//------------------------------// // Wings // Story: Cold Light // by Scramblers and Shadows //------------------------------// Here we see Sweetie Belle's more . . . . . . . {TRANSCRIPTION ERROR 317: CORRUPTED INPUT} Chapter 8 Wings The ground peeled away below, and grimy bitumen was at last replaced by sandy plains. Dry air rushing through the broken window smelt almost sweet by contrast. The sun fell towards the horizon. The sky reddened. An hour or more since their encounter with the aelewyrm, and there was no sign of either it or the pirates. Millie kept them on course to Pinion Beach; only there could she hope to find the right parts to fix the damage. Her passengers had the option of either waiting for her to finish – which would take at least a full day – or returning on the train. Sweetie Belle decided to go by train: “We need to get back as quickly as possible.” “Yeah.” Scootaloo chewed her lip, then looked over to Millie. “When I come back, we've definitely gotta catch up.” “You're –” began Sweetie Belle in a soft voice. “What about you, Tom?” “I don't know …” Scratching an ear, Tom glanced back down the steps to the main cabin. “Are you sure you can do this alone?” he asked Millie. “I can handle one tied-up griffon,” she said. “And I've been fixin' up Dignity since I salvaged her.” “Okay. Train it is, then.” Sweetie Belle tried her best to look pleased. “T' job oughta be no more than a day or so. I suppose I could take our griffon friend back to Ilmarinen after you've left.” “I thought there were Ilmarinen battleships at the terminus?” said Sweetie Belle. “Couldn't they take him?” “What would that accomplish? If they recognised him, they'd kill him. If they didn't, they'd let him go.” Millie took in Sweetie Belle's stare without reacting. “This is t' frontier, lass, remember? We don't have the means to faff around bein' nice. I'm only takin' him to Ilmarinen because it's t' only place outside of Omphalos even close to puttin' together a legal system.” Sweetie Belle looked away and shrugged. She lacked the energy to argue. “I guess that's settled then,” she said, heading out of the cockpit. As she entered the main cabin, she caught sight of Gregor again. Still asleep. He's threatened to kill the others and maim her. Now he might die himself. Viciousness breeding viciousness. From cruelty or avarice or necessity, what did it matter? Come see the frontier, children. Live in privation. Murder. Get murdered. Pilfer the ruins of a dead civilisation. Go mad from the revelation. Is there anypony who wouldn't jump at the chance? “Hey,” said Scootaloo behind her. Sweetie Belle murmured a half response and didn't turn. Coming around to face her, Scootaloo continued: “I'm taking you to Equestria, but I'm coming back to Amaranth as soon as I can.” She sighed and put a hoof against the bridge of her nose. Her wings glimmered. “And that's going to be a pain in the ass. I'd hoped to leave quietly …” “Why?” “Because I don't want to have to explain myself –” “I mean, why come back here?” Scootaloo snorted. “I love it when you respect my wishes.” Sweetie Belle looked away. The floor wobbled beneath them. Dignity's engines choked again. The gulf in conversation, in connection became unbearable. “I like your wings.” It was a moment before Scootaloo looked back to her, and another before she smiled. “They're pretty awesome, aren't they? I can fly for hours without getting tired, almost as fast as Rainbow Dash.” The wings whispered open, not fully extended and still twice the span of normal pegasus wings. The pendant on the left tip swung back and forth. “Where did you find them?” “I, uh …” Scootaloo cleared her throat. “ … liberated them from our griffon friends.” “You stole them?” “Well, they're pirates! They were probably just gonna use them to rob someone else. And it's not like they have massive respect for possession anyway, right?” She retracted the wings. “Though I didn't think they'd be quite this persistent.” “And this is the life you want to return to?” “Sweetie Belle, I've pulled off a daring raid against griffons. Then while on the run saved a team of researchers from a giant flying oil snake! Of course I do.” “There's something else,” Sweetie Belle said. “The daemons are going to destroy Amaranth. I talked to Saffron, the qilin. She says they're going to learn our language. And when they do, they'll drive everyone mad. And me first if I use too much magic. This place …” This place isn't meant for us. She would have finished, but she didn't want to argue again. “Then we'll got to stop them. When we get back.” “How?” “Twilight will find a way. Or Celestia, or Luna. Discord? Maybe even Cadence. We've got four alicorns and a draconequus! There's got to be a way.” Four alicorns and a draconequus who couldn't even find a way to cross the Funnel. Who, thanks to legal wrangles with Aquileona, lacked any sort of jurisdiction in Amaranth. While Sweetie Belle was trying to formulate a response that wouldn't bring yet another argument, the came a weak laugh from behind her. “Why so worried? I thought ponies dealt with an apocalypse once a year. At least, that's what they tell everyone.” The last vestiges of a smile dropped away. “You're lost without your princesses, aren't you?” One of Scootaloo's wings extended a few feet. “Pathetic,” muttered Gregor. He continued to glare at them. “You're tied up on the floor. And while you were napping, your friends just got munched on by a giant flying snake.. So if we're pathetic, what does that make you?” Without quite knowing why, Sweetie Belle found herself walking over to him. She put a hoof against his side, where feather met hair. “What's so special about me? What does your employer want from me?” “Why in Aquileona would I tell you?” “We're not in Aquileona; we're in Amaranth. You've lost, and I don't think you're the loyal type. So what's the harm in telling me?” That carnivore beak, snapping shut, still capable of opening flesh. Sweetie Belle took a step back. Gregor sneered. “Presumptuous little