Sent to investigate a problem in the small spherical world in which she lives, Aneki finds her life in danger.
(This story is sci-fi, and somewhat different to regular FIM stories.) Aneki's world was small. It was spherical, and it only took a day to gallop from one side to the other. She had been taught nothing existed outside the sphere, but she wasn't so sure about that. Perhaps her world was a bottle, a container in which ponies had fled to live. A time would come when she gained the opportunity to investigate these things first hoof, if she lived that long.
Light filtering through my eyelids pulled my attention away from the dream-world and nondescript background noises clarified into the buzz of a few insects and the distant sounds of ponies going about their business. Sleep faded, but the physical pain of my dreams did not. My legs ached, feeling very much as if they had been beaten during the night. Of course, they hadn't been beaten, although, perhaps, one could argue that they had been abused.
"Such are the consequences of your lifestyle, Aneki, you silly mare," I said to myself. "You run too much."
Perhaps I could consider the pain to be my body self-regulating my activities, although this many days after my last major effort, I should have felt fine and ready to go again. Usually a decent run only left me feeling pleasantly fatigued. Had I slipped and pulled my muscles without realizing it? That was entirely possible.
I tumbled out of bed and walked the two steps to the window through which the morning light was streaming. Poking my head through the opening, I looked about. Several storeys below were the narrow streets, already humming with the daily activity of early rising ponies. Despite the varying widths of each building, the streets were rather narrow up at this height too. A few floors above, the building reached out across the gap, to merge briefly with its counterpart from across the street, parting ways again above the short bridge. Just across from me was a part of the wall of the neighboring building, its rendered, cream finish showing minor cracking and a years-old accumulation of dust. While the otherwise featureless piece of wall was not particularly interesting to look at, it was infinitely better than having the window to somepony else's room there. Windows facing walls were common, a deliberate design choice taken to allow ponies some privacy in the crowded little world of H'ven.
Haven? Heaven? The exact name of our world had degraded with time, although those were the two most popular theories as to the root of the word. H'ven kind of left out the key letters. Heaven was the official line. Ponies had it better here. Life was perfect. Yeah, right. Of more interest to me was why the name had been chosen in the first place, whichever name it was. So far I hadn't found its origin.
Our world was large. If you walked all day, you couldn't transverse it. On the other hoof, if you were energetic, you could make the distance if you ran. On a good day, that was; it had to be quiet. Running under the light of Luna was more suited to the task. If ponies were up and about, they tended to get in the way of your mad dash, blocking the narrow walkways, slowing your progress, and even tripping you, which invariably led to bruises and a lot of name calling. On the other hoof, if you were to use Mane Way, it would be much easier, as it was straight and uncluttered, but that was reserved for official traffic for pretty much that reason, and running across the world for leisure wasn't official, except on the day of the marathon. While I always took part in the marathon, one day a year was not enough to satisfy me. I ran across the city way more often than that, and the obstacles made the run that much more enjoyable. Bouncing between walls to gain height, jumping over safety rails and clearing gaps between buildings all added to the experience and pleasure.
More challenging, though, was to try to go from the bottom of the city to top as quickly as possible. You really needed good legs and a strong heart to do that. Even so, it couldn't be done in a day, no matter how hard you tried. It was worth climbing all those stairs and negotiating all those ramps, though. There was open space up there, above the structures. There were some spires, bridges and walkways, but they never crossed into the greater void. With the view of the sky-dome uninterrupted by structures, I would stand there imagining the blue went on forever. Legend had it that the void was created to allow ponies to fly up there. Of course that was silly. Everypony knew winged ponies were make-believe.
It was obvious that H'ven had been built with great care, as much of the original structure of the place was still in very good condition. Nonetheless, age was now taking its toll. Small cracks had appeared here and there over the years, and maintenance usually repaired the significant ones, leaving behind little welded scars. Compounding that was the erosion and deformation caused by the ponies themselves, as they added to and subtracted from the buildings, modifying them to suit their needs or desires. That occurred less often now, as resources were becoming harder to locate. In my lifetime, very little had changed beyond the cosmetic.
Resources came from two places. Historically, it was a matter of exploring the underlevels in the hope of finding some area that hadn't been used in centuries and raiding that for materials. Most of those resources were expended. That which was left was now under the control of Central, much like the Mane Way. The other resource was of course what we had immediately to hoof. That was why history had been lost. We'd reused it, or the media on which it was recorded, perhaps hundreds of times.
So that took us back to the name. Heaven? Maybe centuries, no, millennia ago, this place, with all its beautiful white and cream construction in pristine condition, may have seemed like heaven to those who named it. I couldn't say I bought into that argument though. I preferred to spend my time exploring the place while most of the population were content to sit on their rumps watching the specially formulated entertainment fed into our homes by the establishment. As such, I considered myself to have a better grasp on life in this world. There were too many inconveniences, niggling little problems and other things that weren't quite right for this place to have ever been perfect, and heaven by definition was perfect, was it not?
Okay, so I didn't think it was Heaven. What about Haven? I would argue Haven made more sense. This world was just too weird to make sense. It was too confining. We were living in a bottle. We had containers in our world, so it made sense that our world could well be a container in an even larger world. Sometimes I compared our world to a terrarium. We were trapped inside the sphere, in this little artificial environment. Haven made more sense that way. Millennia ago, ponies had locked themselves into this big spherical bottle where the glowing dome of the sky provided light by day and faded to leave just the small, varying patch, Luna, and a smattering of point sources by night. And, yes, it really was a solid dome. I had touched it, poked at the little point sources of light with my hoof. It was no infinite sky as described in those old legends that now only survived in spoken form.
