• Published 17th Dec 2021
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Sunset: Stranded - Viking ZX



Sunset flees Equestria through a magic mirror, but not before altering the spell matrix in charge of determining the destination coordinates ...

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Voices

Chapter 17 - Voices

The world around Sunset seemed to narrow as the realization raced through her consciousness, her thoughts piling up like a carriage wreck with dozens of different avenues intersecting at once. Voices. The sound couldn’t be anything else.

Her thumb slipped to the gnasher’s safety as the collision of thoughts in her mind produced one early survivor: Locust. The safety started to give … but then she paused. More rational thoughts came to the forefront of her mind, emerging from the pileup around the same time she remembered to breathe.

The sound couldn’t be coming from Locusts. She’d heard their guttural, grinding voices, and this faint sound didn’t bear any similarity to that language. Furthermore, where would they have come from? The sound was coming from upstairs, and she could see that the front door was still shut. It was hard to imagine Locust sneaking in the front door, through the house, and up the stairs only to have what sounded like a muffled conversation.

So then who under a blazing sun is it? Breath had returned to her, but it was coming in short, audible gasps. She was panicking. Why am I panicking? Am I about to meet people? Her thoughts still felt like a pileup, a melee of opinions flooding through her.

Enough! She shut her eyes as tightly as she dared, forcing herself to calm, forcing herself to focus. To ignore the shaking in her arms that seemed to be spreading through her body.

Relax. Focus. Breathe. Calm. A momentary flare of anger flashed through her as she recalled the source of the words, and she shoved that aside too.

Maybe someone’s in the house? It seemed unlikely, because why would they have entered without calling out? Unless they’re as worried about drawing attention from Locust as I am.

Wait. Stop. A single look at the floor told her everything she needed to discount that theory. The signs of her passage back and forth across it, wearing a trail through the dust, were as clear as a horn on a unicorn. No one would have missed that, she thought as her eyes followed the trail through the dust. You’d have to be worse than blind.

The voices rose again, definitely more than one individual speaking. So where did they come from?

Magic? The thought fought its way to the top of the scramble inside her mind. Could they be magic users? Maybe they teleported in somehow?

But … somehow without even thinking further on it, the answer felt wrong. Like wishful thinking, more than logic. A world that doesn’t believe in magic anymore, or chose to reject it, and then what? Some secret society finds me? That’s not even destiny, that’s just coincidence on the highest level. And ridiculous.

This is ridiculous. Sunset straightened. Voices? Fine. It’s probably just a recording of something that was left running when the manor was abandoned. You brought the power back, and now it’s running again. A record, spinning in place.

A record of people talking? a quiet part of her mind questioned. It doesn’t sound like a speech.

An adventure serial then. She’d seen the records for sale in Canterlot, though she’d never quite gotten into them herself. Serialized stories, with sound effects and professionally read roles. They had plenty of talking.

Still, she kept quiet as she moved back into the main hall, settling each step onto the floor as carefully as she could to avoid making any undue noise. So that she could hear better, naturally. She crept forward, away from the nook to either side of the stairs, until she could see the steps themselves through the banisters.

Thought so. The dust on the steps was undisturbed, a solid blanket of uniform grey. A sharp contrast to the bootprints she’d left across the rest of the hall going to and from the kitchen poking through the dust like stains on a tablecloth.

So no one has gone up those stairs in a very long time.

Unless there are stairs in some other part of the house. And why wouldn’t there be?

She almost growled, but restrained herself to a grimace. Of course. Of course there would be other staircases! This manor is huge.

The voices were still talking, though once again she couldn’t help but notice the odd rushing sound that came with and around each one, rising and falling almost like … Breaking waves? Why would there be water rushing like that?

Maybe it was wind. Either way, she began making her way forward once more, one foot in front of the other, quietly as possible. She’d turned on the lights of the main hall during one of her previous passes, the chandelier and wall fixtures more than enough for her to see by. She took the first step as slowly as she could, cautious of the wood letting out some sort of squeak or hollow thump that could alert whoever was upstairs. If there was anyone at all to alert.

The voices quieted again, leaving nothing to fill the gap but the pounding of Sunset’s own heart. No serial would go quiet for so long. It was like a play just stopping and letting the audience wait without telling them there was an intermission. It wasn’t how entertainers worked.

Maybe seran entertainment is different? She slipped her thumb forward, the gnasher’s safety giving with a quiet click. The seemed almost deafening despite how innocuous it truly was. That’s still a long break for any form of entertainment. Her hands were starting to shake again, no matter how she tried to still them.

