• Published 27th Oct 2012
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Under Free Flag - twillale



First contact is never what you expect it to be.

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Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI

To-day’s most trivial act may hold the seed
Of future fruitfulness, or future dearth;
Oh, cherish always every word and deed!
The simplest record of thyself hath worth.

—Henry Timrod, The Past

My dearest Twilight,

I am delighted to hear that the visitors are not hostile, especially considering everything you’ve described their magic capable of. I must admit I am a little concerned about their liberal use of war wards and their seemingly militaristic appearance. I have faith in your abilities, however, and trust you’ll be able to find a common language soon enough.

The politics here in Canterlot are turbulent as ever, and I would not burden you with the details. I deeply regret almost all of my time is consumed by putting out fires, so to speak, and that I cannot join you in forming new bonds with these guests from beyond our world. The Council, consisting of more than one pony, suffers no such limitations, and their subordinates seem have their hooves in every aspect of governance around here.

It is with that in mind that I would like to caution you of strangers asking veiled questions for the time being. Though I wish it weren’t so, your description of Poppyseed makes me suspect somepony may already be eyeing Ponyville in the name of some petty intrigue or another. The public announcement regarding the visitors will be made only later today. It will not mention you or your friends to spare you from some of the publicity, at least.

I would not wish to make you suspicious of every new pony you meet. Just remember you have no obligation to tell anyone but me or Luna what is transpiring in the forest, no matter what anypony says.

Your teacher,
Princess Celestia

Laying the quill down with a sigh, Celestia rubs her eyes with a weary hoof.

Whoever thought that pesky Council would conspire in silence and without causing trouble?

Rolling the parchment up and affixing it with her personal seal is an almost unconscious action after so many years. Celestia’s mind is already occupied with other things as the immensely complex spell effortlessly whisks away the letter, the flickering magic curiously reminiscent of the flames from which the letter will re-appear in a moment.

As she returns to finalising her her speech, Celestia is interrupted by the muted steps of unshod hooves. She turns to the only guest who would enter her chambers without knocking.

“Good morning. I am surprised you are still awake.”

Luna stifles a yawn before sitting down next to her sister.

“So I was. There is something we need to discuss, however.”

“Pray tell.”

“Something novel moves outside the Dreaming.”

In present company Celestia allows some surprise to bleed into her expression.

“More visitors?”

“Visitors... but not of the same vein as before. I am not quite sure what to make of them, to be honest.”

“Do explain.”

Finding her efforts to hinder it futile, Luna allows a wide yawn to escape her.

“Let me first tell you what I have found. Or rediscovered, rather. Hundreds of years ago, shortly after the beginning of my... absence, Clover the Clever finalised some of Star Swirl the Bearded’s lesser-known theories, sealing the Dreaming from the inside.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware those two had such insight into your sphere.”

“Dearest sister, there weren’t many spheres those two didn’t study at some point.”

The sisters share a private smile at old memories.

“Anyway, Star Swirl in his later years apparently entertained a suspicion that some of the monsters of old would actually not hail from inside Equestria at all, and strove to shut them out of our realm for good. I was aware that he had been conducting research in that direction, but I admit I never knew Clover actually put it into practice.”

“Neither did I.”

Coming to think of it, that may well be the source of that lovely Hearth’s Warming tale, Celestia silently muses. She thoughtfully taps her chin with a hoof.

“But if the Dreaming is sealed, how did our current visitors get in?”

“Quite honestly, I cannot yet say for sure. The magic is very old, and very subtle, but as far as I can tell the seal was purposely built to allow for someone to be able to detect the entrance under certain circumstances. I would guess great distress would qualify, if I were wont to explain the presence of our new guests.”

“Well, that does sound a lot like Clover.”

“Indeed.”

Furrowing her brow, Luna gets up and walks a worried circle.

“That said, we’re back at my original matter.”

“The other visitors?”

“Yes. As I said, the seal itself is built to subtly detect strong emotion. The better to distinguish those in need of urgent aid, supposedly. Lately I’ve begun understanding how to tap into that to probe what lies beyond...”

Stopping, she turns to her sister.

“...but I am not quite put at ease from what I see.”

“How so?”

“There is sentience there, that I can tell. Something about them seems off, however.”

“Do you mean they are aggressive? Warlike?”

“No, quite the opposite. It is... hard to explain. If anything, I’d say they exhibit no strife whatsoever.”

