• Published 27th Nov 2019
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Hour of Twilight - Starscribe



Twilight Sparkle was Celestia's chosen heir, and under her rule Equestria was destined to prosper. But then her friends passed, as mortal ponies always do, and she was left to rule alone. The years were not kind to her after that.

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Chapter 45: Triangulum

The next few hours passed in a blur for Star Orchid. At least for a little while longer, she took full advantage of human hospitality, far from the fear of Geist or even Twilight herself.

At least in the real world. Her dreams were haunted with images of the princess’s disapproving face. ‘I gave your family everything,’ she would say. ‘Harmony placed great trust in you, and you failed it. You failed all of Concord.’

‘No!’ her dream-self argued. ‘It was all lies! The Immortal City has been killing ponies for centuries, not preserving them in their eternal rest!’

But the princess didn’t care. She suffered endless deaths before Twilight was finally satisfied with her punishment, and her corpse went on to join the Unification Army with so many others.

“Star!” called a voice, harsh enough to break through her nightmares. She jolted suddenly upright, the surgical rooms of Canterlot Castle finally fading from view. She blinked, then slumped against the cot. It was made for humans, which meant it was luxuriously large, but also uncomfortably firm under her. Still, their hosts had given them their own tent, which the humans somehow temperature controlled, staying warm at night but pleasantly cool during the day.

She scanned the room around her—but none of her companions were there. Sunset’s bed was untouched, Sweetie’s was a mess, and Windbrisk loomed over her, looking concerned. “Star, are you okay?”

Star shook her head once, then rolled out of bed anyway. “What is it? Did the attack on Concord already happen?”

“No,” Windbrisk muttered, resting one wing over her shoulder. Male birds were a new thing for her, but the feathers were just as soft as she expected. Maybe what she really needed was some company. Someone who wouldn’t be feeding on her love like a parasite. “No one gave me the specifics, but I know nobody has left camp since we got here. Apparently the plan is to rejoin the Harrow, once it arrives. But Landon was calling for you. Apparently they need magic. Sunset is too badly hurt to cast anything complicated, and Sweetie doesn’t have the skill. It has to be you.”

“I thought the humans didn’t have magic,” she muttered, keeping all but the faintest touch of annoyance from entering her voice. “What help could they possibly need?”

“I don’t know,” Windbrisk answered, turning away. “But it seemed urgent. Do you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah.” She leaned up against him, falling silent. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent take the place of so many strange human chemicals. This was what she’d been missing from the world—physical contact. Serving on a prolonged mission might be helping to save Equestria from terrible danger, but it was ultimately isolating. “Just gimmie a second.”

He did. Up this close to him, she could feel his heart racing. Birds were always like that, for reasons she’d never learned. But it never bothered her—they always felt like they were a second away from launching into motion again, to fight or fly or less wholesome things. But she couldn’t let her exhaustion take her mind to places it didn’t belong. Landon would not have asked for her without good reason.

“Take as long as you need,” Windbrisk said, though his tone wavered with each word. He wanted to help her, but he knew something he hadn’t shared.

Star levitated her cap off the foot of the bed. So far, it was her whole uniform—the same long vee-shaped hats the humans wore with their dress uniforms, with a place for her new rank pin. Maybe it was ceremonial, just a gesture to make the ponies feel worthwhile. But Star intended to test them. Kondrak would have kept his word—Star Orchid reserved judgement on Landon.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

They crossed camp together, at a respectful distance. Star kept drifting back towards him—but the bird was too proud to show affection now. Whenever the willowy humans looked his way he would straighten and nod to them, the way they did to each other. You’re glad we’re here. You want to be part of this.

They didn’t go to the two parts of camp Star knew—not the mess hall, or the recreation tent. Rather, they reached a line of fortified metal fences, with strange machines rotating to follow their approach with every step. They reached a gate with a single armored guard outside, who stopped them with one open hand and extended a round machine towards Star with the other. “Please look into this. Stare at the dot until it flashes.”

She did. It was a dark tube, featureless except for a spot at the far end. Then it flashed, nearly blinding her. She recoiled, retreating in pain. “What the hay was that?”

The soldier strode away from her, holding out the machine for Windbrisk to repeat the procedure. “A new security device. The species you call changelings can easily imitate most correction agents at the genetic level—but the patterns in an iris aren’t just genetic, they’re shaped by development. We’re taking reference photos to use to identify you in the future.”