So what was outside the sphere? What was so terrifying that this place could be a haven? Of course, ponies were encouraged to not think about what could be out there. In fact, we were taught that there was nothing out there. Taught? Who am I kidding. We had it drummed into our heads during foalhood. It popped up in the occasional story in popular entertainment to remind us. It was the big bad nothing in breezie tales. We were totally indoctrinated to not consider what could be on the other side of our impenetrable shell.
Then again, these two names were just the favored possibilities. Had the name morphed as it passed down through the generations by word of mouth alone? Had it been forgotten, then rediscovered in some ancient text? What if the word came something written in another language or script that had been misread into our own. Even if we restricted it to our own language, there were other words it may have been. What if the H had been part of a different word, or was so worn it may have been a different letter altogether. It may have been this place was originally called Seven. That was the underground rumor. And that brought up another huge collection of questions. If we were Seven, what about One through to Six? Discussing that wasn't advised though, unless one really enjoyed counseling, or in persistent cases, confinement.
Me, I just liked running. Puzzling through these things was just a way to keep my mind busy while I ran. I didn't buy into any official line. I was my own mare. My job took me all over H'ven and even under it sometimes. Well, not exactly under H'ven, but under what ponies considered to be ground level; the underlevels. I was with the inspection department, an engineer and surveyor. It was my job to head out to places where ponies reported seeing damage or to explore disturbances detected by the department's sensitive equipment. I would then report my findings and then the correct repair team for the job would be dispatched.
I wondered where the boss would send me today. Not too far, I hoped. I limped over to the food dispenser and waited while it scanned and weighed me before depositing my ideal meal before me. At least this room had one. Some ponies had to use communal food dispensers all of the time. Actually, the food these machines served up was another argument against "Heaven" being the name of this place. It was certainly edible, even palatable, but it was monotonous.
Having eaten, I stepped into the grooming bay and was subject to a quick wash and "style". Legend told us ponies used to use water to bathe. Could you imagine that? I reached for my brush to tidy my mane to my liking and was surprised when I knocked it to the floor. I glanced at my forehoof. Well, that was a foalish error, wasn't it? Maybe my legs were hurt more than I realized. Trying again, I retracted the hoof wall and extended my three thin, black fingers from within. Better. I wrapped them around the handle of the the brush and set to making myself more pleasant to look at. Hey, a little vanity never hurt! I studied my dark cream colored coat and variegated ruby red mane and tail, offset with eyes that were a shade more orange than my mane. Not bad. If anything, I was average in the beauty department. Well, I'd be above average if it wasn't for that bony lump marring my forehead. But being average wasn't bad. The average mare was a pretty mare.
I tossed my survival saddle across my back and fastened it in place, then grabbed my combined auto-mapper and comms unit and strapped it to my left foreleg, where I usually wore it. That done, I reestablished my hoof. Why would I be having troubles like that now? Foals were born with their front hooves the same as their rear, good for nothing but walking on, but as they grew, their fingers appeared, along with the walls of their forehooves changing so that they could be retracted. That way, foals didn't have to worry about learning to use their fingers while learning to walk. Occasionally a pony wouldn't grow their fingers. I was glad I wasn't one of them.
Oh well. It was time for work. I tapped the comms button on the mapper and waited for my boss to respond. While waiting, I exited my home, locked it, then started down the three flights of stairs to local ground level.
"Good morning, Aneki. Nice of you to call in," a male voice spoke into my mind.
"Sarcasm, boss, sarcasm. You know damn well I am early," I subvocalized back.
"I have some good news for you," the boss said, not rising to the bait. "I know you like to run. We need you to go back down to the underlevels, not far from where you were last week. There have been more disturbances down there."
I groaned.
"What? No enthusiasm?" the boss asked. "I saved this one up for you because you love running."
"Thanks, boss, really, but I haven't recovered from the last run down there. My legs still hurt. Too many stairs, I guess."
"Oh, Aneki, I'm sorry to hear that," the boss said. He sounded genuinely concerned. "The other members of the team have already been assigned their tasks, so you are stuck with that job. Give me a moment to check something."
The boss went silent. I continued my way down onto the street, walking towards my distant destination. Today was either going to be slow or painful. Maybe once I got going, the pains would ease.
"Okay, Aneki, I'll tell you what. I've just passed an authorization code to your mapper. You are clear to use the Mane Way to get to and from service elevator fifteen to the underlevels. I've managed to get you a low priority clearance for the elevator, too. Chances are you will have it to yourself anyway, but Central aren't prepared to give me a high priority clearance."
"Thanks, boss. That will help me a lot. A low clearance is better than no clearance," I said. He was a decent fellow.
Now, as much as the clearances would make my journey easier, it was still quite a distance to travel, so I gritted my teeth, bowed my head, and pushed myself to a trot, dodging and weaving through the narrow streets. It did not take long to get out of my residential area and onto one of the feeder streets that led to the nearest stairway down to the Mane Way.
