah, said the gryphons. Our enemy’s woes are all the betterment to us.” “And what did the zebra say?” Emboss growled. “Something cryptic and vague?” “I am trying to make you aware of the perspectives of others, those who have witnessed calamities measurable by how viable the biosphere is afterwards, in how much of the planet remains habitable.” iZen shook his head. “Can you understand how the metamagical machinations of one nation’s beings might, perhaps, seem meaningless? Yes? Not worth getting out of bed for?” Emboss said nothing. He had nothing left to give. He fell gently back onto the pouffe. There was an uncomfortable silence. “This is not the death of hope. I am not the one who makes decisions in affairs such as these. Though I have spent my life attempting to know the minds of our ancient friends, I cannot say that my task is complete,” iZen said, after a moment. “Come, if you are able. We will find where your feathered accomplices and your native guide have gone, and I would show you some things.” * The spa-like room turned out to be one of many, arranged along a long, central corridor. They didn’t have doors, but little access tunnels that afforded the same sort of privacy. The colour scheme, of unintrusive magnolia, transitioned to a bright, mint green in the rest of the complex. The place seemed to be deserted at first, though as they were led out, Emboss heard faint hoofsteps and quiet talking that suggested they were merely being given a wide berth. Getting up and going had been an easier affair than the mind-fog suggested. His body was working perfectly. The little clicks and aches in his knees that he’d had long before any mad adventures across the face of the planet had gone. He felt ten years younger, at least physically. Even the slight fatness in the neck he’d developed seemed to have shrunk. His mind was another thing entirely. It was as though he could actually feel his thoughts undulating slowly back and forth in the jelly of his consciousness. The exited the infirmary, or spa, or whatever it was, into a large cave, lit by glowing braziers that dangled from chains affixed to a hidden ceiling. Emboss couldn’t see above their nearly-blinding, sun-like glow. Whatever they were burning, it gave off no smoke. He blinked, staring. He couldn’t quite believe that they had walked out into the middle of a city. He stood weakly on the pavement outside. Zebra, barely sparing them a second look, trotted past, some pulling carts down the road that the pavements bracketed. The architecture was all smooth and unadorned, except with some gentle paints. “We are quite comfortable here, in our little town,” iZen said, noticing his awestruck look. “It is not what many might expect of zebra lowholds. Admittedly, it is atypical. We are very deep, nearly fifteen miles below sea level. With all the heat at this depth, you might think we’d be boiling in our own juices, but we have devices to compensate.” “I think we were expecting it to be dark,” Truth said, from behind them. “We are under the dark, where the light is,” iZen said, proudly. “A little beacon of the civilization that once was, bulwarked against a billion-year winter.” “A billion years?” Emboss mumbled. “A billion years?” “Come, let us not dawdle,” iZen said, shaking his head. “There is much to see.” The streets around the infirmary were broad and surprisingly airy, fed by a cool breeze that came from many directions at once. It carried with it the personal scents of a small Equestrian village; stallions, mares, foals, though each was twisted slightly, the smell of zebras. There were none of the food smells, though. Equally absent were anything to do with the fuels for heating and cooking that he knew of; coal, oils and wood. It felt wrong, somehow, far too sterile and absent of the busyness of a proper town or village. They headed through the neatly-planned streets toward the cave wall, which stretched clifflike above them. Rounding a corner, they came out into a small plaza, where a huge door was shut against whatever was outside. Lines drawn on the ground described the arc the door would swing out through. They’d attracted more attention now. Little huddles of zebra quietly whispered and watched as the group followed iZen toward a staircase cut into the rock beside the door. Emboss wondered just how many of the zebra here had ever seen a pony in the flesh. He doubted that it was very many. “We are just in the next chamber,” iZen said, as they reached the top of the staircase, at which was a much smaller metal door, held open on latches. “We thought it wisest that external elements were kept within the Graphing Annex. Our population is largely self-contained. We did not wish to scare anyone.” He stopped, looked at the unicorns. “You may feel an unusual effect, coming up.” They passed through the doors and it immediately became colder. Emboss felt his horn warm up. It became more uncomfortable with each step. He heard sizzling. Glancing, he saw that Truth had the same problem. Her horn had begun to glow. She didn’t look concerned. “Induction,” iZen said. “The Graphs and other equipment