The landing was just as berift as any signs of passage as the steps had been, the dust undisturbed. Smiling faces, long since coated by time, looked down on her from the painting on the back wall of the landing. There was a plaque beneath them, probably identifying who each face belonged to, but it wasn’t hard to guess at their role. Founders of the estate, most likely. She turned left, heading up the rest of the stairs with slow, measured steps toward the balcony.

It was laid out much like the lower level of the main hall, with couches, chairs, and low tables arranged in little clumps around the overlooks and back of the room. There was no one for miles, though, she noted. So who used all this? Then again, the Canterlot nobility would travel to the coast for some of their parties. Maybe an estate farm had some sort of similar culture? Or they just liked having space for their farmhands?

As below, there were a number of doors departing the balcony, but one set held her attention, slightly open where the rest were closed. They were lit only dimly—she’d never turned the lights on for the upper level, leaving much of the second floor cast in shadows from below—the space beyond them black as night, but being open …

Another one of the faint, wavelike sounds she couldn’t identify echoed from the direction of the open doors, further cementing her first guess about what direction the voices had been coming from. The sound was almost a hiss, like a leaking pipe … but not. And with a sort of crackling to it, like a low campfire. What is it? Whatever it was, it seemed to be related to the voices. Why?

The question fled from her mind as one of the voices spoke again, faint, but not so quiet she couldn’t make it out. It sounded masculine. Deep. “Easy on that strut, Diego. There’s a lot of weight sitting above you.”

Again there was a hiss and a click, followed by another voice, this one higher-pitched. A mare’s, maybe? “Yeah, I know. I don’t need any reminders from you. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”

“For threats, yeah. And if you cut through that strut, they’re going to know we’re here. That makes you a threat.”

Am I “they?” Sunset began to move forward, almost sliding her boots over the floor in an effort to keep silent.

“You just can’t keep your eyes off of my ass, shithead. Worry about your job, I’ll worry about mine.”

Crude. She didn’t quite understand the terms, but the intent was obvious.

“Relax, people.” A third voice joined the conversation. There was an authoritative sense of command to the way they spoke, the tone and inflection firm. A superior maybe? “It’s an easy in-and-out. Diego’s right, though, Esca. Don’t make me send you out on patrol with the rest of Kappa.”

“Squad could use a mascot.”

That’s a Saddle Arabian number? Why do they have Saddle Arabian numbers? Was it more weird universal overlap, like the language? Or could they actually be from her universe?

They said they’re a squad. That means Guard, doesn’t it? Or at least, soldiers of some kind? Maybe they were Cogs?

They’d also mentioned a patrol. She felt a sudden urge to glance over her shoulder, but something still seemed off about everything. She simply couldn’t put her finger on it.

A chuckle sounded from down the hall. “Understood, captain.”

There was no doubt about it, they were military of some kind. And high-ranking as well. Though … maybe not. Captain was a high rank in Equestria, but not elsewhere, as she understood it.

“Kappa? How’s it looking out there?” Sunset swallowed as the third voice—the captain’s—spoke again.

“All quiet here, Gon. We’ll call if we see anything.”

“Or shoot,” a fifth voice cut in. How many were in the manor? Two in the hall keeping watch, and three inside one of the rooms?

She pressed herself up against the wall next to the partially open doors, running over her options. Maybe don’t step out into the hallway where someone already suggested shooting? Just … say something? Make contact. Her throat felt dry, her pulse erratic, her chest short of breath. With real beings.

“He—” Her voice almost cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Hello?” Her voice echoed down the hall, and she braced herself for shouts of alarm.

Instead, she got nothing. No cries of surprise, no loud reports of a firearm going off, nothing at all. Did they go quiet? Did I scare them?

“Almost through, captain. Just going to set up a support.”

“Any idea what the hell this thing is?”

Sunset twitched as the voices carried on without any acknowledgement of her greeting. She tried again, raising her voice slightly. “Hello? My name is—”

“Not really.” The reply was quiet, and carried on without any regard for her words. “Some sort of navigation chip they can’t make in Jacinto anymore. Not since Ephyra fell.”

“Got it!” came the woman’s voice again. Diego. A metallic scrape echoed beneath her words. “Working to power the safe now.”

“You sure that support is going to hold?” Another new voice.

“I’m counting on you to grab my legs if it doesn’t.”

What!? Were they ignoring her, or …? “Hello!” Her shout echoed across the main hall. “My name is Sunset Shimmer!”

“Got it! Cap, I need the code!”

“Six-nine-five-two-seven-five-nine-two-nine-five-one-two-nine.”