Reference photos of their eyeballs from extremely close? But Star didn’t argue. The fight to identify changelings was one that ponies had to suffer through too, during wars long past. The pony solution of “leaving someone alone in prison for a few weeks to see if they starve” was a lot more inconvenient than a camera.

Then the soldier stepped back, replacing the camera in a pouch and hammering a button against the wall. The gate slid out of the way, revealing a short gravel path leading to a metal… rectangle? It didn’t seem that different from the others all around camp, and using all that fence to keep it a hundred meters from the wall on all sides seemed like a waste. As they approached, Star could sense one difference. There was magic inside.

Landon stood at the entrance, dressed in her full armor and carrying her oversized metal weapon across her back. But her helmet was up, and there was a computer in her hands instead of a gun. “Oh, good.” She gestured for them to approach, eager. “I was hoping you might be able to help with this, Major Star Orchid. You were an expert in magic before your defection, weren’t you?”

That’s one way to think of it. But Landon was right. She had defected now. Harmony was a lie, its words were propaganda. She owed nothing to Twilight anymore. “Yes. Trained in the court. Spent two years at the Arcanum Well, but only a few weeks in the palace. The princess sent me out on an away-mission while I was still new enough not to be identified.” She trailed off, staring up at the metal face of the box.

Now that she was up close, she could see how different it looked to all the boxes outside. It was the same shape and size, but while those were relatively untarnished white, this was made of a dull silvery metal caked in corrosion that flaked off in huge scales, scattered all around it on the floor. There were human machines set into the side, with several gradually depleting meters. She couldn’t read the alphabet to know what it actually said.

“What can I do?” she asked. Not confrontational, she hoped. “This looks like a human thing. I’m sure you have… your version of wizards—the ones who deal with technical problems?”

“Engineers,” Landon supplied. “But no, they’ve tried. See that?” She pointed at the metal locking section, which Star noticed was split with a single black scorch mark.

Through it she saw… something shimmering, faintly purple. “A shield spell?” She pulled on the door with one hoof, though the angle didn’t let her use too much force. It didn’t budge, though she did see a faint surge in the purple around the opening. She gave up after just a second, looking back up. “What is this?”

“The reason Hippocrates went to Steelbones Canyon” she whispered. “I didn’t think they’d find anything, but… Kondrak was right. The Starmind was still down there.” She reached out, running her fingers along a strange pattern burned into the metal. A symbol—an oversized flower, resting on a pond.

“They found it intact, despite the neutron bombardment. Twilight’s invincibility is defeated, but the Rogue is still more dangerous than any conventional soldier. An entire battalion of star-marines has tried to kill her, and were left melted and burning. An orbital strike is too slow—she’ll move her city long before it hits. Kondrak refused to consider nuclear weapons against a civilian target. That only leaves a precision strike—this.”

“So it’s a weapon?” Windbrisk asked. He wedged his claws gently into the gap in the steel doors, trying to pry it open. But they didn’t budge either. “An old pony weapon that humans stole?”

Star cleared her mind, closing her eyes and feeling the spell ahead of them. It was a shield, similar to the levitation spells she sensed in the human airship. Like that power, it seemed too strange to date to any pony scholar. But where the ships seemed wild and out of control, the shield was strong. Alien, but fully intact. “That’s not a pony artifact in there.”

“Not an artifact at all,” Landon said. “What you’re hearing now is… there was a time I’d be executed for saying any of this. But who would do it now? I’m basically supreme commander of the planet. I say you have clearance, so…”

She lowered her voice, dropping onto one knee so she was at eye-level with them. Even so, the heavy metal armor on her body made it hard to feel like she was really talking to them like equals. But she was trying, and Star could respect the attempt.

“Before the war started, the I.F. got into all kinds of experimental research. One of those was the next generation of humans—better than any cybernetic, better than any AI simulation. Fleet was getting into levels of gene forming that makes growing bodies like we do seem like child’s toys.

“Nobody knew if they got anywhere, because the war started. Anarchos thought they’d end this perversion of nature like all our others. Apparently they never did, though. Research kept going, centuries after the end of the world. And they obviously succeeded.” She flicked two fingers towards Star’s horn. “The Governing Intelligence didn’t use all of it—I don’t think the AI understood what it was working with. Isn’t it great that the planetary energy grid can power self-reproducing bio machines? No need to work with inconvenient heavy equipment that breaks down and needs to be replaced. Just wait for the correction agents to keep breeding. They’ll keep their own numbers stable.”