As I've already mentioned, H'ven was spherical, a great big hollow ball with us all inside. The Mane Way was set about halfway up the sphere, effectively at ground level, and stretched almost wall to wall. In the center was a node where all of the many roads forming it linked. As you went further out from the center, the roads divided then divided again, and so on until there was a great lacework. Concentric rings each mile or so allowed one to move between the radii. As one got further from the center of Mane Way, the ground level rose, forming hills that approached the walls, eventually become cliff-like. The Mane Way went underground when the rate of rise got too steep to climb without the aid of stairs, where it served the works of H'ven. After all, industry and such didn't require pleasant views.
You would think such a great network of roads would be available to everypony, but there was a significant problem with it. Like every other road in this damned place, the roads were narrow though admittedly they weren't as narrow as the streets. There was just enough width to allow two vehicles to pass each other while allowing enough space to one side for a couple of ponies on hoof. There was no chance of widening it either, because buildings were packed right up against the road edge, with buildings, walkways and bridges regularly spanning it, up at street level.
I lived on the second tier, as that placed me as close to the center of H'ven as possible. I had chosen the place because my work took me all over H'ven, and a central starting point was convenient, especially considering I usually had to stay off the Mane Way. I exited the stairway, took a left turn, and trotted down the short ramp towards the Mane Way - Authorized Use Only sign. As I approached the barred entry point, I was automatically scanned, and the code gleaned from my mapper. Part of the barrier immediately in front of me lifted, allowing me to trot through. Finally having access to the Mane Way system, the mapper calculated the optimal route, directions appearing on my head-up display. Two miles down this branch, left and onto the ring road, pass two more branches, left again for a quarter of a mile, exit back to the streets.
Having paused only twice to grab a quick swig from my water bottle, it took me just shy of half an hour to reach my exit due to my slow trot. Despite the exercise, my legs didn't feel any better. Bugger, I really should have recovered from the last run by now. It wasn't as if it had been anything significant, just climbing or descending over a dozen flights of stairs, as well as the run to and from home. Hell, by comparison that was barely a warm-up compared to my climbs up the stairways of the cliff-like outer city, and I'd only felt tired and perhaps slightly sore after those, not like somepony had taken to my legs with a club. Maybe I'd have to call in sick at the end of this job and go visit a doctor.
Service elevator fifteen was directly connected to the Mane Way via a short access ramp that led down to below the nearby buildings. The Mane Way barrier lifted to allow me back into the unrestricted zone. Stairs led from the ramp, up to the street level, allowing access to the elevator without the use of the Mane Way. I guessed that was the way I would have come down without the access codes. To the right of the sealed elevator doors was another closed door labelled Stairwell 15E. "Not today, my friend," I addressed the door. I approached the elevator doors and reached up with my hoof, tapping the call button. With a beep, the doors immediately opened. Lucky! As the boss said, it wasn't currently in use. The law of maximum perversity would have it in use when I needed to return to the surface, though. What an uncomfortable climb that was going to be.
I stepped into the elevator car and surveyed the array of buttons. What was it? Sublevel seventeen was where I was the other day. I glanced at my mapper for confirmation. Sublevel thirty-six? What the hell? That was getting seriously underground. Oh well, I may as well get on with it. I keyed in 36 with the hoof buttons, then hit Start. The doors slid shut, and a faint throbbing started below me as the drive mechanism of the elevator kicked in. I settled to the floor. I may as well rest for the trip down.
Unfortunately, that trip did not last long.
"Alert, priority override," the elevator's speaker announced as the elevator suddenly slowed. "You have five seconds to disembark, or you will be subject to excessive g-forces." The doors slid open. Damn. Level nineteen. At least I was more than halfway there. I didn't feel like gaining more bruises and ending up at the start of my trip again, so I lurched to my feet and leaped out the door moments before it closed behind me, leaving me standing in the dark. Moments later, I could hear the elevator rapidly accelerating away.
The sound of the elevator car receded, revealing quiet groans and moans echoing through the disused corridors.
So here I was, nineteen levels below ground level, standing in total darkness, listening to the unsettling sounds of Luna knows what groaning and moaning. There should be nothing alive down here to moan, well, other than me if I kicked my shin in this dark. A shriek, followed by a series of rapid clicks just about made me jump out of my skin. It didn't exactly smell great down here either, the air filled with the taint of corrosion, age and must. If this place really was called Heaven, I figured I must be heading down towards Hell.
Shuddering, I blinked a few times. The head-up display of my mapper dimmed to almost invisibility so as not to dazzle me in the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a faint, red glow. It wasn't enough to see by, just enough to be tantalizing. Its brightness pulsed regularly. I glanced about for the source, discovering it was the floor indicator for the elevator. Well, that would do as a night light, but it wasn't much use for anything else. The pulsing stopped, leaving a red zero glowing. The elevator car was back on the surface.
Think, girl. Alternative light sources. My survival saddle had some lamps built into it. Of course, finding them in the dark would be difficult. Ah, the mapper itself. It had a light in its display (the non head-up one). I extended my fingers from my hoof, pressed the appropriate combination of buttons, and the mapper lit up. Okay, that was better, now I could see my hooves. Another quick glance about convinced me that I wasn't about to be eaten by an imaginary creature, so I breathed a sigh of relief.
I reached back to the survival saddle, opening its front hatch. From within, I extended the emergency lights. One reached out past me, sitting just in front of my chest. It cast a reasonable beam ahead. The other light curled up above my head, where lit the general area. Neither was particularly powerful, but you could read or repair things by them.
