Chapter 7: Dreams
Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 7: Dreams
Admiral Biscuit
Twilight yawned and blinked her eyes to focus on the wavering printing on the parchment in front of her. The main room of the library was a complete mess; every flat surface was covered with papers. Books lay open across the floor, and a half-dozen scrolls were neatly stacked in her saddlebags, waiting to be delivered in the morning. At least the messages to Princess Celestia had been sent—it had been the last thing Spike did before he trudged up the stairs to bed.
Clothing . . . clothing. Rarity said she’s making progress. But I didn’t look myself because of Sweetie—make a note, set aside a foal’s book of simple casting exercises—so maybe she’s not as far along as she claims. Should I check on her in the morning? Twilight forced her sleep-heavy eyes open. I’ll just mark it with an underline, to check later.
She picked up the list and walked into the small kitchen, intent on making herself a cup of strong black tea—just enough of a pick-me-up to get her through the night. Keeping one eye on the list, she filled the teapot and set it on the stove, opening the damper to let the coals flare up. She rinsed out her tea ball and filled it with some shredded leaves. Immersion might not be the proper way to make tea, but it was quick.
As the water heated, she turned her attention back to the checklist. Cheerilee and Octavia had made workable copies of Lyra’s notes before the cellist left on the late train, so that was as done as it would get. The notes which Octavia had would go to linguists in Canterlot, who would begin working on translation dictionaries and pronunciation guides. Meanwhile, Cheerilee would try and see if she could teach Dale more words. By the end of the week, it was hoped that somepony would have proved herself adept enough at the language to come to Ponyville and assist.
Food was largely taken care of, for now. Twilight hadn’t heard if Fluttershy had had any success finding insects or carrion for Dale, but she was sure she’d find out in the morning. In one of her many letters to the Princess, Twilight had requested that the griffon embassy staff see about what they could ship to Ponyville in the next couple of days. Apparently, they had some kind of special bags with preservative spells on them, as fresh meat went bad after a few days. That made meat seem like a poor choice for a food source—properly stored pasture grasses could stay edible for months or even years.
Her ears perked as the water boiled. She opened the cupboard only to discover that it was devoid of any cups. A glance at the counter told her why: with all the running around she and Spike had done in the last few days, there hadn’t been any time to wash the dishes, and with guests . . . she finally settled on a ceramic mug that looked fairly clean, reasoning that the boiling water would probably wash out anything nasty.
She tapped her hoof impatiently as the tea was steeping, returning her attention to the list. Embassy. She frowned. Dr. Stable had told her that the stallion would probably be able to leave the hospital tomorrow. He was ambulatory, and his injuries were not life-threatening. He could come back to have a new application of salve. Dr. Stable was of the opinion that ponies were better off healing up at home, rather than in the hospital. Of course, there was the slight difficulty that Dale didn’t have a home, and if the pace of construction ponies was anything to go by, he might not for a while yet.
To be fair, it wasn’t entirely their fault. There was simply too much work that needed to be done. Twilight had stopped by after she’d taken Cheerilee to the library. The inside of the house had been largely gutted—leaks in the roof had ruined the upstairs. Night Soil was cleaning out the pit behind the house, while pipefitters were adding a cistern-fed bathtub and kitchen sink.
The foreman had asked her if she knew any more about the inside arrangement yet, and she’d just shrugged and told him to leave it flexible. In time, they’d build a more fitting embassy, but that would simply have to wait. For right now, she’d settle for something that wouldn’t offend their guests.
She’d hated to leave—it was a rare chance for her to observe so many ponies working together on a common task. A group of pegasi was re-thatching the roof, flying willow-tied bundles of reed out of the gambo wagon sitting alongside the house. On the opposite end, a pegasus painter was applying fresh paint to the second story shutters.
Ambrosia and Rough Tumble were standing on a rickety scaffold. The stallion was fixing the wattle, while the mare filled in the daub when he was done. A colt assisted them, using a pulley hooked to the lifting beam to pull up buckets of daub and water and bundles of sticks.
Meanwhile, more tradesponies were pulling up wagons with furnishings, from a sofa to a stove. Even Mr. Greenhooves had gotten involved, weeding and overwatering the neglected kailyard. She might have watched for hours—except the foreman shoved a dirty piece of paper in her face. “Supplies. See if ya can get ‘em outta Canterlot. Don’t have ‘em in town.”
• • •
Twilight blinked and looked back at her tea. I must have zoned out there. It had cooled almost completely, but it would do. She underlined embassy on her checklist—maybe tomorrow they’d have a better idea how soon it would be habitable.
Banner. Pinkie Pie was supposed to be making that. Twilight hoped that the hype around the new embassy would spark interest in Ponyville’s newest residents. Already, ponies were gawking at the construction site, speculating out loud about the sudden interest in the old building. Apple Honey was planning to run an article in tomorrow’s newspaper about Lyra’s new ambassadorship, and an extra edition that night with an exclusive interview, which would drum up more interest. Hopefully, if there was enough hype, crowd psychology would do the rest—it had certainly worked for Iron Will and Trixie. Twilight dithered for a moment, her quill hovering just above the parchment. I haven’t seen it yet . . . but it’s for a party, kind of, and that’s something Pinkie takes seriously. I’m sure it will be ready tomorrow. She checked off the box and took a sip of tea, suddenly realizing that she’d reached the end of her checklist.
Maybe I’ll look into traditional griffon architecture. She yawned. There might be something useful that could go into the new embassy. Omnivores probably all think alike. She plodded back into the main room, levitating over another book. Lacking any usable table space, she set it on the floor and stretched out. I wish I had a crystal lamp like the ones in the hospital. It would make reading at night so much more comfortable. It would be too much work to fill a firefly light, and it was too risky with all the paper about to light a lamp, so she finally settled on a light spell.