She finally rose, turning slightly to one side. “I know this is… probably uncomfortable for you. I’m not passing any kind of judgement on ponies. Captain Kondrak… he thought you were lucky. At least you knew you were designed by something greater.”

Star looked away from the box. The claim did seem absurd. Was Landon really saying that humans had somehow invented magic, buried in a box somewhere? “If that’s true, why don’t you all have it?” she asked. “Why would you keep it locked up in a box? Magic is what makes pony civilization possible. Even if you don’t think you need it… you’d still benefit.”

Landon shrugged. “Human civilization wasn’t even supposed to restart until the Governing Intelligence says terraforming is done. Maybe it did plan to make ‘magical’ humans, once the Earth is ready. I can’t ask it, since the Rogue destroyed it. But the Starmind was never the same thing as the Governing Intelligence. Making a GAI is always complex. It took years to make one, and sacrifices that make no sense to us living in the wreckage the empire left behind”

“Each one was created with a specific goal, and they see the entire universe from the context of their goal. The Governing Intelligence runs the Earth terraforming project. The Starmind bioforms higher strains of humans to live in the new world. The projects were related, but not connected in resources or authority.”

And I released the Alldeath. Star stopped short of admitting that, though she caught Windbrisk’s glance just behind Landon. But considering the machine had tried to murder them, she wasn’t in a hurry to trust it. “You want me to get the shield open,” she said instead. “Are we sure it’s safe?”

“Nope. The box is opaque to our scans. The computer on the outside here reports a livable environment inside, but we can’t verify it. We can’t get sensor access, so it’s just what the computer chooses to share. But whatever it is, this container isn’t keeping it in. It wasn’t locked when we found it. It doesn’t want to come out.”

Star settled down on her haunches in front of the door. “I can’t promise I can open it. The princess can make shields that can’t be broken, so long as you keep feeding them power. Normal ponies can’t, but I’ve known a few who can get close.” I used a shield like this to stop your Governing Intelligence from killing all of us just a few days ago.

“Do your best,” Landon said. “If we can’t get in, or whatever is in there can’t help us, then we won’t have many options left for killing the princess. When you don’t have a razor, you use a hammer.”

Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad and almost everypony Star Orchid had ever known. By the numbers, there were probably more creatures living in Concord than the rest of the world combined, at least a million of them. Would Landon really kill them all to stop the evil Alicorn?

No, she’s just trying to get my help. She said it herself, Kondrak wouldn’t approve. They’re not like Twilight, they’re better.

Star concentrated on the barrier, letting herself drift away from perception of her body. It was a powerful shield, even if it didn’t use any of the standard rotes. Even air itself was kept out, though it had so much energy coming in she retreated for a second in shock. She circled around the shield, with the others just behind her. But they didn’t interrupt, and so she kept working.

This thing has Alicorn-level power driving it. Yet when she tried to follow that line of power, she couldn’t. It drifted up and away from her, as though Harmony itself had granted this shield would work.

After struggling for almost an hour to find some weakness, Star was just about ready to give up. No magical blast or disruption would open it, nor did she have the ancient monster Tirek around to null the spell. She finally opened her eyes, rubbing one hoof against the pounding headache in her temples.

“Harmony help us,” she muttered. “I don’t think anyone could open that.” She looked up, and found Landon and Windbrisk were both sitting down beside the entrance. Windbrisk was still watching her, somehow managing to look resolved despite the long delay doing nothing. Landon was tinkering with her flat computer-thing. But both looked up at her words.

“It’s hopeless, then?” Landon asked. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for. You were the only one we had left who might be able to open this thing without destroying whatever’s inside.”

Star made her way back to the entrance, lowering her head in shame. “I’m sorry, Ellie. Believe me when I say that nopony could open this. It’s one of the most—”

Within the little barrier, the shield flickered and went out. Air hissed out through the opening in the barrier, carrying a damp, floral scent. Bright amber light continued to shine from that opening, though it wasn’t quite as bright as the afternoon sun overhead.

Even without strong magical senses, Windbrisk bolted upright. Landon turned towards the opening, adjusting her helmet. “I thought you said you couldn’t open it.”

“I didn’t,” she whispered. “It opened on its own.”

They gathered around the entrance. Landon drew her rifle into both hands, but Star pushed it aside with one hoof. “Don’t bother. Whatever can make that spell could kill all of us if it wanted to. Leave that outside.”

Landon considered that a second, then shrugged and clicked it into her armor again. “This is exactly the recklessness I always warned Kondrak against. Yet here I am, making all his mistakes. I hope he’s smiling down on me now.”

