Alone In The Galaxy

by Purple Patch

The Bridge

“You’d think three schmucks who’d spent a thousand years in this place would tidy up once in a while.”

The God of Chaos’s lashing tongue threatened to cut away at the dignity of the Eternal Knights but neither unicorn, pegasus or batpony gave any indication of affront.

“You’re not our mother, Discord.” Midnight Blade said dourly “I feel certain that I would have remembered if you were.”

“You sure about that?” Discord fixed him with a weirdly motherly expression and his voice shifted to that of a middle-aged mare with a gentle, honeyed voice “You must take better care of your room, Nighty. And don’t let me catch you with those lewd parchments again.”

As the dark grey pony turned suddenly, those present felt certain a sudden gust had blown through the room, upsetting nothing and yet threatening to take White Wolf, Fletcher Fray and Discord off their hooves as the Lord Commander of the Eternal Knights spoke quietly, his face twisted with a scowl.

“Never speak in her voice again, Draconequus. Consider this your single warning.” Midnight ordered coldly “You would not be the first of your kind this blade drank the life of.”

Discord blinked, cleared his throat and nodded, flat-faced (Quite literally as he pulled his twisty white beard and flattened his features like a blind.) and spoke.

“Noted.”

“What did you do to get that voice? Retract your testicles...however many of them you might have?” Wolf asked.

“Nope. I simply channelled the voice of the simply lovely Kath Soucie.” Discord said, finishing by giving a ‘squee of delight’ with a blushing grin and a tiny hop on his hoof and claw “All kidding aside, Midnight, you’re so lucky to have had a mother with such a wonderful voice actress, even if it is just fan-casting!”

“Nopony ever knows what you’re talking about.” Fletcher said.

“Right. No more nonsense.” Midnight checked about and lit a lamp. Cyan luminescence filled the dark, dusty study. Floating blue candles glided over and under each other lazily towards the high ceiling. The walls were made of a great steel-grey stone that made one feel burdened by heavy weights just by looking at it.

“Emergency room.” Midnight explained “Spell-proof, weapon-proof, ghost-proof, just about everything-proof.”

“Everything-proof? What, were you that kid on the playground nopony wanted to play games with?”

“Shut up, Discord.” The batpony tapped the walls with his scabbard “Here, we may conjure a portal beyond this void without having to worry about it causing any disruptions elsewhere. This is a rare gift and not to be misused. We do not entirely know how strong a portal this room may hold and if there are signs that the infrastructure is unsound, then-”

“Yak-yak-yak-yak-yaaaaak! Good grief, you’re as bad as Twilight!” Discord sulked “Just gimme’ a sec and I’ll be ready to send you three stooges to your next sketch complete with the rubber chicken and the well-aimed custard pie.”

There was a pause. Wolf’s ears pricked.

Then Fletcher deftly drew his bow, lit up his horn and shot a magic arrow at the aforementioned custard pie that was flying towards him seemingly from out of nowhere, pinning it to the wall without staining himself or any of his comrades.

Tossing his wheat-gold mane with a narrowed eye, he turned to Discord with a frank tone that was typical of Farman ponies.

“All unauthorised products and substances are strictly prohibited in the lower floors, if that was not made clear at the entrance.”

Discord raised an eyebrow as Wolf sniggered and Midnight smirked.

“As if Equestria wasn’t full of enough spoilsports! Where did you crawl out of? The head of some sad twenty-something-year-old man-child who reads too much Berserk?”

“...Nope, not even going to ask.” Wolf shook her head “Can we just get on with it?!”

“Yes, yes, gimme’ a minute!” Discord sat down suddenly with his hand under his chin, screwed up his features and suddenly expelled a great treasure chest from between his hind legs as a chicken would expel an egg.

Opening it, he ducked his upper body inside and rummaged through, tossing various bits and bobs over his shoulders.

“Aha! Found it!” Discord retrieved himself and rose his head, grinning wildly. He was wearing a hat that was...quite bizarre.

At least that was the kindest word the Eternal Knights had for it.

White Wolf broke the silence after the two parties started at each other for some time.

“What the buck are you wearing on your head?!”

Discord’s eyebrows bounced

“Trust me, this will get us anywhere and everywhere where we’re heading.”

“What kind of weirdo sells a hat like that?” Midnight asked.

“What kind of weirdo wears a hat like that?” Fletcher retorted.

“This is no mere hat, mortals! This is a crown!” The Draconequus’s voice lowered in pitch as he guffawed wickedly “A crown that brings its wearer more power than the mightiest kings, more wealth than the richest merchants, more reach than the roots of the world tree! And it! Is! Mine!”

“Well I hope it’s worth looking like you’ve got two giant jet-black testicles on the sides of your scalp.” Wolf said, shaking her head in fatigue.

The God of Chaos gave a sinister chuckle.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho-hoo, if only you knew! Ooh, yes, I feel the power coursing through it! Dreams come true with but a whisper! Nature is reversed, the wilds tamed, the magic of the world is my tapestry to weave! THE POWER! THE ABSOLUTE POWER! THE UNIVERSE IS MINE TO COMMAND! TO CONTROOOOOOOOL!”

There was another pause.

“...you done?”

“More or less.” Discord shrugged as he glided over to the middle of the scene and tapped his leonine thumb and forefinger, raised in the air and deftly drew it downwards.

And there it was. Spiralling and rippling in front of them, a hole, a ring, a door with no precise shape or depth with no clear consistent colour. The noises it made sounded more aquatic than astral and there was a gentle hum as it resonated along with a faint smell of woodsmoke.

The Knights stared at it as the Draconequus shook his hands jazzily.

“Voila! That’s your actual Prench!”

“Um...” Wolf mumbled “Is that it?”

“Yes, portal to another universe, or rather the path to it, via the multiverse.” Discord snapped the talons on his avian hand impatiently “You coming or what?”

“I mean...Is there nothing else to it?” Midnight asked “No chanting? No flickering lights? No virgin’s blood?”

“...well...if it’ll make you happy.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“I mean, if Fletcher can do the honours?”

“Me?! A virgin?!” The Farman Archer declared “Ha! Sir, I’ve had so many trysts through the centuries, the playwrights made erotic comedies about them!”

“Yes, yes, let’s get moving.” Midnight resigned to hurry them along.

“I’m serious! The actor who plays me has to wear a six-foot-”

“Come on! We’re wasting time and we’ve heard this story before.”

“I haven’t. What’s six-foot?” Discord piped up.

“We’ll tell you on the way. Now let’s go.”

“This isn’t going to take forever to get there is it?” Wolf butted in.

“No, no...It’s just going to feel like forever.”

“What?”

ZIIIIIIP!

*******

This was his empire.

Admiral Thrawn surveyed it proudly.

On the secondary navigation bridge of the Dreadnought Fantasia, a cadre of Thrawn’s chosen; students, colleagues, friends and otherwise persons who met his esteemed interest; worked in relative silence, discussing events and plans with each other in dignified decorum.

Thrawn was standing at the very prow, his back to the stars. Content that things were in order, he turned around and looked out towards the great cosmic expanse.

Eli Vanto was strumming away at the Janteillium they’d moved into the room, soothing the ears of those present with a gentle lilt.

Behind him, a quiet, unassuming officer with rounded, measured face and short smoky-brown hair eyed a datapad.

The Admiral breathed in the sight of the mesmerising vastness of space before him and asked his faithful young deputy.

“Tell me, Niriz...When considering the romantic poets, would you say Londahl or Adranax had more insight into the sentient condition?”

Lieutenant Dagon Niriz didn’t look up from his datapad and his answer was, in fact, a question that left Thrawn perplexed.

“Nerf-burger or barbeque-nuna-wings?”

Thrawn glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow as Niriz smiled bashfully, showing the datapad to be the cafeteria menu.

The Chiss sighed.

“...You’ve no soul, Niriz...”

