The Starlight Broadcast

by ponyfhtagn

Pt.1 - Chapter 5

Twilight Sparkle spent the day in her room.

Nopony came to check on her.

…well, no, that wasn’t true. Her parents had. And her brother.

And Cadence had even sent her a nice letter.

Twilight thought about writing back… But no. Twilight was sure that if everything went according to plan tonight then tomorrow everypony would see what a clever and gifted student she could really be.

Twilight finished her dinner. Everypony was busy.

The sun went down and Twilight went to her room. She took out the map of Canterlot castle that she had recreated from memory with ink and parchment. She had glimpsed the original a few weeks ago when Cadence had taken Shining Armor and her to one of the Canterlot Guard Stations. Shining Armor was training to be a royal guard, after all. He and Cadence had gotten lost in each other’s eyes and Twilight had wandered a bit further than she should have, and seen a bit more than intended.

She squinted at her map now, hoping that it was accurate enough, and then marked the dragon egg hatchery with a red X. Only it hadn’t been called a hatchery on the original map. It had been called Project Draco – meaning Dragon, Twilight realised. Sure, it could have been anything, reasonably. There were many dragon-themed things in the world of Equestria, many of them having little to do with actual dragons.

But Twilight recalled her brief conversation with Cadence after failing the test. Cadence had come to apologise for not being able to foalsit anymore, and to try and comfort Twilight. Twilight wanted to know where the eggs were kept. Cadence had avoided the question at first, and then chuckled, “Oh, I don’t really know. I’m sure the project is housed in some old part of the castle.” After which Cadence had awkwardly cleared her throat and perhaps remembered that Twilight was smarter than the average filly.

And Twilight was smarter than the average filly.

Twilight was going to find this ‘project.’

And Twilight was going to hatch a baby dragon.

The streets were dark and deserted with the curfew in place. There was the occasional guard pony out on patrol—shining her horn-light into dark corners, or investigating any stray sound he came across.

But Twilight was small and had wrapped herself in a dark cloak, and she wore thick socks to muffle the sound of her hoofsteps as she ventured down the streets. She knew roughly the routine of the curfew guard, thanks to her brother’s big mouth, and so she slipped easily undetected all the way to the palace gates. Around the back gates, in fact, because they were closer to the hatchery.

But the hair of her coat bristled as she approached the gate and she soon detected a problem. Though she had been hoping to slip between the bars, she now felt the tingly presence of an invisible magic spell all around the palace walls. Twilight was not gifted in this respect—she simply had the same natural familiarity with magic that most unicorns possessed. And her unicorn magic was telling her that there was something very powerful here. Something new. Could it be increased security in the wake of the Event? Was Celestia… worried?

Twilight crouched in the shadow of a tree.

What now? She couldn’t be sure what the spell would do, but it would probably raise all the alarms and bring all the guards.

Or worse… it could fry her brains.

Twilight shook her head. Celestia wouldn’t have such a nasty spell, right?

Twilight’s thoughts were interrupted when she saw two palace guards trotting up to the gate. They were dressed in the night-shift uniform—all dark blues—and towing a cart full of box-shaped lumps under a blanket.

They approached the gate and together performed two components of a spell to unlock it. The gates swung open and then the cart was moving again. The guards were preparing to leave and then the gates would be shut once more. Twilight needed to stop them. Before she really knew what she was doing her horn lit with magic and in the next instant their cart hit an unseen rock and the wheel almost came off.

“Careful!” hissed the mare, bumping to a stop. “I don’t want to have to explain it to Princess Celestia if we spill these.”

The stallion guard caught the shabby wheel with his magic, holding it in place. “I sure wish Celestia would explain to us why she needs all these cakes delivered in the middle of the night.”

“Oh please, it’s barely ten o’clock,” the mare continued. “And don’t judge the princess. She’s stress eating.”

The stallion snorted. “I’m glad you said it. Now come help me with this wheel.”

The mare rolled her eyes. “Honestly, can’t you do a simple mending spell?”

“I can! I just need you to hold the axel.”

The mare grumbled and went to assist.

While the two of them bent to fuss over the splintering wheel, little Twilight rushed silently from her place in the shadows and darted through the open gate. Quickly she sprang for cover behind a large rosebush and held her breath.

She heard the cart trundling along again, passing through the gate which then swung shut. She felt the faint prickle of magic as the security field was restored. And then the guards went on their way.

Twilight breathed a heavy sigh.

She was in.