My next problem was to find my way down to sub-level thirty-six. The indicator showed that the elevator was still up at the surface, held there by the override. It could be a while before it started down again, so I doubted I would be able to use it again any time soon. That meant using the stairs. My comms unit crackled. Interference, I guessed. I walked over to the door to the stairwell and opened it, only to find it was totally dark in there too. Today, I hated my job.
I was about to start down when the comms unit crackled again. I checked the display and saw that there had been two failed connections. Maybe the communication relays were out as well as the lights. Perhaps a wired connection would work better. I returned to the elevator, or more specifically, the control panel beside it. Opening a hidden panel, I extracted the coiled cord and plugged it into my mapper. After a number of messages about failed relays scrolled past, it indicated it had found a working one.
"Boss, have you been trying to call me?" I asked.
After a moment, the reply came. "Ah, Aneki, good. Thanks for calling in. Where are you?"
"Standing in the dark at sub-level nineteen."
"What are you doing there?"
"The elevator called priority and spat me out."
"Ah, I see..." The boss paused. "Your being there actually works to our advantage. Forget about your mission for the moment. Something has happened in your area, plus or minus a level or two. I want you to explore the area north of your current position. There was a pretty big disturbance there a few minutes ago. That may be why your trip down was terminated. Hmm... Let's see. Yes, yes, it looks like Central are assembling their own team to come down and investigate this one. They've put out a request to all of their contractors for any information we can provide them. Any clues you could give them would be appreciated."
"I can tell you this much already. The lights are out on this level and in the stairwell," I said.
"That's concerning."
"And, I can hear something moaning, groaning and clicking. It sounds like something structural is in distress."
"Thank you, I will pass that on to them immediately. Please report back when you have something more concrete."
"Comms are also down. I had to resort to a hardwired connection. Even then, I was lucky to find even one working communications relay. I'll have to come back to this hardwired connection to report," I said.
"Understood... Hang on." The boss fell silent, allowing me to I heard some distant cracks and a deep thud that I felt as well. "I'm getting more readings on the seismograph. What's going on down there?"
"More cracks and a thud," I said. "Something has just collapsed."
"Don't risk your life, but get in as close as you can. Report back as soon as you can. You are clear to sign off."
"Signing off." I disconnected the wire and allowed it to curl back into its compartment. "Well, it's just you, me and my sore legs," I told my lamp. "Let's go see if we can shed any light on the problem."
Immediately I trotted north, along the corridor, constantly looking around as I did. I was watching for cracks in the floor, walls or ceiling, openings, obstructions, or anything that could be causing the noises. I didn't think I was close enough to the problem to warrant traveling slowly considering the urgency of the situation. The boss hadn't needed to spell that out for me. I was a qualified structural engineer after all. I knew that if things down here were failing, collapsing, the damage could spread to the point where ground level, and all that was on it, was in danger of collapsing, too. After all, the honeycomb of structural members and walls down here was what was keeping the city up there.
After a couple of minutes trotting, the darkness and loneliness started taking their toll, and my overactive imagination began to create all sorts of horrors for me find. Usually such tribulations were limited to annoyed ponies I ticked off by demanding access to their homes, or whatever, but the darkness gave my unfounded fears something in which to take root. Eventually I came to a junction, so I stopped, listening for clues. A quick check of the mapper confirmed it was tracking my route. After a moment, some more creaks and groans sounded, the louder ones coming from my right. East, it was. I trotted off.
I soon came to another junction, pausing again. The sounds drew me north again.
To call these passages through which I was trotting corridors didn't really do them justice. These were the service ways and streets of the ponies who once lived or worked here, and in some instances, still did, like me, right now, for example. The width varied every so often, as one area had encroached on the shared space, or another had retreated. Now all that remained were the stripped walls, discolored and mismatched areas of paint, screw and bolt holes showing where equipment had been removed. Lines left in the paintwork and empty racks suggested at the former routes of cables and pipes, the latter salvaged to improve the lives of ponies on the surface.
Some cables had survived, such as those that were meant to be powering the distantly spaced lights. The cables were still there, even if there was no current flowing through them at the moment. Once this place must have been full of bustling ponies going about their daily lives, as if living down here was no different to living anywhere else. Doors usually survived. Most were closed. Down here, windows had no reason to exist.
I suddenly caught my breath, collapsing in a coughing fit. That was unexpected. Clearing my throat, I reached back into my survival saddle for my water container. A couple of swigs helped. I sniffed at the air, immediately coughing again. Okay, something nasty was in the air, mingled in with the other smells of age and decay. I returned my water container to the saddle, and retrieved my filter mask. I pulled it over my muzzle, checked for a good seal, then took a deep breath. Ahh, that was much better.
Wearing the mask would deprive me of odoriferous warnings, but being able to breathe was worth the trade off. The unbreathable air was a warning in itself anyway. I continued on my way, trotting a little slower this time. As the boss had said, the disturbance could be a level or two above or below the nineteenth sub-level. It was possible I may find nothing. I doubted that would be the case, as something had disturbed the dust, or whatever it was that was fouling the air.
Because of the dust, it was getting harder to see further ahead now. Before now, looking ahead didn't reveal much because my forward-facing lamp simply had insufficient power to show up much, so all I would see was the floor, walls and ceiling fading into an impenetrable black zone in the center of my field of vision. Now that area was getting hazy, milky, reflecting back some of the light. After trotting slowly through the haze for a couple of minutes, it appeared to thin, and I thought I was through it when, something smashed me hard in the face, then the chest. With the figurative world spinning, I went over backwards, and thumped onto the ground, stunned.
