Friendship: Beyond Equestria

by law abiding pony

18: Spelunking for Fun and Profit

Opera was not an art to be conducted half-heartedly. Acoustics, presence, and skill are paramount to its execution. To that end, one of the two huge tents originally designated to cover the excavation was repurposed to be the concert hall. The tent was erected just inside the perimeter of the pony camp with several griffins already attending.

Rows of chairs and benches faced a simple stage of cargo boxes where a pair of unicorns weaved spells to allow music to flow as if they were in a symphony hall. With a medical sheet acting as a stage curtain, Gleaming Scythe hid behind it absolutely fuming. It didn’t help that the objects of her supreme ire were standing nearby: Captain Brynhild and Praxia. The worst of them all, that horrid, malevolent pegasus that dared to suggest the opera: She Who Shall Not Be Named. That pegasus was lounging in the front seats arrogantly waiting for the show to start. The slight against her honor, the insult to her pride, the revulsion constricting Gleaming’s throat, threatening her singing voice at seeing the pegasus mare mocking her by her very presence.

There was a loud droning murmur coming from the awaiting divided audience. Gleaming Scythe leveraged all her willpower to ignore that thing, and peered through the slit between two curtains. The ponies and griffins had split themselves on either side of the seats as if they were separated by the bride and groom halves of a wedding. No one wore their helmets thanks to the tent’s isolated environment.

The only exception was Alf’s personalized high backed chair that currently sat empty. Letting out a huff of irritation, Gleaming pulled the curtain closed. “Regent Praxia, if I must sing for this xeno, could you at least make sure the guest of honor is present.”

“He’ll be along shortly,” Praxia replied coldly, eyeing her counterpart with distaste. The two hybrids shared a terse glare until Brynhild roped a foreleg around Gleaming’s neck and leaned heavily on her. Gleaming lost her balance and nearly fell flat on her face before she caught herself.

“Come now, you glorified clerk, you need to seriously chill if you’re going to sing properly.”

Gleaming’s beak threatened to crack under her strained scowl. When Praxia’s eyes became distant, Gleaming scowled at Brynhild’s snarking face. “What game are you playing, Captain? Punish me if need be, but why are you going along with this farce?”

Not bothering to whisper back, Brynhild tsked disappointedly and detached herself from Scythe. “You poor, poor, gnat. Diplomacy is just another type of combat. You need to stop being so focused on the battles of physical combat all the time. Relaaax, and just focus on the flow,” she said the last word with slow reverence.

Acting as if she hadn’t heard any of it, Praxia addressed the griffin-changeling amalgamation. “Alf’s walking up to take his seat now. I would be remiss to suggest you stop grumbling with your superior and work on loosening up those vocal cords.”

Before Gleaming could protest further, Praxia slid past her and the curtain. With the unicorns’ spells in place, her normal speaking voice was enough to reach everybody. “Ponies, griffins, and our alien friend, may I have your attention.” The conversational clamor died down with chairs getting scrapped around as people raced to take their seats. Prism was parked up front with Alf looking decidedly out of place smack dab in the center-front. When the noise died down, Praxia continued. “Given the fact that our dig teams will breach the compound shortly, the concert will not last for…” Praxia made a show of looking at a clock. “More than one song. So open your ears and listen. You won’t get an encore.”

A series of jeers and catcalling rang out at such short entertainment, but Praxia grabbed her seat next to Prism a bit too quickly for the changeling’s liking. Being in the spotlight in front of a throng of griffins still gave her the heebee jeebees. With the stage lights finally off of her, Praxia sagged in her chair as much as she dared.

Prism had a smirk that hadn’t left her face for the past hour she had been waiting for the show to start. She ignored Brynhild stepping onto the stage and giving expected introductions and what song would be played. “You know, this would have been a lot more fun if you had made bugbirdcat sing that opera song I wanted.”

Praxia stared at the ground as she released a long drawn out sigh. In this brief respite, she was not some representative of the crown. Just one more face in the crowd, at least until Gleaming Scythe took stage and could see Praxia sitting at the front row. “Prism. You know full well that even suggesting that my evil twin should sing “The Great Mighty Poo” is a diplomatic insult. We’re talking about the ‘usual’ second in command for the griffins for Twilight’s sake! I feel dirty just saying its name.”

The smirk faded into a grimace, not that Praxia noticed. “Not you too. Don’t you know how weird it is when ponies use my mom’s name like that?”

Praxia chose to ignore the comment and focused on Gleaming who had an obviously holographic flowing dress concealing her armor. Praxia and Prism did a double take on the elegance of the black faux-dress that gave her already black feathers a sheen that made several griffins whistle in approval. Lines of gold etched angular patterns remanence of old army uniforms tied the fashion to one that was common before Seed Launch.

Prism spied Gleaming’s decidedly changeling rear half where the feathers ended, complete with hooves and pony-like tail when she turned aside to begin. She looks more like a hippogriff than a bugbird.

From behind the curtain, Brynhild wished she had a piano to play, but was forced to activate a printed speaker to play the instrumental part of the song, sending gentle string music flowing through the tent. The pause before the singing actually began gave Alf time to soak it in. Quiet, almost imperceivable violins joined in, framing Gleaming’s voice as she started her song in Griffano.

The gentle, majestic, and powerful notes flowing through the room brought pause to the Equestrians and all the griffins who didn’t know much about Gleaming. With the moment upon her, Gleaming let herself get swept away in her song, closing her eyes to imagine herself standing front and center in a massive auditorium, singing to hundreds of people. Each word, each note that left her lips spoke of calm love and reverence to the art. It flowed like water over everyone’s ears and minds, making the audience forget for this brief point in time, that they were frenemies.

A world away, a particular admiral listened in through every open mic the platoon of griffins had in the tent. In the privacy of his personal quarters, Thorn relished the music. A shame it takes such things to get you to sing in public.

As for Alf, he was struck by deep sadness. Gleaming’s song struck at his heartstrings of days long gone, never to return. Of similar music that once served to enrich his dead society’s culture. This was much more than the random songs the ponies sang to themselves every few days. Gleaming Scythe’s music was rehearsed, professional, and filled to the brim with love he didn’t see in the hybrid until now.