draw magic out of the universal field very aggressively. There is often some wastage. It shames us, as it is the result of our poor understanding of the mechanisms.” “It’s not so bad,” Truth said. “You get used to it quickly.” “Just how long was I out for?” Emboss said, suddenly worried. “Not more than a few hours, but iZen has been a gracious host, wouldn’t let us leave the Annex,” Truth said. “Practically drowned us in tea and cakes.” “Oh, good,” Emboss said. “Shall we?” The doors led to more tunnel, though this one was faced nicely with angular stones. There was an immediate increase in the decoration once they were inside. Ornate inscriptions, like flowing vines or frozen streams, covered many of the stones. It wasn’t even clear to Emboss that there were words written there at all. It wasn’t zebric, for he knew that language’s alphabet, nor was it gryphic or any variant on the theme of Equuish. Sentences cascaded into one another, lines coming in at right angles and branching off into three or four different pathways like the debris from an explosion. There was some parallel connection in them, between details on different sides of the tunnel. He realized this as they came to a junction and he saw simultaneously two sentences that felt like they were related to one another jump sides, merge and break away again on the other side of the junction. Whatever language this was, it was meant to be read simultaneously in two different directions. How many eyes does a centaur have, anyway? iZen brought them to a large room full of soft furnishings and low tables. Astrapios and iYut were playing some kind of card game, arranged on pouffes. Erisne and Ensire were preening each other in the far corner. A silver grooming kit was in pieces around them. The remains of cakes on bone china platters were stacked on one flat table. Emboss felt his hooves sink into the shag rug. “Gadarn’s left tit!” Astrapios exclaimed. “The dead walk!” He flapped his wings merrily and leapt up, navigating a maze of pouffes, cocking his head left and right to examine him better. “How’re you feeling?” “Tired,” Emboss said, smiling. “I’m glad to see they’ve not clapped you in irons, or thrown you in a lake of fire, or something.” “They’re good hosts, aye,” Astrapios said. “I think it’s because the power dynamic is so wildly skewed in their favour here, that two gryphons and a hippogryph barely even register.” “Such cynicism,” iZen said, rolling his eyes. “True, though.” “I don’t see any guards; where did those Drax people go?” Emboss said. “And where is Hywell?” “The Drax are only the tip of the spear, as it were,” iZen said. “Be assured that security is very close to us, at all times.” He looked upwards again, only briefly. “As for the King, we are keeping him in more appropriate surroundings until his Crown and his senses return.” iYut came up behind Astrapios and dipped his head. “You chose the right mine, it seems,” he said. “I am very grateful. Not just to be alive, you understand, but that I have had the chance to see this place from the inside. You hear talk, you hear tell of it, but it is not like anything I had expected.” “You’ve never been here?” Emboss said, eyebrows raised. “You made it sound as if you had.” “I did?” iYut said. “I am sorry if I have mislead you in any way.” “You said that you knew the centaurs were in Repose,” Emboss said. “Ah, I see. Zebra talk, Emboss. Gossip and chat makes its way through all strata of our society, even from here.” iYut laughed. “Gossip is the living, breathing soul of our people. Keeps us in tune with who we are in a sense greater than just one tribe or community.” “And we never knew, did we?” Emboss said. “That’s the racial we. I mean no offence, but the impression Equestrians have of zebra are very different to all this.” “Poor little equines, living in caves, running all the time from ravenous carnivores?” iYut said, smiling. “Transients, travellers, witchdoctors, alchemists, peddlers, a nation in a nation? We are so much more than that.” “We’ve only been here five minutes, and we’ve done a lot of running from ravenous carnivores, aided in no small part by your bag of tricks, iYut,” Emboss said. “But yes, more or less.” “My colleague overstates, I think,” iZen said. “Zebra lowholds are rarely deeper than five miles, have less than a thousand souls, and remain somewhat mobile. There is a reason beyond edification that so many of our number have gone abroad. It is a life, but it is a hard one.” Emboss suddenly felt the ground move underneath his hooves. His horn vibrated and got hotter. He winced. “We have been sidetracked,” iZen said. “I said I wanted to show you something. Please follow me.” As an afterthought, he said: “The gryphons will remain here.” “Oh, keep your secrets, I don’t care, none of us do,” Astrapios said, shaking his head. “I’m a vegetarian, just like you, and those two have been persona non gratia upstairs for the better part of a decade.” “Unlike you, hippogryph, I have never lusted after flesh,” iZen said, quite politely. “Difficult, being on the wagon, is it not? What was that delicacy Port Dauphine is