“Isn’t living in harmony a desirable thing?”

“Yes... Perhaps you’re right. Still, I would like to know what inspired our original visitors to such terror before making a judgement.”

“If you say so. Twilight will be testing the new translation spell today. Perhaps you’ll have a chance to talk to the interlopers soon enough.”

“Splendid! Do keep me informed when word arrives.”

Blinking tiredly, Luna turns and begins trotting towards her chambers.

“I will. Sleep well,” Celestia calls after her.

“Of course.”

The sound of hooves receding into the distance, Celestia turns back to her desk, suppressing another sigh.

“Now where was I? ‘Citizens of Equestria...’”

Outside the chamber, one of the guards swivels his ear back to face the corridor.

*

“The princesses’ pupil and her entourage have successfully made contact.”

“By the stars, Astoria. Can’t we at least have a drink before we get to business?”

The copper mare so addressed turns to give the speaker an icy glare.

“My time is valuable, Golden, and I have little patience for your social games in private.”

The stallion shrugs, filling a small crystal glass with a thick, orange liquid.

“As you wish, my dear. I must warn you that you’re eschewing an excellent vintage, however.”

“I’ll survive. Now. My sources tell me there are more aliens on their way.”

The stallion pauses with the glass halfway to his muzzle.

“Really, now? How accurate is this information of yours?”

“Very.”

“...I guess that’s all I’m going to get? Oh well. I assume since you bothered to come meet me in person you think that these newcomers will change something?”

The mare flashes a quick smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“It might. According to princess Luna, the new intruders are strangers to conflict. Perfectly harmonious, you could say.”

The stallion’s ears perk up, and he unwittingly casts a worried glance around him. He puts the glass away and looks at his companion intently.

“You mean they could have potential for our project?”

The mare gives a predatory smile in response, before turning and trotting for the door.

“That is all I had to impart. Keep your eyes open.”

Sitting down on a low chair, the stallion thoughtfully rubs his chin.

“Oh, rest assured I will, dear. Rest assured.”

Golden Touch reaches for his glass as the door clicks shut and swirls the liquid within. After a while of contemplation he empties the whole glass of fifty-year old salt liquor in one swig and gets on his hooves.

“Feather Duster!”

Few heartbeats pass before a slate grey pegasus in a simple black apron opens the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Send for two messengers, and have them meet me in my study. I wish to remain undisturbed until then.”

“Very well, sir. Anything else?”

“No, you may go.”

The pegasus bows and leaves. Golden Touch smiles to himself as he starts trotting towards his work room, plans and instructions already forming in his mind.

“This may yet turn out to be a good year indeed.”

*

“Ahh...”

I’d forgotten fresh air tastes this delicious.

I take deep, long breaths, enjoying the feel of a light breeze on my face. It’s hardly distinguishable from the simulation of the suit, but just knowing it’s real makes all the difference in the world.

Oh, and there’s the smell, of course. Smell and texture, I should say. The air filters in a closed environment have a tendency to purify and purify until the air inside is utterly sterile. It’s not something you notice while actually living on the ship, of course, but the sudden switch to the humid wetland atmosphere outside is amazing. The smell of the mud, of trees, the sweet tang of rotting under-vegetation... all overlaid with the sharp odour of burned plants and metal. It’s a beautiful symphony of olfactory instruments, and I’m enjoying every second of it.

I don’t get many moments of peace before the ramp shakes under the heavy steps of the first engineers moving out to work. I walk to the side, giving a wide berth to the massive walker heading down from the airlock. Motobu waves at me with a wide grin from the wide open cockpit as he lumbers by, guiding the six-ton beast onto the ground as smoothly as I would a skimmer. He may be young and cocky, but he drives that thing well, and to be fair, ‘cocky’ probably applies to the whole damn crew in any case. I laugh as Motobu grabs a whole fallen tree in one massive claw and twirls it like a marshal’s baton, before heading off to the closest piece of flat land to start piling rubbish on.

It’s sunny, and only a few clouds drift lazily over a clear blue sky. Morbid what-ifs aside, it looks like I wasn’t wrong when I though it would be a good day. I flex my arms and run in place, trying to shake loose the kinks in my muscles before taking a few walking steps and then slowly easing into a jog. Running in an outside environment feels great after such a long while, even if I won’t be able to stray more than a few hundred meters from the ship. Starting to feel warmed up, I accelerate slightly into a comfortable running pace, soon falling into the pleasant rhythm of my own steps.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

As I run, my thoughts begin to stray, remembering jobs past and loves lost. Now doesn’t that sound like something a bitter old witch would say? Hey, I’m not trying to weave a dark and troubled backstory here, I’m just stating facts. It’s been good at some times and rough at others.