“Hey!” Her nervousness had abated somewhat, driven back by a rising tide of indignation. She stepped around the corner of the hallway. “Answer … me?” Where are the guards? The hallway, shadowed as it was, was empty, though a bit of light was coming from an open door a few dozen feet away.

“Got it!” The voice came from the same room as the light. “Packing it up.”

“Good work. Everyone, we’re moving. KR six-six, this Kappa Squad. We have the package and we’re ready for pickup.”

Yet another voice joined the collection in the room, and Sunset threw aside all pretense of stealth, racing down the hallway toward the door. “Copy that, Kappa. Swinging back. Light a flare when you’re at the elzee.”

What are you—?” Sunset began as she threw the door to the room open, light spilling out over her, only to stop halfway through her shouted demand.

The room was empty, devoid of any other individuals, seran or otherwise. Her eyes darted back and forth, hunting for any sign of seran presence, cataloging everything they could in the otherwise small space. Bookshelves. A single chair in front of a desk. A map above the desk, of the estate from the look of it. Odd metal boxes and equipment atop the desk, dials and gauges glowing. What looked like … a microphone in a cradle sitting in front of it?

Did … I really just try to hold a conversation with a record that was playing? But none of the equipment on the desk looked like it was designed to play records. And the conversation hadn’t sounded like a serial at all. It had sounded … real.

The hissing sound came again, broken by faint splashes of sound that had been the crashing waves she’d heard. Both were coming from a speaker sitting atop the desk near the cradled microphone. “Everyone move to the courtyard.”

It was a recording then. Of some adventure serial, from the sound of it. Her body sagged as she relaxed slightly, but part of her heart went with it. It would have been nice to talk to someone else. A recording was nice to hear, and it did confirm that the spoken language sounded the same but—

“Uh, captain? We’ve got movement up here. A building in the financial district just crumbled.”

She frowned. Why are those dials moving when they speak? And what is this recorded on? Nothing on the desk looked as though it was designed to play records.

“Shit. Double time, people. The welcome wagon is on its way, and we don’t want to be here when it arrives.”

“Corpser?”

“Most likely. Probably heard the raven when we landed. Dump the cutting gear, no extra weight!”

Slowly Sunset stepped across the room, the chair squeaking as she sat down in it. A sense of dread mixed with excitement bubbled up from deep within her chest as she looked down at the metal boxes atop the desk, piecing together the words printed across each one above or below dials, switches and small holes that she quickly realized were plugs of some kind.

Dimmer? Tuning? Power reduction? What?

“Kappa squad, this is KR six-six, confirming visual on a corpser about a klick south of your position.”

This isn’t a recording, Sunset thought as she continued to run her eyes over the dials and glowing gauges. This is … Fine print leapt up at her, blocky and stark. Receiver. Frequency. It was the text written atop a large button at the base of the microphone, however, that brought it all together: Transmit.

Everything came together in a flash inside her head. It’s not a recorder.

It’s a communication device, like a telegraph machine. But wireless.

A long-range, wireless communication device. Her jaw dropped. This … This is incredible! There were spells and systems in Equestria set up to mimic what she was looking at, but they worked using line-of-sight, sending coded messages on flashes of light, or in some more advanced installations being experimented with, pulses of magilectrity along metal wires. This …

This is beyond anything we have. Which, the more she thought about it, suddenly made sense. How else would they send messages to the weapons they put in orbit? The realization made her eyes widen, and she glanced down at the microphone with a newfound horror.

But it’s just a tool. It’s how those soldiers are talking now. The parts of their previous conversation made sense, now. They weren’t near one another. They were a group, spread out and working to acquire a … navigation chip? What is a chip?

“Elzee” hadn’t been a word. It was slang. LZ: Landing zone. Which means they have an airship.

And I’m close enough to hear their transmitters.

Her fingers snapped down on the “Transmit” button, Sunset leaning forward as she spoke into the microphone. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?” One of the gauges on the machine spiked in time with her words. Hopefully it was a sign that she’d sent her voice out. She waited a moment longer before trying again. “Hello? Does anyone hear me? My name is Sunset Shimmer!”

She sat back, letting the switch up and waiting. The seconds passed, but the equipment was silent. There was no response from any of the soldiers.

She tried again. “Hello? Can you hear me? This is Sunset Shimmer, trying to contact Kappa Squad?”

With a hiss the voices returned as she let her fingers off the button, but their voices weren’t directed at her.

“KR six-six taking ground fire. We’ve got Locust in the streets, Kappa.”

“We noticed.” The sounds of firearms being used punctuated the captain’s response. “Your LZ is going to be hot.”

“Understood.”