Arrrrrgh! There really was something nasty lurking down here! Even in my impact-induced addled state, I knew I could be in serious danger from whatever had floored me, so I weakly tried to push myself away, but with little success. Realizing I was doomed, I froze and waited in the silence for the killing strike. As seconds passed, my brain finally managed to push the swirling confusion away, allowing me to gather my thoughts. Let's see, what did I know about my situation? First, something had hit me hard. Second, it didn't attack after the initial impact. Third, I was assuming something would strike at me to kill me. Why would it want to kill me? That was just my fears having fun. These tunnels should be deserted. After all, they were off limits to ponies who didn't work for Central either directly or, like myself, indirectly. Perhaps greeting whatever it was would result in a better outcome.
"Look, I'm sorry for running into your territory, but I have been assigned by those above to find out what's going on down here. I mean you no harm," I offered. Apart from the reverberation of the tunnels, there was no response. Well.... that could have gone better, but at least the situation hadn't got any worse. "I'm getting up now," I announced, carefully climbing back onto my hooves. Reaching up to my face, I poked at it gently, where my filter mask had dug in. More bruises. Great.
Ah, yes, I wasn't alone, was I? Deal with the other, whoever or whatever it was, then worry about bruises. Looking ahead, I found myself facing the corridor wall. I must have been disoriented by the impact. That was no surprise. Glancing at my mapper's head-up display. I realized I was facing west instead of north, so I turned that way, and found myself staring at the same darkness I had seen before getting clobbered. Nothing was there, just solid blackness.
Huh? That didn't look right. That blackness was a little too solid looking. I took a cautions step forward, reaching out with my hoof. There was no reaction, apart from the sound of the hoof striking whatever it was. I tried again, with the same result.
I extracted my fingers and felt about. Solid blackness indeed. There was something there. As I felt about I found it stretched from one side of the corridor to the other. I tried scratching at it. The result was as unexpected as it was revealing. My fingers left a series of parallel reflective stripes as matt black paint peeled away to reveal metal. Realization dawned.
"Oh, you stupid mare!" I said. "You just ran head first into a fricking wall!" At least this time I had an excuse. It was dark.
What idiot had painted it in non-reflective paint? In the dark it was practically invisible. Oh, that was right, there were meant to be lights, and they weren't working. Some more scratching on my part made it more obvious there was a barrier here, although stepping back from it, my efforts looked like floaty, glowy lines. Approaching it again, I inspected the barrier closely, noticing the welds where it joined the corridor walls. This had been done, either to keep anypony from going into the area beyond, or as a reinforcing measure.
Another creaking groan echoed through the tunnel, seemingly coming from a few paces back. So I had passed the source? It was hard to be sure, with the sounds being transmitted through both the structure of H'ven and through the air. I backtracked a dozen or so paces, and hunted about, looking for any opening I may have missed. Another series of groans allowed me to zero in on a closed door, done in rusty gray and black spots. No, not spots. Holes. It was made of perforated steel. A tug on the hoofgrip unlatched it, and it swung away, causing glittering eddies to form in the milky cloud. Okay, so the cloud was definitely made of particles. Fine dust? And why wasn't it settling?
I stepped through the doorway, and into a slightly thicker cloud of the dust. The area wasn't exactly a room, as towards the rear it extended out to the left, with some heavy pipework that came in through the ceiling going off in that direction. While waiting for my next audio clue, I spent a few minutes examining the pipes, bolts, flanges and mountings, and none seemed to be in poor order. While not brilliant, they were quite serviceable. Leaning my ear against the pipe I listened, and was greeted with quiet gurgling. A water pipe, perhaps, and not that high a pressure either. It was probably a return pipe for the water systems up at ground level, and this far along the pipe, any air had already been thrashed out, leaving just the liquid flowing.
I followed the pipes a few paces into the tunnel and was confronted with a barrier, made of the same sort of mesh as the door into this place. Fortunately I'd found this obstruction with my eyes, and not my nose. Retrieving the appropriate tool from my saddle, I undid the fasteners that held one of the panels in place and moved it aside. No sooner than I had, more clicks and groans echoed through the space. The noise was definitely coming from the direction in which the pipes ran, so I stepped through the opening and walked in that direction, stepping over the remnants of old bolts, brackets and other protrusions that dotted the path. Running here would be doubly painful. If I stumbled, I'd end up with my chest and legs full of sharp-edged metal.
After a few minutes of following what was essentially a very consistent and boring tunnel, the wall suddenly angled, and closed in around the pipe. That was poor engineering! I moved closer so my lamps could light up the obstruction. No, this wasn't the result of poor engineering at all; it was damage, perhaps the problem I was actually looking for. The way it was pushed in, something substantial must have leaned against or hit it. Where it narrowed, the floor became rippled, even concertinaed the further the intrusion pushed in. This wasn't merely a damaged wall. It was serious structural damage. No wonder things were creaking and groaning. This may well have been the source of the structure-shaking thud I had heard and felt while talking with the boss.
Wondering if I could get a look at how far back the damage went, I dropped onto my stomach, and wriggled my way under the pipes, my second lamp folding itself down now that it didn't have the space to remain extended. I reached back and reluctantly put it away. I didn't want it snagging on anything. In fact, I didn't want the survival saddle to snag on anything either, but that wasn't going anywhere. Without it, I was literally in the dark. Checking above me as I crawled, I was able to see the pipes themselves were intact, and more or less undamaged, which didn't surprise me. If they had been damaged, I fully expected I would have already been soaked.