Shifting into the perfect reading position, she flipped the book open and began reading. Five minutes later, she was asleep on top of the book.
Luna stood on her balcony, gazing thoughtfully at the dark valley below. These creatures that had come to Equestria were elusive. If they had any effect on the weave, it was far too small for her crystal apparatus to detect.
Celestia might not have intended that she discover their presence so quickly, but it was hard to miss it. She’d been briefed on the day’s progress in the Nobles’ Council, and it was obvious to anypony with half a brain why they were suddenly voting on a new ambassador. The creatures were here, and judging by the number of ponies who had suddenly been shifted to Ponyville, she knew where they were.
It was hardly surprising they’d be there. The chaotic forces of the Everfree tended to strengthen magic, at the same time causing it to go awry. That couldn’t be helped; it was more of an asset in its wild form than it ever would be if they tamed it—if they could. And if it wasn’t the forest that caused the magic to go malfunction, maybe it was Discord. Celestia thought he was powerless in his stone prison; Luna was not so certain. Like the Everfree, the Elements did what they wished without leave from ponies. Centuries of study, and the most gifted unicorns were no closer to understanding the Tree of Harmony than when they’d began.
She hated to dreamwalk with adult ponies—really, with adults of any species. She had, back in the formative days of Equestria, but it was difficult to get through all the mental barriers. Each species had their own. Naturally, she’d improved with practice, and had even been able to plant small seeds of ideas in the heads of a few griffons . . . but it just didn’t feel right to do that. If somepony called for her help, it was one thing, but to go in uninvited was no different than just stopping by some random pony’s house and eating all their flowers. No, that wasn’t true. It was worse.
Admittedly, she knew better than most that dreams usually didn’t mean anything, and often enough weren’t even remembered upon waking. What happened in dreams, no matter how inappropriate, was of no consequence if it stayed there. But she’d found that she could get the measure of ponies by carefully watching their dreams.
Best yet, Celestia hadn’t yet forbade her from trying to access the dreams of the new visitors, so this might be her only chance.
Her horn lit and her eyes began glowing a soft white as she cast herself out into the aether. She probed around, trying to get a feel for the strange creatures. Her aura wended through the delicate traceries of the dreamscape, gently feeling for something it had never encountered before.
She found the mare quickly. Something was wrong: colors and shapes and smells and ideas flashed into being and just as quickly dissolved into glittering dust. A brown-white meniscus crept up over the dust and swallowed it. Her dreams were completely broken, unrelated thoughts fluttering off like a photo album bucked into a wall. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and Luna could detect the influence of potions. It was risky to try and slip into the dreams of an intoxicated individual; it could lead to madness. It was only slightly less dangerous than turning dreaming magic around on one’s self. Luna moved away as quickly as she could.
The stallion was more subtle. She found him, close to the mare. There was a wall around his dream, a barrier she’d never encountered before. Faint spots of strong feelings burst on the surface—he was moving to a good/bad place. Hope and fright blended together in a fractal swirl. She experimentally spread herself over it, feeling it shift under her. The surface changed—it was easiest to call it color, although it wasn’t—in a swirling ripple, darkening where she touched. She felt it falter, and then vanish like a soap bubble, leaving her grasping nothing.
She waited patiently, and was rewarded. Out of nothing, a small seed of an idea sprang into life, spinning and twisting so quickly she could barely keep up. This one was darker; thunderclouds of emotion scudded around in a cyclonic frenzy. Luna pounced on it before it could fully form, hoping to pierce the barrier before it could reject her. Once again, the dream collapsed.
Luna blinked back into awareness on her balcony. There were ponies who knew how to block their dreamstates. They were few; the knowledge was not often shared. For the centuries she’d been imprisoned, the scrolls which contained the spells had mostly crumbled to dust; every few generations, a new pony discovered the ability, but it was generally considered useless. Still, there were old ponytales of races who were largely telepaths, and the ability to make a mental block in such a race would be very beneficial indeed.
Well, for every defensive spell, there is an offensive spell. Luna tried again. This time she formed her essence into a lance, piercing the outer bubble with no difficulty whatsoever. . . .
Only to find another inside, like those silly nesting reindeer figures that were so popular in the eastern steppes. This layer was a vast spectrum of smell—sweat and dirt and water and fir trees blending into a uniform cologne. She dropped another layer and was assaulted with a bedlam of noise. She poked through two more before giving up; she could potentially trap herself in the dream and not be able to escape until the stallion woke. It was unlikely, but possible.
She would change tactics. She would be clever. She would use her own stalking pony.
Luna shifted her focus, skimming across the dream-Ponyville. She flitted in and out of bedrooms like a wraith, until she finally found her target.
Detective Moller sat at his borrowed desk and thought. A folder to the left held the preliminary results of the investigation—which thus far amounted to little more than a dry factual account of what had allegedly transpired, two dozen photographs which he had chosen as the most representative, and the disappointing but anticipated fact that so far nobody knew who the old guy was. What they presumed to be his fingerprints hadn’t found a match. On a TV show, they’d have already found at least one suspect by now. And cut to commercial, he thought dryly.
On the right, a legal pad covered with the results of his interviews served as a fine surface to drum his pen against. The video tape would be gone over and transcribed, but he’d found that taking notes during and after an interview helped with his memory, and helped put the human account in line with the material evidence. Questions he’d wanted to revisit were underlined, while suspicious answers were circled.
Of course, not all cases were open-and-shut, and this was looking like it was going to be one of them. At first glance, it was very nearly what the crime writers loved to call a locked-room mystery, although there were dozens of ways that a reasonably enterprising individual could have spirited someone off the island, such as a hidden motorboat.