The Canterlot Sculpture Gardens were, truth-be-told, a little creepy at night. The way that even friendly statues now seemed to lurch and loom. One statue of three ponies standing atop one another momentarily resembled a grotesque and lumpy monster. Twilight fought to keep her wits about her at she approached the Palace Labyrinth.

By some twist of irony, however, the most disturbing statue Twilight had ever seen here was now mercifully absent. There was only an empty pedestal where once stood the patchwork-creature known as the… the… What had Cadence called it again? Oh, that’s right. A draconequus. Twilight eyed the empty pedestal gratefully before turning to at last enter the hedge maze known as the Palace Labyrinth.

It was the only direct rout to the hatchery. At least, from outside. Twilight had charted many courses through the labyrinth in her time here, but the maps she had discovered in the Guard Room showed her a secret passage that lead directly to the hatchery – or Project Draco, as it was known. Twilight withdrew her map from the saddlebags under her cloak and began to plan her rout. A left turn here, a right turn there, a secret hedge over here… She had to duck the Palace Guards a few times. But she was small and dark, and the Guards were mostly preoccupied with finding their own way around the maze.

At last Twilight approached the statue at the back of the maze. A section of the labyrinth she had never visited before, because of the secretive way it was sealed off, with false hedges and tricky turns. Twilight doubted that there were any guards down here. Or at least, she hoped there weren’t. She looked about nervously for a brief moment. Then she bravely approached the stone statue which had been marked on the map as ‘The Sphinx.’

At first Twilight thought she was looking at a statue of a griffon or a manticore. But no. Though it had wings and the body of a lion, it’s face was curiously… well… The closest comparison Twilight could think of were these strange exotic ‘ape’ creatures she had read about in a Daring Do book.

It was kind of unsettling to look at…

But night was passing, so Twilight approached the statue and examined it.

“How am I supposed to…?” Twilight began.

Suddenly stone shifted. Twilight jumped back in alarm as the stone eyes began to glow with a bright orange light, and the sandstone limbs of the statue were suddenly as free and flesh-like in their movement as those of any other creature.

The head turned and the orange eyes glared down at the little filly.

“I… Do not… Remember… You,” The sphinx growled in a voice like shifting boulders.

“Um… uh…” Twilight stammered as she took a few steps back.

Then, confusingly, the sphinx threw back its head and let out a little rumbling laugh. “Ha! Ah… I’m just messing with you. I don’t remember anyone. Such is my curse.”

Twilight blinked at it.

“Of course,” the sphinx went on, “you’ve probably heard this story so many times by now. It’s not as if you don’t know who I am. You all do, of course. How could you not? I—You know what? Never mind. I just like to talk about it sometimes, is all.”

“Ohhh…” Twilight said. “Um, well. I’m in a good mood tonight so… why not?”

The sphinx’s bright orange eyes shone a little brighter. “Really? How kind your are to humour me. Very well. I was crafted many eons ago in far distant lands that may even no longer exist. I was built with a purpose—to guard an ancient tomb and to ask a riddle of those who would seek entrance. To answer the riddle incorrectly meant death.”

Twilight stifled a squeak.

The sphinx rumbled a stony chuckle. “Yes, well. But that was so many years ago. I can’t even begin to tell you. Just… So very long ago.” It seemed wistful for a moment. “In my original design I was made to forget the faces and names of those who came before me, so that no trickster could attempt to slip past on the good faith bought by a cunning disguise. I was to be impartial… and impartial I remain.”

Twilight waited. She was about to speak when—

“And then one day I found myself in the vaults of Canterlot Palace. For I can remember places and things, if I try. I do not known who it was who had found me, nor where, save that I was told I had been buried for countless years in the sand.” The sphinx flexed its wing-shoulders a moment, stretching. “I was restored and my programming was changed. I no long kill the unworthy,” it rolled it’s luminous eyes. “And I have been given a new riddle to ask. But alas, I still cannot remember who comes to visit me. So few, the visits now it seems. I gaze upon the distant sky and see the starts have turned so far.”

Twilight glanced up in wonder. But she had to get hold of herself. This was not a Daring Do adventure. This was real life – her entire future – and perhaps any moment a guard could come patrolling around some corner. So Twilight cleared her throat and approached the sphinx.

“Ask me the riddle, please,” Twilight said.

The sphinx seemed the sigh and slouch, before straightening back into character. “Very well. Answer correctly and you may pass.

“Lost near one thousand years ago.

One thousand winters shed their snow.

To bare a burden none can know,

Each night to gaze upon your glow.