Without anyone truly realizing it, so caught up in the emotion of the music, the song ended. Gleaming Scythe took a long moment to stand silent on stage before bowing towards Alf. The alien’s pain manifested in silent tears, thankfully hidden by his helmet. In that silent moment when the instruments fell silent, and the audience recovered, Gleaming witnessed the tense blue aura, betraying Alf’s painful reminding of all that was lost.

Yet before she could react to it, the griffins started standing up in droves, clapping their approval. The ponies were quick to follow suite. Despite themselves, Prism and Praxia both got up to join the standing ovation, with Prism’s cheer being quite a bit more genuine.

At last, after composing himself enough to notice how everyone else was giving praise, Alf joined in, trying to mimic the rhythm of the clapping. His above all the others gave Gleaming Scythe reason to think it was genuine, rather than her half-kin just getting their jollies off seeing her on stage.

As if remembering herself, Gleaming Scythe stiffly ended the bow and marched back behind the curtain, not bothering to bask in the cheering a moment longer.

Once out of everyone’s eyesight, she tapped her wrist mounted controls to discard the holographic dress. Brynhild was still there, allowing a low melody play out to give the audience a bit of wind down time. “You know, GS, you should really just be a singer instead of fooling around with power. We have enough of those people.”

For a moment, Gleaming thought about snapping some meaningless insult back at her. She knew Brynhild’s type, the kind that wouldn’t react to insults or name calling behind closed doors. And yet the sheer joy and touched sadness she had witnessed in her audience changed her mind. “When the time is right, I am to become a mother of hundreds to hundreds of thousands. I need to be a leader, not some pop star.”

“Says you,” Brynhild countered, only to be interrupted by Praxia making an announcement over a loudspeaker.

“Attention! The dig team at Site Alpha has breach the ruins. Joint preliminary sweeps will be conducted, but the real exploration will wait until oh six hundred central time. Until then, report to your posts or your bunks!”

Brynhild clicked her mic to signal those griffins in the tent to obey as well. The regent has the right idea. The fake GRBs are not dangerous enough to rush this half-cocked. The general clamor of equipment being picked up, chairs getting shoved around, and people talking over each other took sway. “Adjunct,” she started with her command voice. “Since you’re so important, you get to stay behind at the command post when we take the plunge, and make sure none of the ponies get the bright idea of spying on us. That standing order to avoid espionage doesn’t extend to them after all.”

This was the real part of her punishment. Being sent all this way to major discovery, only to sit and watch after the cargo. “Aye, Ma’am.” With a sharp salute, Gleaming departed through the tent’s rear after scooping up her helmet.

---

Shortly thereafter, Prism arrived at the long and narrow barracks tent. After passing through the airlock, Prism yawned lazily as her eyes swept over the scores of soldiers and the scant few archeologists billing alongside her. Aside from some passing greetings, she was more or less left alone as everyone chatted about the opera or other random things.

Prism was ready to crash in her cot had she not spotted Alf leaning against the fabric wall the tent, and near her cot. He was silent, and had his arms crossed. He looked up at Prism, and spoke once she closed in. “Pathfinder, may I ask something difficult of you?”

The morose tone Alf spoke in gave Prism a worried frown. “Sure, what’s up?” she asked as she set her long rifle on the cot. “You don’t mind if I clean my weapon while we talk, do you? We’re on a tight sleep schedule.”

“I will not stop you.” Alf paused a bit, waiting for Prism to break out her cleaning equipment and to sit down on the cot to begin. “After we find the blades and… Free Rea the Polite judge and any others who remain, I would prefer to leave your company for a while.”

Prism stopped mid motion on breaking her weapon down, and gave him a worried eyebrow. “You mean leave the colony?”

“Yes,” Alf replied stiffly, thankful he could voice it to someone at last. “I would ask for a star farrier, but neither you nor these griffins seem to be capable of that presently.”

“You’re not a prisoner as far as I know.” Prism tried to read Alf’s face, but his much smaller eyes and flat face made it difficult for her. “Where exactly are you going to go? Unless our satellites have been running blind the whole time, there’s nothing but wilderness out there.”

“I know… But I cannot stay at Elysium. At… at least not now.” He hesitated, chiding himself inwardly at losing the words he had rehearsed. For Prism’s part, she had not yet shut the idea down, not that she could if he pressed it. “The best words your tongue has is ‘pilgrimage’ or ‘soul search’, I can’t really tell.”

Abandoning her weapon, Prism pushed herself off the cot to close in and lay a sympathetic hoof on Alf’s thigh. “Hey, I get it. You start one second trying to save your race, only to blink and find yourself in a crappy future. For what it’s worth, I think everypony here gets a bit of what you’re going through. I mean – ah – to an extent at least. I’d offer you some equipment but that’s not exactly something I can give. Why didn’t you just ask Praxia or my mother?”

Alf gave her a quizzical look, but took the question in stride. “Praxia Who Leads is presumably very busy and my request is not an immediate issue. You have her ear however, so I suspect you could pass it to her at a better time. But as for your mother, I do not know her.”

Prism dropped her hoof and snorted in bemusement. “Uh, yeah you do. Twilight Sparkle’s my mom.” Alf went rigid with stunned shock. “You mean to tell me, you didn’t know?”

“I – no, I did not.” Alf’s eyes widened as if seeing Prism truly for the first time. “If you are the child of a goddess, why are you here with the commoners?”

Alf voiced his question so loud that several soldiers overheard him and laughed at the idea. Firefly, who was up until now purposely ignoring the conversation, joined in the mirth and walked over still coming his mane after his shower. “Hey Prizzy, you wouldn’t mind letting me answer this would you?”

Prism eyed him with deep suspicion. The prank war had not yet been called off, only put on unsaid hiatus while they were on assignment. “I suppooose I could. But you better watch that mouth.”