He opened the folder and flipped through the photographs again. He already had a deepening conviction that this was going to eventually blossom into a murder case. Whether they found Kate’s body while they were still trying to make sense of the evidence, or a multi-year manhunt eventually turned up a suspect, vague confession, and eventually maybe a burial site, this was how the case was probably going to end. There wouldn’t be any quick breaks.
In fact, the only good news about Kate was that the Coast Guard had taken it upon themselves to quickly circulate her picture, and it was going up in marinas up and down Michigan’s west coast. It wouldn’t be true to describe the crowd of pleasure-boaters as a ‘tight-knit group’—although that would undoubtedly how the news would report it if this particular well struck oil—but all it took was one concerned citizen to make a phone call. Sometimes they got lucky.
What was your game? On the surface, everything looked plain vanilla. If he discounted the interviews with the Coast Guard sailors, the case would be straightforward: man camping on an island sees a lone woman, overpowers her, drags her back to his camp—he’d unfortunately worked a few cases exactly like that. But there were too many people who all agreed that she had not been alone on the beach . . . true, she’d been a good distance from Cortez and Anthony, but no one would attempt a kidnapping in front of two other law enforcement officers no more than a couple hundred feet from him, and more coming from the water. Taking her hostage or shooting her outright because of some deranged impulse—he could see that. But it didn’t work for a kidnapping. If it was planned, how would their suspect have known she’d be coming to the beach? It made even less sense for a snatch-and-grab—who would wait on a deserted island for someone to come along?
And the camp . . . he just kept going back to that. Most crimes he’d investigated, everything was more-or-less as it seemed. There was the occasional criminal who made a clumsy attempt to hide or destroy evidence, but it rarely worked. This wasn’t so much an attempt at a cover-up; it was more like show-and-tell. There were so many out-of-place oddities, particularly in the tent. It seemed like a staged camp, but for what purpose he couldn’t imagine.
Moller studied a picture of one of the books. No doubt it would be making its way to cryptologists, eventually. While he was hardly a scholar of languages, there was nothing in the book which looked anything like a language he knew—not one currently in use, anyway. Had he seen it in a movie, he would have identified it as a spell-book, from the simple woodcut drawings at the top of each page and the runic-looking characters which made up the text. He’d have to get photos to an occultist . . . maybe the guy was part of some weird religion. It could explain why he had notebooks full of the same gibberish.
There had been three items on the beach . . . he fumbled through his notes. A claw, spear, and sword. That was kind of like a bell, book, and candle—maybe an initiation rite? Some kind of weird symbolism? The spear was broken, so maybe that was part of the ritual. Yet another thing to find out.
Moller ran a hand through his thinning hair. If the guy was a weird religious nut . . . that’s the worst kind. All bets are off. Some of them really believe that there’s a heaven waiting for them if they commit an atrocity, and they don’t care if they get caught. Such a person might just grab Kate despite the other Coast Guard men on the beach.
They’d probably know more once they figured out who he was. He’d been low-key, and no doubt his neighbors wouldn’t say anything bad about him—not at first. Not until the evidence began coming out of his house. Then everyone would see him for the monster he was, and would hurry to denounce him. Just like so many others.
He set the photograph down and picked up the next. They were in no particular order; he’d arranged and rearranged them numerous times, trying to get a sense of the guy and the crime. This was the one he couldn’t explain; this was the one that didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t the most detailed of the photographs—he’d selected a long scene-shot, rather than a detail shot, because getting a view of the whole crime scene was more important than getting bogged down in the details.
It was a simple enough photograph; unlike so many of the crime scene photos he’d examined over the years, this one would look good hanging on a wall. Maybe even in his office . . . maybe when the case had concluded satisfactorily he would put it in his office. Right now, though, it was a vexing thing.
On the left of the photograph, the woods curved towards the center, while on the right the water angled in. Right down the center was a slice of beach. You could tell by the angle of the shadows and the light that the photograph had been taken just before sunset. The photo quality was very good—the popularity of decent cell phone cameras had been one of the greatest law-enforcement tools ever invented.
On the water-side of the beach, a set of footprints ran down the sand. The closest footprints were easily identifiable as boots, and the length of stride and the way the sand was kicked up indicated the wearer was running. They ended in a large section of disturbed sand marked by a forlorn strobe light.
The more interesting detail was the prints on the landward side. They had unmistakably been made by a quadruped. He was less experienced at analyzing an animal’s gait by its tracks, but his gut told him that it was running. The prints looked kind of horse-like, but that wasn’t the interesting detail. No, the thing which had him flummoxed was the way the prints ended in a skid . . . and then nothing. Nothing at all. Just undisturbed sand all the way to the horizon.
Lyra trudged through the darkened streets of Ponyville, her head down. She should have never allowed Fluttershy to bring that woodchuck—she’d should have known that Dale’s sandwich wasn’t decomposed like that. The smell should have been a tip-off.
At least he wasn’t mad at her. She’d been a little nervous to approach him after the woodchuck incident—especially after the nurse had told her what had happened in the bathroom—but he hadn’t shied away from her good-night nuzzle. She yawned deeply. The day had been stressful, and coupled with the lack of sleep she’d had the night before, she was ready for bed. Maybe she could convince Bon Bon to—
Bon Bon! Her heart leapt into her throat. She’d promised to come home for lunch, and she hadn’t. It had totally slipped her mind. She looked up at their house—the windows were darkened and the first-floor shutters closed for the night.
Lyra stood off to the side of the door and swung it open with her horn, wincing at the slight exertion. All day long she’d been running on an adrenaline high, but now she was crashing fast, and the doctor’s orders to limit her magic usage came back to mind.