The clammy sweat on my right palm only serves to accentuate the dryness of the left. As always, the prosthesis responds smoothly and instantly when I flex my hand. I’ve had it for so long—and had it fixed so many times—it’s in a very definite way a part of me now, but there’s forever that slight difference of feeling, a tiny disconnect between left and right. Good thing I’m right-handed, I guess. I pull my wrist back to its extreme and nudge it back and forth a couple of times to the beat of my running.

Beep, ‘ARMED’. Blip-blip, ‘DISARMED’. Beep, ‘ARMED’. Blip-blip, ‘DISARMED’.

See? ‘cause it’s in my arm.

Comedy gold.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

I was eleven when I lost my hand. I actually regard the memory with some fondness now. We were still kids back then, Ace and me, and all the other kids thought it was wicked cool. Started a bar brawl, too, when I was sixteen. Snuck out during port stay with the idiot brothers, and some half-drunk asshole called me something ugly at a local watering hole. Sasha smacked him upside the head with a bottle of spirits, and then all hell broke loose.

Uh, now that I think about it, that got me grounded for the whole stay. That wasn’t a fun memory after all.

I glance at my wrist, numbers flashing into existence over it, telling me I’ve been running for no more than a quarter of an hour. I speed up a little as I start on my second lap.

Mom was furious that time. ‘Jesus, Alexandr’—she never used nicknames, not even for Sasha—’a fucking bottle? Do you know what it fucking cost me to have that bloke’s eye replaced?’ she asked, again and again. Never did she question his motive, but she was pissed off for losing money. I smile.

I carefully poke at the memory of her death.

Nnnope, still hurts.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

I busy my mind with short-term administrative stuff for the next lap. By the time I round the bow of the ship, more engineers are already out, clearing ground and disassembling scaffolds from repaired areas. I wave at them as I run past, getting cheery shouts in response.

On the third lap, a skimmer team is forming up under the loading ramp. Miloslava kicks her turbine into gear and roars away into the forest, the three others forming up around her. I watch them weave skillfully into the trees, swearing as I almost stumble on a root sticking from the ground. There’s a snort behind me.

“Careful, or you fall and hurt pretty face!”

“Go suck a dick, Kolya.”

“Sorry, but am not into men.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Helping Spitfire. Is equipment day today.”

“Right.”

We run in silence for a while.

“What is wrong?”

The questions startles me. I think it over while catching my breath.

“Why would you... think anything’s wrong?”

“You’re gloomy.”

It’s a simple statement, but it implies a lot of things. I glance at the stoic profile of my friend, and he pretends not to notice.

Are you becoming unstable?

The question remains unsaid, but it’s there.

There’s a little flash of annoyance, but it’s overshadowed by a much stronger impulse of gratitude. Sasha and Kolya don’t show it often, but they care. They care a lot. They’ve also been around for most of my life, so it’s hard to hide things from them.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just thinking of the past.”

“Okay.”

“Remember that bar on Recuperance?”

Kolya grins widely.

“Where Sasha smacked that guy with bottle?”

“Yeah.”

“Good times. I remember a certain girl kick that guy in nuts, also.”

“I did not.”

“Oh yes! Then you tell him: ‘bitch, my hand is fabulous’ when he on ground.” He laughs loudly.

Huh, I did not remember that happening.

“In my defence, it is.”

Kolya laughs again. Both him and his brother display plenty of mirth, so they have a quite large repertoire of laughs to pick from. This one has a warm, comforting sound, a laugh than can wring joy from almost anything. I chuckle along, which my lungs soon tell me I have no business doing while running.

Glancing at my wrist again, I note I’ve been exercising for just over an hour. Time to get to work. I slap Kolya on the back, get a grunt and a smile in response and decelerate to walk up the loading ramp. I’m just through the inner airlock when Xavier opens a line into my ear.

“Ma’am, the diplomats are en route again.”

“Got it. Good timing, I just got in. I’ll take a quick shower, get the meeting ready.”

“Same crew as before?”

“Yeah.“

“Roger.”