“I’m taking a romantic insight into my lunch, sir. I always come out feeling more nourished in body and mind.” Niriz said in a tone that didn’t even have to try not to sound cheeky.

Thrawn had always found Dagon Niriz somewhat fascinating. His style of thought and theory was very different to Thrawn’s and many others he’d met. Despite being of high naval stock in terms of lineage, Niriz was possessed of a very mundane, practical, down-to-earth mindset. He was quick to grasp the bigger picture but never took his eye off the closest obstacle for a moment. When asked a philosophical question, he would answer in the broadest terms that sounded as though he was avoiding the topic and yet made perfect sense when one processed them.

Thrawn tested him.

“Just look, Niriz.” The Chiss said plainly, inviting the lieutenant to gaze out with him.

“As you wish, sir. Has something in it changed since last I looked?”

It was an interesting question.

“Almost certainly.” The admiral said, hypnotised by the wonder of it all “Countless miles, expanding ever onward. Millions of planets, trillions of lives, millennia of history...” He sighed.

“How is it...” he said, almost melancholic “That after so many years of progress and advancement in everything we know and possess, from technology right down to the way we think...that living creatures, civilised creatures...fight each other so often.”

Niriz thought about this and shrugged.

“Life’s the biggest battle there is, sir. And you only get to lose once.”

There it was. The astounding charm in simplicity.

Thrawn looked to his lieutenant with an intrigued glance.

“Who was it that said that?”

Niriz shrugged again.

“Someone very tired, most likely.”

The Chiss chuckled.

“Sometimes I do wonder...”

Niriz put his hands behind his back and stood side by side with Thrawn, taking in the atmosphere, or rather the spaces beyond.

“Not enough communication. That’s my theory.” He said flatly “Why there’s so much conflict. Sometimes learning the language isn’t all it takes to know how to speak. You need to just find time and space to sit down and talk it over. No-one ever manages that right when things get hectic. Elected officials just dither, autocrats can’t compromise, military figures only know how to solve things their way...and diplomats aren’t given enough pull.”

“Apart from the Jedi.”

“Yeah, well, look how that ended.” Niriz shook his head, inhaling through his teeth “Too devoted to their own esotericism, that lot. Never trust someone when you can’t tell how they think.”

“Is that right?”

“I mean, you can tell what someone’s ‘doing’ easily, whether they’re honest with you or not. You can take measures for that. Keep an eye on them. Find out what they’re up to. But when you can’t look inside their heads, it’s a no-man’s land.”

Thrawn nodded in an evaluating manner.

“And does that philosophy benefit you?”

Niriz gave a nod and a smirk.

“Every time you’re around, sir.”

The two laughed.

Thrawn had come to conclusion long ago that no-one would ever trust him. He was wired too differently for that luxury.

But people still tried. People still tried to understand him, work him out, unwrap his mind.

And that was always such an invigorating exercise. Had no-one ever tried, he was certain he would have lost his edge years ago.

“Admiral.”

A soft, feminine voice coupled with light but firm booted footsteps sounded over the gentle murmur of the bridge as Thrawn and Niriz turned.

“Ah. You have arrived.”

Captain Karyn Faro stood before them. A young, bright, energetic and quick-witted young woman with an oaky tan across her fair features and dimpled cheeks, nut-brown feline eyes keen as darts and an ebony hair with a rose rinse tied up behind her head in a ponytail, she cut a fine and inspiring figure and never had a thread on her uniform out of place.

Professionalism meant everything to her and her attention to detail, Thrawn had discovered in his time mentoring her, hid an artistic aestheticism. She’d been called over from her previous post in the Spirva Sector to aid Admiral Thrawn once again and the Chiss knew from the moment she stood before him, saluting primly before standing before them with her hands on hips, that he’d chosen well.

“Reporting for duty, sir.” She reached behind her belt and retrieved something “And bearing gifts.”

She held up in one hand an object, large, hard and coloured a fleshy crimson.

Thrawn paced forward and accepted it, turning it over and around in his hands.

It was a helmet. Not too unlike those of the Stormtroopers but the lower front was split down the middle to a black hive-like mouthpiece like those of the clone paratroopers or the recent Purge Troop project armour he’d seen on the confidential holofeeds. There were flat-metal prongs above the ears and a stripe of arrows running over the scalp, to what end and purpose, he could not say.

He looked at Faro with an uneasy eye.

“Details?”

“My marines caught them on Felucia. Apparently, they’re called Defilers.”

Eli Vanto was heard to give a sigh.

“Trust Zann to name his troops something so ridiculously edgy.”

“Information’s sketchy at the moment but from what we can tell, they’re a special-ops troop for the Separatist remnant, under Tyber Zann’s personal command. We cannot say how many they are but they’re deadly. They’d left a mountain dead among the local militia. As to the rest of their garb and equipment; standard issue and design. Not too far from the kind of thing you’d see in our stormtroopers, to be honest.”

“Any clue as to how many they number or where they’re situated?”

“Not yet. We know they have operations on Endor and Saleucami but we’re not certain if either hides their base. They’re small in number but they’re expanding aggressively. They operate as press-gangs, enslaving local populaces and spreading terror and corruption. They take orders from Toora but it seems likely that they see Zann as the real leader.”

“He’s definitely taken influence from the stormtroopers and those that came before them.” Thrawn said plainly “Still...it would not be like him to stop at what’s familiar to him...”

He handed the helmet to Niriz who took it away while giving a smile to Faro.

“You’ve done well, Captain Faro. While you’re here, I’m giving you command over our planetary intelligence mission. You’ll be working with Officer Himron who’ll oversee astral intelligence.” He gestured to a casual-looking man with strategic stubble and windswept slate-coloured hair, dressed in the silver long-coat of an intelligence officer who gave a genial beam at his old friend.

“Ah, good to have you back, Karyn.”

“Nice to see you, Molo.” Karyn grinned “You doing alright? How’s the wife?”

“Punted to the roadside along with her lawyer. Turns out she was shagging him when she wasn’t with her boyfriend. I got in touch with his wife, nice lady, and negotiations swiftly concluded.”

“Good man!” Karyn gave a hearty cheer at her old friend’s fruitful use of intuition in his recent divorce.

“Admiral?” Senior Lieutenant Rovaena Hammerly stood before the doorway. A statuesque amazon of a woman with a beautiful broad face, a dainty angular nose, high cheekbones, short curly blonde hair and piercing sea-blue eyes, Hammerly’s voice was in stark contrast to her intimidating build, her call to her commanding officer as soft and gentle as fathier fur.

“There is a Commodore Cridlington Bodhard wishing to see you. Should we let him in?”

There came a collective cross between a sigh and a groan from those in the room. They were all very familiar with Commodore Cridlington Yutsebridge-Bluorm Bodhard of Neelanon, commander of the Senex Trace Patrimony Flotilla which had recently headed the right flank of the 14^th Fleet.

He was never very far away from Grand Vizier Pestage in voice and in person. Among the mid to lower circles, he was known as ‘Mayonnaise’ Bodhard.

Because, rather like most mayonnaise, he was rich, white, oily and thick, smelt rather strongly of eggs and prolonged intake of his presence typically left one feeling clogged and unwell.

Still, Thrawn did not find it beneficial to keep an officer so quick to take offence at nothing waiting for a reason to grow irate. With a sigh, he waved a hand in the air.

“Show him in.”

No sooner had the door opened than the Commodore thundered in.

He was muscular but bandy legged and had personalised part of his uniform to suit traditional Senex military-garb which meant designing his trousers extensively baggy but tucked into very high boots that stretched just over his knees, giving his thighs a ludicrously overstocked look as they blew behind his backside which, considering what people thought of him, seemed appropriate.