She poked her head around the doorframe, and no errant objects came flying out. It was a hopeful sign. Bon Bon was slow to anger, but when she was upset her temper was legendary, and forgiveness could be a long time in coming. Lyra stepped across the threshold and pushed the door shut with a hind hoof, looking warily around the darkened living room.
Nopony was lying in ambush for her. With a relieved sigh, she stepped into the kitchen, lighting her horn just enough to see her way. One of the earliest spells a foal learned, it was accessible to even the weakest casters—or tiredest. Her ears flattened as she saw two untouched bowls of salad neatly laid out on the table. It was the only thing out of place in the kitchen. All the cooking utensils were washed and hung on their pegs, the floor was swept, and the chairs were neatly tucked underneath the table.
With nothing else to do, Lyra walked over to the table and glanced down at her salad. It was one of her favorites: fresh alfalfa and timothy, topped with carrots and young bitter pea. After she’d left the hospital, Bon Bon must have spent the morning in the market, getting all the ingredients, and then all afternoon at her stand.
Lyra cleared the table and put the bowls in the icebox, resisting the urge to sample one of the rum balls she saw there. The last thing she needed was to give Bon Bon another reason to be upset.
She slowly walked up the stairs, carefully stepping past the third step that always squeaked no matter what they did to try and fix it.
Bon Bon was asleep on her side, facing the door. Her forelock had come uncurled and was spread across the pillow. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep waiting for Lyra to arrive. A slight smile crossed the unicorn’s lips as she saw the blankets were all crumpled at the base of the bed—Bon Bon had a habit of kicking off blankets in her sleep and would wake up in the morning complaining of the cold.
Lyra stayed in the doorway, watching Bon Bon sleep. She stayed there long enough for the shaft of moonlight to move from the stand which held the confectioner's saddlebags and apron to the foot of the bed, where it glinted off her sensible steel shoes.
Finally reaching a decision, she crossed the floor and climbed into bed, nestling up against Bon Bon’s back. Using what felt like the last dregs of her magical energy, she pulled the covers back up. She tucked her muzzle just above Bon Bon’s withers, feeling the tension slowly leave her as the familiar scents filled her nostrils. In a few minutes, she was sound asleep.
Luna carefully moved into Lyra’s dream, not wanting to alter it. Not yet. She hid in the deepest recesses, a shadow among shadow-images, carefully collecting small bits and pieces that came her way. They weren’t even full-formed elements; they were more ideas and thoughts. A gentle touch, a moonlit night, a sense of being. She had to wait the longest to get a piece of the stallion, but she eventually did—and to her great good fortune, it was a warm feeling of familial love.
She sneaked out of the dream and crafted her stalking pony, a golem of dreamstuff. It was the idea of Lyra and it would make its way through the layers, and it would find the stallion. Ever so gently, she pushed it into the stallion’s dream, a slender thread of magic trailing from its tail, out through the layers.
The alicorn watched carefully indeed, until the thread flashed a new color. Her golem had found its target and opened up a chink in the walls of his dreaming. Eagerly, she slipped in, following her thread through all the layers.
Unconsciously, she shifted the dream to her favorite pool. It was a focus she’d used for years—centuries—and while the dreamscape around it might change, the pool never did. Once it was in the mind of her subject, she could come back to it whenever she wished. She shrouded herself in mists and coalesced into her dream-form.
At first, the only clear images in the dream were the pool and the stalking pony. Her essence spread out from her hooves, pouring over the pool and covering the dreamscape, fixing it in place. Tendrils of mist rose up wherever she touched, and she saw her golem begin to lose form. The alien mind seemed to grab for it, and a silver-bright flash came up from beside the construct. She could feel the dream beginning to shift and weaken, and that would not do.
Luna came fully through the pool just as her stalking-Lyra vanished. She got her first glimpse of Dale just as he grabbed for Lyra—like so many things in a dream, the form was incomplete. Most of his body was missing; only his right arm which grasped futilely at the drifting fog was there. The rest of his body was little more than a mist, and she dared not attempt to pull his image forth from his memory. Maybe once she knew him a little bit better she could try, but right now the dreamworks were too fragile to make the attempt.
In the past, she’d always been able to fill in the details—even those that the dreamer did not know. In his case he was a complete unknown. Still, she’d seen that vocabulary book he had given them, and it had pictures of their bodies. She mentally added in the missing parts—not because she needed to, but because it was more comfortable to her than trying to interact with a disembodied soul. She hoped that the real Dale was more appealing than her mind’s creation.
He groped around in the fog for a few minutes before he felt her presence. She could sense that he was trying to identify her. She could see bright flashes of fright; she would have to come forth soon. She would learn nothing useful from a nightmare.
She concentrated, pushing herself more into the dream. It would be best, she decided, to appear as one of them, although she’d have to be careful. Too little illusion and he’d see right through it; too much and detail flaws would come out. But there was a perfect balance between detail and ambiguity, and she’d practiced for centuries. Recalling the illustration of the mare, she shifted her form and rose above the mist.
He relaxed as soon as he saw her, she was pleased to note. She drifted across the surface of the lake, allowing her to see herself as he did; it would make the illusion easier. Her shoes had transformed into flexible covers over her hands and feet, while her peytral remained around her neck. She could see her mane and tail drifting around out of the corner of her eye, looking out of place on her new bipedal form. When she crossed her eyes, she could spot the tip of her horn, and no doubt her crown was still in place, too. She resisted the urge to reach up and check.
—I am Luna, keeper of dreams.
He looked at her—gawked, really. Perhaps she hadn’t been so wise to chose this form, after all. It might have been safer to appear as the furry creature from the counting book. Maybe his kin regarded them as teachers, or even shamans.
—Why am I here?