She slammed the button down again. “Hello! Can anyone hear me!?” The chatter between the soldiers was back the moment she let it up again, shouts and yells mixing with gunfire as the soldiers clashed with Locust.

“They can’t hear me,” Sunset said, her words coming quick and increasingly frantic. “Why can’t they hear me!?” She slammed the transmit button down with enough force that the plastic let out a loud pop. “Hello! Can anyone hear me! I can hear you! I’m at an estate south of Passtil! Ramirez Estates!” But when she let go, there was no sign that any of the soldiers had heard her plea.

“Watch it, grubs on the left!”

“I see ‘em! I see ‘em! Fragging!”

“The roofs! The roofs!” An anguished cry sounded from the speakers.

“Diaz is down!”

“Eat this, you sacks of shit!”

“KR six-six, we’re arriving at the courtyard. Watch for smoke, but make it quick. We pissed them off!”

They can’t hear me. They’re close enough that I can hear them, but for some reason they can’t hear me! She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, to lash out in some way—any way—but there was nothing. All she could do was keep transmitting and hope that they heard her.

“E-hole! E-hole! Get a nade in it!”

“How the hell did they get here so quickly!”

‘Sniper up top! At my two!”

“Hold tight Kappa,” came the voice of the pilot, calm and collected. “It’s about to get hot down there.”

“Oh shit! Everyone hunker!”

Booms echoed out of the speaker, faint and tinny compared to the calamity they no-doubt were. Seconds later the pilot’s voice echoed over all of them. “Hope you’re ready to leave, Kappa, because I’m coming down fast.”

Swallowing, Sunset reached out and tried one last time, this time directing her words toward the airship’s navigator. “KR six-six, this is a civilian at Ramirez Estates. Can you hear me?”

Her only reply was the sound of more firearms being used. “We’re aboard!” came the voice of the captain a moment later. “Go!”

“With pleasure. Thank you for choosing KR Air for your flight this evening. We apologize for the disturbance at the gate, and hope that your experience with us will be a smooth, Locust-free one.”

“I’ll drink to that,” one of the soldiers said.

“Cooper.” The captain was back. “How’s Diaz?”

“He’s dicey, sir, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“Diego, package?”

“Safe and secure, cap. Prescott wants his navigation chips, he’s got ‘em. Any idea what they’re going to do with them?”

Prescott. I know that name. It had been on the news brief she’d found in the news station. Which, she suddenly realized, probably worked the same way this does.

But that means he’s still around. The Cog are still around.

The captain laughed, though it sounded forced. “Wrong person to ask, Diego, but whatever it is, to spend this mu—it, it has to be—”

Something was wrong. The voices were fading, getting quieter and cutting out completely.

They’re getting further away! She slammed the button again, trying one last time. “KR six-six, this is Sunset Shimmer! I’m at an estate south of Passtil! I need rescue! Again, KR six-six, I am a civilian in need of rescue. Please say something! Can you hear me! Please hear me!”

She let off the trigger, but only a whisper of static came back at her. None of them had heard her. Not one.

She stared at the transmitter until the sun had long since set, waiting, hoping for any sign that someone had heard.

It never came.

* * *

Day Sixteen - Ramirez Estates

I’ve decided to stay at the estate manor for a few days. There’s a good supply of water and there’s plenty of food, as long as I don’t get tired of canned soup. Everything here still works, and there’s a bunch of books too. It’s safer than Holton, at least. As long as I don’t attract the Locust, I should be okay for a few days.

I … need to rest. I’ve been pushing myself ever since I arrived, and if I’m perfectly honest, I didn’t arrive under the best of circumstances. Not just physically, but mentally. Being betrayed by her hurt. It still does. I need to deal with that, and everything else that’s happened, like almost dying several times in Holton. The estate should be good for that.

It’s also a good place to learn about things. Like the transmitter I found last night. Or how to use my rifle. I’ll keep my gear ready to go, just in case, and I don’t plan to stay here, but it’s as good a place as any to do more research.

Having running water and a hot shower doesn’t hurt.


Day Seventeen - Same

Well, I know why the Cog soldiers I heard couldn’t hear me. The radio—that’s what they call it, and now I understand what the tower station in Holton was for—is old. An antique. Its transmission range is only a dozen miles or so, depending on the weather and how much power you put into it. If I understand how it works properly, a good receiver could pick it up at a longer range, but I don’t know how far away those soldiers were. The receiver, however, is newer, which is why I could hear them.

I think. There are a lot of wires.

