Cold Light

by Scramblers and Shadows

Untitled

Let's start again: Who are you? What are you? And how are you on this channel.

Calm down, love. It's me, Millie.

Millie the donkey?

Aye, that's the one. And you're Saffron, the genius engineer from an advanced civilisation? I can see the nouse from here.

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm under a lot of pressure right now. How are you on the network?

I'm connected to a repository in Blueberry's ship. I were trapped in here when the fightback began. I managed to block the door, but I don't know what's going on outside.

But you don't have antlers. Or a – no, you do, don't you? The implant! Ha! Okay, you're connected to that repository, and it's formed a network with this one.

Is that why I keep seeing my thoughts in that weird story thing you're writing?

Have you? Hold on … Huh. I didn't notice that. The narratator is a clever thing. And you see who else is there?

Blueberry.

She's on the network too. Makes sense. She's connected to the repository upstairs.

Is there owt you can do to stop her?

Yes, of course I can stop her. That's why I've spent the past twenty minutes telling a story and lamenting our fate. No, the only way to stop it is break the connection, or go up and tear her away from the repository.

I'd love to help, but, y'know.

Well, I'm glad we got to have this chat before the world ends, anyway.

Yeah, me too. But maybe we should try and figure a way out of this mess?

-
Untitled

The voices in her head were comforting, in an odd sort of way. At least they gave her something to concentrate on beyond her own failure.

There were the bits about glory, power, importance, whispered in both ears in fragmentary aphorisms. She was sick of these. But then there was something else. They weren't quite voices. More like an awareness of communication in the abstract; something between speech and writing. A get-together among friends? That was more interesting. She wanted more of that.

Then she realised.

“Hey, Millie. We're talking telepathically with the aid of of thousand-year-old crystal statues. Isn't that cool?”

The voices stopped, leaving the daemon whispers. For a horrible moment, she thought she'd all imagined it.

Then came the distance communication. Millie. “Aye, it is at that.”

“Saffron, did you say anything could become an elemental?”

On a cleaner, more direct signal: “Anything that counts as a substance, yes.”

“Including ansible fire?”

“I … suppose Where are you going with this?”

“Ansible fire … dragon fire. I studied this magic when I was a filly. We use it on paper, but it can transport anything combustible.”

“Such as …” began Saffron.

“Oh balls,” said Millie.

“ … flesh.”

Silence on both channels.

“It's not one of the spells I disabled,” said Saffron. “It might work.”

“I know,” said Millie at last. “You can't do it.”

“You'll make a great saviour,” Sweetie Belle told her. She smiled faintly.

“Yeah, sure. You tell me that again when we all make it out of here alive. Give me a second.” A pause. “Okay, I'm ready.”

Sweetie Belle opened her eyes. The light seemed to drive a needle through her forehead.

There it was. The ansible. She reached forward with her good hoof, winced at the pain in her belly, and pushed the handle down. Green flame washed the tray. She reached out with her elemental spell and gathered it.

A dragonfire elemental. It seemed to struggled for a moment, then pulled free in a long, glowing strand. As soon as it was in the air it separated into two.

Perfect.

“Go,” she ordered. “Pick her up.” She pulled Millie's co-ordinates from the repository and gave them to one half; the other, she sent to the top of the stairs to wait.

---

Mille stood waiting. Her weapon – a metre-long bar of something or other – felt awkward and chill in her teeth, and the bit of thread under her tongue threatened to choke her.

Come on. Come on.

The fire outside had gone out some time ago. She'd blocked the door well enough and they'd given up on trying to open it. Bigger things to worry about, she supposed.

Then, from under the door, a faint green glow. A moment later, a flattened sheet of flame worked its way under the door. Once through, it gathered itself into a glowing amoeboid, floating a few feet off the ground and growing steadily.

She tightened her grip on the weapon.

The ball of green flame flew at her.

---

Blueberry, connected to everything. She felt the facility, every thread of the Scar weaving through it, preparing to give her her final reward. Everything she'd dreamed of, an eternal throne at the heart of the world, everything safe, everyone bowing to her achievement in the face of insurmountable odds.

She felt the thaumic pulse ripple through the chamber. She sensed the motion behind her. The jennet? Now, that was unexpected. She decided to ask Sweetie Belle how she'd managed to accomplish this one.

Soft hoofsteps. The jennet – Millie – holding her crude weapon. The chamber, its dimensions uncertain and unsteady, holding them both. Blueberry pretended she didn't notice, until Millie was halfway (more or less) across the floor.

Then, without disconnecting, she swung round and threw an impact spell.

A soft thump. The bar went skittering across the chamber. Millie ended up on her side on the floor, foreleg twisted.

Blueberry walked over to her. Barely visible ribbon of aura rose from the tip of her horn and arced over to the repository.

“One last shot, is it?” she said, smiling sweetly. “I'm sorry it didn't work.”

Millie glared up at her. She said nothing.

“But why did she send some flunky to do her dirty work? Couldn't Sweetie Belle make it herself?”

Millie said nothing.

Blueberry stepped right up to her and smiled. “Nothing to say, hm? Don't worry, I'm used to it. And I understand. It won't change anything, but it's the most dignified way to lose.”

Millie raised her head, and spat at Blueberry.

Blueberry recoiled. A sticky sensation at the top of her horn. “Well, now. That was just rude. I …” Her connection to the repository had been cut. Millie was beginning to stand. Blueberry tried to swat her down with another blow – a moment later found herself on the ground, swamped in nausea.

The thread on the base of her horn.

She fought through the nausea and scrambled to her hooves. “It doesn't matter,” she told Millie. “It's already programmed. It's already centred on me. Even this little trick was for nothing!”

Millie cocked her head. “Now that,” she said, “was a daft thing to say.” She leaned in a bit down on Blueberry's horn. And then she pushed.

Blueberry tried to hold her ground. She set her hooves firmly against the ground and pushed back. But Millie was stronger than her, and she had to take a step back to stop herself from falling. Then another, and another.

“Is that it? Is that your plan? Come on, this is ridiculous.”

They crossed the room haltingly. Out the corner of her eye, Blueberry caught sight of the repository: Herself rendered in glowing crystal, head held high, with some impossible combination of infinitely glorious and infinitely tasteful tresses; and her tail between her legs like some chastised filly.

Her real tail flicked out in frustration. Then its tip seemed to light up in agony. She stifled a scream. For a moment, Millie stopped pushing.

Blueberry couldn't see behind her, but on the far reach of her peripheral vision she caught the faint false-orange glow on the floor. One of the threads of the Scar. Inside that – what? Nothing. Matter would dissolve so thoroughly as to vanish entirely.

“Okay!” she cried. “I surrender. Take me back! Reform me! Make me your friend. That's what you people do, isn't it?”

“Not my department,” said Millie through her teeth. She pushed forward again.

Comments

[hydra30]

Whuuuut?

[RoyalBardofCanterlot]

I love it! Go Millie! So, she's going to bite her horn right off, eh? I've been around angry donkeys, this could totally happen.
Also, hooray for Sweetie Belle, thinking quick on her hooves!

(Though it should be "leaned down AND bit)