The Last Holdouts - A Conversion Bureau Story

by Aedina

Crystal Clear

The Last Holdouts

By Aedina

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y

Chapter Twelve

Crystal Clear

Dr. Jannette Frazer awoke wet, unusually wet. Her own equine aroma filled her nostrils as she fought for full consciousness. Echoing hoofbeats pounded by the sick-bay door as she climbed once more to consciousness.

Was there something happening, another emergency? Was there something she was supposed to be doing? Somewhere she was supposed to go? She was the only pony in sickbay. It was uncommon for a newfoal to be left alone - but, then again, the last couple of days had been anything but common.

Torn between retaining what memory she could of her conversion dream, and the need to assess what was going on in her surroundings, a doctor's long habit of shouldering responsibility won out and she snapped into awareness like a cork released from a bottle. She noted that Florrie's nurse's bag was missing, as was her own packed kit – WITH its containers of potion.

Turning to the hallway leading to the deck, she marveled at the strength in her legs - it had been so long since she could move solely on her own power! Entranced by the joy of her new pony limbs, she watched each step as her hooves crossed over to the sickbay door.

And then she was on the floor! Beside her stood a flustered Florrie "You alright, Netta? ", the nurse asked in concern. Florrie's gaze switched between worried glances of her friend's fallen form, and the ascending rumps of the cargo bay's sleepy newfoals - heading for the galley.

"It's slippery" , the doctor murmured, one hoof-tip tapping at the floor. As if to emphasize Dr. Frazer's point, Bon Chance gave another, now rising, lurch. Florrie went down as the elevator-like effect sent a shudder through the nearby hull.

To Jannette, it was like a reoccurring nightmare. Hadn't she been through this once before? A vague memory of it tickled at the edges of her mind as she pitched across the deck. Some inner instinct guided her to spread her legs out as long as she could. Together, the two mares found themselves tobogganing pell-mell into the base of the stairs.

Erupting through the floor was, for all the world, what looked like a jagged mountain of glass. Subtle creaks and cracks rumbled to more ominous groans and shattering. With a mighty surge of force, Florrie was thrown, quite literally up the stairs, Jannette not far behind her. Only the foresight of Oliver's widened passageways kept the two from being battered by the banister as they were unceremoniously tossed upon the main deck into a jumbled lump of legs and horns. And the funny thing was, nopony seemed to notice their arrival at all. A grander show was in progress, and clearly taking center stage.

Panicking ponies were struggling to keep from sliding over the tilted deck. As though the herd's collective weight might tip the balance, they were all heading aft; right towards THEM.

Everypony on deck had stood transfixed, eyes upturned to the sight of the pegasi constellation, carefully lowering a vast rainbowed parasail to the deck, corners and sides held in their muzzles. Two play-dough like lumps of putty were forming into equine shapes upon the spread canvas. Hooves stomping in thunderous applause greeted their safe landing.

Then……… A sudden buck shook the deck in a tremor, a cascade of rolling motion that echoed with a sound like gunshot. Bon Chance rose from the waves, a fiberglass ballerina. Her bow almost vertical, for an instant, from wave to sky. In a gust of billowing spray the parasail caught the swirling winds, bobbing into a bubble. Spires and rods of crystal grew from the yatch’s frame, reducing the fore-deck into flying splinters.

As everypony slid and scrambled aft, the entire bridge cabin caught the parasail's cables. In one hefty motion the two upper decks of the Bonne Chance split horizontally from the remainder of Her hull.

Railing kept everyone from taking an impromptu salt-water bath. To the wonder-struck eyes of the herd, the deck
floated gently upward, evening out. Those who were watching, saw the rails curve and extend – weaving into a delicate basket pattern that grew like a living hedge. It intertwined to surround and protect the entire circumference of a huge and sturdy Equestrian Airship. Beneath them the waves crashed and swirled amid the shining rib-cage of the Bonne Chance’s crystalline corpse.