His face was bizarre in that the most prominent feature was his enormous nose that was fat, long and curved slightly upwards like some form of gourd or squash. It took up almost all the focus on him so his tiny, perpetually-sneering mouth; jutting chin; small, close-set eyes and greasy black perm went almost unnoticed

It was likely that, despite his staunch xenophobia and humanocentricism, Bodhard possessed alien-blood. Delphanian maybe, or H’nemthe. It was the same with Grand Admiral Danetta Pitta.

Sometimes what one hated most stemmed from what one couldn’t stand being oneself. That was why Thrawn had always found any form of hatred as such a waste of time and did his best to stay well clear of it.

As ever, Bodhard coupled a thunderous appearance with a voice of similar fashion.

“I might have known it! The blue-hued boil upon the face of the Imperial Navy!” He snarled at the Chiss before casting an eye at Vanto and the rest “Along with Captain Candy-Arse and the ‘Nothing’s-Sacred Band’.”

The mood was quiet as the various members of Thrawn’s entourage eyed the Commodore venomously. Only the Chiss kept a mellow expression as he spoke.

“Can I help you, Commodore?”

“I have been surveying the roll and timetable for the Anaxes Inter-Corps Athletics and Unarmed Combat Competition!”

“Indeed, your enthusiasm for public relations is an inspiration to us all, sir.”

“Quiet!” Bodhard snapped.

The mood grew more tense. Thrawn’s circle were inimical at best at technically lower-ranking officers who thought they could disrespect their admiral simply because they possessed the privilege of being human. They knew Thrawn didn’t report them and those aforementioned officers probably knew that as well.
Still, it was always worth watching Thrawn’s reactions which constantly varied and were always enlightening.

“...have I offended you, sir?” Thrawn asked plainly.

“Oh, you have, alien! In many ways! But namely, I have checked to see that my task force is scheduled to participate in the competition with your own!”

“Ah, does this...interfere with any schedule of yours, sir?”

“Eeyup, he has a doctor’s appointment.” Eli Vanto piped up with a cheeky grin “He needs someone to remove the elongated arboreal instrument lodged in his rectal cavity. As soon as possible.”

The entourage chuckled as a crowd and the Commodore fixed the ensign with a lethal glare to which Vanto returned an innocent flutter of the eyelashes.

“Vanto, please. Exercise proper courtesy.” Thrawn said with a stern tone of uncertain severity “I do apologise for my ensign’s conduct, Commodore. Do continue.”

Bodhard collected his temper and spoke.

“You have women in your force, alien!”

“I’m pleased that you took such effort to notice. Does this...inconvenience you?”

The Commodore drew himself up and responded curtly.

“My flotilla practices staunch and well-established integral values subscribing to Imperial decree! The presence of females in a military task force under the Imperial banner is wholly unseemly and inane! And my troops shall endorse your removal from the competition should you not immediately take yourself off of all but the auxiliary exercises. Let your wenches slap their handbags against each other all they like, well out of the eye of quality. I shall not sully the good name of the 14^th Fleet with such aberrant mingling, is that clear?!”

He pointed a finger as Thrawn meaningfully, apparently unaware that one did not point any of one’s ten fingers at Thrawn unless one wished to start counting on only nine...or five.

Nonetheless, Thrawn gave a narrow gaze at the Commodore and spoke flatly.

“I...am sorry you feel that way, Commodore Bodhard.”

“I have not one need of your apologies! You will do as you are bidden! I have the ear of the Grand Vizier himself and he shall arrange for something particularly unpleasant for you and your audience of bumpkin misfits should you cross me!”

The Chiss paused a moment, taking a deep breath before baiting the trap.

“Perhaps a man of your stately calibre and renowned appreciation for the...manly arts...would like to demonstrate your impression with more than words.” he said “For the sake of morale. Let it never be said that the Imperial Naval Units bickered without conclusion.”

“Hmph! You wish to challenge?” Bodhard snorted with a sneer “I think not. From what I hear, Veers flattened you in the ring.”

“He was the victor, yes, and I am made all the wiser for it. But I am not the task force unarmed-combat champion. Perhaps we could have an off-record spar between our chief combatants in preparation. Should we lose, we shall pull out of the upcoming events which will be proven to be too much for us.”

“Ha! Childs-play!” Cridlington Bodhard guffawed “My regiment represents the cream of Imperial manhood!”

“Never say the words ‘cream of manhood’ again.” A revulsed-looking Niriz whispered to a nearby Freja Covell.

“So your champion will challenge mine? Is that agreed?” Thrawn continued, unperturbed “May I know the name of our opponent.”

“That would be me, alien!” Bodhard answered with a smirk.

“Excellent.” The Chiss’s satisfaction with inevitable outcome didn’t go unnoticed “Then it is my pleasure to present our task force champion, Captain Pilvine Yelfis.”

He gestured to one who stepped forward.

A petite little woman who couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five with a cheerful demeanour, swaying locks of dusky-beige hair and a cybernetic left eye with a green-tinted visor.

Yelfis and Hammerly were eerily similar, differing primarily in size. Rumours abounded the two were cousins or step-sisters. They both shared the same broad but elegant face, high cheekbones, rosy smiles and, of course, fists like comets.

And it seemed that last part hadn’t met Commodore Bodhard’s ears as he sized up the little captain with a smirk.

“This is your champion? I knew you were tasteless but this?!” he snorted again, the noise highly audible out of his huge nostrils.

Pilvine Yelfis, on the other hand put her hands on her hips and nodded with a smile.

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, sir.”

“What did you do there?” Bodhard gestured curtly to her left eye “Hit your head on the kitchen sink?”

There was a pause. Yelfis blinked with one eye while the green visor shrunk with focus in its metal socket.

Then she gave a small smile and patted his shoulder.

“See you in the ring, sir. Tomorrow. O’ nine-hundred hours. Don’t be late.”

“Pah!” The Commodore barged past her and thundered out the way he’d thundered in.

Once he’d gone, Yelfis shrugged in a merry manner as others around her chuckled at what was to come.

Karyn Faro gave a cold snigger as he turned to Thrawn and Niriz.

“Too many arseholes.”

“I beg your pardon, captain.”

“To your question, sir. My theory. Why there’s so much conflict in the stars after all this time.” She turned back to the spot where Commodore Cridlington Bodhard had stood a moment before.

“Too many arseholes.”

The Admiral and the Ensign glanced to one another with raised eyebrows.

“An interesting theory indeed.”

*

The room felt short of air in itself.

Pipsqueak felt certain his lungs were crumpling like scrunched up paper. They certainly felt like it.

Wheezing fitfully, he fought for breath, writhing in pain in his prison of a seat while Ilitha shuddered in ecstasy.

Croesus Crodd was standing on the end of the room looking little more than momentarily bored.

“Just how long is this going to take?”

“As long as it needs to, excellency.” Ilitha crooned eerily “Concerned for the little thing?”

“Concerned for time.” The Grand Moff shifted impatiently.

“Well, begging your pardons, excellency, but I think it well-spent.” Sate Pestage gave a depraved leer towards the agonised foal before him “Ooh, deary me, not quite so full of insolence as I remember. Eh, young master Pipsqueak, you runty little parasite!”

Pipsqueak spat.

It was little more than a puff of parched droplets, making him feel all the more drained, but it worked.

The Grand Vizier drew back, pawing at the left side of his brow and upper cheek and looking ever more enraged. He gave a shrill shriek of anger and raised his bony hand with sharp fingernails.

“Ooh-ho. Careful, Grand Vizier.” Crodd was chuckling now “He looks like he could bite.”

Pestage looked a moment and retracted his hand, his lips twisting into a pained grimace.

“He is beyond the limits of disrespect! Just have his head off and be done with it!”

“Good luck getting answers from him then.”

Crodd folded his arms and gave a coy smirk.