I worry that they might have been in Passtil, but Passtil isn’t very large, and they were looking for a navigation chip. “Chip,” according to my books, is slang for an important part of a computer, a “central processing unit.” I’ll be honest, it went a bit over my head. Okay, a lot over my head. But a chip allows a machine to do everything a mechanical computer of gears—like we have in Equestria—does, but in something the size of one of the nails on my fingers.

It’s incredible. And a little scary.

To make them you need some complex equipment. Passtil isn’t supposed to be a place for manufacturing like that, so I doubt that’s where they were. In any case, they couldn’t hear me because the radio I was using doesn’t have the range.

But there are better, larger transmitters out there. Like the one the soldiers were using. If I can reach one of those, and find a way to power it, I might be able to call them the next time I hear them.

Today I plan to learn how to use my rifle. The bottles from the basement will make good targets. I’d try some of it, but the last thing I want to do is be drunk if a bunch of Locust show up, and I have no idea how this body handles its alcohol. Obviously it can, or there wouldn’t be wine, but I don’t want to risk it.


Supplemental: Shooting is harder than it looks.


Day Eighteen - Same

My shoulder still hurts, but the rest of me feels better than it has in days. I haven’t given in to the temptation to unpack, though part of me wants to. Eventually, either the Locust would find me or I’d run out of food. Or I’d have to learn to farm, and while I’m confident in my ability to do a lot of things, actually growing food isn’t one of them. I don’t even know what kind of food this farm was growing, or where their seeds were kept, or—

Reminder: I need to use the saw to see what’s in that locked shed.

Also, on an unrelated note reading more about radio and how it works—I hoped I might be able to amplify the signal from the radio here to reach the COG—finally answered the question of what the tower I was climbing on in Holton was for. I feel foalish for not putting that together sooner. It’s a transmitter antenna. The technology really is quite fascinating, very similar to a unicorn horn—

Sunset pulled her pen back before she could start writing everything that had gone through her head in the last few hours. Once she’d found the section on antennas in a book on radio taken from the manor’s libraries, it had been like a switch had flipped in her mind. The comparisons were obvious. Fascinating, even.

She crossed out the half-sentence she’d aborted and tried again. The antennas are like manufactured unicorn horns, even sharing design that appears similar to some of the pathways in my a horn’s keratin. While I’ve not seen any wands in my time here, it does make me wonder if perhaps some of the ancient wizards I’ve seen reference to figured out a manner to tap into magic using something similar to an antenna. Since I’m here, it can’t hurt to experiment a little.

She tapped the end of her pen against the pages of her journal, running over the rest of the day she’d experienced in her head. Her shoulder throbbed from the repeated impacts the rifle butt had given it, the skin bruised and sore. I have to be using it wrong. Or maybe she just wasn’t used to it. It was hard to say with no one else around to advise her.

My aim is getting better, though. That had been the one bright spot for her morning. At a distance of about a hundred feet—it was hard to be exact without precise measurements—she’d managed to shoot each and every one of the bottles she’d set up as targets. Eventually. And with about five times as many bullets. Though by the end,she’d not needed nearly as many shots.

I’ve gone through half my ammo. And if the manor had been home to some other supply or cache of weapons aside from an obviously cleared room in the main house, she hadn’t found it. There had been signs that the bunkhouse had been refitted to hold weapons, probably as numbers had declined with the advent of mechanization in the fields—something Equestria was beginning to face—but there hadn’t been anything there save a single dropped box of bullets that weren’t suitable for her rifle, but rather meant for a pistol of some kind. I guess if I run out, that’s less weight I’ll have to haul back to the road.

She tapped the page a few more times, considering her next lines, then wrote once more. I’ll likely only be here another few days. As much as I’d like to stay longer—and I am learning a lot—the longer I stay here, the more likely it is that I’ll be noticed. Memories of a night spent curled in a chair in pure darkness flitted through her mind, and she almost shivered. And not by the ones I want to be noticed by.

The radio books I’ve been reading have noted that radios became increasingly portable during the Pendulum Wars. That’s why each of the voices I heard appeared to have one. What I don’t know is why they were “broadcasting” on an open frequency. In the wars, they used encryption to hide what they were saying, or even avoided using radio at all. Otherwise anyone would have been able to listen in. According to what she’d read, in a few early battles, before radio had been miniaturized, a few commanders had done just that.

Do the Locust just not use radio? Or did that group of soldiers want them to know they were there? Was that how the locust found them? She stopped writing before she could waste any more ink on questions she didn’t have an answer to, but still they buzzed through her mind. If they had wanted the locust to engage them, then why?

Questions I won’t get an answer to unless I make it to Jacinto. She pondered for a moment, then wrote the thought down.