Luna smiled benevolently. —Why did you come here? She released her hold on the dreamscape, allowing him to re-mold it to his desire. Some ponies believed that dreams allowed the mind to make sense of things that had happened during the day. Whether that was true or not was immaterial; she’d noticed that ponies who believed that often enough dreamed about problems in their lives. Maybe Dale would, too.
She found herself standing in an open field as Dale looked through a telescope. He seemed smaller than she’d imagined. Flashes of memories of giant rockets launching into the sky begin to appear around the mini-Dale. Vague bits of speech rang out, but she couldn’t understand the words. There was a brief sequence of some white-suited creature slowly walking down a ladder onto a desolate gray landscape, and then she saw giant oval-topped tripods shooting magical energy beams at tall stone and glass cities that reminded her of Manehattan. Odd self-propelled wagons rushed towards them, but they were destroyed in brilliant flashes of color. An instant later the dream was gone, and she found herself in a world filled with short bear-like creatures, jabbering like primitives as they tossed simple weapons at men wearing white armor. A human mare walked along a line of soldiers, sticking flowers into tubes that the soldiers were carrying, while another ran in terror from a flaming village.
Perhaps his people have unhappy memories of war. It would have to be recent—Equestria was certainly not without conflict, but that was mostly buried in the long-distant past. It was something that was covered in the history books, but they said nothing about the courtyards running red with blood, or the sickening thud of pegasi dropping onto the battlements; they never said a word about the stench of a battlefield, nor the crows that followed her father’s army. The history books did not speak of the pain of seeing young eyes gleaming out from under silvery helmets, only to be consumed by the funeral pyre that night. She could still see Clover’s broken body lying sprawled across the steps in front of the Water Gate, the splinters of the door mute testament to the unicorn’s last act in life.
She felt a warm pressure on her shoulder and realized that Dale had placed his hand there. Luna wiped a tear from her eye and stood back up, blanking her memory. Silly filly, you’re not trying to show him your memories, you’re trying to find his. She fluttered her wings in frustration.
She tried to move back to neutral ground, changing the landscape to nondescript grasslands. The sky darkened to night again, but there were lights shining down, and bleachers on either side. He was standing with ten other stallions in a tight huddle. All eleven were wearing blue shirts and yellow helms with a grille across the front. They shouted at each other—more strange words—and then they lined up against the enemy. On a call, the formations broke, and he was suddenly in possession of a strange brown ovoid object, clutching it against his chest. He must keep it away from the enemy. They dove at him, trying to knock him down. Suddenly he was in the clear—the field opened up and changed to a sandy beach. One mare, wearing a bright orange vest, was standing between him and the end of the beach. He turned his head, and she saw Lyra galloping alongside him. She could feel his elation and triumph bursting forth—until the human mare raised up a twisted blackened claw and pointed it at him. The sea turned angry and the wind picked up, flinging sand and spray into his face.
He tucked his head down against the maelstrom and crashed into the orange-vested mare and then everything went white. Luna concentrated and brought herself back into the dream. Dale was sitting alone in the vast expanse of nothingness, pushing a small metal cart back and forth. He was small again, and she began to realize that he was imagining himself as a foal. The scene coalesced into a living room, walls and floor forming first, layered over with details; she looked around curiously. So many things seemed so much like the average pony’s house, yet everything was completely different. He set his toy aside and ran to the window, pressing his face against the glass. Outside, she could see dozens of metal carts rushing along a street, and one in front of his house. A tall human stallion stepped out, his proportions distorted in the dream. More flashes of memory—the two tossing a white ball back and forth, fishing off a dock, running a train around a circle of track. Dale unwrapped a tube like the ones the soldiers carried—it’s under a decorated tree.
The scene shifted and they’re on a small boat. A loud buzzing noise came from behind her head as it skimmed across the top of waves, incredibly fast—maybe faster than an average pegasus could fly. Dale was holding on to a small wheel, which apparently controlled the boat. He brought it right up onto the beach and ran for Lyra who was being accosted by eleven ponies in helmets and one human mare holding up a tube—a weapon! He’s running for the woman, and she turns the tube at him and . . . .
They’re back in the white place again. Luna touched his shoulder. —You have done well. Your sire would be proud.
He relaxed when she spoke. She could feel the tension leaving his body. She took control of the dream back, summoning the pond. She took her hand off his shoulder and slowly walked away, toward the pond. She could stay, but he’s had enough for one night—she’d gotten far more than she’d imagined she would, and she couldn't risk damaging his sanity by dredging up any more memories. As she reached the center of the pool, she released her hold on the dream, letting it fragment and drift apart like smoke on the wind.
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I'm suprised Luna didn't recognize a lunar surface. The ponies are one step closer to discovering how advanced humans really are. Keep up the good work, can't wait till they can actually understand each over and revelations start erupting.
I'm suprised Luna didn't recognize a lunar surface. The ponies are one step closer to discovering how advanced humans really are. Keep up the good work, can't wait till they can actually understand each over and revelations start erupting.
3768535
In canon, Luna was in the moon, rather than on it. More importantly, the image would have flashed by so quickly she didn't recognize it at first. She will, when she reflects on what she's seen-- and even Twilight knows that humans have visited the moon, and Twilight has presumably shared this knowledge with Luna.
Moller is not going to have a good time of this investigation
I mean the next step will lead him to the huge recently purchased library of odd books, the faraday cage with the computer etc -- it is going to beg more questions than answer any
Seem like?
Twilight thinking that all omnivores think the same has to be the result of sleep deprivation. Raccoons and baboons do not share similar mindsets.