The condition of the floor itself however was a different matter. Rippled, twisted and downright scrunched, it was hard to move across. Its structural weakness allowed it to flex a little, which was disconcerting. I would have expected the ripples would have added to its stiffness. I was about to give up after crawling about five body lengths when I noticed the damage seemed less. Perhaps I was past the worst of it. I moved forward a little more, feeling the damage to the floor with my hooves before committing myself to moving along further. One spot felt a little too flexible, so I gave it a slightly harder push.
With a screech, it parted company with itself.
Uh-oh.
What should have been solid steel floor plating tore like paper, and it tore from where my hooves were pressing to right back under my chest. I half plunged through the resulting gap, my rear legs and survival-saddle keeping me from falling all the way through. Eeeeek! Despite my reflexes trying to kick in, I froze.
An eternity passed. Probably about three seconds, actually.
My brain calmed slightly, and I realized that not only were my head, forelegs and chest stuck through the hole in the floor, but my lamp was too. While I was down here, I might as well check out what damage I could see, while I sought a way out of this predicament. I looked down to see how far I would have to drop to the ceiling of sub-level twenty, the level immediately below this one, and if that failed to hold my weight, to the floor below that, not that I would be able to see the floor if the ceiling was still in place.
It wasn't. I could see the skeletal supporting beams, and it appeared as if though something had been eating them. The ceiling itself had long since given up holding on and had fallen, but it hadn't stopped when it hit the floor of sub-level twenty though, or any of several levels below that either. I could see a few ragged edges of what should have been ceilings and floors, but, below me, I could see nothing in the range of my lamp to stop me if I fell. Looking to the left I could see the main structural member that had failed. Its twisted form had assorted extra pieces of steel welded to it in what appeared to be a very amateurish attempt at strengthening it. What had happened here? A fire? An acid spill? Leakage from the pipe causing corrosion? I stared at the mess in the very dim light, pondering my next move.
For Luna's sake! This was an old repair! No wonder they had blocked off the corridor in which I had been traveling earlier. It stank of cover-up though. Instead of doing the repairs properly, they had done as cheap a job as they could, then sealed away the evidence with some nice new walls. I would get to the bottom of this. If the repair team that did this still worked, or hadn't died of old age in the meantime, I was going to have their heads. Of course that didn't help me in my current predicament at all. I spent a few more second enjoying the thought of stuffing each and every one of them through this exact hole.
What was that about not risking my life? Derp. Well, I certainly had something to report now. I tried my comms unit, just in case it had decided to work. Of course it didn't. That would have been way too convenient. Maybe I would have to wait for the crew from Central to help me out. No doubt they would find their way here. I felt myself lurch a little deeper as the floor tore a little more.
Waiting was out. I had to get myself out of this damn hole right now. Feeling around with my rear hooves, I wasn't able to find anything convenient to wrap my legs around. Damn annoying, really, because there were many risers supporting the pipes. The pipes themselves must have been strong enough to not be adversely affected by having lost the structural integrity of the floor under several of its supports. I wiggled my rear a bit to the side and tried again. A fresh bruise indicated success, so I wrapped that leg around the riser. Yay. Anchored.
Extending my fingers, I reached up above my head, feeling around for some floor material that still had some strength. Finding a couple of patches that felt more substantial than tissue paper, I gripped hard, and tried to lift my front half back through the floor. I was about eye level with the floor when the two patches I was gripping decided to tear off, and with a scream, I flopped back through the hole which was now that much larger.
Something creaked. I held my breath,
With a sudden twang, the riser my rear leg was wrapped around parted company with the pipe, and joined me in a sudden downward motion into the black maw below. Desperate scrambling failed to halt my passage through the failed material of the floor.
I screamed, realizing I may well be on my way down to sub-level thirty-six without the aid of an elevator.
And thus ended the life of one silly mare named Aneki. I had fallen from H'ven (let's call it Heaven for the moment) to Hell. Literally. Okay, I did take an elevator down part of the way, but the rest of the trip had been uninterrupted. No, not uninterrupted. Continuous was a more accurate description, because although the descent had occurred all at once, it had been interrupted by every protrusion, beam or other bit of structure that could get in the way. I was pretty sure I had hit every last one of them before that last, rather terminal, stop, presumably on the floor, several levels below.
The good news was that my legs didn't hurt anymore. Actually, they probably did; I was just too busy hurting everywhere else to notice. This extreme pain took my concept of agony to a new level of understanding. Eventually it reached the point where it was simply too much to bear, so my mind decided not to bear it at all. Ah, that felt better. In fact, I didn't feel anything at all. This wasn't too bad; I could tolerate it indefinitely. Then again, if this was the worst Hell could manage, I could find myself getting really bored. Perhaps Hell had need of a structural engineer.
As if of its own accord, my body decided it was done with lying here, and slowly stood, making allowances for all the bits that didn't seem to work quite right. My survival saddle was still attached, somehow, but it looked as battered as I felt. In fact, it was quite squashed, as, no doubt, was everything in it. Despite that, its lamps were still working. The milky dust cloud was quite thick down here, and the light from the lamps was making it glow like some sort of halo or aura about me.