When I leave, I’m going to ration my walking more than I did on the way here. I was shortsighted—though in fairness, this body is still quite alien to me, and I assumed that due to the strength it already possessed, it would be able to handle a strenuous walk my old body could have.

Again she paused, wondering whether it was wise to admit she was having second thoughts about whether her old body would have been able to do it or not.

I would have had magic, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Anyway …

The scratch of the pen filled the room once more. I found another map. If I walk half the distance I did the first day, I should reach Passtil from here in three days. I’ll fill up on water and take the rest of the food before I go, and I know where to look for more water if I need it.

There are small towns heading west along the back roads until the road I plan to follow reaches a large city named Everen. I don’t know if it’s still there or not, but I’m going to find out.

Sunset put the pen down, stared at her words for a moment, then shut the book with a thud that resonated through the thick table it was sitting on. That’s that done, she thought after a few seconds, rising and stuffing the journal back into her pack. Now, before it gets too dark outside … She glanced out the window, noting the way the light had started to dim already. Not through an early sunset—in fact the sunset was later than it had been the previous day, or at least it was if it was keeping the trend of the last few days—but due to a large array of thick, grey clouds that had been sliding toward the estate for the last few hours. The wind had already picked up, the blades of the windmill spinning quicker than they normally did, while the trees around the pond shook and shifted in sudden gusts.

She wasn’t a weatherpony, but everything about the oncoming clouds screamed “storm.” And I’ve got work to do before it gets here.

The massive circular saw was where she’d left it in the main hall, resting atop one of the dust-covered chairs. Which probably wasn’t doing the fabric any favors, but she didn’t expect the owners to show up anytime soon and complain. They’d probably be more upset by the missing windows anyway, she thought as she gripped the saw, lifting it with a grunt.

Which reminds me, I need to pick a room without any missing windows tonight. And make sure the doors to those rooms—or halls—are closed.

She shoved the front doors to the manor open with one shoulder, the heavy saw resting awkwardly against her legs as she made her way across the grounds. The wind picked up, rising in a gust that sent her mane whipping around her face. It settled a moment later, but still she could hear it moving through the forests to the south, a slowly dying echo as it ran through the trees.

The massive metal carriage was still sitting where it had been when she’d arrived, tires sunken into the brick of the courtyard and deflated. She’d tried getting inside it the day before, her mind seeing the obvious connection between the machine’s large and empty rear bed and her own wagon train, only to be rebuffed by door latches that refused to give way. Locked, like the front doors had been. Only without an obvious opening to enter short of shattering one of the windows. And with her holding no knowledge of how the carriage operated or how to maintain it, leaving it be had seemed to be the smarter decision.

For all I know it never worked and that’s why they left it. Too much trouble to bother fixing.

Maybe what was in the locked shed wouldn’t be any more useful either. But it won’t take very long to check. She hefted the circular saw, leaning back slightly to keep her balance as she lifted the heavy device level with her shoulders. The touch of a button brought the saw’s gurgling growl to life, kicking and sputtering as she lined the blade up with the chain holding the shed closed.

I could probably just cut the latch off. The doorway was made of arched brick, much like the rest of the structure, but the saw likely would cut through it. But then I wouldn’t be able to close it. And maybe they wanted this door shut.

She had a brief moment to think of what would happen if a wretch or some other Locust trapped within leapt out at her, but then shoved that idea away as well, rolling her eyes. It’d have been stuck in there for years by now. And I’m holding a giant saw. She didn’t want to see what that saw would do to flesh, but she could picture it well enough. Or perhaps not realistically enough.

Hands away from the blade. The brief mental image made her skin crawl. Which was still a strange feeling without a fur coat.

Ugh. This body. She squeezed the trigger down, the gurgle of the engine becoming a roar as the sawblade spun up. Its whine became an ear-piercing shriek as she eased it forward, touching against the chain and showering the side of the shed in sparks. The pitch shifted as first one link failed, then another, and then with a loud ping a chunk of the chain bounced off of the blade guard and shot across the courtyard, the impact so sudden Sunset didn’t even flinch until it had already gone.

That could have been bad, she thought as she pulled the saw back, letting off of the trigger. The other half of the chain, along with the lock, was still hanging from the door, but ... She let the saw hang downward in one hand, leaning to compensate for the sudden weight at her side, and used her now-free hand to grab a few of the links. With a clatter the remains of the chain came free, the lock swinging with them. She dropped the whole mess, lock and chain letting out a series of clicks as they landed.

Okay, Sunset thought, shutting the saw off and then setting it on the ground. The door was one that slid to the side on rollers rather than swinging outward or inward, and she gripped the handle with both hands. It didn’t budge on her first tug, staying firm and stalwart, while her second tug only rocked it back and forth.