“At each sunrise we are apart.

My night cannot attain your art.

I gave you silence at the start,

and fostered darkness in your heart.

“My words and deeds cannot atone.

Alas, if I had only known.

You did not crave a wicked throne,

But sought the love I should have shone.

“Who am I?”

Twilight felt as if her brain were slowly shrinking down like an untied balloon.

Riddles should be easy! There are supposed to be clues and evidence. Maybe if she heard the riddle again?

“Oh, my,” Twilight said. “You delivered that so well.”

“Really? You think so?” The sphinx seemed to puff out it’s chest.

Twilight wondered how stone fur could bristle so.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Can I hear it again, actually? I’m uh…” she glanced around. “I’m not in any hurry.”

“Well why not?” the sphinx relented. “It’s not like I get to do this very often.”

And so it repeated the riddle again.

“Who am I?” It finished, with a touch of pride this time.

Twilight’s ears flopped. She had nothing!

How was she supposed to know what happened one thousand years ago? Pony history hardly went back that far—at least, not consistently. The oldest story they had was the one told at Hearth’s Warming Eve, about the windigos. It was far enough, yes, but though she wracked her memory she couldn’t find any shred of useful information there.

“Taking your time?” The sphinx asked.

“Ah… well. It’s such a beautiful night,” Twilight said.

The sphinx shrugged. “I guess. Not as pretty as it used to be. Must be all the lights from the palace and the city. Though I find the moon is a little odd…”

But Twilight wasn’t listening. She was scraping the edges of her mind for something. Anything. This was a far grater challenge than any test at school. She was pretty sure that getting past the sphinx would be almost as prestigious as hatching that dragon egg.

…the dragon egg.

She thought about that for a moment. The trick question on her test—to give her a problem not actually meant to be solved. She should have seen it staring her in the face. After all, if this creature could not remember faces or names then how could it ask ‘Who am I?’ unless the answer was—

Twilight steeled herself. It could be a long shot, but it was her only lead.

“Who are you?” Twilight said. “Why, you are The Sphinx.”

The statue beamed at her with a wide smile; slightly off-putting because of that strange face.

“You remembered me,” it teased. “How I envy your abilities.”

Twilight let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, it’s been fun. But um. I guess I should go now.”

The sphinx relented slowly. “Of course. You all have your busy lives. Important work to be done. Through you go then.”

The sphinx hopped playfully down from its pedestal and allowed Twilight to scurry past. On the other side there was a stone wall and a door, locked only with a simple padlock.

So. It had been a trick question.

“Makes you wonder, though,” the sphinx interrupted.

Twilight turned.

It shrugged as it resettled back into place. “What the riddle is actually about.”

“…yeah,” Twilight said. “Actually.”

“Oh,” it said, a little shy. “I was hoping maybe you would be the one who knew. Someone must know, right? But the only elaboration I ever got was ‘a reminder’. That was all.”

Twilight pondered that for a moment.

Then she heard stone shifting and looked up to see the sphinx had returned to a cold and lifeless statue, facing away from her this time.

The little filly shook her head and set her focus upon the padlock. It was meant for a key. Twilight frowned because it was uncommon in Canterlot Castle to have such locks anymore. It was more secure to have magical locks, opened with a specific spell sequence. But this lock was old. And the door was old. And the wall was old.

Twilight momentarily wondered at the purpose of a dragon hatchery that had been here for so long without success. What was the point of giving the eggs to students?

Another time. Focus now. Twilight set her magic against the lock. She had never jimmied a lock open in actual practice before, but she had read up on a book about it. More specifically a book about how locks worked, and a second book about how to feel around inside minute mechanisms using unicorn magic—For clockmakers, and similar professions. The two books together gave her everything she needed. With a little imagination, anyway. Twilight’s magenta magic crawled inside the lock, feeling around, and after five minutes or so she heard it click. Proudly she pulled it from the door and set it aside with a sigh. She may not have the raw power that comes with age, but what magic she did have she used well.

The door handle was a little stiff.

No matter. She could manage.

Oh, the door creaked.

Twilight froze.

She pulled very slowly. Just a little more, just a little more, very gently now. Every wince of old wood and tired metal made her heart pound. She carried on as quiet as she could possibly be until finally the gap was wide enough for her to slip through. Very carefully she pulled the door closed again. Sweat started to drip down her forehead but she remained focused. The click of the latch was too loud for comfort but that was the end of it.