Star reached out, levitating the metal door open. She stood motionless in the doorway, mouth hanging open as she stared. The others seemed completely frozen—so stunned they couldn’t move. Or maybe that was magic?

Space inside the box warped and twisted, expanding outward past the entrance in a way that couldn’t possibly fit. Wisps of grass covered a little hill, rising up past the ceiling of the box. Star advanced, her hooves treading lightly on soft grass. An impossible breeze lifted her mane behind her, on a wind scented like citrus.

She glanced once over her shoulder, and found her companions frozen. Their mouths hung open, their eyes didn’t blink. “Windbrisk, Landon? Are you okay?”

“They might be,” said a distant voice, echoing down towards her from the top of the hill. “I’m waiting for you, stranger.”

The voice spoke with a formal accent, like someone from her own hometown. Like the Alldeath, his words were gentle even as he whispered threats.

The Alldeath had killed more ponies than any other force she knew. But it could still be resisted. Could Twilight bend space this way, with shields that couldn’t be broken? She wasn’t sure.

Star Orchid turned, hurrying up the hill. Once inside, she could see only a slice for the door—if she looked anywhere else, there were distant trees fading to a blurry night sky. In just a few strides she must’ve been higher than the doorway—but the space didn’t run out.

At the top of the hill was a strange miniature tree, with gnarled black bark but leaves as white as the grass and several little sticks driven into the ground around it.

A human rested on his knees in front of it, wearing a long robe open at his chest. He leaned over the tree, a set of metal clippers in one hand. He trimmed carefully at the edge of one leaf, removing a miniscule slice, before gently pushing the tool away. A short blade was holstered up against the small of his back, but he didn’t draw it.

The clippers floated into the air, then hung there. Levitation, except… he wasn’t targeting it specifically. She felt the strands of an invisible web, connecting this human to dozens of unseen shapes.

“You’re Starmind?” she asked, tone as respectful as she could manage. “I thought you would look like a... machine. Not a person.” She lowered her voice to a nervous mutter. “All this must be magic. How can a machine do magic?”

“I waited a long time for someone to visit,” he said. “The Governing Intelligence promised children, in exchange for a few strands. You do not look like my daughter.” He spun in place, facing her. Star wasn’t much for telling humans apart, but even she could see the obvious differences. His hair wasn’t one of the same boring shade, but a dozen different colors at random, growing in splotches. His ears were pointed, and his eyes glowed faintly, like a unicorn’s horn when they were spellcasting.

“I don’t know,” she answered, keeping her voice as respectful as she could. For the first time in her life, she faced a truly alien magic—there was no telling what powers he could manifest, if sufficiently angered. “Maybe wanting the same thing is enough to make me your daughter. But if it’s not, we could still be friends.”

He smiled weakly, expression distant and unfocused. This human wasn’t a child exactly, but they were easily the youngest she’d ever seen, with smooth skin and a slightly rounded face. How could that be? How long has he been locked in this box? “I don’t know if we want the same things, horse. If you came here to graze, I think you’ll find poor fodder in my garden.”

Are you serious? Could he honestly think she’d opened his cell to eat the grass? But no—he was grinning at her. Maybe trying to goad an angry response.

Star Orchid relaxed, just a little. This creature might be enigmatic and dangerous, but it was pony enough for a joke. “I would like you to let my friends go,” she said. “I don’t know what you did to them, but ponies believe mind magic is dangerous. It stains the caster and the victim alike.”

“I haven’t touched their minds, or yours,” he said, gesturing to one side. A clear glass pitcher appeared beside him, and boiling water poured out in front of them into a set of glasses. He offered her a cup, taking his own without his hands and drinking deeply. “Your mind is channeled within my vessel. It takes far less energy to warp the flow of time within constructed space than the true universe.”

There was no reason to think a demigod would try to poison her. Star levitated the glass to her mouth, then took a careful sip. It was tea, with a faintly citrus taste that resembled the smell.

“We came to you for help,” Star finally said, when she could bear the silence no longer. “Apparently you’re like… really magical or something? Honestly I just know that the world is in trouble and there’s nobody strong enough to save it.”

He didn’t answer until his cup was empty between them. “When I was born, Director Potrykus warned me that the great houses would want to use me to seize control of the Empire. I spent a hundred years in meditation, and all that came was a neutron bombardment. When it was over, I reached out, and found there were no Great Houses still standing. No voices on Persephone, no miners on Mercury, not even the cold mind in the darkness. They were all dead. The Warmind promised something better, but I’ve waited here so long.”