I skip the long walk to my own quarters in favour of the communal showers on loading deck, grabbing my op suit from my personal locker as I go by. As I predicted, the Sailor’s been the soundtrack of the day, and I’m humming the melody as I rinse myself in the stall.

Barely ten minutes later I’m stuffing the sweaty jumpsuit into the washer at the bottom of my locker, the other members of our impromptu diplomat team arriving one by one.

“So, how’s the air?” Tito asks.

“Fantastic. You should all leave the helmets in and enjoy the weather.”

“But we still had to wear the suits. Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.”

“Well, wear whatever you want next time.”

I hide my smirk as he harrumphs and flicks his glasses onto his nose. Motobu comes stomping up the ramp, delicately grabs yesterday’s table in a claw and stomps back out again. Seems the engineers didn’t enjoy carrying that piece of furniture by hand. Lazy buggers, always coming up with ways to automate the workload.

Julianne’s eyes are literally glowing with all the software she’s running, her gaze flicking this way and that, working some arcane subroutine or another. It’s funny how you can almost tell what job people have around here just by looking at how much light bleed there is from their micro-projectors.

We chat about everything and nothing as we make our way down. Eventually the conversation peters out and we simply wait, enjoying the sunshine. Tito walks over to the table and starts unloading the augmentation visors from his satchel.

It doesn’t take long for the ponies to appear at the edge of the clearing. They seem surprised at what we’ve done with the place, Motobu earning several long stares as he piles logs into a stack with his walker. I shoo him away and he waddles away behind the ship to do something else instead.

At the next moment, Miloslava’s skimmer team busts into the clearing and moves straight up to the ramp. She breaks off and hovers over to where we’re standing.

“Good morning, everyone,” she greets us over the whine of her turbine. “Cordon’s still there, if you’re wondering.”

“Whatever would we do without your input?”

She shrugs, unwittingly drawing a little buck from the skimmer.

“Hey, you gave the orders. Anyway, seems they’re not closing in at least. Nothing’s changed since last night. We saw a lion, though.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was pretty weird. It ran into the woods when it heard us coming.”

“...okay? Oh well, it’s not like it’s any more surreal than anything else so far. That all?”

“A-yup. See you around.”

“Later.”

She spins on a dime and flies back up into the bowels of the ship, disappearing behind the airlock door. Having slowed their advance slightly during the exchange, the ponies are now approaching in the same configuration as before. The purple one seems to be all business today, striding right up with purposeful steps with the others chattering away behind her. Without preamble she connects to the data space, and I turn an imaginary monocle and let the visual input brighten until I can see the structure as well.

As the other ponies move to start putting on their borrowed goggles, the unicorn up front begins doing whatever it is she does with her horn. Tito leans in, talking in a low voice. Kinda redundant, that, considering our guests can’t understand us anyway.

“Okay, just so you know: I tuned down the subroutine visualisation filter. Julianne wanted to see how that horn interacts with our cloud.”

“So program runs will be visible?”

“Yeah. Since it’s capable of interfacing, there should be a point... of... connect...”

I turn to look as Tito trails off, and so does everyone else present. Inside the glow coming from the unicorn’s horn, there’s this strange organic mess of squiggles and flickering points of light. Now, I may not be an expert on data systems, but I know what they should look like. That is not it.

“Uh, Tito?”

Qué diablos...? That’s not what a program should look like. That’s an incoherent mess!”

The unicorn seems unrattled. Excited, rather, rapidly explaining something to her companions. Soon enough the squirming patterns settle down onto her body, briefly tattooing her from top to tail with glowing runes.

Right.

Well, now she’s looking at me. Faint, stylized speech bubbles superimposed over the pony inform me of an available translation interface, so here goes nothing. Trusting the safety measures of the ship to do their thing, I start chaining gestures.

Translate: speech. New audio connection. Open interface.

Execute on target.

A far more familiar program matrix manifests in front of my hand as a host of airware kicks into gear, billions of qubits of linguistic data arming the interface for translation. Thin lines representing the points of connections streak out, locking onto—apparently functional—biological connectors on the unicorn’s body. Ignoring the superficial insanity of that though, I wait.

The purple mare looks up at me with a nervous expression, and takes a deep breath. The slightly metallic voice synthesis of the translation program hits my ears a second after the words leave her mouth.

“Hello? Can you understand me?”

I grin. Now we’re getting somewhere.

*