so famed and infamous for? The bacon sandwich?” He smiled, almost undetectably. “Just speak aloud if you would like one, I am certain we would not have any problems preparing it.” Astrapios said nothing, but stared at the zebra for a long moment. Then he rolled his eyes and waddled back through the complex of pouffes. iYut looked at iZen in an impenetrable zebric way, then his muzzle crumpled in distaste and he joined his captain. iZen just laughed and walked out, only stopping to check that Emboss and Truth were following him. “That was a bit much, wasn’t it?” Emboss said, once they were out of the lounge. “They are an enemy of my species, if not specifically of this place,” iZen said. “Never pass up a chance to spar verbally with your foes.” “They risked their lives repeatedly to bring us here, and they had only our word on it,” Truth said. “Their ship was destroyed by the wave, and I don’t think they’ve even realised that yet. They’re not like other gryphons.” “It is not a noble act to aid you, if you believe that your world is under threat, it is only prudent. To do any less would be suicide,” iZen said, making brief eye contact. “Regardless, gryphons are the most retrograde force on the face of this planet today. Individual gryphons may show splendid qualities, but the influence of the culture paralyzes the social development of those who are embedded in it.” Emboss had no answer to that one. Neither did Truth. They meekly followed. “Many pigs down here, then?” Emboss finally said. “None at all,” iZen said. “Then…” “Our kitchens are excellent, Emboss,” iZen said, firmly. “Let us leave it there.” They entered a spacious cavern, and Truth gasped. They had evidently not shown her this part of the complex before. The space was nowhere near the size of the small town where Emboss had woken up, but it still occupied something like the area of a few good grazing paddocks. There were six large oval platforms arranged across the granite floor in a grid. In the middle of each was a centaur. Emboss didn’t need to be told. They could be nothing else. As they drifted closer, he stared. They were huge, at least twice the height of a large pony, and identical, as far as he could tell. He stopped in front of the foremost platform. The centaur was motionless, as though it were the most perfect statue ever made. The head and muzzle were long, stretched out versions of something almost equine, and ended in a widely flared pair of nostrils. The ears were far more elegant and fluted. Blue eyes with space-black barred pupils stared fixedly ahead. The neck was thick and long, and flowed seamlessly into a torso, like a diamond dog, though where that species generally had bulky arms and barely-prehensile paws, these limbs were long, slender and ended in four delicate grippers, three on top and one underneath, which was larger than the others. They hung at the same level as the forelegs of their highly equine bodies, though again, it was refined, a biological elan that seemed to defy any expectations held of nature’s messy randomness. Thin white fur ran over everything, except some patches below the arms and on the belly, exposing pink-tinged skin. Veins branched here and there under it. “Do not, under any circumstances, step onto the Repose platform,” iZen said, after a minute. “Every inch toward the centre, or centaur, haha, excuse my joke, equals another logarithmic step in the rate of the temporal flow shift.” He cleared his throat. “In other words, the closer you are to the middle, the faster time passes on the outside, while your perception of it remains the same. Standing there, they experience about half a second of time for every thousand years that passes out here.” “Strong magic,” Truth said, as enraptured as Emboss was. “Or, that’s the rate they would be experiencing, were they not currently decelerating back into our timeframe,” iZen said, glancing up at the centaurs. “The process began when we presented the Graphs with your request. This is why I said that they are considering it. Had they been entirely uninterested, there would have been no reason for them to leave Repose.” “How long will that take?” Emboss said, tearing his eyes away from the centaurs. “I do not know, it has not happened within my lifetime, or that of my immediate predecessors,” iZen said. “I could consult the records.” “They don’t seem to be moving, or doing anything,” Emboss said. “They’re just standing there.” “Oh, they are, the Graphs say as much,” iZen said. “I imagine that some effect of the light passing through so many different zones of altered temporal flow is in play.” “You keep mentioning these Graphs,” Emboss said, looking around. “But--” Emboss hadn’t noticed them before, given the more pressing sight of the centaurs, but all around the platforms were smooth, jet black cubes. They were unadorned, and of all different sizes. Some were almost half the size of the centaurs themselves, whereas others were no bigger than a filly foal. He trotted over to the one that iZen was standing beside. Tiny lines were dancing across the upper surface. That it was a language, he had