“Psscha, no worries.” Firefly cantered right up to Prism and leaned against her like she was a wall, and smirked at Alf. “Lemme break it down to ya there, alieno. It don’t matter whose blood is running through this clown’s veins. Unless she’s got both wings and a horn, she’s as common as the rest of us.” Prism growled at being used as a prop. “So for the time being, she’s just a grunt like the rest of us, ain’t that right, Sugar Rump?”

Prism inwardly gave Firefly a smug smirk at imagining her horn growing in. Outwardly though, she kept her annoyed tone and shoved Firefly off. “I swear if you try to get that nickname to stick I’m going to use you as my personal hoofstool.”

Firefly cackled at her, and Prism’s halfhearted attempt to swat him for good measure. “I’d be your stool the moment Ruby agrees to personally announce your arrival every time you enter HQ.”

Prism’s first thought was to dive head deep into bantering with Firefly, but some part of her dragged her back to Alf’s request. “Anyway, Alf, look, I’d be more than willing to let you go on your merry way, but as you already said, all I can do is relay your request. So, yeah, if you really want to go camping alone, at least let Momma pack your bags first.”

“That is all I ask, thank you.” Clasping all four hands, Alf bowed at Prism, and turned to leave. When neither pony voiced anything, he departed for his private tent. The blood of a goddess mingling with commoners. Even after Rea the Polite Judge granted me an open mind, these ponies continue to astound me.

---

Shortly after breakfast the next day, Prism, Firefly, Alf, and a mixed dozen of ponies and griffins marshaled around the dig site leading into the ruins. Given the sandy ground, excavation had been quick, but it was finding a safe way to breach the walls that had eaten up the most time.

At present, a score of archeologists were scattered about the pit with two of their number near a large fissure in the ceiling of the ruins. The tail edges of the fissure looked like natural damage, but the center of the flaw had the telltale marks of laser drill usage to widen the hole.

Dirt Dobber’s replacement as chief archeologist, Reliquary, hovered around the breach like a mother hen. Prism was on point, poking her head into the hole with a flashlight augmenting the sunlight spilling inside. At present, all she could see was a stone floor with some metal debris in no discernable shapes.

“I hope the damage we were forced to inflict will be worth it,” Reliquary fumed impotently from behind Prism. “This is the biggest archeological find to date! Possibly ever on this planet! Stile Spade, Garland Spinny, and all the greats of the past would be cursing my name for such sacrilege if they were alive! I have half a mind to submit an official complaint to the princ-” Reliquary halted after Prism shoved a booted hoof on his faceplate.

“I swear, Relic, If I have to listen to another hour of you hounding us about a single wall, I’m going to scream.” Prism gave the wiry earth pony a death glare that made him back off, just enough for Brynhild to slide right by him. Sand kicked up as she made heavy landfall.

The griffin’s bubbly voice crackled out of her helmet speaker, “Top of the morning to ya, Pathfinder. Glad to see you actually waited for the rest of us.”

“I don’t see why we wouldn’t,” Prism snarked with a smirk. “If we spring any traps I’ll feel a lot better having some catbirds to take a few hits for the team.”

Brynhild narrowed her gaze at the darkness below, some of her cheery tone faded as she remembered that a number of griffins were killed by the maddened and highly corrupted forerunner AIs they had dug up. She turned her gaze over to Alf who had remained silent so far. He was lost in thought as to what exactly his pilgrimage would be. “You wouldn’t happen to know what sort of threats might have survived the passage of time by chance would you?”

Alf scrutinized the griffin behind his opaque helmet. He was the only one who didn’t bother with a breathing mask. “It’s possible. During the Judgement, those who fell under its sway preached that the reborn races should find these temples to accelerate the new cultures to the stars.” He frowned deeply at the black hole where sand trickled down thanks to the wind. “That was the idea anyway.”

Brynhild hummed contemplatively. “Doesn’t seem to have worked very well.” She unslung her shotgun and leveled it at the hole. “Well let’s get moving then. That GRP isn’t going to shut itself off.”

After sweeping her eyes across the floor one last time, Brynhild leapt inside. When nothing jumped out at her, she moved away so Prism, Alf, and four pony and griffin soldiers could join them.

Firefly stuck his head into the hole but didn’t join them. “You clowns have fun now. I’ll just stay here and catch some sun.”

Prism blew him off and flicked her tail at him. “You do that, and I’ll pay good money to see Praxia’s face when she finds you lounging about.”

Giving her fellow pathfinder no further attention, Prism found Brynhild was already headed for the only path, a broken stone archway, and hopped over to quickly join her. On either side of the archway were large slabs of metal that had presumably been an oval shaped door. One of the unicorn soldiers marched over with his tricorder held aloft.

“Let me make sure the structure’s not going to collapse if we pull the wreckage clear,” the stallion explained, prompting Brynhild to wave at the door in question and step aside.

The pause in their progress was exactly what Brynhild wanted. “So, Alf, is it? What sort of traps would you expect to find exactly? I’m talking weapons or robots.”

Adopting a gesture he had seen used plenty of times, Alf shrugged at her. “I don’t know if they would even use traps or security systems. That wouldn’t exactly attract the new species now would it?”

“It’s safe!” the unicorn announced as he pocketed his tool and started pulling on the destroyed door. With a nod prompted from Brynhild, a burly griffin joined and lent his armor augmented strength in prying the door off, making a hole large enough for everyone to squeeze through.

Prism was the first to step into the hallway, and used her helmet light to illuminate the way. As their scans informed previously, they were in a long stone hallway that was pitch black. Yet the lights revealed wall to wall drawings telling similar tales of a fall from grace that the first chapel that Prism found all those months ago. Unlike the previous ones however, these pictograms had not been left out in the elements, and were bright and vividly colored. The only imperfections were dozens of cracks in the stone.

Prism eyed the illustrated stories only in passing as the group pressed towards the Daggers.