“Still spirited, are we?” he said to the barely-conscious Pipsqueak “Look at you, boy. Drained, near-broken, and yet still fighting. You’re certainly no coward, that’s plain to see. You’re scared to death...but you’re no coward.” He nodded “I think I shall enjoy conquering your kind once we find them. They look to be very invigorating opponents.”

Pipsqueak found a breath of air and used it boldly.

“Luna...will destroy you...she’ll blow you to nothing...that’s if Rae doesn’t do it first!”

That made Crodd laugh.

“My, my, we are sure of ourselves, aren’t we, young sir.” He cocked his brow towards the Imperial Jester “As you were, madam, it seems your work’s not done. Don’t hold back.”

“Oh, by no means, sir.” Ilitha looked over the colt.

Pipsqueak had bitten his lip the third time she’d invaded his mind. He was bleeding from his nostrils too as well as one ear. But now he was staring down the Nautolan with blazing eyes.

“You keep on putting me in that room...in the darkness...with my dad...and it’s not going to be so scary...” the little colt said flatly “I grew up with it...It’s nothing new.”

“Hm...” Ilitha leaned back and caressed her chin with one wet finger “You know...that is a point. Overexposure can lead to...dissatisfaction. Still...” She cast her sheer black eyes over the colt “You seem like somepony with a swollen heart...”

“Um...no, actually I don’t eat much.”

“Oh, shut up, you wretched little puddle of bile!” Sate Pestage hissed.
Ilitha just sniggered.

“No, no, I mean...you care too much about others. Your family, your friends...Perhaps, you fear not what your father would do to you but...” She left the sentence hanging and watched.

As it dawned on Pipsqueak what she was about to do, what she was about to experience, his eyes widened and his pupils shrunk in terror.

Ilitha noticed it and grinned wide in that unreal manner.

“Yes...I think so too...Your mother? No...You’d be used to seeing her knocked about by darling daddy...Ooh, but what about that pretty little friend of yours?”

She leaned in. Pipsqueak felt the back of his head press against the hard seat.

She smelt of black oil.

“Yeeeeeessssss...clean, periwinkle coat...mane as gold as wheat...those bright amber eyes...twinkling little smile...You know who I’m talking about, don’t you...”

Pipsqueak couldn’t respond.

She’d seen her.

She knew about Dinky.

She’d already conjured his father from out of his nightmares.

What, he feared to ask himself, could she do with Dinky?

Ilitha craned inward, her lips an inch from Pipsqueak’s ear.

“Have you ever touched her, little one?”

Pipsqueak’s lips twisted as caught something in his throat. Her question, and the way she asked it, made him feel unwell.

“Did your father?”

“He...he never knew her.”

“Oh...well...Do you think he’d like to?”

“No...please...” Pipsqueak was shaking like a leaf “Don’t...don’t give her to him!”

“Why not?” Ilitha asked, tilting her head to the side “Do you know...what sort of things big men like your father do...to little girls like your friend?” She giggled in a way that sounded dead, stilted, almost broken “Do you have any idea?”

“...no...”

“Well, now...” she drew her hands up and spread her fingers wide like the wings of a bat “What delightful sights I have to show you...”

“No, please!” The colt broke down sobbing “Not her! Don’t let him hurt her...Don’t hurt Dinky, please!”

“Oh, oh, please!” Sate Pestage was wringing his hands and raising the pitch of his voice as he imitated the colt’s wailing with menacing glee “Oh, no, please, not my little Dinky! Pathetic!” He spat. Pipsqueak felt it hit his shoulder and cling to his fur “There’s your courage, Crodd. Faded at the first drop of sentiment, as ever for aliens!”

Crodd said nothing. He was looking flat-faced at the colt with his arms folded.

“Get on with it, Ilitha. My time is not limitless.”

“Pipsqueak’s is.” The Nautolan replied with menace.

“Stop! Just stop, please!” Tears came to Pipsqueak’s eyes “Whatever you want to know, I don’t know. I keep telling you, I don’t know anything, I haven’t seen anything! Just stop please...” He heaved between his weeping as he gasped out the words “It’s not fair!”

Ilitha cocked her head again. Pipsqueak wasn’t sure if she’d blinked but she seemed confused a moment.

Then she answered plainly.

“I know.”

She chuckled, quietly, calmly, more so than he’d ever seen from her.

“It really doesn’t matter to me what you know or don’t know or say or don’t say...In this room, here, now...I can do what I like to you.”

She leaned in again. Her teeth, though not sharp, looked somehow shark-like. She spoke slowly, like a teacher to a slow student.

“You see how that works, Pipsqueak? I’m stronger than you...And that means...I can do...what I like...to you...”

Pipsqueak could say nothing. He could only watch as those horrible wet fingers arched across the sides of his head. He shut his eyes tight, hoping he could keep his thoughts away from her, keep Dinky Doo away from her.

His mind would not take it, this he knew.

The fingers pressed.

He felt the sides of his skull cracking. His teeth were aching, ready to break.

The seat tilted backwards as Ilitha was almost lying on top of him.

“Deeper...” she murmured maniacally “Deeper...Deeper!”

Krrrrzzzzzz!!!

A familiar electric tearing sounded through the room as a flash of red invaded Pipsqueak’s eyes. The fingertips had pulled away from him and as his vision returned, he took in the sight.

Ilitha’s grin was gone. She was leaning back with a face contorted with dread as a crimson sabre of solid luminescence stood sideways an inch from the front of her neck. All trace of her arrogance and eagerness had dissipated at once.

Then there was a sound. A hollow, toneless murmur in and out, like a cold bellows.

There was a dark shape behind the Imperial Jester.

And as the sabre drew ever closer to her neck, forcing her to lean back until her eyes were upon the ceiling, she found herself staring into the face of death itself.

“Release him.” A booming voice from the mouth of Tartarus gave a command.

Ilitha’s hand drew away from Pipsqueak and reached feebly for the chair controls out of her reach, her fingers craning up and down like the legs of an upside-down crab.

There came a sound from the dark creature behind her that sounded like a sigh of impatience.

“You have power over the force, do you not, Miss Ilitha?”

The Nautolan’s face tensed with resentment as her hand gripped the air and twisted her wrist.

The manacles released Pipsqueak who drew his legs close and gasped for free air and muscle control once more.

Sate Pestage found his voice, wavering with alarm.

“S-S-Supreme C-Commander V-V-Vader.”

Croesus Crodd cleared his throat and stepped forward somewhat tentatively.

“Apologies for any...inconvenience, Lord Vader.” he mumbled “Do not fear, we shall take the specimen under question into our custody.”

The thing called ‘Vader’ did not move but his voice felt like a seismic shock as he gave another command.

“Lieutenant?”

The door swung open with a swish and Pipsqueak’s eyes widened with hope as a saviour entered.

Rae Sloane was standing before the doorway in her jet-black uniform, a blaster in each hand, one pointed at Crodd, the other at Pestage.

The Grand Vizier stared down the blaster barrel with a mixture of rage and shock.

Croesus Crodd, meanwhile, took a single step back but showed no outward fear. He looked at her tiredly, slightly amused.

“He’s not taking me seriously.” she thought “But I will keep my temper. It would pay to keep the situation in control with Vader around.”

“Gentlemen.” she said bluntly “I am serving as Liaison Officer for Supreme Commander Vader. I wish for you to stand in the corner while the specimen under question is transferred to our custody.”

“Put those down, young lady, and cease this folly.” Crodd’s teeth were bared but his mouth was a half-smile and his voice was quiet. He took a step forward and sniffed loudly “Boldness does not become you and you are in the presence of high command. I will give you a moment to apologise and leave before you embarrass yourself.”

Rae Sloane gave a small sigh.

Whump!

Croesus Cross doubled up as the underside of a blaster slammed into the spot below his stomach. He gave a short cry of pain and coughed. Before he could topple, Sloane had grabbed his lapel and pinned him to the wall with the blaster-barrel under his nose. The blaster in her other hand had not shifted from Pestage.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, sir!” Rae Sloane barked “I said get your arse in the damn corner before I pull this trigger and chargrill what little I’ll find of your brains in that bent little skull of yours then give your shrivelled old friend the same treatment just so he doesn’t feel left out!”