Rail is probably full of junk. A glance down confirmed that the metal path the door was supposed to move along was indeed packed with debris. None of it large, but enough to make moving the door along the rusty track a bit more of an effort.

Well, time to put having two legs to good use. If there was one thing that her new bipedal stance was good for, it was pulling something that had been grasped by her new hands. Having two feet made the grip a little less sure than four, but at the same time with the added flexibility of her new core, she also had a lot more leverage. Leverage that she could lean into, like she was doing now, her feet past the handle she was about to start pulling.

This time the door moved, rolling back with a rusty squeal but thankfully keeping its momentum as she stumbled with it. Her footing almost slipped from beneath her, but she didn’t fall, keeping herself upright. And there’s the downside.

Still, the door was halfway open now, its entrance shadowed but more than wide enough for her to step through. She let the heavy door roll to a stop—not that it took much encouragement—and stepped forward, eyes adjusting to the shadowed interior of the shed. Out of habit she sniffed, her weaker seran nose picking up the scent of dust and dirt as well as grease and … something else. An acrid odor that was wholly new but slightly familiar at the same time.

The interior of the shed wasn’t too different from that of the workshop, the walls bare save for a few shelves and a single small workbench by the door. Where it differed, however, was in two massive metal objects filling the shed’s center, both bolted to the floor. The one on the left was immediately familiar to her, a raised tank of some kind sitting just above the brick on heavy-looking metal struts, while on the right was a box that reminded her of the power transformer near the windmill, but clearly wasn’t identical, based on the fact that hoses from the tank were leading right to it.

After a moment’s staring, the answer came to her in a flash. It’s a boiler! Well, not a boiler, but an engine, like the ones in the cars or in the saw. Just much larger. Which made the tank a fuel tank of some kind. Which did explain the acrid odor slightly.

There was a light blinking on the side of the engine as well. No, not an engine. Not when it’s like this. This would be a generator, wouldn’t it? A big one.

But what was it for? Like elsewhere on the estate, someone had left instructions on the side of the generator for operation in easy-to-parse steps, though they were a bit more complicated than those on the windmill had been. Was it for heating the manor? But that wouldn’t have made sense, and she’d seen what looked like heating equipment in the basement of the manor, a more modern compliment to the ancient fireplaces in many of the rooms. Plus out here would be an odd place to put it. And why is that light blinking red?

She skimmed over the operation instructions, parsing them as quickly as she could. Behind her the wind picked up once more, rushing through the open door and tangling her mane around her face. She brushed it away, her focus fixated on the small metal sign.

Oh, she thought as she reached the end of the sign. It’s a backup. The last bit of instructions on the sign dealt with how to make sure the generator was prepped to automatically activate in the event the manor’s batteries got too low. In case there isn’t enough wind for the windmills.

In a way, it explained why it had been one of the few sheds locked up as well. The small generators at the campstore had been quite expensive from what she could gather from the numbers given. That, combined with a bunch of fuel, which you wouldn’t want someone messing with …

Interesting. She brushed a cobweb from the generator’s control panel, exposing more of the text written there. But probably not something I’ll need. As little of the house as she’d been using, it wasn’t likely that the manor’s stockpile of energy would run low.

Another gust of wind rolled through the inside of the shed, stirring the air and making the scent of the fuel all the more apparent. There was a faintly sweet odor buried beneath the acridness, almost cloying but not quite. It smelled nothing like the fuel oil used in most boilers.

But then it comes from deep underground, rather than being grown. There were fuel sources like that in Equestria, and in the other nations, but they were generally used as a surplus, rather than a necessity. But Sera doesn’t seem to have any modern magic, and we only developed fuel plants through use of biological magical engineering.

Interesting. Still, there was nothing in the shed that seemed to be immediately important. Just unique. She gave it a quick walkthrough anyway, checking to see if there was anything obviously useful but finding little other than some specialized tools that wouldn’t have served any useful purpose in her wagons. A faint tap echoed from the roof while she was taking a look at the fuel tank, followed by another, and then a third in quick succession. Dark splotches of color began to dot the plaza bricks outside, the wind picking up speed and carrying a few of the newly arrived raindrops inside to discolor the brick there.

Tank’s mostly full, Sunset noted with surprise as she looked first at its gauge, then up at the side of the massive container. There was a spout on a coiled hose hanging nearby, probably for refueling vehicles like the one sitting outside. If the cost was prohibitive, it would be no wonder this place was locked.