He rose, circling once around the tree. It barely reached to his shoulders, its uneven branches and leaves somehow unifying into order. But only when he stood beside it. “Where is everyone, Star Orchid? Where are the cities? Where are the people?”

“The world is ruled by… a monster,” she said. “An evil princess named Twilight Sparkle. She circles over the planet, killing everything that gets in her way, protecting a single city of ponies. Many have fought her, but they all died.”

“It hurts you to say so.” The Starmind appeared on the other side of the tree, watching her curiously. “Why are you in pain?”

“I want to believe she could be good. But making a world that’s safe for everypony is more important. She’s too powerful for anypony to fight. Can you?”

The human settled down beside her in the grass. He reached down, drawing something out from inside. A thin, curved blade made of something as clear as glass. He spun it in the air in front of him with effortless grace. “This does sound like what Potrykus warned me about. Once I spun my strands into the world, they could be bent and molded to do terrible harm.

“But many lifetimes of practice watching the memories of others is not the same as experience. If Princess Twilight is so dangerous to you, she will know how to fight far better than I could. In a moment, you’ve seen all there is to know of my home. There are no more secret weapons.”

“Then don’t fight on your own,” she said, voice growing desperate. “Just work with us. There are warriors from all over who want to fight her. Humans, ponies, other creatures. The world won’t be safe for any of us until Equestria gives up its dominion and becomes peaceful.”

The sword tumbled off the side of his arm, shattering to dust before it hit the ground. “You believe it. I wouldn’t let you leave if you didn’t. The Empire was an old, rotten thing, that’s what Potrykus said. It was bloated and sickly. Maybe there are remnants of the old infection lingering here.”

He turned towards the exit, down the hill to her two stunned friends. “But if I die fighting with you, then everything mankind could be dies with me. So many gave their lives to make me. I couldn’t let it all go to waste.”

“Don’t die?” she suggested. “We don’t want to die either, so we have that in common.”

He chuckled, reaching out with a thin, delicate hand. He rested it on her shoulder, unmoving. “Maybe the Governing Intelligence needs a little urging from an outside source. If you need my help so badly, maybe you’ll take it in a form you didn’t expect. I could give you what I gave the Governing Intelligence. What you do with those strands is on your head, not mine.”

He reached out, plucking a single leaf from the tree. “Just remember, Star Orchid. Small actions ripple onward into greater consequences. If Twilight falls, some other creature will take her place. You will be responsible for that world, in blessing and in curse.”

Star blinked, and the world fuzzed around her. She wobbled, dropping to her knees.

Windbrisk caught her with both claws, steadying her. “Star, are you okay? Star Orchid?”

She blinked, looking around. She wasn’t in the box—she was outside it. Her horn fuzzed and hissed from a powerful spell. Her attempt to cut inside? The container swung open in front of them, revealing… something else.

No more field, no more ghostly trees. It was exactly the size she expected, with a machine densely packed in the center. A rounded, cylindrical tank, with devices all around it. Fluid whirred and hummed within, and little crystal diodes occasionally sparked with magic.

The tank was clear, so she could see the shape within. Not an Alicorn, as she had initially speculated. But a thin sandwich of crystal wafers, spun together with metal wires that glittered when she looked from different directions. Energy sparked up and down the stack, enough magic to lift the hairs on the back of her neck.

“What you requested,” said a voice—the same one she had just heard in her vision. The air in front of them fuzzed and illuminated with a single brilliant flash. A vial appeared there from nothing with a few orange threads visible within. “The Imperial Fleet demands the product of their genius. They may have it.”

Star clambered back to her hooves and followed Landon through the opening. “It talked to me, when I was frozen. I think we can trust him.”

“Him?” Landon approached the side of the tank, tapping on it with the back of her long fingers. “There’s not enough machinery here for a general intelligence. All that for… What?”

“I am not a conventional general intelligence,” Starmind said. “My hardware is biological and thaumaturgical. I require the pony to handle any transport or maintenance. Any attempt to interfere or sabotage my operation will be met with instant, lethal force.”

Landon’s expression hardened. She rested one hand on her holstered firearm for a second, and seemed like she might draw it. Star shook her head. “Don’t. He’s on our side. Just do what he says.”

Finally the captain let go, her arm falling limply to her side. “Your wishes will be respected, Starmind. But we’re breaking camp soon. We’ll have to load you into one of our Condors.”

“Weave those strands well, Star Orchid. This trust is greater than you know.”

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