no doubt. Repetitions of different symbols, some evidence of grammar marks. But, like the language on the corridor walls, it was all gibberish to him. iZen waited a moment until he had had a chance to examine it, then placed a hoof beside the ranks of symbols. They vanished, reformed close to the rim of his hoof, then he tapped one of them. All the symbols beside the one he tapped then melted back into the black. His selection glowed twice, then became static. To Emboss’ immense surprise, Equuish words and phrases appeared. The symbol iZen had tapped turned into into the phrase language: Eq2.25, rendered in utilitarian cursive. “It speaks Equuish?” Emboss said, dumbstruck. “How can that be?” “Though they are nearly nine hundred million years old, the Graphs were not frozen at the moment of creation,” iZen said, smiling proudly. “They taste the world. They grow, learn, adapt.” “Then why did we need to come at all? Surely you knew of the Thiasus?” Emboss said, brow furrowing. sound pulse and radioisotope scan followed it. “Sometimes, we can sense very large distortions to magnetic and thaumic fields. We did not need to detect anything as delicate as that after the earthquakes, however. They rung this planet like a bell. That is why the Drax were dispatched.” Another zebra, presumably a Grapher, came up behind iZen and whispered something in his ear. Immediately, iZen touched a phrase that said temporal ratio, and columns of numbers appeared, as well as a histogram, marked with symbols from the Old Equuish alphabet. He recognized some of the patterns in the numbers as being related to thaumic densities, but it was otherwise far beyond his pay grade. He turned to find Truth, but she was already reading over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide. “That… that violates the Neighvikov self-consistency principle, doesn’t it?” she said, breathlessly excited. “The hypersurface--” “Only locally, do not worry about it,” iZen said, grinning. “Causality remains intact.” Numbers on the Graph rolled upwards, changed positions on the histogram, then doubled in size. Emboss winced as his horn suddenly felt two sizes bigger. There was the distinct smell of burning hair. He opened his eyes and shook his head, not daring to feed any magic through it. That was when he noticed the centaur leaning over them. His heart jumped in his chest like a live snake. The delicate end of the centaur’s muzzle was only inches above him. The widely flared nostrils flexed and tensed. There was a hint of pink tongue and an omnivore’s dentition. Emboss realised he wasn’t breathing, then took a sharp, jarring breath in. The centaur retracted slightly. It smelled strange, antiseptic, like hospital bathrooms. Truth screamed and collapsed onto her haunches. iZen and the other Graphers had adopted a respectful bow without missing a beat, though there was none of the servility and submission Emboss had seen in the gryphic bows. The centaur lifted up its head and folded its arms across its chest. Very recognizably, it sighed. “You get smaller every bloody kiloyear,” it said, in a mare’s voice, speaking the same too-perfect grade of Canterlotian Equuish that iZen employed. “I’m sorry, what?” Emboss managed, staring up at the mountain of white-furred ancient. “Who gets smaller?” “Ponies, ponies get smaller, and zebras too, for that matter!” the centaur said, turning her gaze on the Graphers. “You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Breeding yourselves littler. What did I say last time? ‘iGleb, get yourself a proper eugenics program, or you’ll end up tiny’, that’s what I said, and what does he go and do? Breeds them littler! Right, I’ve had it, that’s it! Get him up here!” “Pardon me,” said iZen. “But are you speaking of Grapher iVeth iGleb?” “Yes, that’s the one,” the centaur said, then seemed to realise something, freezing in place. “Oh. Of course. When did he die?” “Nearly four and a half thousand years ago,” said iZen, politely. “I wrote my doctoral thesis on him.” “You really must do something about that lifespan, you know,” the centaur said, glumly. “It’s depressing.” She sniffed the air and glanced around. “When are we, anyway?” “By your clock…” said iZen, tapping at the Graph. “Four point one eight two cycles post-V, approximately.” “Still nothing?” said the centaur. “I’m guessing not, since there’s a decided lack of things on fire and horrible glass monsters everywhere. What’s all the fuss about, then?” “We have entered the relevant information into the Graphs,” iZen said. “As per protocol.” “Very dreary, that. You’ve lost the art of conversation, as well as stellarforming. Does nobody want to just talk? Oh well,” the centaur said, reaching down to touch the Graph with one of her four-fingered graspers, whereupon there was a flicker in Equuish symbols and they froze for a moment. “Really? This nonsense again?” She sighed dramatically. “Jumped up little post-equines and Bulk entities…” “You have to help us,” said Emboss, trembling, neck starting to hurt from its upwardly fixed position. “Please…” “Why?” the centaur said, glaring nastily at Emboss. “Who are