Mind magic in Equestria certainly isn't considered too invasive, with Twilight Sparkle casually forcing everypony to desire a doll, no pony batting an eye at the mindrape Discord puts them through, etc. That might have something to do with how transitory it all seems, which is at odds with Luna's fear of permenant insanity. Of course, my assumption that the dreamwalking Luna does has anything at all in common with mind magic individuals like Twilight Sparkle, Chrysalis, and Sombra utilize is just that, an assumption.
Fun chapter, especially Mallory's bit.
Great chapter. The dream stuff was really interesting. It's also good to see that there is no language barrier in dreams- that could prove useful down the line, and I know you're not dumb enough to not use it, especially because you put it in there. Hoping to see more.
3768556
Good, I look forward to seeing her reaction. I also look forward to Dale explaining human history, and maybe explaining those images to luna.
good start so far, he has the respect of lyra and luna. couldnt ask for a better first encounter.
3768568
Yes, I feel sorry for him already. Maybe I'll write a side story called "Moller and the detectives get drunk and cry a lot."
hmmm.....
3768574
Correction made; thank you.
Yes, it is.
Mind magic can be scary stuff. I'd think that most mind-control and mind-altering spells would be strictly forbidden, just because of the dangers to society. Just look what Twilight accidentally did to Fluttershy in Bats!
3768685
You'd think so, wouldn't you? But the show has made zero effort to show that mind magic is treated any differently. I suppose when friendship acts as a natural counter, and (looks like) it can't be used for any negative functioning magic, one could get pretty blasé about the whole thing. I mean, Twilight just happened to have a spell that forces the recipient to relive past memories in s2e2. Imagine what that could do if memories were unpleasant!
3768721
Passing on memories did in the bad guy in The Crow:
Yeah, that could be bad news if misused.
You are one amazing author, you know that?^_^ Oh, and wonder what she'll inform the others based on what she saw.^_^
I'm surprised that Twilight isn't entertaining the idea "perhaps they can't digest cellulose" concept, but then again, she does have a lot on her plate (no pun intended) at the moment.
I can't get enough of this story. It's one of the rare ones on my "email me when updated" list.
Bravo, and do keep it up, old chap!
i1.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/531/557/a88.jpg
It looks like Luna understands Dale's position now. That's nice. I'm a little worried for the woman though. She was the one who attacked Lyra despite being ordered to (I think...). Will Luna get mad and attack her or order her imprisoned/interrogated? Ordered to shoot a unicorn, kidnapped to an alien planet, lose a hand, drugged, then visited by a couple of wrathful sun and moon alicorns? Poor girl...
3768685
Please say that the carrot is perfectly ordinary and identical to the terrestrial version. It's just too hilarious to pass up. Plus having different biology would be unjustifiable since the flora and fauna mirrors Earth so much and we have seen that it is digestible by humans.
Oh good, mental patterns are compatible, we were concerned Luna was adversely affected from the last chapter. I do have to say that the path of entry seems to implicate a lot about relationships I think. The question now is, when familial position is Dave in now?
Keep going! ;)
It's difficult for me to express the unfeigned jolt of disappointment and frustration I get every time I see your Author's Note appear at the end of the page. Each chapter's end I find myself rapidly cycling through the entire set of Kübler-Ross stages. This one included a particularly long stop at stage three, as I begged the screen out loud for the chapter not to be over. No other story has ever done this to me, even ones that I would rate higher (the masterworks of GhostOfHeraclitus, for example). I just cannot bear for any given chapter of this story to end.
3768556
And that's assuming the Equestrian moon's surface looks anything like our own. The color is the same, as seen from the planet, and it seems to have craters, but that leaves a lot of room for differences.
3768736
It's pretty much bad news all around, in my opinion. It's certainly morally questionable at best, even with the best intentions, to go around poking in someones innermost self without their express permission. I was kind of hoping Dale's mind would recognize the intrusion at some point and boot her millennial backside out of there. Preferably with some residual mental trauma as a going-away gift. I know I'd be murderously furious if someone went poking through my memories - and used my feelings for someone else as a decoy to get in, to boot!
I'm just waiting for the BIG REVEAL.
3769597
Or that their moon even *has* a surface.
I always figured FiM world's cosmology was entirely unlike ours, and that their sun and moon are merely luminous discs (of identical size!) that move about the inside surface of their Celestial Sphere. I mean, it's a fairy tale world, right? Our views of it shouldn't be constrained by our own universe's scientific knowledge.
I'm kind of surprised that Luna was able to see the dreams of a human. I thought they would be immune to any kind of magic, since their world doesn't have any, and the only way to actually be immune to any force of nature is to simply not interact with it at all.
I really don't get why we have flashes back to earth.
Even if by some stroke of luck they figure out exactly what happened, they don't have the technology necessary to open up a wormhole. Also, judging by the pacing that's going on with Dale and the ponies, it'll be years, if at all, before they decide to open up a wormhole once again.
Ah, my two favorite HiE stories still in the works update back to back. This and Misunderstandings.
3769919
Not in this story, since they're actually in the same universe here. And pretty close to Earth, at that.
There's another story I'm following, in which Equestria really is at the center of a celestial sphere, which is also the boundary of their entire universe. A scientist from our world ends up there, and has a bit of an acute case of existential claustrophobia when he realizes just how tiny a universe he's ended up in.
3771787
In the same universe, and close to Earth? How did you arrive at that conclusion, I wonder? Was that something from way back in the beginning when Celestia was first planning her little sunrise vacation? It's been A While...
3771090 Ever heard of foreshadowing?
Don't question it, read it.