Twilight slumped to the floor. Being sneaky was exhausting—and scary. But exciting! Twilight was eagre to continue—determined to complete this test. So she groaned and forced herself to sit up and examine her surroundings.

She was stood in a darkened entrance room; narrow and empty. The only thing of interest was the curtained archway opposite the entrance door. A green glow peaked through the curtain from the room beyond.

Twilight approached and stuck her little face around the curtain.

The hatchery… The hatchery was a long, long hall of laboratory space. In here the walls and floor were also old stone. The space appeared cluttered as if its purpose had outgrown its capacity, and Twilight had to fight back an immediate urge to organise the strange equipment she saw before her. The hall became too gloomy to see the further it stretched, but there was that strange green glow about the place—coming from pipes or tubes that crawled over the ceilings in a network that Twilight could not follow nor understand.

Twilight shook her head. She forced herself to pay attention as she quickly scanned the room for any ponies. If she was caught now she’d be finished. But the hall seemed empty, as near she could see, and she couldn’t hear any ponies working or otherwise moving or talking. There was the occasional drip of liquid, humming and clicking of tired old machines, and otherwise… quite empty. Quite… lonely.

Twilight slipped into the room to get a closer look. The immediate left wall reminded Twilight of her chemistry set, or of the fancy science lab she’d have access to at Celestia’s school. Only this equipment was old. It was large and clunky, and grimy and dusty. Feasibly it was closer to alchemy than science. What exactly went on down here? There were large boilers or tanks; there was a dusty old desk with dials and wires and plugs; and there was a high shelf with large glass jars. The jars contained dark shapes suspended in cloudy liquid, but they were too high and too dirty for Twilight to make out their contents.

Her gaze drifted and she saw signs on the wall, bordered with yellow and black stripes indication caution. A sign that indicated the eye-wash for in case of accidents; a sign that indicated the cupboard where the first aid was kept—thought that cupboard now stood open, empty and covered in dust—and a sign that read ‘BEWARE OF BITES’, then had a blocky picture of a fanged muzzle chomping down on a hoof.

Twilight back peddled from the pictogram on pure reflex until her rump smacked into the wall behind her. Twilight stifled a squeak and scuttled back to the middle of the room. No, it was not the right-side wall she had bumped into—it was a stack of metal drums against it, sealed and cordoned off with broken caution tape. They were marked with a hazard symbol—and not the kind used on ordinary chemicals. Twilight recognised it was one from the list of magical toxins. She berated herself for not studying up on such things, but made a note to do so when she got home.

One of the metal drums stood in a thin residue of that same glowing green substance that ran through the crusted and clotted pipes around the room. Twilight quickly checked her hooves and her cape and everywhere she could to make sure she hadn’t come into contact with the mystery liquid. She breathed a sigh of relief.

But where were the dragon eggs? Twilight turned her attention to the gloomy stretch of hallway before her and cautiously ventured forward. To her right now there were black metal cages; some small, some moderate in size, one twisted open that made her stop and shudder. On the wall to her left was a safety sign that said ‘INCASE OF FIRE’ and appeared to have a convenient map of the lab—except that most of it was obscured by a large blistering scorch mark.

Twilight kept walking. Her breathing and heartbeat were too loud for her own comfort, now. She froze in her steps when something dark flickered on the wall.

Movement? No… Just her reflection in the dark glass of a window. An observation room of sorts. She could see the scratched-up door in the wall, but Twilight didn’t need to snoop. She just needed to hatch an egg. Any egg would do, really. Probably. Should do. And she had just now caught sight of many eggs indeed.

The little filly trotted quietly past the cages to the collection of melon-sized colourful eggs all lined up against the right-side wall—in little cribs with straw, or on the shelf behind where they nested in straw baskets. There was a large caution-type sign above the collection that read ‘TYPE 3.’

Twilight looked up and down the wall of eggs. So which should it be then? Which egg would she hatch? Was there a difference?

Twilight approached the first crib and found a number on it. 007. The egg resting inside was coated in years of dust. Twilight shuddered and looked to the next in the row. 009 – what happened to eight? Or one through six for that matter? She looked at the shelf behind the cribs, but the missing numbers weren’t there—just higher numbers. Also, all the eggs with low numbers seemed really… old.

No, none of these eggs seemed right. Twilight wanted her egg. The one they’d brought to her in the first place. The healthy looking purple one. But there were far too many eggs here to check—what with midnight breathing down her neck. Or dawn? How late was it? Twilight needed results now. So, if the eggs had numbers then there must be a filing system, Twilight reasoned.