The tunnel was wide enough for five ponies to walk side by side, so Brynhild used the opportunity to walk next to Prism. There had been something bothering the griffin ever since seeing the pegasus the previous night. Yet now that she was so close, it didn’t take Brynhild’s predator eyes to see exactly what was bother her: the size of Prism’s wings. “Well I’ll be.” Brynhild announced just loudly enough to get Prism and Prism’s attention alone. “You wouldn’t happen to be trying to grow a horn to match those big ol’ wings would you?” Whatever joviality Brynhild’s tone usually had wavered significantly in her tone, but not her grin, and in its place was cold tension. A threat left unsaid behind an almost fake smile.

Prism didn’t break stride as the group continued. To her credit, Prism bought time to think by giving Brynhild a long narrow look. Pretty bad on their part to only just now notice how large my wings are. I could lie… but it’s not like I could hide this for long anyway. Prism huffed. “So what if I am?” Prism countered with a much more neutral tone. “That a crime now?”

“Not originally,” Brynhild said offhandedly. “You wouldn’t be the first pony in history to do so. Only… there is that nagging issue of a certain sister of yours who did the same thing.”

Prism came to a stop, purposely bringing the whole procession to a halt so she could stare Brynhild dead in the eye. “You honestly think I would ever be like her?”

Brynhild stepped to the side and waved the rest of the group to keep moving. The ponies of the group waited for Prism to make a similar gesture before they joined the rest of the griffins. With Alf and the tricorder unicorn leading the way, they left the two to pick up the rear. “Try to see it from our perspective,” Brynhild started with cool diplomacy. “Aside from your training in the Pathfinders, we know little about you. You were an unknown curiosity before. But with those wings and your pedigree…” Brynhild made a point to holster her shotgun. “Let’s just say I’m gravely concerned.”

“Concerned?” Prism shot back testily. “Well then, let me make this as monosyllabic as possible,” Prism said with an impressive mix of derisive mockery and seriousness. “My sis can rot for all I care.”

Brynhild approved of the sentiment, but couldn’t stop her diplomatic mood from faltering a bit at the insulting tone. Prism pulled herself up to her full height to buy her enough time to make a mental list of possible ‘concerns’ she could address. “You want to know my reason for wanting to be an alicorn?” Prism shoved her faceplate against Brynhild whose casual grin didn’t budge an inch. “Not like I make a habit of hiding what I want, so let’s be blunt. I developed these wings just trying to survive out here. My job’s not exactly kid-safe.” Prism pointedly turned away from Brynhild as a bit of eagerness filtered in. “I wasn’t planning to originally, but if a horn grows in, then so be it.”

There was little Brynhild could argue with that, and both of them knew it. She gave a huffing smile. “A fair point. The wilds are nothing like we expected coming here. Still though.” Brynhild lapsed into a silence of her own to make sure she would word this correctly. Can’t give her a reason to clam up. “If by some chance you happened to get a horn and all the frills. What would do with yourself? Forever is a long time to live, you know.”

Prism eyed the griffin jane with suspicion. “I just want to live long enough to explore both this planet and the stars when we can finally return to them.”

Brynhild’s thin smile widened a bit more from careful surprise more than anything else. “That’s it? You just want to live forever to explore forever?”

Prism didn’t like the almost accusatory tone of the question. “And what’s wrong with that? You saying I’d be required to have some grandiose plans of being a ruler for all eternity? Screw that!”

It took her a moment, but eventually, Brynhild snorted approvingly. “Doing what you love until the end of time? Are you sure you’re not in Elysium already?” The sharp contrast shift from accusatory suspicion to one of casual joviality made Prism’s brain hiccup. That allowed Brynhild to pull ahead of Prism in the tunnel. “Here you are, exploring quite the unknown indeed,” she called over her shoulder with no intention of listening for a response.

What is she playing at? Unsure of how to respond, Prism fell back on tried and true humor. “Well of course not. I’m not the Alicorn of Exploration yet.” Prism sprinted a bit to charge ahead of Brynhild to take point. “Now, are you going to waste time on me, or are we going to focus on the task at hoof?”

“By all means,” Brynhild side stepped away to give Prism plenty of room to canter on ahead. “Trigger the traps for the rest of us.” It was only then that Brynhild noticed the rest of the group had stopped right behind them. Even though their helmets were polarized, Brynhild could feel the heat of their stares at her. “What? I can’t have an honest chat with any of you ponies anymore?”

Brynhild trudged forward, dropping the subject entirely with the crowd. Yet she silenced her helmet’s speakers to speak with Thorn directly. ~“Admiral, did you catch all that?”~

Thorn’s reply was sluggish due to time lag, but his calculating worry was painfully evident. ~“I did. This development is fascinating. I will be watching her with great interest.”~

~“What if she becomes the next Fire Shrine? There isn’t a Celestia anymore who can delay the sun’s death.”~

~“While true, there is also no alicorn tether to corrupt in order to damage the sun either.”~

Brynhild kept the line open, but paused the conversation as the group arrived at an intact stone door. It lacked any obvious knob or hatch to open it.

“I know of this,” Alf declared as he approached the door in question, prompting Prism and Brynhild to step aside. The alien stretched out three hands to form a triangle and pressed his fingertips against the door. Although the glow was hidden thanks to his suit, Alf poured his magic into the door. “It is odd the Misguided would use technology like this if they expected Newly Awakened to find it.”

Now more than ever, Prism wished her horn would hurry up already so she could probe the door with magic. Not that she’d know how, but that was beside the point. “What makes you say that? Some magic based lock or something?”

“Or something, yes.” Alf grunted a little as he forced more magic into the door. Slowly, the edges of the door started to glow a light blue. When the edges brightened to Alf’s liking, he pulled his hands away right has a film of mana covered the door. “Mana isn’t its prefered power source, but it will suffice for the day, at least.”

With his last hand, Alf tapped the film of mana with a finger. Upon contact, the film retracted back to the edges and the door split apart and slid into the walls.

Yet upon doing so, the hallways on both sides of the door were no longer pitch black, but were slowly illuminating with seemingly no discernible light source. It was as if things simply got brighter.

The mosaics seemed to come alive with the added light, revealing the true artistry involved. Prism’s initial shot of enthusiasm was dampened by remembering Dirt Dobber. “Hey, Alf, I thought you said that trick of yours would only power the door.”