3768721
One possibility is that a pony's magic is somehow tied to friendship. Actions which a pony takes against friendship (or harmony, let's say) are less effective, unless the pony has some other source of power (the Alicorn Amulet). Perhaps the highest-level unicorns and alicorns can get around this (Twilight and Celestia can use Sombra's dark magic, and Luna obviously used something to try and fight Celly way back when). If that's the case, magic would largely fall under the 'rules' of clerical magic in D&D or other similar games. There might be an opposing force of Chaos magic--which not only Discord has access to, but maybe Chrissy, too. That could explain why when the Tree of Harmony was weakened, the tentacles showed up . . . and why Celestia or somepony else hasn't just burned the Everfree to the ground.
3768630
There still is, to some extent. Only very strong feelings and emotions came through--as words--but Luna couldn't understand what was said in the huddle, nor the bits of speech Dale was remembering (JFK's speech, "One small step for man," etc.)
I don't want to use dreamwalking as a shortcut to learning language (it's only mildly more creative than a universal translator or a language spell IMHO); I think what it can communicate are emotions and feelings. You don't have to speak German to enjoy one of Wagner*, for example, and you can enjoy Vermeer without knowing a single word of Dutch.
*I chose the clip from Apocalypse Now since it kind of fit the theme in this chapter.
3768891
Thanks!
She'll wind up telling Celestia sooner or later.
3769086
I wanted to avoid any overt Inception references. On the other hand, a good hallway fight scene . . .
ponybot.net/pix/2240.jpg
3769018
3768925
Honestly, I'm not sure when humans knew we couldn't . . . sure, we've known what plants were poisonous for a long time, but when did we actually know that eating a plateful of grass had no nutritional value whatsoever? Do the ponies know enough about biology to understand why they can't eat certain foods, or do they just know that if they do, they get sick? We didn't begin to understand it was a chemical process until the 1820s.
3769310
Technically, she was ordered to keep things away from the bubble. In her defense, she did try to use non-lethal force (and Anthony didn't tell her she'd have to try and stop a unicorn, either). I think that in a realistic first-contact type scenario--assuming both sides are rational thinkers--that there would be some latitude given for 'misunderstandings.' Especially since in this case, it ended with the girl being seriously injured, and Lyra being unharmed.
3769316
You'll just have to wait and see.
3769445
It seemed like they would have to be, since magic works on humans. I did consider going the other route, and having them not show up at all--just be blank spaces.
3769481
Lyra: "You open the top here, to let the fireflies get in and out."
Dale: "Fireflies?"
3769597
From our point of view, sure. From the pony perspective, where Luna is a guardian of dreams, perhaps they expect it. Maybe they get mad when Luna doesn't come during a nightmare. I'm sure that there were cultures on Earth where 'gods' or 'angels' visited the dreamer, perhaps serving as a source of inspiration or protection.
Luna does know that it's not a polite thing to do, but I don't think she'd see it as immoral, unless she's affecting dreams for her own personal gain. She, of all ponies, is probably the most familiar with the bad kind of mind magic, like what Sombra used on Twilight and Spike.
3771803
For the purposes of this story, they have a moon which has a surface and a sun which is a mass of super-hot burning stuff. Luna said in Celestia Sleeps In that ponies have visited both (although the one who visited the sun did not survive), using the same spell which Celestia and later Lyra used to get to Earth. That having been said, if I write another story like this one, I won't feel the need to stick to the constraints of a somewhat 'normal' solar system (besides being geocentric, of course. That's not normal).
Way back in Chapter 1 (or maybe it was 2) of Celestia Sleeps In, Earth was located by the ponies using a telescope and some magic. Earth is less than 60 LY away from Equestria (there's a reason why I picked that number).
3771787
What story? That doesn't sound familiar, and I'm always looking for other good reads.
3770127
If they were totally immune to magic, they wouldn't be in Equestria (spell malfunction), and Kate would have already had her hand amputated (magical salve). Magic has been shown to have some effects back on earth (Celestia's hair vs. radios in Celestia Sleeps In).
As portrayed in the show, the study of magic is a scientific pursuit. If we assume that magic is a natural force (maybe it works somehow on a quantum level; maybe all the dark matter in the universe has magical potential), then there would be no immunity from it even if we humans don't know what it is. People were being killed by lightning long before there was a theory of electricity.
3772013
Bit of a mild rant here, feel free to ignore.
Sometime LONG before homo sapiens sapiens. If you don't go by the "seven day creation/intelligent design" bit, it had to take hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of years to evolve the lack of a useful cellulose-digesting cecum. I'm not sure when the primates who'd eventually lead to man switched over to a fruit/nut/grubs diet, but it had to be very long ago.
And then, of course (no matter what the fanatical vegans insist), one day we discovered that the easiest access to large amounts of protein was by picking up a nice sharp stick and going over to that slow-moving animal over there and turning it into a tasty meal with a quick stab and a bit of fire.
As I noted on another forum, technology allows the indulgence of vegetarian and herbivore wanna-be sorts. In a more brutal, primitive world, they'd all be dying of malnutrition simply because they couldn't digest what they needed - and thanks to our population success, there simply wouldn't even be enough plant material to go around even if they could digest it. (I believe someone pointed out recently that more than 50% of our current crops here on Earth depend upon the artificial nitrogen fertilizers produced by the German-invented Haber-Bosch process. Take it away, and watch humanity starve...)
3772614
What I meant was when did we discover the processes of digestion well enough to know why we couldn't digest cellulose, not when did we as a species lose the ability to. I haven't seen enough evidence on the show to indicate that the ponies have a good grasp of microbiology; with that in mind, they may still be of the belief that eagles eat fish because it's in their nature to do so; eagles don't eat trees because it isn't in their nature do to so. They might not understand that a starving eagle would be more than happy to eat bark if he could.