She returned to that door in the opposite wall. It wasn’t locked, as it turned out, but there were curious scratches on its surface. Twilight shoved it cautiously open with her magic. Inside was as cold and abandoned as the rest of the hatchery, but this room wasn’t as dusty. Twilight quickly found the filing cabinet and pulled open the lowest draw because it was the only one she could reach.

Unfortunately the files stated at 001.

…what did happen to those missing numbers?

The 001 file was very dusty and yellowed with age. Twilight coughed as she flipped it open.

…empty. Nothing. A scrap of tape and a stray paperclip. That was all.

Twilight checked the files two through six. They were the same. Except that file 004 was badly singed along one edge, and 005 had a stamp on the inside that read ‘TYPE 1.’ So Twilight tried 007, since that egg was still around.

She found a sepia-tone polaroid photo paperclipped to the file. Next to that was a crude drawing meant to show the colours of the egg. There were several sheets of paper with written notes and information, but the ink had faded over time. Twilight could make out a few bits and pieces.

'…does not show promise…'

Then something about ‘non-volatile – move to Type 3.’

Then several lines of what looked to be ‘no response,’ one after the other.

The last notation was the least faded. It read:

‘Overreaching during pacification has likely left the egg unhatchable. Cannot discard egg, however. Full effects of project still unknown. Material is confidential and potentially hazardous. Will continue to monitor subject until further action is agreed upon. T.’

That was all.

Twilight shut the file back in the draw and stepped back. She dragged over the office chair and managed to scrabble up to the top of the filing cabinet.

“Alright. So let’s see what’s in draw number four…” Twilight huffed, pulling it open and peering down into it.

The files got much thicker up here. And messier. Twilight opened file 073 and found it contained a stack of lined-paper notes all paperclipped awkwardly together.

‘Egg did not respond to student’—the notes said, one after the other.

Twilight looked closer and found at the top of each note, obscured by the paperclip, where the names of the students who had tried. Twilight even recognised the names of a few authors that she knew had graduated from Celestia’s school for Gifted Unicorns. And by what she knew of the age of these authors, this egg must have been here for at least twenty-or-so years.

Then Twilight recognised another famous name. Did that make it thirty years?

And then a few more names placed the egg here at least fifty years ago.

“This egg has just been sitting here for fifty years?” Twilight said to herself. “Just being dragged off to Celestia’s school as a trick question for new students?”

Twilight thought about that a little more.

“Wait… If it’s just a trick question then why all the notes?”

Twilight flipped through them again.

Egg did not respond to student.

Egg did not respond to student.

Egg did not respond—

Twilight shut the file and searched through the rest, looking for the egg she had been given. What did the note say about her? Was it important? She had to know!

It wasn’t here. She couldn’t find the note that said Twilight Sparkle. It should have been the top note in it’s folder but none of these folders had it.

Twilight shut the draw and climbed down to the office chair where she could pull open the second highest draw and check those files. Or maybe there was another draw somewhere. The top draw only went up to 083. Maybe there were more files.

…no. The top draw was too lightly packed for that to make sense.

And though this draw had some files with notes it was largely just more of the same as the bottom draw. She even checked the next draw down but found only more of those slim and note-less folders—occasionally burnt or chewed.

Was it too unreasonable to contemplate tearing apart the office for clues?

Twilight shook her head.

“Get a grip, Twilight. You don’t have time for this. Just grab any egg and leave,” she told herself.

“Oooh. But what if the egg I pick is unhatchable?” Twilight answered herself.

She shut the draw a little too hard and it shook the cabinet next to it. Twilight fell off the office chair as a huge white thing lunged at her. Twilight squeaked as she hit the floor. She stared, panting.

No. It was just an old white sheet. Twilight sucked in breath and fought back a shiver. The air tasted very dusty now and she coughed. This was too much. She shouldn’t want anything to do with this! But she couldn’t go back home. Not without an egg. But she couldn’t find her egg!

She started to panic, and as a result she started to organise. Starting with that stupid white sheet. She hefted it with her magic, only to drop it again. She scowled. Her eye caught the contents of the glass cabinet—a private collection of dragon teeth, dragon scales, dragon claws, and other cast-off parts found in any museum. And a few books. Twilight recognised ‘Thornhoof's Brief History of Canterlot’ and a few other books. Was this somepony’s office then?

Twilight tried to lift the sheet again. It rose a little higher this time but slipped off the cabinet like before. Twilight decided to leave it and instead start with pushing the office chair back to it’s intended spot by the desk. Then she had to make sure the desk was straight, of course.