“Lord Vader! What is this blasphemy?!” Pestage wailed.

“You...You’re finished! That’s your uniform gone, you’re history, Sloane!” Crodd was hissing through gritted teeth “You assaulted me! You threatened me! You’re done!”

“Ah, I was right. You didn’t hear me.” Rae Sloane whispered as she gave the blaster a meaningful knock, watching Crodd shut his eyes tight “I am Liaison Officer for Supreme Commander Vader. You know who he is, sir? He’s the man who snaps higher-standing men than you in half for waking him up a minute late. You’ve pissed him off. I haven’t. So to me, as far as he’s concerned, you’re free game. Here, now, in this room...you have literally nothing to threaten me with.” She couldn’t help but laugh at having been able to say that out loud to creatures such as them “So I guess that makes me stronger than you...Can you guess what that means?”

And with that, she grabbed the sides of Crodd’s collar and shunted him into the corner. The Grand Moff stumbled and barged into Sate Pestage who was barely able to stop himself falling down himself. As the two men gathered themselves, they stood before Vader like scolded infants while Ilitha could move nothing for fear of the lightsabre burning through her jugular.

At last, Vader spoke.

“I shall say this once...” he declared darkly “The foal...is under my protection...Any attempt to harm him...shall be treated as an attempt to harm me...and dealt with appropriately...Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Supreme Commander.”

“Of course. We apologise.”

“I am...truly sorry...Lord Vader.” Ilitha murmured, barely able to move her jaw “P-p-please...forgive my error...”

“Forgive?” Vader did not chuckle or tilt his head in the way Ilitha had done. What was most unsettling about him was how little he moved at all. The angle of his sabre-arm was tilting.

Something was about to cut.

“The Empire’s forgiveness...does not come cheaply!”

There was a hiss, like a branding iron trailing across a hard surface at sharp speed.

Ilitha gave a howl of agony and grabbed at something below her shoulder. Pipsqueak drew back in his seat as the smoking tip of one of the Nautolan’s head-tails landed next to him, wriggling lifelessly a moment before curling up and lying still.

Ilitha fell from the seat and rolled on the ground, crying and wailing.

It was incredible. Pipsqueak stared at the sight. This creature who had fed on fear, seen it her ambition to sup upon every sip of nightmares he held in his head, now seemed almost childlike, crawling into the corner and staring at Vader with abject terror.

Vader stood still, not even turning to face the Imperial Jester. His lightsabre was still in his hand, giving off a sinister hum until it retracted at once, vanishing into the hilt.

“Leave us, Ilitha. The Grand Inquisitor shall show you to your quarters.”

He raised a hand in a deadpan fashion and the door opened. The thin grey figure in black with the blood-red tattoos over his eyes was standing cordially. Ilitha did not touch him and he did not touch Ilitha but as the Nautolan trudged away, still cradling her cauterised head-tail with a series of whimpers, he followed behind.

As she departed, Pipsqueak felt much more at ease in the world he’d found himself in.

That left them with Crodd and Pestage.

“Grand Moff Crodd.” Vader said at last.

The stocky figure took one step forward, trying to keep his face straight.

“Yes...sir?”

Vader raised an open hand.

The next minute, Croesus Crodd was pressed against the wall, his feet off the floor kicking feebly as his hands wrestled with his collar, his already ruddy face turning strawberry-red as he fought for air.

Vader did not move his hand.

He slowly turned his gaze towards Crodd and spoke.

“Grand Moff Crodd...When I give an officer of the Empire an order, standard procedure dictates an officer obeying that order...or wishing he died with the Clone Wars. Therefore I am curious as to how this aforementioned procedure escaped you when you told Captain Voss Parck that you would not see me unless I asked for you in person.”

“I...L-lord...”

“What you have now, Grand Moff Crodd, is me...asking for you...in person...Does this situation satisfy you, sir?”

“I...No, I...I...”

“Thus far as of today, your little power-trip has cost both of us twelve-minutes and thirty-eight seconds that both of us could have spent productively.” Vader paced towards him and rested his hands around his neck properly “So...while I hold your fragile little life in my force-imbued fingertips, I ask you, Grand Moff Crodd...Did I need to ask for you in person? Did I?!”

“N-n-no! Lord Vader! No!”

“Indeed I did not...And yet here we are.”

The floating figure of Crodd jolted forward and then flung backwards with force against the wall behind him. Falling to the floor, he gasped and choked as Pestage stood stock-still in the corner Rae Sloane had sent him to.

The acting-Liaison Officer reached forward and rescued the little colt from the confines of his chair and held his shaking form to her shoulder, still keeping one blaster on both Crodd and Pestage. She was silent, waiting for the Supreme Commander to have his say, a procedure which never went interrupted.

“You shall consider your survival today a luxury. Should you...or any under your command, impede me in such a way as you have done today, I shall be forced to rescind that luxury. In the interest of our mutual timekeeping, we shall not speak of what has transpired in this chamber between most senior officials of the Empire.”

He turned and Rae did the same but not before Pipsqueak got a look at this figure who had come to his rescue.

He was a towering jet-black personage. His cloak was so long and wide that it was impossible to get a good idea of just how he looked beside it. He was a shadow, a shape. But his face.

It was some bizarre helm depicting a sheer black skull. Except not a skull. It had eyes. And its teeth weren’t teeth but a morbid corrugation. Covering his cranium was a dome-shaped helmet-top and a wide neck-guard arching round behind him, cowl-like.

There was no colour to him. He was more than just a shadow. He was the void. A walking abyss from which none crawled out of. This thing terrified Crodd and Pestage.

And despite coming to his rescue, it terrified Pipsqueak.

The black-clad hand moved to the mainframe of the Interrogation Chamber and pressed a series of buttons.

The door swung shut and a countdown timer from five-minutes started.

Rae Sloane fought off laughter.

Darth Vader had just locked Crodd and Pestage in that room for five minutes.

Pipsqueak found his voice.

“Th-th-thank you...s-sir...For-”

“Dispense with the pleasantries.” Vader raised a hand and for a moment, both Rae and Pipsqueak felt certain they’d feel the air snatched from their lungs.

They were fortunate.

Vader had simply motioned for silence.

“This was a mutual transaction of reinforcement. A debt now paid, now in the past. It shall not resurface. Lieutenant Sloane, you shall continue about your business. I have grown tired of this foal and am placing him in your custody. You may do with him as you wish.”

“Thank you, Lord Vader.” Rae Sloane stood to attention and saluted “Long live the Emperor.”

Vader did not return the salute. He stood a moment and nodded slightly.

“I shall remember the day you, young and inexperienced as you were, aided my troops during the Borm-Thad Chapel Crisis with high regard, Lieutenant. I count you among worthy officers of the Empire...But never presume upon this reputation for presumption leads to imprecision from which is born fatal error.”

“I understand entirely, sir.”

“Good. And I should keep the foal close. Young as he is, he seems adept at running into danger.”

“Of course, sir.”

“That will be all.”

His black cape blew a cold wind as he turned and departed down the corridor.

Rae Sloane put away her blaster and cradled the colt in both hands.

“You okay now, Pip?” She brushed a hand over his scraggly, sweaty mane.

Pipsqueak looked up at her smooth face and those warm, comforting eyes.

So much...like his mother.

His chest rose and fell suddenly, he snuffled a moment and then broke down, sobbing into Rae’s chest, his ears locked to the sides of his head, his little hooves clutching at Rae’s shoulders desperately.

“I want to go home!” his voice was muffled and not loud enough to shout but Rae heard Pip pour every ounce of his anguish and confusion into the words as she cradled the crying colt “I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to go home! I just want to go home! I just...I...I just...”