How in Luna's name hadn't I splattered when I hit? I glanced about. Oh, I had. There was a distinct, large, reflective, splatter shaped mark where I had been lying.
What a mess. No wonder I was dead.....
Hang on a moment....
If I was dead, why was I still in my body? How was I standing, albeit poorly? How was I even thinking about this? Oh, that was right; my boss had told me not to risk my life, or in simpler terms, not to die. That must be it. I wasn't dead because I wasn't allowed to be.
Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yes, I had already been over that, hadn't I. Hell was exactly where I was. I staggered around in a circle, trying not to walk through the mess of liquids that marked my impact point. Bah! That liquid was my water supply, although, admittedly it was mixed with some of my blood. What was I going to drink now? Whatever. That was a problem for later, when I was dying of thirst. That took a few days to occur. I would have to survive my injuries, first.
Mapper. Mapper. Check the mapper. Damn. Nothing. I poked at it with a hoof, in what had to be the century's worst case of poor coordination, eventually hitting a button that seemed to achieve something. Data scrolled past my eyes for a few moments before my return route appeared on the head-up display. Woo! That was a doozie of a trip. Somehow I had to go up five levels before I could follow that path. I could always try following the same general directions down here, if the corridors would let me. Getting back to Elevator Fifteen was now my priority. I could call for help there. Just to be sure I actually needed to make the trip, I tried to call the boss, but was greeted with failure. Yup, I still needed to make the trip.
South. That was where I had to go. I staggered off in that direction, dodging pieces of metal that had fallen from the failed structure above. Fortunately the structure seemed happy to just groan and moan at the moment; it wasn't dropping things on me. Ouch! Yes it was. I took another step. Ouch! Nope. I was right in the first place. Nothing was falling. Despite my general numbness, moving actually caused a lot of pain. If only there was some sort of magical healing potion I could simply drink and be healed. Ouch. Now wouldn't ouch that be something.
My perception for the rest of the trip to the elevator became somewhat confused, no doubt due to my condition. I seemed to have some sort of out-of-body experience because I was sure I was walking next to myself as I shuffled along, encouraging myself to keep going. When I stumbled, I helped myself get back onto my hooves. Navigating to the elevator proved to be really easy, as the other me seemed to know the area well, guiding me right up to the door. I looked up at the display, and it was still displaying zero, suggesting it hadn't moved in the entire time I had been down here. They could have afforded to let me finish my trip down to sub-level thirty-six.
Reaching up, I opened the secret panel, and extracted the wire, connecting it, with some difficulty, to the comms unit. "Boss, please be there," I said into it after the display had finished listing the failed connections.
To my relief, his voice came through immediately. "Aneki, you sound bad. What's it like down there?" he asked. Of course I sounded bad. I felt bad. I probably looked bad. Oh, I guess I sounded doubly bad because I was trying to talk through my filter mask. I whipped it off, something I immediately regretted when all the damaged nerve endings sent me reminders. I gritted my teeth and waited for the surge of pain to recede.
"Sorry boss. Is that better?" I tried, still not sounding that great, despite no longer being muffled. "The situation down here is dire. First, I need medical assistance. Second, at least one major vertical structural element has failed from somewhere above sub-level sixteen down to at least sub-level twenty-one. The material in the area is severely corroded to the point of having no structural integrity. Make sure anypony approaches with caution, preferably while wearing safety harnesses anchored well out of the area. There is a welded plate blocking the direct route. Consider anything beyond that point to be compromised." I drew in a ragged breath. "There are old repairs where it has failed and I want the heads of the incompetent fools that did them. There is also a lot of unbreathable dust, so make sure the team knows to wear masks." As I finished relaying my report, a glowing indicator showed me that my mapper had automatically transmitted the relevant information it had gathered to my boss.
"Received. I'm relaying this to Central now," he said. "Now, what was this about needing medical assistance?"
"The floor collapsed and I fell from sub-level sixteen all the way down to sub-level twenty-one," I whimpered.
What the boss first said was unrepeatable. "Where exactly are you now?" the boss asked, clearly concerned.
"I'm outside Elevator Fifteen on sub-level twenty-one now," I said. Relief flooded my brain as it realized I had accomplished my near impossible goal - submitting my report: surviving long enough to submit my report. I was rapidly becoming light headed, and knew my grip on reality was about to fail. "I think I'll pass out now," I told my boss, then did precisely that.
When I woke again, I knew time had passed, although I can't say I had felt its passage. At first, the nothingness of my unconsciousness was pierced by a faint but persistent beep that grew along with my ability to reason. I soon realized that it was the sound of medical equipment monitoring my heart rate. I opened my eyes, expecting to see a drip line, and maybe a monitor wire. What I hadn't expected to see was just how much was attached to me: a full lab of equipment, judging by the number of wires and tubes connected to me. At least I felt a lot better than I had last time I was conscious. Either I had been out of it for so long I had healed up, or I was drugged up with pain killers. I tried to move my legs, but found they were either in casts or firmly strapped down. Looking beyond the immediate, I found the walls were all distorted and blurry, which concerned me for a few moments, before I realized I was in some sort of transparent plastic tent. Was I in quarantine? Why?
"Hello, what is going on here?" I asked, my voice a little wobbly. I was assuming there would be somepony monitoring the room, or, at the very least, a voice operated comms system so somepony could be contacted.
After a few seconds has passed, a male voice said. "Oh, you are awake, are you?"