That’s when she noticed the file sitting on top of the desk.

…fate?

Twilight hopped up next to the file and flipped it open.

…it didn’t have her name. The top note in the stack was for somepony named Sunset Shimmer. And as usual, the egg did not respond to student.

Dead end.

…or not.

Twilight lifted all the notes and looked for the picture at the back of the file. It was an old sepia tone photograph, again. But next to it was a simple drawing that clearly showed the beautiful purple of Twilight’s special dragon egg.

She beamed and jumped for joy. “I found it! I found it! I found it!”

A door boomed somewhere in the main room.

Twilight almost fell off the desk in shock. With twitching limbs she scrabbled down and curled up in a ball under the desk, pulling her dark cloak around her.

Hoofsteps approached. Two sets.

…hoofsteps approached for kind of a long time, actually. The hall was quite long.

“Ugh. This place gives me the creeps at night,” said a stallion’s voice.

“This place gives me the creeps all the time,” a mare responded.

They reached the office door at last. Twilight hunkered down and tried to stop from shaking. She couldn’t believe how loud everything seemed suddenly.

“Still better than cake-duty,” the stallion joked, entering the room.

Twilight closed her eyes.

“Are you kidding? I’d take cake-duty over this mess any night,” the mare replied. “At least cake has a point to it.”

“Hey, look at that,” the stallion said.

Twilight could have died at the shock.

“What?” the mare said.

“That sheet’s fallen off the cabinet again.”

The mare groaned. “Just leave it. I give up on that thing.”

Then Twilight heard paper sliding across the desktop. She heard the folder flip open and leaflets rustle.

“Don’t read it,” the mare scolded. “Those things are messed-up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the stallion said.

Hoofsteps retreated and the door swung shut.

“I can if I want. I out rank you,” the mare went on.

“You do not.”

“I will soon.”

“You don’t know that.”

Twilight opened her eyes and gasped. The file! She had forgotten to check the number on the file. Now she wouldn’t know where the egg was. She couldn’t go checking the cots one by one—not that many—not with that weird glow that made everything look slightly green. She had to follow the file.

It would be fine, she told herself. The guards were bickering. Their hoofsteps were really loud in the echoing old hall. Twilight was small and had socks on.

Just get up, Twilight. Just get up. Get up!

She uncurled and tiptoed over to the office door, thankful that it didn’t creek at least. She opened it a crack with her magic and peered cautiously out. The two guards were walking away down the hall. Twilight closed the door quietly behind her and hurried after them, darting behind egg cradles at every startling turn of a guard’s head.

“Fine,” the mare went on. “But don’t come crying to me if you get bad dreams later.”

“Uh. And why would I even do that? Besides, I don’t cry.”

“Yeah you do.”

“Nope. Just doesn’t happen.”

“Oh yeah? I think that’s a medical condition. It’s called pants-on-fire.”

“Joke’s on you. I don’t even wear pants.”

Twilight was crouching behind an empty crib when she heard a door click open. Looking up she saw the guards entering another side office. So once they were safely inside Twilight approached the office and peered through the ventilation slats at the bottom of the door.

“What do these machines even do?” the stallion groaned.

“They answer stupid questions.”

A couple of a second later there was a drawn out, “…heyyyyyy.”

Twilight couldn’t see anything except their legs, and that the floor had a few thick power cables running across it.

“Okay,” said the mare. “I’ll read, you write.”

“Where's the clipboard?”

“Right here. Pay attention.”

“Myneh myneh myneh,” he said.

The mare cleared her throat. “Read out is as follows. Heartbeat, unchanged. Magical activity, unchanged. Weight, unchanged. Visual appearance… Uh… Seems unchanged to me.”

“Still purple,” the stallion agreed.

Twilight’s heart sped up a little.

“Let’s see…” the mare went on. “Unchanged, unchanged… Yep. Just another boring dud egg.”

“Oh, you should be glad that nothing happened,” the stallion began. His voice took on a ghost-story tone. “You didn’t see what the first experiments were like.”

“Gimme a brake,” the mare snorted. “You’re not that old.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that I don’t know that.”

“Whatever.”

Twilight saw the guards start to move. She scurried away from the door and darted back into the shadows of the opposite wall, behind a crib.

The office door opened.

“Let’s get out of here,” the stallion groaned. “Shift’s almost over.”

“That’s a blessing.”

“How long do we have to keep doing this?”