The 1820s date I mentioned was when William Beaumont did his experiments on Alexis St. Martin, (who had an open wound in the stomach) and discovered that stomach acid dissolved foods; before that, it was generally believed that the process of chewing was all that was needed, and--I would imagine--there was little thought into how the body got the nutrients out of the food. Since I'm pegging pony tech at roughly American Civil War era (with obvious outliers on either side because of magic and differing wants and needs in a different culture), I'm not absolutely convinced as an author that ponies in general understand the process of digestion completely.
3772744
Ah.Okay, I can see that. Though I suspect that if they're using (forgive me for the awkward phrasing) magic in a systematic way, they'd soon discover quite a bit, unless they're the sort to discourage curiosity and questioning.
After all, if you can levitate stuff, glass - and therefore lenses, seem an almost automatic step to take. Baking and brewing creates interest in microbiology (the german beer industry right there can take justified pride in advancing that art, albeit for selfish reasons.) The list goes on with all sorts of short-cuts, magic abilities and technology advancing hoof in hoof. ^_^
With their gifts, ponies would have to be either willfully blind - or fanatically attached to the sort of "fear the future" social stability that humans clung to not so long ago.
Pyramid builders, someone called it once. Or what RUSH depicted in "2112".
3771787
Could I get a link? Sounds like another interesting take on HiE.
3773419
I think Deamon is referring to "Misplaced Science", which can be found here:
http://www.fimfiction.net/story/135740/misplaced-science
The last chapter has the HiE telling the ponies just how LARGE our universe is, and they're having trouble dealing...
3773897
Thanks, Ed. Thed.
3772081
She is doing it for her benefit, just not her own personal benefit. And there's a huge difference between helping somepony out of a nightmare, and forcing your way in through trickery and deceit to peek at someone's very private memories and feelings.
Somehow I don't think she'd like it much if the roles were reversed and, say, Dale or Kate turned out to be capable of dreamwalking and used it to look for the information on how to return to Earth in her mind. Perhaps learning about her little stint as Nightmare Moon in the process. Would she still think it's not immoral, then?
Personally, if I found out someone did that to me I'd rip her throat out, and damn the consequences. This pisses me off more than I probably should let it. Especially since the chances of this ever coming back to bite her are somewhere between "minute" and "no way in hell".
3772115 3773419
It's called Misplaced Science. It's only just getting started at the moment, but I think it has potential.
3772744
You don't really need to understand precisely how digestion works to know that there are things you simply can't eat, even if they're not actively poisonous. There've certainly been enough times when people were sufficiently hungry to try anything, I doubt the whole of pony history has been as plentiful as it is now.
3772799
I get the impression ponies are far less aggressive in general, which would include their inquiries into new studies. They seem to be rather conservative in their approach to most things, and very much inclined to fort up in the face of the unknown. Just look at how they reacted to Zecora, for one thing. Somepony with a weird mane-do and odd fur walks into town, and the whole place went on lockdown until she left!
Also, magic would actually have a tendency to stymy the development of a lot of branches of science and technology. Because it's so versatile and capable, the natural way to approach any problem would be to try and come up with a suitable spell. That works up to a point, but unless it's the sort of magic that can do anything, it will leave gaping holes in your knowledge base and capabilities in areas where it's not suited.
And because magic's so useful, those holes won't filled in easily with other methods, because you'd have to develop them for quite a long time before they're at a point where they aren't useless compared to their magical equivalents. It's like, oh, the current state of computer technology. We're coming up on the limits of silicon chips, but before any new technology can replace them, it'll need to catch up, basically from scratch, with fifty years of chip development. Imagine the ponies like that, except they've had their go-to tool literally forever, never really used anything else, and are far less inclined to push against any frontiers to begin with.
Bear-critters throwing primitive weapons at men in white armor...Star Wars 6?
3774846
If certain limitations are placed on her dreamwalking power, it becomes a little less creepy. I was thinking less Inception and more semi-passive watcher. That is, she can't get Dale to reveal any particular thing--not even by trickery--she can only set the scene, and his consciousness shows whatever. On top of that, she can't separate fantasy from reality (so to speak); in his case, the memories of Star Wars and War of the Worlds are as real as the memory of the moon landing (some of which I'm planning to reveal in the next chapter, hence the spoiler tag). I'd imagine with experience she's learned to tell the difference in ponies (i.e., there is no headless horse), but here she's treading new ground. As you recall, two of the three war dreams Dale had didn't really happen--and Dale also got a lot more insight into her character than she'd intended,too. Nevertheless, it is an interesting moral question--even if she's solely doing it for the benefit of ponykind, is it too intrusive? Obviously, here in the US we've been having similar discussions about the NSA's phone record keeping, and whether or not that's more immoral than Wikileaks.
You're right, of course, that Dale is unlikely to figure it out, and in that sense it probably won't come back to bite her. On the other hand, if she acts prematurely on what she's seen in his dreams without verifying whether it's actually true or not, that will certainly come back to bite her.
Gave it a read last night. It's an interesting concept--the writing's a little sparse for my tastes (but I do love just rambling on and on).
That's true. My point was simply that ponies might not specifically understand the digestive process, not that they wouldn't know that there are things that some animals won't eat.
That's a beautiful summary of my own headcanon when it comes to pony research and technology. (are you reading my mind?) They seem to be generally risk-averse, especially when it comes to new things, and--unicorns especially--appear to think 'magic' before any other solution. Winter Wrap-Up was a perfect example of that. Heck, even Power Ponies, where Spike kept encouraging Fluttershy to 'hulk out,' rather than try and outsmart the Mane-iac.
3772744
http://imgur.com/pFSzFgC
The ponies in the show have hazmat suits. While that's not necessarily an indicator of how advanced their microbiology is, particularly in relation to digestive systems, I think it's safe to say they aren't ignorant of the concept.
3776475
Yes.