He sniffled then coughed and spluttered as he caught his own words in his throat. Rae patted his back until the coughing subsided and took him to a vending machine and poured him a cup of water.

He spluttered a bit after the first sip but drank down some of the rest fine. Calming him a little, he held onto Rae tightly and whimpered in a plaintive sob.

“I just want my mummy.”

“It’s okay, Pip. It’s okay...” Rae rubbed the back of Pip’s neck gently and murmured “Sometimes I do too.”

*

Another wrinkle.

This one was streaking from the left side of her nose to the corner of her lips.

Mon Mothma, former-Senator of Chandrila, sighed.

There was no hiding from it anymore.

She was getting old.

And if she wasn’t she was certainly feeling it.

She couldn’t remember the last time she or anyone else celebrated her birthday.

She shrugged.

Maybe getting old would actually have people taking her seriously now.

When she’d first been made a senator, she’d been one of the youngest members of the senate ever appointed at age fourteen. Only Padme Amidala had ever been appointed younger.

And Riyo Chuchi had been made a senator at the same age.

She winced at the memory.

Riyo Chuchi should not have had to have died like that. She was one of them, a Republic Loyalist, an advocate of democracy who’d done much and more to safeguard the peace of Pantora and the libery of its people.

But Berec had seen fit to take matters into his own hands.

Berec, a man she had granted power to.

Terrified, they had been feeding a hound of war and now the leash had snapped.

Something had to be done.

The door gave a whistle as it opened and a young man walked in.

The man was young and slim but muscular with a full head of smoky-blonde hair and and even fuller beard. But his eyes were slightly sunken and blue-grey, a haze of world-weariness and street-wisdom. He was dressed in a beige longcoat over a blue shirt and baggy white trousers, boots thick and hard on the floor, giving on a slightly scratched shine that suggested he’d had to go over them thoroughly before he was allowed to entertain the politicians.

Mon Mothma smiled as the man saluted in the traditional manner of the Republic Militia.

“Crix Madine.”

“Senator Mothma.” Madine replied in a sincere tone that registered non-mandatory respect for the woman before him “I’m happy to see you looking well after all these years.”

“Looking well? Heh...If you say so.” Mothma gave a chuckle “I feel less well by the minute.”

“Well, according to Imperial Databases, I’m officially dead so neither of us are at our best, it seems.”

“Cleaned up your tracks, then?”

“Cleaned up myself.” Madine held up a small, thin bar with his name, rank and number on it, marbled white and grey in the colours of the Imperial Storm Commandos.

With a look of disdain, he snapped it in half and threw it in the disposal chute beside Mothma’s desk.

It made her smile as Madine gave a sigh.

“There is only so much gore a man can wade through before he’s had enough. And I was up to my sodding nipples...ahem, begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“No, no, please, go ahead.” Mon Mothma said flatly “You should have heard me last time I got drunk. It made Bel-Iblis blush!”

Madine nodded gruffly.

“The Storm Commandoes are nothing but a glorified death squad. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve been told to do. Higher-ups would regularly offer me promotions, payoffs and stars know what else if I sent my men to massacre hundreds and make it look like a disaster or a pirate attack.”

“Just as I feared.” Mothma shook her head “Did our names ever come up?”

“Not collectively.” Madine answered “I don’t think they know you’re all together. They know you’ve left the Empire and that you’re still in contact with your friends but as far as I can tell, you’re relatively under the radar.”

“Well...in any event, I’m only glad you’re helping us. Your skills will be invaluable to our cause.”

“You honour me.” He took the seat Mothma offered as the former-Senator of Chandrila took her own behind her desk, switching on a few holograms and videos.

“So far, the news is bleak. Berec’s murder of Riyo Chuchi has lost us a great deal of support. Kinn Robb and Zinn Paulness have cut off contact with us, likely in protest, although we can confirm they have not been in touch with the Empire. Our mission in the Tapani Cluster has gone...very south. Gem Sirrom is alive but recovering mentally. The entirety of the resistance movement on Procopia, however, was killed by the Mecrosa Order.”

“What of Senator Organa and his family?”

“Still missing.” Mothma said gravely “And his replacement is causing us more trouble by the day.”

“I thought Elenwen Juben supported the Militarists.”

“She’s fickle. Always has been. And her elevation to acting-Senator has put Alderaan in a very difficult position. She has antagonised Imperial High Command in person and represents her planet in doing so. Her friend among our Self-Defence Corps, a Commodore Timberly Abra, is also looking for opportunities to attack Imperial convoys. If they have their way, the Empire will strike back. And we are not yet ready for their reprisal, we lack any advantage at this stage. That’s not even going into what Berec’s doing.”

“Sounds as though your current threat is within, if you don’t mind me saying, ma’am.”

“That does appear, sadly, to be the case. Which is where you come in.”

“Ah...” Crix Madine leaned back in his chair as his face creased with unease. He reached in his jacket pocket “Do you mind if I smoke, ma’am?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Frankly, I’m surprised the lot of us aren’t on one substance or another at this point.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, ma’am. Our advantage right now is that the Empire aren’t taking us seriously. I’ve been watching them and they’re far more invested in fighting each other than any real enemy.”

“What about Thrawn?”

Madine sucked his teeth.

“Most, if not all, of what you’ve heard about him is true, unfortunately. The good news is, he’s busy with a high-school nemesis right now, however many ways that doesn’t make sense.”

“I see.”

“The way I see it, now’s the time to begin covert operations against the Empire.”

“Under normal circumstances, that would be true.” Mothma stood and paced about her chamber “Unfortunately, launching such an operation would give our less-restrained allies such as Berec and Juben the perfect excuse to lash out which would botch our attempts at subterfuge against the Empire before they even got going. We need to make sure our allies aren’t a threat before we move.”

She pressed her hands against the desk.

“I’m not suggesting we kill them. But we must nonetheless find a way to control them. We turned to them when we were desperate and it has now become clear they wish to keep us desperate. This must cease. And we believe you’re the man to find their weak link.”

“I shall endeavour to give satisfaction, ma’am.”

“With your aid, we hope to be able to bring our various branches closer together and keep them under a collective set of laws and ethics for wartime. We are not the Empire and we shall not treat our enemies to their own brutalities or we cannot hope to progress.” Mon Mothma brought up some more holofeeds and linked them “To ensure this...we must find out more about the one who bears this symbol.”

Madine eyed the link that blossomed in a bright-blue sphere between the floating faces of Berec, Juben, Abra and other unreliable allies. It formed a strange symbol.

He raised an eyebrow as Mothma explained.

“Berec has recently appointed a Spymaster, someone we believe is keeping us all under surveillance. It is likely he who discovered Chuchi had received messages from Panaka and who probably abducted her in the process. We also have reason to believe he was on Alderaan shortly before Bail Organa went missing. He is currently operating on Cattamascar where Berec has stationed a military camp. We...had a few operatives there but...” She hung her head.

“Dead?”

“We lost all contact with them. And Berec denies they were ever there. We fear...”

Madine took a puff of his cigarra reflectively.

Rebels killing rebels?

The situation among the Alliance to Restore the Republic was worse than he thought. He’d never regret leaving the Empire at this stage but he could see he was going to have his work cut out for him and, to his shame, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just been thrown from one shady unit to another.

“This Spymaster...Before your agents went missing, did they say anything about what this fellow was like?”

“Yes. Nothing good.” Mothma’s brow furrowed in anxiety “They described him, in no uncertain terms...as a tyrant. He operates his training camp with an iron fist. Men are sent into death-zones and rarely return. In particular, they say he is exceptionally violent towards women.”

“Really?” Madine made an uncomfortable face.