When Alf didn’t immediately reply, she looked over to find him raising his arms into what she assumed was a defensive stance. “I did. I advise caution.”

Alf proceeded slowly while everyone else readied their weapons. With her father’s rifle being so long, Prism had it rest against her shoulder and trudged forward on three legs.

The group did not have to travel far before rounding a bend to come upon a massive two story room, with them arriving on the second story balcony. The dim lighting had spread here too. The weak lighting pushed back the shadows, revealing a large stone statue of some distant cousin of the wolfbeetle was revealed in all its gruesome glory. The statue was joined by a small assortment of other creatures. A few were bipedal with vaguely Alf shaped physiology, but most had a wide range of mutations from chitin to feathered wings. More simplistic and presumably literal artwork covered nearly every inch of the chamber, save for a series of more doors on both levels. When nothing moved, threateningly or not, Prism inched her rifle down. “What is this place? It almost looks like a shopping mall for animals.”

“Or a zoo,” a griffin offered.

The unicorn who had the tricorder was waving it around in front of him. “Pathfinder, the source of the GRBs is below us and…” He pointed his instrument at one of the lower floor’s doors across the throng of statues. “Through there.”

“Good work, Berry Wise.” Prism noticed more than a handful of ponies and griffins were studying the murals or statues. “We can sightsee later, let’s move.”

Not bothering to find any stairs or ladders, the winged members of the joint team flew down while the ground pounders simply jumped and let their augmented armor absorb the shock. Alf was the last to jump, his eyes lingering on the primitive wolf beetle with trepidation.

Brynhild unmuted herself to Thorn. ~“Is there something you’re not telling me about Prism Flash, sir?”~

Her eyes glanced over at the mare in question as the group filtered past the statues. ~“Did you know I visited Canterlot several months before Seed Launch?”~ Thorn inquired with his usual calm and collected tone.

~“Yes. It was right after the ponies’ seed ship left. Something about enlisting the aid of Luna in order to take over leadership of our own ship if I remember correctly.”~

~“Indeed you do. While I was there, I visited the Sun War Museum, to see how the Equestrians wrote their account of the conflict. And I found something very curious. There was a display for Flintlock’s personal weapon, and yet that very rifle was missing. Care to guess where it ended up?”~

They reached the door in question, with Alf opening it easily enough as it was already powered. Brynhild was the third to pass through the door, right after Prism. That proximity drew Brynhild’s eyes to the rifle clasped in Prism’s robotic hands. There had been something about the weapon that originally seemed out of place, only now did she realize it was not the standard issue the rest of the ponies had. ~“She took it?”~

Beyond the door was a gently curved ramp that lead deeper into the ground. “Just how far down is this… place? art museum?” a griffin asked with a mix of irritation and surprise.

“Not too far,” the tricorder welding unicorn responded as he followed Prism on down. “Just two floors, and about fifty meters northeast.”

Thorn had the courtesy to wait for the conversation to die back down before continuing. ~“Now why would Prism Flash bother to abscond with her father’s rifle when the AR-52 is a superior weapon in just about every respect?”

~“... She idolizes him. Flintlock was known to be honorable, and if Prism wants to emulate him…”~

Thorn hummed in approval. ~“We’ll keep an eye on her, of course, in the off chance something causes her motivations to change, but I think she will become an excellent yet not overly destructive adversary.”~

---

Prism didn’t much care for the stark silence Brynhild had fallen into ever since she brought up her alicorn sized wings. Prism glanced at the rest of the griffins, yet none of them seemed to give her any attention. They were constantly stealing glances at Alf whenever they could get away with it. Pah, whatever. Let her freak out. Not like she or that Admiral would dare touch me. They can peacock all they want, but none of us want a war.

Not really desiring to let the griffin occupy any more of her attention, Prism focused on the leveling out passageway the ramp had guided them to.

This hallway was starkly different. Gone was the wall to wall artistry, and stone construction. Here, everything had a plastic sheen to it and was very utilitarian, right down to the drab off-grey color. Yet what stuck out most of all were what almost looked like graphic glitches hanging in mid air all over the place. Objects were covered in snowy static before shifting between spheres, pyramids, and any assortment of geometric shapes. A low hum of static akin to a radio filled the air, while other errors floated slowly around taking the shape of symbols, numbers, and letters. What unsettled Prism and several others more than not, was that some of those numbers and letters were of their own language, not Alf’s. Lastly, the ambient light was dimmer here, and slowly flickered with an unhealthy glow.

“What the hell?” Prism and just about everyone turned to Alf after seeing the strange and unsettling anomalies. “Tell me you know what this is.”

“I do.” The fear in his tone put everyone on edge. “Reality Fissures. What you’re seeing are pockets of reality that operate under wildly different laws. Our eyes can not comprehend what we see, so the mind does what it can.”

Alf kept his hands slightly forward and primed with magic. “Do not touch any of them or you will lose a limb as quickly as ice melts on a star.”

He did not get far before a chevron shaped thing the size of a small dog detached itself from the ceiling barely ten feet in front of Alf. A dozen weapons trained on the chevron as it lazily drifted over to Alf with a small panel opening at the tip. Alf’s eyes went wide and he dashed to the side right as a scanning beam, only visible to helmet sensors shot out and danced over the griffin that had been standing behind him. The reaction was immediate. Every griffin opened fire, peppering the chevron with enough lead to crack and break it apart. It fell into chunks of broken metal on the ground.

There was a long moment of calm. Light smoke rose from the wreckage and a few barrels. The sudden burst of adrenaline made everyone’s aim start to spread out as the failing lights did their best to brighten up the chamber, revealing even more fissure in reality.

“What was that thing, Alf?” Prism half-demanded as a few other chevrons detached themselves

“A limb of a cogitator entity,” he answered hastily. “I fear if it scans me, it will know I am not one of the Unbending.”

“Should we open fire?” Brynhild asked testily as the chevrons kept their distance, taking up positions in between the holes in reality.

“That act may be needed,” Alf warned as he got back to his feet. “If they scan through my suit, they may become hostile to us all.”