you to tell me what I must do? Just a civil servant and wife, oh yes, very egalitarian that, do you still own her as chattel? Never mind.” She moved away, her bulk making surprisingly little noise on the granite. Her brow, such as it was, suddenly furrowed, and she stared off into the distance. Almost to herself, she said: “Oh, but that was a big bang for such little ponies, wasn’t it? We heard it all the way down here, listening with broken machines. Lucky for them that it wasn’t in the atmosphere. Then a wave, earthquakes and space bent by a Crown?” She cocked her head. “Time for a simulation.” The Graph abruptly turned white. iZen started back, nearly knocking over another Grapher. Truth neighed in surprise. “In four kiloyears? Ridiculous, do it again, with some more effort, please,” the centaur said, and this time all the Graphs whited out. “I see. Well, this changes things.” “What does, honourable centaur?” said Emboss, hoping the form of address was correct. “Less of that, thank you, we don’t really do rank and status,” the centaur said, frowning. “I am Thereus.” She growled as she noticed Emboss cocking his head slightly to the left. “I’m female, yes, stop staring, it’s very primitivist, not to mention rude.” “Sorry… uh… Thereus,” said Emboss, feeling heat in his cheeks. “As for what changes things, it’s the fact that my simulations have just told me that, within four kiloyears, plus or minus point five kiloyears, there will be a thaumic decay catastrophe, somewhere in this system, which will be caused by the interference of either Bulk entities or as a result of attempts in the next cycle to prevent the Thiasus,” she said, eyes flicking back and forth as if she was reading something nobody else could see. “I fed it new data, you see, and things are getting worse. Celestia’s bargain, and the consequences, we thought it was all pretty stable.” She snorted, flicked her banged-short white tail. “Neatly self-contained. That might sound a bit harsh, but civilizations come and go, don’t they? Nadirs and apexes. Anyway, it would seem that we were wrong.” “You’ll help us, then?” said Emboss, smiling broadly. “Thank--” “In a manner of speaking,” said Thereus. “We can stop it now, or we can stop it in four thousand years. Simulations are ongoing. We don’t have the time for me to explain to you what a TDC is, but please, believe me, it is an extremely bad thing. There was an Equestrian scholar who summed it up best in your language, I think. I have just read his work. Paraphrasing: No structures capable of knowing joy.” Thereus smiled, almost proudly. “You’re smart little ponies, aren’t you? Do you know, my creators spent much of their time thinking about this self-same thing. They expended vast energies on understanding the threat, trying to control it. Made them quite mad.” “Your creators?” Truth said, sidling up close to Emboss. “Someone made you?” “Do I look like the work of natural selection?” Thereus said, laughing. “I had the privilege of being manufactured, not clumsily put together by an unthinking consequence of physics, yes.” “Oh,” said Truth, somewhat taken aback. “Well, then. That’s put me in my place.” “It seems we have an elegant solution, assembled sentients,” said Thereus, staring off into the distance yet again. “The simulations agree. Problem: Celestia and the Thiasus must be stopped. How do you stop a bad mare with a crown?” She licked her lips, eyes darting this way and that. “The only thing that stops a bad mare with a crown is a good mare with a crown. In our case, it’ll be two good mares with crowns, and a good cock with a Crown, capital letter.” She grinned down at the ponies and zebras. “We have the current gryphon King in thaumic confinement, don’t we?” “Yes, Thereus,” said iZen, flinching slightly. “But only for his own protection.” “Assembled sentients?” Truth mumbled, a distasteful expression crinkling her muzzle. “Like we’re crows, or something?” “I think his Crown would like him back,” said the centaur, ignoring her. “There are a lot of naughty neutrinos being beamed in our direction at the moment, did you notice that? It’s coming here to reclaim him.” “I did wonder how it would get back to him,” said Emboss, dropping his head, unable to take any more craning. “It’s got fifteen miles of rock to punch through.” “It is doing so with some considerable enthusiasm,” said Thereus. “Here’s what you do, hopefully with the same enthusiasm. Let the Crown reunite with Hywell. Then, we can compel it to follow our instructions. You will all go back to Equestria, where you will…” Thereus trailed off, and a bead of sweat rolled down her neck, then she mumbled: “Unlikely, though possible, encounters may include aforementioned. Highly likely, though not certain, inclusion of remnant and abandoned-in-place universes for mass feedstock…” “Uh, I’m not sure I follow,” said Emboss. “How are you going to make Hywell or the Crown do what you want? Even if you get him to agree, it’ll take us weeks to get back to Equestria.” Thereus blinked, shook her head, then bent down to look more closely at Emboss. “Leave that to me, shorty,” she said.