“Paperwork says one more day,” the mare replied. “Then we just pin another note in the—Oh. We forgot the file.”

“Leave it,” he said. “It works better in that room anyway.”

“Ehh. I guess,” the mare agreed as they walked away. “Are we still on for coffee later?”

“Sure. Coffee sounds great. But no cake.”

“Right,” she chuckled. “And no eggs.”

“Ha. Yeah.”

Twilight waited for them to go past. Then she peered out and watched them exit through a modern looking door at the end of the hall. A door that used a magical lock and seemed to have a guard posted on the other side. Twilight realised she had walked the entire length of the hall.

As soon as the modern exit was sealed Twilight went straight to the room the guards had been in and carefully opened the door to slip inside.

There were machines, yes. Big old grimy machines set against the walls. Many of these were dark and powerless now. But their huge bodies remained, as did their thick power cables, and even a few boxes that held spare paper reels.

In the middle of the room was the egg.

It was resting in a curved dish on a scales that showed its weight on a little screen. Attached to the egg were soft pads with thin cables that ran to a box with a screen. On the screen were various coloured lines that spiked and fluctuated, or didn’t. There were no labels for what the lines were. That information was probably on the clipboard.

Twilight couldn’t find the clipboard. The guards probably kept it with them.

But she did find the folder.

Most importantly she had the egg.

…or did she.

Of all the eggs in the hatchery she just had to be going after the one that was hooked up to a monitoring device. Maybe she should just grab a different one.

Yeah. A different one would do.

Twilight stared at the purple egg up on the bench.

The egg did not strictly speaking stare back. But Twilight got the message.

It was time for a plan.

Twilight grabbed the folder and tucked it into her saddle bag. Then she went all the way back to the first office. She just needed a replacement egg—and a replacement file—and the spotty purple one would be all hers, with nopony the wiser. Twilight entered the office and grabbed a random folder from the top draw and checked the number.

File 077 – a rotund blue egg with green—

“No. That won’t work,” Twilight realised. “It’s got to be purple. Oh my. And it’s got to be the same weight. Oh. I’ll be here all night.”

She should just take a different egg. It didn’t matter. Just grab a different—

Twilight grit her teeth and lowered her horn. “Come on, come one…” Magenta sparks flew. The spell took shape. The files levitated one by one from the top two draws and laid themselves out on the office floor, and desk, and other surfaces.

Twilight gasped and slumped, resting atop the filing cabinet. “Okay…” she panted. “Pretty impressive Twilight. Thankyou Twilight.” She sat up and rubbed her head. “Okay. Step two. The Caballus Fact Finding spell.” She gulped. “Here goes nothing.”

Five minutes later and nothing was exactly what had transpired.

“Come on, Twilight, you can do this,” she said to herself, panting and sweating atop the cabinet. “Pretend its your magic exam and your whole future depends on it.”

Sometimes the things Twilight said to motivate herself were the kinds of things that would make other ponies run screaming.

Once again Twilight closed her eyes and concentrated on the spell. Her horn began to glow. Her magic slowly began to coalesce into the shape she had learned. Again she felt the components slipping, and felt that barrier approaching—the point where everything always broke apart.

“Keep… going…” she huffed.

The spell writhed. It twisted and slipped. Twilight grit her teeth and pulled it back together. Something clicked and then one after another the pieces fell into place and then—

Twilight opened her eyes to find the room was filled with little glowing dots, magenta in colour and one above each folder.

Twilight uttered a laugh. “I did it! It worked.” She had never been so proud. “Okay. Okay. Um… Find me… weight.”

Around the room the dots began to flicker and to expand, revealing images of the weight for each egg as recorded in their file. Twilight scanned the room, shutting down any dot with a weight reading too far from the target. In less than a minute she had narrowed it down to five folders that had almost the exact same weight as that shown by the scales in the other office.

Twilight got down and opened the folders to check the colours of the eggs.

“No… No… Definitely not. No…” Twilight nervously opened the last folder. “Yyyyes?” she conceded. The egg was purple, but had stripes instead of spots. The weight recorded wasn’t the best of the bunch but it was still one of the best in the room.

Twilight yawned and rubbed her eyes. “It’ll have to do.”

Caballus’s Fact Finding spell flickered out. With one last burst of magical will Twilight seized all the other files and put them back into the top two draws. She grabbed the selected replacement folder and exited the office.

Number 055. Twilight cringed a little when she found the egg. It was covered in dust. The number of her egg had been 078 by contrast. She hoped it wouldn’t be an issue. So she flicked her tail and dusted off the stripy egg as best she could. Then she gathered it into her saddle bag and went to the monitoring office to make the switch.