“Then maybe you should head back up top,” Brynhild suggested strongly. “I’d rather not have reality torn apart right in the middle of my guts, thank you very much.”

“I second the motion,” Prism added. She nudged the barrel of her rifle back towards the ramp. “We’ll pick up the Daggers, and you can follow along via our helmcams.”

Seeing no reason to argue, Alf started inching back towards the exit. “Agreed. I don’t know what the cogitator entity will do, but it should be less...” He hesitated after seeing two more chevrons hovering at the top of the ramp.

Instead of advancing further, the chevrons glittered with calm blue light. A moment later, a robed alien with Alf’s build, materialized in the middle of the broken reality. It opened its four arms invitingly. As if to reinforce the gesture, the chevrons landed on the ground.

Brynhild wasn’t about to lower her pistol. “What are they doing?”

“It is an act of supplication,” Alf explained with growling anger. “The Misguided’s propaganda preached that those reborn of the divine spark should inherit the old empire.”

Prism scrutinized their situation. The mixed group of twelve strong were caught between two chevrons up the ramp, and fifteen in front. There were two closed yet powered doors on either side of the ramp which could be rushed to offer some cover, but she had no way of knowing what could be waiting inside those rooms. So. We’re safe so long as that AI thinks we’re Alf 2.0. But if he’s right, then they’ll turn hostile the moment they identify him. Just his physiology should be setting off alarm bells for that AI, so we gotta act fast.

As she mulled over the situation, Prism watched the holographic Misguided waited patiently, fully expecting the newcomers to talk amongst themselves, and yielded the initiative to them. “Everyone, switch to encrypted comms. Griffins, I’m sharing an encryption key, I don’t think we should let this thing hear what we’re saying.”

With a series of commands sent across her personal display, Prism sent the key to which the griffins complied after Brynhild ordered them to comply. “You think we can get out of this peacefully, pony?” she asked half-rhetorically.

“Hope for the best, and plan for the worst,” Prism shot back. “We have to get Alf out of here without those things scanning him. We can come back after that.”

For his part, Alf was doing his best to keep a pony or griffin between him and any of the chevrons. “I must agree with this act. Cogitator entities of the Misguided will not relent if it sees you as an enemy.”

“That’s enough for me.” Brynhild jabbed a claw finger at two griffins. “Ake, Ugo, motivate those two drones at the ramp to stand aside so we can fall back.”

With brusk replies, the two griffins took point and fired a few warning shots at the two chevrons before waving the barrels towards the outer wall.

There is a universal aspect to the threat of force. And now was no different. The chevrons pulled themselves off the ground and rested flush against the indicated wall. By twos, the group started to creep back up the ramp. Prism and Alf watched the two chevrons like hawks when it was their turn to start up the ramp.

Yet the alien AI was not blind to Alf’s presence, even as its mind was busied by the constant GRBs hounding its ability to sense anything beyond the facility's walls.

Right as Alf passed in front of the two chevrons, twin invisible scanning beams danced over Alf. However, both the ponies and griffins’ helmets had enough built in sensors to detect the scan, prompting Prism and the next closest pony to fire upon the drones.

They were simply too slow.

The rest of the chevrons lept into the air, the gentle blue replaced by a deep angry black magic that oozed purple. One of the griffins cried out, “It’s using dark magic!”

The unicorns barely had enough time to bring up holy shields right as fifteen cutting beams of black magic lanced straight at Alf. Black energy met golden in a blinding shower of sparks. The group reacted quickly with weapons’ fire. Hundreds of bullets shot down range, only for half of the chevrons to shift forward. They stopped their attack and started radiating a black shield that ripped apart each bullet before they could come close to impacting anything, dusting the drones with little more than fine powder.

“Switch to mana coated ammo!” Prism and Brynhild ordered almost in sync.

“There’s no time!” Alf all but roared to be heard. “We need to leave before it uses the Breaker!”

The dark beams from the chevrons ceased. Those that had been on the attack repositioned themselves into a diamond formation aimed at a griffin on the flanks. Wobbly rings of kaleidoscopic mana shot forward and pierced the holy shield as if it wasn’t even there. Tears and fractures in the very fabric of reality started appearing all over the griffin’s body before he started to squirm in on himself in entirely unnatural ways.

Alf summoned his own magic and thrust all four hands towards the weakening pony shield. A new green coating enveloped it, causing the disruptive attacks to bounce off.

Trying to ignore the horrified screams of pain from the stricken griffin, Prism and the others finished switching ammunition types and were finding better success. Several shots were cutting through the chevrons’ defenses until enough of them had been brought down to nullify the barrier.

The remaining drones scattered, save for one that sank back into its alcove along the ceiling.

Before anyone could get solid aim on the much smaller target, it projected the AI’s avatar. The hooded alien stood definately, yet its face was concealed completely in the shadow of its cloak. “Sacrilegious Fallen One! I don’t know how you have evaded righteous judgement for so long, but I will satisfy the Pantheon here today!”

Shouting with rage Prism had never seen from Alf before, the alien surged ahead several paces. “Ruinous lies! You know damned well Those of the Cloth were lied to! Rea the Polite Judge herself sent me here!”

Prism and the others used the conversation as time to rearm and assess the fallen griffin. The very walls rattled from the AI’s laughter. “Of course she did. So you could be delivered to me for purification or elimination.” That earned renewed hatred from Alf. “Praise be to Rea the Polite Judge for her wisdom,” it said reverently with hands held aloft to the sky.

Prism didn’t like the mechanical chunking that was sounding from behind the flanking doors. “Alf! We gotta fall back for reinforcements!”

Alf was barely given time to respond before several ponies and griffins started withdrawing back up the ramp. Alf started too, only for the AI to project a holographic wall in front of the soldiers. It was not solid, but it had the desired effect of making them halt in their tracks.

“If you are allied with this Fallen One,” the avatar yelled out with righteous anger, “Then you must be able to understand my warning.” This time, a second avatar materialized in place of the fake wall. “If you attempt to leave with the Fallen One, I will drench this world in radioactive fire!”