“Whenever his operations go awry, he will almost invariably single out a female soldier or staff-member and put them to death, horrific torture, or both, rambling all the way and blaming them for things he should know weren’t their fault. Reports came that he talks to his own blaster and mumbles about his mother. He abuses his men and when he feels he’s exhausted the ways he may hurt them personally, he will abuse their families. His fits of rage are a period in which no-one’s safe.”

She shook her head and sighed.

“Cold, capricious and thoroughly thuggish. Put simply...he is a monster of the lowliest calibre.”

“And Berec vouches for this nut-case?”

“He assures us that he is an invaluable investment. It is certain that this spymaster hates the Empire with every ounce of his being and he is probably the most vocal of his partisans in voicing the urge to go to war.”

“Right. So now I’m about to meet this lovely chap then?”

“If you have any objections, I shall entirely understand and we will not fault you. I do not wish to send you to your death so soon after you’ve found new life.”

Madine shrugged with a small chuckle, blowing smoke out of his grin.

“I didn’t want to get too comfortable. Besides, without meaning any offence, ma’am, I don’t quite see myself behind a desk.”

That made Mothma laugh lightly.

“So what’s the name of this man?”

Mon Mothma tapped her holoprojector again and the sphere between the faces changed shape.

“We do not yet know. Nor have we ever seen his face. He simply uses a moniker and this symbol shows up whenever he is contact with anyone.”

Two lines that bent against each other at the middle, forming a diamond open at the top and bottom points. Two full diamonds marked the upper-halves of each line.

Madine studied the symbol quizzically as Mothma explained.

“We know him only as...Fulcrum.”

*

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“You’re the one driving! Why are you even asking that?!” A green unicorn barked.

Discord gave a snort, his turned-up nostrils rounding and pinkening to appear porcine.

“Well, someone had to! None of you were picking up the slack!”

“Some of us possess the gifts of restraint and patience, Draconequus.” Midnight Blade said bluntly.

“Yeah, gifts...In the same way as tangerines and underwear are Hearths Warming ‘gifts’.” The God of Chaos sulked as he held his hands out, twisting and turning them as he navigated the way through the multiverse.

The Knights were perplexed at what they saw.

The space between their own universe was rainbow-tinted, swirling hazes of every colour floating over and under each other. Since then, the haze had lifted and they now beheld a rich, navy blue void with silver stars dotting each square inch of distance.

“We’re nearly there at any rate. The bridge to the universe of our destination is close.”

“What about any of these stars. What do they hold?” White Wolf queried.

“Oh those aren’t stars.” Discord said “You might want to duck.”

There was a breeze in the void and the knights just managed to duck down as a meteor, marble-white and glowing faintly, hurtled past, spinning wildly.

“What was that?!” Fletcher Fray gasped.

“Flying rocks?” The batpony snapped “You didn’t think to mention this place had flying rocks?”

“They’re not flying rocks. And they’re not stars.”

“So what the buck are they?”

Discord gave a small, knowing smile and answered.

“Ideas.”

“Come again?”

“They’re ideas, sailing through the multiverse.” The Draconequus explained “This place, this cosmos, is where ideas are born. Ideas that make the universe they’re part of off, well...fuller. They give it life, give it light, make something of it, essentially. Without them, there is only darkness. What you just ducked under there was an idea, in its rawest form, looking a place in the universe where it may shine, beside so many others.”

“Huh...you’d think ideas would look more elegant.”

“Well, all ideas start off as crude and shapeless, don’t they. It all begins with something at its core. That’s what makes them glow. But little by little, they find their shape...usually, with a little help.”

He cocked an eyebrow (Which gave a small shotgun-pumping sound) at two of the rocky ideas that spun closer and closer. And then...

‘Ker-Raaahhhh!’

The explosive noise was loud and thundering and yet...

Something about it sounded beautiful, victorious, like pumping one’s hoof in the air in achievement.

The Knights were somehow taken in by the sight and sound as the two rocks shifted away from each other, sailing slowly through the cosmos to show the spot where they’d hit had somehow smoothened, shining brighter, scattered rock unveiling crystalline ridges beneath.

“Ah...perfection...” Discord said softly.

“So...all of these stars are ideas? That form some kind of divine plan for the universe they guard?” White Wolf worked things out in her head “How many are there?”

“Countless. Literally. More come and go each and every moment. There is never any moment of stillness here. You stay here long enough and you notice a pattern, a web, a single shape conjoining each and every idea as one. At least...that was how it was a while ago.”

“What happened?”

Discord shrugged.

“In every universe, there are creators and there are sustainers. The creator of this universe grew weary, felt he’d lost control, depleted his resources...and hung up his crown.”

He gave a wry chuckle.

“Along came a mouse. A mouse that casts the shadow of a behemoth. A creature who holds many universes under their command. Some mightily, some shakily. We can’t all be kings. But the sustainers remained, adding their own little ideas to both the old world and the new.”

“Uh...I’m lost.” Fletcher Fray said, scratching the back of his ear.

“You think you’re confused, try being part of it yourself.” The dragonequus gave a shrug “Anyway, you see the big rocks up there. That’s creation. Those are ideas cast by the very rulers of this domain, not its mere denizens.”

Above, huge rocks soared through the aether, great solid leviathans. Several of the smaller rocks plunged into their proximity and struck home, chipping away parts of the rock. But most missed them or avoided them.

At this, the Knights noticed, Discord shook his head, tutting with concern.

“Nah, you see, they’re too fast. They’re not letting themselves be influenced. Big ideas like that can’t go too fast or they don’t grow properly.”

“I don’t quite see the problem. It’s moving as fast as the others.” Midnight piped up.

“Exactly!” Discord wrung his hands “When you’re trying to keep ahead, when you’re going faster than all the other bright lights, you’re hurtling into blackness. A big idea like that needs a lot of work. And to fit in with the universe, it requires other ideas, sometimes smaller, sometimes larger, to bounce off them, shape them, craft them into its proper shape. These ones just move too fast and therefore, grow too slowly. The form is massive but the core beneath...is still quite small. It has yet to properly wake up.”

“So...is that this ‘mouse king’s’ fault?”

“Well, yes and no. When you take charge of a universe, you want to move fast, don’t you? You don’t want to be pushed around and look like you’re just shuffling things along. You want to keep ahead, show you know what you’re doing and put a lot into it. But space isn’t the only problem when you’re trying to fit it all in. If there’s too much that isn’t properly shaped when it comes out, you pull things apart too much, everything moves without touching each other and then...well...what are you in charge of then? It’s like being in a giant treadmill that just goes faster and faster and faster...”

“Yeah, that’s my mind right now.” White Wolf shook her head with a growl.

“Even I, a literal God of formless Chaos, struggle to hold onto a single chunk of our own universe...” For a moment, Discord sounded completely serious “Can you imagine, for a minute, what it’s like having to rule more than one all at the same time?”

He sighed.

“I don’t fault them. I, of all creatures, understand the wish to control things. And the ideas are decent, in their own way, it’s just the chiselling they haven’t got right yet. They want to do good here. Show themselves to be worthy. Reaping the benefits never hurt but even then...I have some respect for them, I really do. They’re hard at work. But there’s a difference between working hard and working smart. Working smart requires you to just pause, sit down, let things settle and really look at what you’ve got...with eyes that may not even be your own.”

“Yyyyyyyyeah...” Midnight Blade mumbled “Let’s...let’s get all this down when we get back, shall we? I can feel my brain quartering itself trying to make sense of this.”

“No worries, we’re just at the bridge now. Gimme a minute and...wait...”

Discord’s ears pricked up and shaped themselves wider and thinner like earhorns. He gave a gasp and looked around.

“Oh no...Oh no, not again!”

“What? What is it?” Midnight’s forehoof reached for his falchion “Danger?”

“Like you’ve never seen before. Oh, sweet Nyarlathotrot! There’s more of them every year!”

The Draconequus looked sincerely panicky. The Knights took defensive positions. White Wolf drew two daggers, holding one in her forehoof and placing the other between her teeth while Fletcher Fray drew his longbow and nocked an arrow.