heffer. But what else could I expect from Equestrians?” He paused to wriggle into a more comfortable position. “I think you already know why you're valuable. Summoning demons, vanishing through walls. Spells no pony of your age would have.” “The aelewyrms aren't mine. That was all your fault.” Gregor said nothing. “Who's your employer?” Nothing. Green aura cloaked the diamond thread binding Gregor's limbs. Just a smidgen of pressure. “Sweetie Belle.” Scootaloo put a hoof on her shoulder. “We don't need to know. We just need to get back.” After a moment Sweetie Belle released her grip. What could she do? Coerce him? How? “Okay. Don't worry.” She stepped back, turned, headed for the cockpit, stopped herself. Right now it seemed as unwelcome as being with Gregor, as unwelcome as being alone with herself. “I don't know who our employer is,” said Gregor. “Goes by the name S. Only seen his ship once. It looks Aquileonan, but I don't even know if he's a griffon.” He shrugged. “Keeps his word. Pays well. Wants your brain. You're in trouble, unicorn.” Looking back, Sweetie Belle could see his expression, though hard, was no longer combative. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Are my shipmates really dead?” Again, Scootaloo's hoof made an appearance on Sweetie Belle's shoulder. “Let's not get chatting with the pirate, eh?” “Why not?” Sweetie Belle moved it aside gently. “I don't know. You know the aelewyrm? Like those hatchlings that got out on your ship, but as big as an airship. Last we saw it was going after your ships. One might have escaped, but …” Gregor nodded. “I'm sorry.” “Oh, fuck off.” “I didn't want anyone to die …” “I'm not here to ease your fucking guilt.” Sweetie Belle turned away again. This time she did return to the cockpit. The ascent into wakefulness came slowly. The smell of Scootaloo all about; the soft and tangled sheets; sunlight lending a numinous touch to the world; the rush and slap of shower water from the ensuite. Susa, the city of romance. Perfect. Except – Sweetie Belle rubbed her eyes. Her pastern came away smeared with eyeliner. No chance to clean it off, was there? She smiled to herself and rolled over to look out the window. Clouds like mounds of foam, being tended to by griffons. The shower stopped, and Sweetie Belle sat up in the bed. After a second, she grabbed tissues from the bedside table and tried to get as much of the old makeup off her face as she could. Mirror … there was no mirror! Hoofsteps. She sent the crumpled tissued flying over to the wastebasket in her aura and hoped she looked prettily dishevelled. Scootaloo came out of the ensuite, mane damp and sticking up at all angles. “I'm the first one to get up!” she said, smirking. “First time for everything, right?” “Oh, yeah.” “Train's at five, right? What do you wanna do 'til then?” “We could go down to the Plaza of Aquileona?” Scootaloo hmm'd in the sort of way that said she was trying to find a tactful way to say she hated the idea. “Never mind!” said Sweetie Belle. “We can do something else.” “No, if you want to, go ahead. I know how much you like that pretty building stuff. I'll go and check out the cloud factories or something. It's cool.” Sweetie Belle stared at her. “Alright,” she said softly. After a few moments of studying the creases in the bedsheets, she looked up to find Scootaloo looking out the window. “About last night …” she began. “You were awesome. Hah, I mean, wow. Some of that stuff … I never thought you'd …” Scootaloo shook her head. “You know, everypony kept telling me how stands between friends are never good, but I loved it.” The remark hung in the air for a moment while Sweetie Belle scrabbled to understand it. “Yeah,” she said, putting on a smile. “Me too.” “So, do you wanna go get breakfast?” Dignity drove onwards. The sun was close to the horizon as they approached Pinion Beach. The shadows of imperfections in the land had lengthened into false-orange spikes angled towards them. Pinion Beach, thought Sweetie Belle. Really? An ocean, a lake? A beach? In Amaranth? The land sloped downwards. In the distance it was scattered with rocks of varying sizes and surreal shapes. And then, an immense flat expanse. Too flat. The reflections in the surface were almost clear, like it was a giant mirror. It wasn't water. Something disturbed the surface. A rippled hurtled across its surface, momentarily shredding the sky's reflection. “Quicksilver,” she murmured. “Not quite,” said Millie. “Some alloy o' gallium, I think.” The water wasn't water. And the rocks weren't rocks. Pinion Beach was made of gears. The largest were metres across. Others like pebbles. All sizes in between, and those smaller still, until it was impossible to identify them. Grains of sand, perhaps. They were scattered without order. They came in all types, all manner of designs. Here,intact; there, fragmented. Some stainless, some scabbed with brown or green corrosion. Dignity slowed and nosed her way through the ruined machinery. Where the liquid metal lake lapped at the beach, the gears looked softer, more rounded, like sucked sweets. Millie took the hovercraft out onto the gallium surface, where their presence sent tiny ripples skittering away. Here the going was smoother, and they turned left, hugging the beach. In the distance, a few boats with flat hulls like saucers floated. They extended instruments down, seemed to be searching the lakebed. Ahead, Sweetie Belle could see two moored airships – stout, decorated with spikes and hastily-applied paint, covered with guns. The same type that had protected Ilmarinen. At the base of the mast, a squat, featureless structure poked out from the gears of the beach. Boats milled around the front; from the rear emerged the railway on a series of low arches that extended off into the distance. Millie signalled the terminus with a series of light pulses. It responded in kind. She took Dignity back onto the beach and settled beside the structure. Sweetie Belle had arrived at Pinion Beach Railway Terminus.