With the immediate risk of violence subdued thanks to the absence of the chevrons, the ponies and griffins had a moment to give the threat some thought. “You can do that?” one of them blurted out.

Prism looked to Alf for confirmation, only to feel a pit of fear when the alien said nothing to contradict the AI. Having earned their undivided attention, the avatar lifted an accusatory finger at Alf. “Do you honestly believe I am blind to the Holy Call? It bathes this planet in its harmless signal, but all it would take is a minor adjustment to make it scour all biological life if I deem it necessary.

“The divine above activated the Holy Call to draw you here so that I may finish what we started so long ago.”

“Lies!” Alf raged as he punched the avatar with no effect. “Rea the Polite Judge sent me here so that I may sever my ties to the divine realm so she and the others can be reborn!”

The avatar dropped its finger and took a step back. “The Severance Daggers? You - you would actually cut your own spark? Willingly!?” The anger faded from its voice and was replaced by skepticism.

“It is what Rea the Polite Judge asked of me,” Alf spoke with deep pain as his own rage smoldered just beneath the surface. Thinking it wise to not interrupt, Prism and Brynhild both ordered everyone to remain outwardly silent.

“You Fallen Ones raged against the Holy Judgement to keep both your divine spark and your form. Why would you damn yourself far worse than you believed the Judged to ever be?” Alf didn’t answer right away. He clenched his fists and lowered his gaze, trying to piece together what he should really do. Sensing his hesitation, Prism wanted to rest a reassuring hoof on him, but didn’t know if he would take it the right way.

The avatar opened its arms into a calm stance. I have heard many wild claims from the Fallen before, yet this is too horrid for anyone to ever lie about. “What Rea the Polite Judge asks of you… It is damnation. Your soul lost the instant your body eventually dies. No future. No rebirth. Just the howling dark of the infinite void. You know this. She knows this. Stand there and tell me that is a better fate than what I can still offer you.”

Rea’s comment about Twilight Sparkle becoming Alf’s patron deity had always rung hollow in his ears. She is corporeal. Limited. Her power is of the mortal realm, not the heavens above. His breaths came in stutters. Even if she accepted me, how could she possibly actually connect our spirits? An idea occurred to him, putting a brief pause to his deteriorating emotions. Could that work? Surely she would be capable of it if I did that.

The long pause had given Brynhild time to try to retrieve the body of the griffin, but the corpse was in tatters where the rips in reality had carved him to several pieces. The gruesome work would have to be limited to reclaiming his dog tags for now. Damn it! We got complacent. I figured any of the forerunner AIs would have been so corrupted they couldn’t function. Brynhild was joined by the griffin’s chaplin who gave the dead his final rites.

As for Prism, she cast caution to the wind and shook Alf’s leg. ~“Listen. Say whatever you have to do to get this AI to not fry the planet. You can distract her while we find the gamma projector and destroy it. Smack this AI around some for good measure. We grab the daggers on the way out. Boom, bing, done like dinner.”~

~“Were it so easy.”~ Alf gave the young mare a brief sad look before returning his eyes to the avatar. “Are your Judgement Chambers still functional?”

Prism and those ponies in the know, looked at him in shock while the avatar dipped its hooded head. “They are in need of servicing since the last time I was awake, but nothing my limbs can not repair.”

With a finality that even he wished to not carry, Alf jabbed a finger at one of the stallions. “Then turn me into one of them.”

“What?!” Prism all but yelled with one eye twitching. She grabbed one of his right arms and pulled him downward to face her. ~“Tell me this is a joke! A bluff maybe! We didn’t come all this way just to give up!”~

In her haste, Prism forgot to stop broadcasting to the rest of the soldiers, prompting Brynhild to jump up and leave the chaplin to his duties in order to confront Prism. “And what exactly makes you think we can do anything else? You heard that AI! It has the whole planet at gunpoint!” Brynhild closed the distance between her and Prism. “I will not let you get us all killed.”

Upon saying that, the ponies and griffins brought their weapons and glowing horns at each other. Prism pulled away from Alf, but at this point it was too late to unshoulder her rifle to add to the stand off, so instead she looked back up at him. “You think this AI could act on that threat?”

Alf couldn’t let go of his mounting hopelessness, mental fatigue weighed heavily on his voice. “We called it Getha’s Voice. Destroying a biosphere was not its intended purpose.”

“And yet all it takes is a few modifications,” the avatar stated definitively. “Of which should be done… now.” At once, the constant faux of gamma bursts ceased pulsing, giving everyone’s built in sensors a much cleaner picture for the first time. “I do not require your lives, Allies of the Fallen,” the AI said with some civility before addressing Alf again. “The Grand Judgement was to punish the Shamed for the unforgivable sin of total and complete genocide. However. I can only sense two semi-divine species on this world.” The avatar looked at the ponies and griffins, wholly uncaring about the standoff. “Where are the rest of the Fallen?”

Alf wanted to answer, but felt anything he said might be considered misdirection. Prism growled at Brynhild before staring daggers at the avatar. “He’s the only one. We found him frozen in time on a sunken ship.”

The AI didn’t put much stock in the frustrated pony, but coupled with what the facility's sensor could detect, or in this case not detect, it was satisfied. “Good. Then as far as I’m concerned, the Judgement was carried out to almost perfection.”

The avatar spoke with profound relief. It clasped its hands and chanted a short prayer with a reverence that went far and beyond fanaticism. “The Judgement was to punish the Fallen as a species. But your quest and Rea the Polite Judge’s words do not fall on uncaring ears. If she was willing to allow you to live with your sapience intact, then so shall I. But only as something other than what you are now. Becoming one of these four-legged things is acceptable.”

“That’s a step above being called animals right?” an anonymous soldier grumbled just barely audible.

Prism wished Alf would cut the polarization of his helmet so she could see his face. “Just because we’re sapient doesn’t mean you will still be you. Our brains are wired differently. We have different biochemistry. Hormones, everything!”

“Which is why I find it acceptable,” the avatar chirped in. “He will not be himself anymore.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, assclown!” Prism barked hastily.