They were at a chasm. The rocks were sparse here.

Above was light, faraway but brilliant and lush where stars of every colour danced and sung.

Below was a cloudy grey abyss with red ripples and ruptures. Humungous, jagged shards of rock, broken off when ideas bounced off each other, were descending at a snails’ pace into the drop below.

“Where are we?” Fletcher asked.

“The bridge to the universe. The very border of the great base. Where love of the universe meets the hatred of it.”

“So...what’s to be afraid of here?”

Having asked that, Wolf’s ear pricked.

There were noises coming up from below. Thumping and cracking of rocks. And voices.

The most angry, hateful, maniacal voices they’d heard in quite some time.

Steadily, they could make out words. Or crude attempts of words.

“yuu killd ma chuldhud!!!”

“nutt mah sterr werrs!!!

“es-jay-dubbleyoo!!!”

“woek hoarrs!”

“I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t want to do this...” The God of Chaos groaned.

“Oh, what fresh Tartarus is this?!” Midnight groaned “Discord, what is that coming up from below and what the hell is it talking about?!”

The Draconequus gave him a grim glance.

“In many stories, there is a bridge the heroes must cross, Midnight...And what do you find hiding under that bridge?!”

Fletcher cast his archer’s eyes out as things emerged, jumping from rock to rock or crawling up the chasm.

Freakish things, naked and hunched, pot-bellied but bandy-limbed, eyeless, earless and tasteless with bulbous noses, grasping fingers and claws. Huge mouths of hideous teeth gnashed and screeched feverishly and horns had sprouted all over their heads and joints. Their skins were mottled messes of slimy greens, pus yellows, scabrous reds, murky blues, blistery oranges, raw pinks, corpulent purples, mouldy cyans, faecal browns and every shade that brought about feelings of revulsion and suspicion.

Living sculptures of toxicity, clambering towards them.

“This place...”

Fletcher turned to his comrades and bellowed out at the top of his lungs.

“ITS FULL OF TROOOOOOOOOOOLLS!”

“I can’t navigate through all this.” Discord called to the Knights “These creatures don’t let anyone through!”

The three bodyguards of Princess Luna beheld the oncoming horde with horror as the first dozen creatures clambered up to stare them down face to face, still raging and squawking, waving their limbs about like mad-things.

The knights tried to reach some degree of reason but there appeared no way through such a tide of hysteria.

“fak canunn an fak diznee!”

“In Equestrian, please?”

“yuu ruind da francheiz!”

“Well maybe, but is that any reason to shout?”

“Dayzee Ridli iz a libb-slu-”

Thunk!

One of the trolls jolted, transfixed by a short throwing dagger through his mouth. He gurgled on his curses and fell back the way he came, into the abyss.

All eyes turned to White Wolf whose hoof was still raised in a throwing motion.

“What?” she muttered “He shouldn’t have yelled at me. I get jumpy.”

A collective howl came up from the lungs of his comrades as they grabbed at chunks and splinters of rock and made their way forward in whatever way they could, beckoning for blood.

“Now ya’ done it!” Discord yelled “Now they think they’re being persecuted so we’re fair game!”

“You know what, buck this!” Midnight swung his falchion through the air “We’ll try to keep them at bay for as long as we can. Discord, get that bridge up and door open. The sooner we’re out of here, the better!”

“For once, no argument here!” The Draconequus pressed his hands against air before him and a gust of interdimensional vortex burst from his palms “If you need one-liners, let me know.”

“You two up for a spot of knife-work?” Midnight turned to his compatriots who responded with eager grins and raised weapons.

“I’m a Von Armbrust.” Fletcher Fray said proudly “We made troll-hunting a family pastime.”

“And I’ll carve up anything for some peace and quiet.” White Wolf snarled “And I don’t know what a ‘woak hoar’ is but I’m tired of hearing it.”

“Then it’s settled.” Midnight spread his bat wings and drew a forehoof over the flat of his blade “Tonight, the moon runs red!”

And with a mighty charge, with Luna’s name on their lips, the Eternal Knights flung themselves into the heart of war.

Author's Note:

Figured I might as well get some work done.
I've been busy with a webcomic (To call it that is a bit charitable. It's on Deviantart at any rate.) for the last couple of weeks.

Vader, as always, sorting it out.
Uncertain if I had Rae take too many liberties but when Vader has your back, you milk it for all its worth.

Finally showed Crix Madine. Zsinj is next.

And of course, gettin' meta with Discord!
Guess what he's wearing!
I tried to get very Discworldian with the 'multiverse' concept and showcase my interpretations of Disney's dilemma with the Star Wars universe.
As to the Bridge of Trolls.

Music from the Warcraft series, Disney's Fantasia, the Legend of Spyro, Amnesia, Rhapsody of Fire and various sound effects.
Hope you enjoy it. Please let me know in the comments.

Comments

[Bronycommander]

Nicely done! Now, given your story is chronically before mine, I could image Pip serves as inspiration for Vader when he met scoots

As for the idea part, be glad you didn't break the fourth wall or gave the knights "glimpses" of my ideas with them.

But on that note, if I may say here, James could mention to Pip he can be glad he didn't suffer like Scootaloo did, when he's about to see what the filly experienced

[Purple Patch]

10381609
Well, as I say, there's quite a difference both in time and in what Pipsqueak and Scootaloo look like.
I mean, Pipsqueak in himself looks like a fairly conventional real-life horse.
Scootaloo is bright orange with purple mane and wings. She is, in a sense, a lot more alien.

Well, I've been taking inspiration from Discworld for the meta stuff.
Now that I think about it, Discord is Discworld with two letters missing.
Maybe he should start calling himself W.L Discord.

Well, to be honest, psychological torture is often a whole lot worse than just physical.
Sure, losing a limb sucks but at least once it's over, it's over.
Being tortured psychologically can sometimes mean you never recover and so it never really ends.
A particular post-Cold War German saying is appropriate.
"The Gestapo were bone-breakers. The Stasi were soul-breakers."

Still, what did you think of Discord's scenes.
And Crix Madine?
Surprised by the mention of yet another Fulcrum?

[Bronycommander]

10383644
Of course, though there's the fact she can speech löike Pi and I suppose Vader could sense the connection/similarity of the two through the force.

Good idea.

Of course, I meant in terms of phantom pain. And due to the droid, Scootaloo suffered psychological torture as well. Sure, mental damage is worse, but with a lost limb, you are constantly reminded of at the sight, having to adapt with the changes. Long story short, that James could say Pip is lucky he came back in one piece, unlike scoots.

They were nice, not so surprised, given what you told me before.

And Crix Madine, I finfd he is a great, interesting charchter, wy he fought for the empire, then for the rebels, not to mention the situation regarding his wife throughout this all.

[Mr Dorito]

Crix Madine’s gonna be in a for a rude awakening when he finds that he really did just put himself in yet, another shady unit.

Also, I’m convinced you need to smoke a pound of weed to understand whatever the fuck Discord does and what he places he knows.

[Purple Patch]

10384250
Indeed.
And yes. There's yet another Fulcrum.

Your sentiment is shared by the Eternal Knights.
Discord is fun to write. You can get away with just about anything with him.

What do you think of Thrawn's retinue? And Commodore Bodhard?

[Mr Dorito]

10384467
I think you did a good job with Thrawn here. Bodhard seems more like the typical idiotic bully. I hope Thrawn does clash with someone xenophobic and competent like Grand Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus.

[Purple Patch]

10384470
Righto. Keeping that in reserve.

[Purple Patch]

10384470
10383715

Also, have you worked out what Discord's wearing on his head that he thinks will give him absolute control over the Star Wars universe?

yourwdwstore.net/assets/images/6/60000/3000/400/63408-s1.jpg

[Bronycommander]

10385406
Good one!