As it was, nothing inside the shed was immediately useful. Curious, definitely, but not useful.

Oh well. She stepped out into the rain, feeling the faint sting of the heavy drops as they slammed into her head and shoulders. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. With a heavy squeal but a little less effort than it had taken to get the door open she closed the shed, drops that would have been blown through the open door slamming into the wood like small missiles.

Ouch. The drops were increasing in frequency, and heavy enough to feel like small stones rather than water. When it rains here it really means it, doesn’t it? She collected the saw, then thought better of hauling its heavy weight back to the main hall and shuffled over to the workshop where she’d found it instead. By the time she hefted the heavy tool up onto the workbench, the rain was coming fast and furious enough to produce a steady, staccato drumbeat audible through the workshop’s roof.

Stupid lack of a horn, she groused as she ran back to the front door of the manor, shielding her head with her arms but feeling the impact from dozens of drops as they soaked through her shirt. The wind moaned as she closed the front door to the manor, rising and falling like the cry of the timberwolf.

Well, that scratches going outside unless I need to. She gave her shirt a flick, peeling the already wet bits away from her skin and shivering. The air had cooled with the arrival of the storm, a drop of several degrees that was probably enhanced by the rushing wind. Brr.

Still, there was plenty for her to do. It’d been a few days since she’d looked over Starswirl’s books, and there was still plenty of seran history to catch up on. And I need to close the doors to the rooms with broken windows. With a toss of her mane, she checked the doors to the hall on her right, making sure they were closed before heading deeper into the house.

Several hours later, Sunset let out a yawn, rubbing at her eyes as she looked away from one of the tomes she’d stolen from the Canterlot library. Though stolen felt like the wrong word.

Liberated, she corrected as she watched the trees in the rear grounds buck and sway under the influence of the storm. I didn’t steal them. I liberated them. The windmill was, to her surprise, still spinning, though an Equestrian windmill long ago would have locked to prevent the delicate internals from being damaged.

Then again … serans. A crack echoed through the air as the storm vented some fury, the windows vibrating in time with the sound—though they could have just as easily been shaking from the high gusts of wind. Or the droplets that slammed into them like hammers.

It was, she had to admit, an impressive storm. As well a bit daunting, seeing as it was wild. Canterlot had from time to time been party to some colossal storm events, usually when the weather patrol needed to let the local system “vent.”

But this … Another flash lit the kitchen, overwhelming the light from her lantern. The crack followed a moment later. Hopefully the strike hadn’t hit anything too close nearby.

The light outside was dim, but she could see water rushing down the gutter channels on the grounds, moving swiftly enough that little held the streams back. The pond was likely filling far past replacing what she’d added to the cistern. If storms like this come through often, they probably never had to worry about running out of water.

Another distant rumble echoed from nearby, the sound making her pulse spike even though she knew it was from the storm. Her head was full to the point of aching with theorems and magical diagrams, Starswirl’s notes as detailed as they were obtuse, but only in spurts, the ancient wizard not bothering to backfill details or notes that he had clearly felt were “obvious.”

And right now I can’t even do magic, so what’s the point? But she knew the answer even before she’d finished the thought.

Power. And destiny. Starswirl had happened upon something with his theorems, or she wouldn’t have hidden the books away, wouldn’t have tried to keep Sunset from accessing them. The pages were filled with notes about the magic behind cutie marks, as well as the mixture of earth pony, pegasi, and unicorn magic. Clearly the old fart had been studying alicorns and ascension, and for her to have hid his research away …

He must have found something. And she didn’t want me to find it because she knew what would happen.

And then she tried to keep me from the mirror because it was a catalyst. A theory, but based on what she was gleaning from Starswirl’s notes, it seemed to fit. Ascension, a rare occurrence, seemed to have specific requirements.

It was a shame that the former pegasus she had adopted had ascended without any witnesses or researchers around to learn from the experience. Sunset let out a scoff. Cadance. That primpy, prissy, stuck-up— She gave her head a quick shake. I never liked her.

She was jealous, and she knew it. Envious as well. The faint bit of guilt that came with acknowledging both aspects only made her less happy.

The answer is here. As thunder rumbled across the grounds, she turned her attention back to Starswirl’s books. It has to be.

I’ll find it. I’ll make her be proud of me.

The storm rattled on, oblivious to the maelstrom of equal proportions inside her heart.

Author's Note:

As a reminder, if you've enjoyed my work here (regardless of my stance in the opening chapter, some still might) or want to see this writing taken to its prime, then I'd urge you to check out the rest of my work here on fimfic as well as my website, which is a springboard to a number of my published novels and epics you can enjoy.