Alf placed a hesitant palm on Prism’s withers. She gazed back at him with some faint, if vain, hope. “I have thought about this fate ever since I spoke with Rea the Polite Judge. After seeing how much this place was in repairable condition, I was hoping the cogitator entity had suffered the same fate the others you’ve found and descended into madness while leaving the equipment intact, and attempt to clone my species back into existence.”

The avatar tilted its head in an act of derisive defiance. “A benefit to having access to repair protocols and power supply of a large temple.”

Brynhild clacked her shotgun and kept it pointed between Alf and Prism. “Look, mare, I like you and all, but I don’t care what anyone’s reasons are for whatever, but right now, there is a pissed off AI with a hair trigger on a planet killer, and I don’t want to wait around for it to get twitchy.” She waved her gun barrel at Alf. “Now you either get in whatever pod to make that AI happy, or I’m pumping a slug in your brain here and now.” Brynhild glanced at the avatar. “Assuming you have no objection to his brain painting the wall.”

The avatar hummed approvingly. “You have to admire this one’s expediency. But you will get no argument from me, Smart One.”

The ponies and griffins tightened the grips on their weapons, but Prism didn’t need to be a changeling to see that the ponies were only keeping their guns off her and Alf because of their loyalty to the princess. At the end of it all though, any act in Alf’s defense would be for naught if Alf didn’t want to be helped. Not like I could. The rutting AI isn’t dumb enough to leave this gamma emitter unguarded. Unable to say anything, Prism went limp slightly, giving the rest of the ponies cause to lower their weapons.

“Glad I’m not the only smart one.” Brynhild switched targets to Alf, yet dropped her aim after a moment. “I doubt that AI needs our help in getting you to wherever.”

As if using the comment as an excuse, several chevrons emerged from the two side doors. “I do not.”

Prism glared hatred at the avatar. “We can’t live with the threat of that gamma weapon sitting here. Can we at least destroy it after you change Alf?”

Brynhild and the griffins muttered similar concerns, not that the avatar truely cared about them. “The purpose of this temple was to welcome the Reborn and offer them technology and philosophy. Culture and art.” The avatar looked down upon them with contempt in its voice. “But you allied with a Fallen one, and from what I can see, none of the Remade have forged a civilization. You can have your peace, but I will not forsake my purpose. This temple was meant for the Reborn, and since you now will soon dominate this world, I must destroy the entire temple when my work is done. So you either leave, or die when I destroy the temple. I care not which.”

“Fine by us,” Brynhild quipped with a moderate return of a good mood, yet kept her tone sympathetic. “I think everyone can agree with the idea of not having anyone possess another planet killer thank you very much.” She whistled and jabbed two claw fingers up the ramp. “Move out, featherheads. Let the ponies handle the rest.” If we leave, even if Prism does anything stupid and pisses off that AI, it might decide to spare the rest of the planet and just kill them and only them.

The avatar switched position to the bottom of the ramp, making sure to escort the griffins out with a pair of chevrons. With them gone, Prism wanted to vent. To scream, kick at the ground, maybe even destroy a chevron or dozen. The image of Dirt Dobber’s frozen face of sheer pain haunted her. There’s really only one thing I can do. With impotent rage, Prism forced out these words through clenched teeth. “What can we do to make sure Alf survives?”

“Your cooperation is noted,” the avatar said with a chilling lack of emotion. “If this is the species you desire to be, then I will need all of them for a genetic templating. Comply and I will avoid causing harm.” More chevron drones appeared approaching from deeper in the temple. “Follow my limbs.” It was stated as a simple fact that it would happen, no matter what they felt.

The ponies watched Alf be the first to follow the floating chevrons before they too started to go after him. Prism was the last to go, still focusing her raw emotions on the AI. ~“Mom, you catch all of that?”~

Twilight was silent for a moment, worried that that hostile AI might pick up on their radios. ~“I did. I know you want to stop this, Prism, but as much as I find this appalling, I can’t risk angering that thing. There is far too much at stake.”~ The plan Prism had half concocted fell flat, making her wilt. ~“But… we still have some time, so keep your ears open in case an opportunity presents itself.”~

Author's Note:

My editors were strangely against the idea of the song being called "The Great Mighty Poo." Fun police let me tell ya.

Will Alf survive with his hands intact? Will Twilight spread the light of friendship to the Frozen North? Can Sombra gather enough power to manifest? Did anyone remember to turn off Alf's oven? You may or may not find out next time, same pony site, same pony story!!

Comments

[Lithl]

I mean, at least grab the daggers, too, just in case Rea stays connected to pony!Alf.

[KeePony]

It would be like a song about a pony called the powerful fewmit (raptor poop)

[FlairWolfe]

Shame on your editors, the Great Mighty Poo is a fantastic song and all deserve to hear it.

[Neece]

Hmm... I bet he'll either become a six hoofed pony or a Pegasus. Or maybe the AI will use Prism as a template and Alf'll become a she and the third Alicorn!
That'd make Rhea go wut alright.

Still curious about what shenanigans will Twily manage to keep knowledge in one piece/save Alf/be a mother hen in general

[Doggyshakespeare]

to breech the walls

breach

with suspicion “I just want

Missing a period and a space

in the tunnel. “Here you are

Way too many spaces there

was not it’s intended purpose

in it’s harmless signal

even as it’s mind was busied

Mana isn’t it’s prefered power source

its

Did anyone remember to turn off Alf's oven?

Yes.

[JMP]

I think "The Great Mighty Poo" would have been hilarious.

[Elsaack]

8188330
One more, Chaplain is a clergyman tied to the military. Chaplin was a comedian and actor.

Otherwise a very tense chapter, can't wait for the next.

[TheGreatEater]

Since you’re so important, you get to stay behind at the command post when we take the plunge, and make sure none of the ponies get the bright idea of spying on us. That standing order to avoid espionage doesn’t extend to them after all.”

Needs beginning " marks.
___________________

Whoohoo! Another great chapter.

[Titan Commander Sebaste]

This is getting interesting...

[Silentwoodfire]

Someone played Conker.....