Twilight couldn’t help but picture herself in some Daring Do adventure. The tension, the excitement. How she carefully shifted the one egg from the scales as she moved the second egg into place. She couldn’t be sure if there were alarms or not. Had something beeped? And the monitor changed? No?

Twilight took a deep breath and addressed the sensory cables one by one. Quick as she could—the first pad came off and was stuck against the new egg.

Twilight waited.

No alarms. No obvious spikes in the lines on the monitor.

Then the second cable. All was well.

The third cable was when everything fell apart.

The very instant it came unstuck the glowing monitor flat-lined. Twilight completed the transfer but the monitor remained still.

Why?

Why? Why!? What went wrong? What did she miss?

Then she saw exactly what she had missed, printed along the length of the cable.

The word Heartbeat.

“Oh,” Twilight said.

Twilight felt a little pang of sadness for the stripy purple egg. Followed by a twinge of annoyance.

Fine. If it wasn’t going to work then it wasn’t going to work. Twilight lazily transferred the rest of the cables. Maybe they would just assume the egg had suddenly died. Maybe they wouldn’t even noticed anything had changed.

Twilight put her rightful spotty egg into her saddle bag and took out the replacement folder. She unpeeled the 055 sticker and swapped it with the one on the 078 folder, leaving the stripy-egg folder behind and taking the spotty egg and its folder with her in her saddlebags.

It was done. She had her egg.

What now?

Twilight just stood there.

In Daring Do books you always knew exactly when to leave because it was around the time when the entire temple began to collapse and flood with lava. Unless it was the other kind of scenario. The kind where you think you’re finished but then you turn around and find a huge henchpony looming over you with a heavy club.

Twilight felt a prickle on the back of her neck. “Run,” she squeaked.

She didn’t bother to be quiet about the creaky door at the rear exit. Once she was out she let it swing shut with all the banging and creaking it wanted. She searched about and found the old lock, clicking it back into place. Then she ran up and tapped the statue of the sphinx on it’s back leg.

“Hey,” Twilight said. “Hey, hey, wake up.”

The statue rumbled to life and turned to face her. “I… Do not… Remember… You.”

“But I remember you,” Twilight said quickly. “You are The Sphinx.”

“Err. Well, yes,” the sphinx said. “Shall I give you the riddle?”

“No. I’ve already answered the riddle. The Sphinx.”

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those,” the beast bemoaned. “You know it’s usually folks coming from this side that rush right through—”

“Okay!” Twilight said. “I’d like to get past now.”

The sphinx grumbled. “I don’t remember who was here before you, but let me say, whoever it was had much better manners than you.”

Twilight took a deep breath.

Had there been hoofsteps behind her? Did she hear an alarm as she was fleeing? Did she hear an alarm now even?

What if she’d dropped a sock or something?

Twilight quickly checked all four legs and sighed in relief.

Stone shifted as the sphinx began to move aside. “You know what? I think I’m just going to recite the riddle to myself all the same. I’ve been told I recite it very well. You’re missing out you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Twilight said, climbing onto the pedestal. “Lost near one thousand years ago…”

“Well I like it,” the sphinx said grumpily as Twilight dashed past. “You know the line used to be ‘lost near nine hundred years ago’ until it was recently changed,” the sphinx was saying.

But Twilight didn’t have time for anecdotes. She just kept on running because she had seen the sky.

Dawn was coming.

It was a combination of luck and knowledge that helped Twilight escape the palace grounds. She had gone around to the east gate and arrived just as the night shift were changing places with the day shift. The gate was wide open as a number of guard ponies passed through and, since it was the east gate, the morning sun was at just the right location and angle to get in everypony’s eyes. Especially with the way it glinted off all their armour.

Twilight, small dark and quiet, had managed to slip through the gate and vanish into the morning glare, stealing away back home just in time to get to her room before her parents got up for work.

She locked the door and closed the curtains.

In the dark security of her bedroom Twilight was able to breath freely at last.

She took off her cloak and socks. She set down her saddle bags and took out the map, and the folder, and the melon-sized purple spotted dragon egg.

Twilight stared at it, sitting there on her bed.

…what… had… she… just… done.

Comments

[HB_DS2013]

She got the wrong egg!

[ponyfhtagn]

7600820
Okay, serious author question - did she? Did I write something confusing? Because you weren't meant to get that impression.
Feedback very welcome, thanks.