"Either I am capable of holding a reasonable conversation while talking in my sleep, or yes, I am awake," I said, dryly. Damn stupid question, that.
"I'll send a doctor to put you back to sleep in a moment," the voice advised me.
"Why? I feel okay," I said. "I'd like to get up."
"More's the pity," the voice said. "It would have been better all round if you had just died down there. Now we have to work out what to do with you."
"I beg your pardon?" I just about exploded. This prick had a lousy bedside manner!
"You stumbled into something you should never have seen," the voice said.
"What? Are you talking about the shitty excuse for repairs that were done down there? That sort of thing can't be covered up. A great chunk of the city falling through the floor is sure to bring attention!" I spat. I still wanted the heads of that repair team. Even more so if these ponies were covering up for them.
"That? No," the voice said, remaining level and emotionless. "I am told the repairs will be addressed properly this time so we won't have another debacle like this."
"So, what's the problem?" I demanded. "And am I in quarantine for something?"
"Look, I shouldn't tell you this, but as you aren't going to have the opportunity to tell anypony else, I guess it doesn't matter," the voice said. That sounded ominous! "And your warnings did save the team from central from suffering the same fate. One of the ponies on that team was my father, so I guess I owe you."
"So, I am in quarantine then," I said.
"You are," the voice confirmed.
"Where? Which hospital?"
"None. You are in one of Central's deniable facilities. That's all I can tell you about that," the voice said, "however, as promised, I will fill you in on your situation."
"Go on, please," I prompted, lifting my head a little to see if I could see if I was wearing casts or was restrained. Both, it would seem. My legs were covered in some sort of glossy black shell, and were strapped down to the bed on which I was lying.
"Do you recall the pony who assisted you, down on sub-level twenty-one?" The voice asked.
"I was alone there," I corrected him.
"No, I assure you that you were not. Somepony rather expertly bandaged you and splinted your broken limbs. There was no way possible you could have done that yourself."
"Huh?" I thought back to my nightmarish trip from where I had fallen, to Elevator Fifteen, and how I had that out-of-body experience that led me to believe I had help. Could that be what he was referring to?
"I thought I had some sort of out-of-body experience," I admitted. "I can kind of remember a second me helping. Have I turned psychic or something?"
The voice chuckled. "You really must have been out of it. You were helped by a member of what we call the Hellspawn."
"The what?" This conversation was getting seriously weird. "And I am in trouble for seeing this creature?"
"No. I was just wondering if you remembered the pony."
"No, so why ask if it isn't relevant?"
"It will become relevant," the voice assured me. "What you saw, the cause of all of this concern, is the dust. More to the point, the concern is that you got a lung full of it."
"Oh... contagious?" I asked.
"I'll get back to that. First we need to set some common ground. Are you aware of how you came to grow your fingers?" the voice asked.
"What is the relevance of that? Isn't that just something that happens as we grow?" I asked, confused.
"No, it isn't. Genetically speaking, ponies don't have fingers. The fingers you have are the result of a class one modifier that was injected into you at the same time as you received other foalhood inoculations."
"A what? A modifier? What is that?" I asked.
"Modifiers are extremely small machines, for the lack of a better description of them. Once they get into your body, they scavenge the materials required from what you eat, then build your fingers, modify your brain so it can use them, and connect them together," the voice said. "You would have been given a couple of special meals after inoculation. Ponies that don't eat these meals need to chew on alternative sources of material, but hey, foals will be foals, and no pony pays much attention to a foal chewing on a toy or nibbling at the spoon their mother is using to feed them."
"So, fingers aren't natural? That would explain why fingers look different to the rest of me," I pondered aloud, thinking of the tough yet slender, black skinned digits. I wondered what other modifications were done to us without our knowledge. "How come we never hear about this?"
"The modifiers are some sort of ancient technology. We have very little in-depth information on them, other than the finger creating branch and one or two others from class one. Frankly, we consider the subject of modifiers to be dangerous knowledge," the voice said. "Not even the doctors administering finger creating modifier are aware of what it really does."
"Okay, so I think I know where you are going with this. That dust was a modifier, wasn't it? I got a lung full of it, as well as walking through it, rolling in it and so on."
"Yes, that is the case. You received such a massive dose there was nothing we could do for you. Had it been just the minor exposure, and had we caught you early enough, we could have destroyed the modifiers with an electromagnetic pulse, with you being none the wiser, except perhaps for a few aches and pains. Unfortunately, we missed the clues when that happened. To compound that, you were allowed to go down into an area of even greater contamination."
"Pardon?" I asked. "You are saying I was exposed twice?"
"Correct. By the time we recovered you, you had been under the effect of a class five modifier for several days, from the last time you were in the underlevels in fact."
"Oh. My legs were hurting since then." I was starting to fear where this was going. What were these modifiers going to do to me, and why would that prevent me from going back to my old life?
"Yes, your level of conversion was already advanced. The latest exposure merely accelerated the process beyond all hope of recovery," the voice said.
"So.... what does this modifier supposedly do?" I asked, not really wanting the answer.
"It's too bad you didn't get a good look at the Hellspawn, because then you would know," the voice said. "Have you seen your legs?"
It would appear these ponies knew what they were doing when they strapped me down. In testament to the quality of said straps, I was still tied down. Yes, I will admit that finding my legs were now made out of some mysterious, shiny black material was one revelation best taken lying down. Somehow all of my yelling and struggling had not attracted anypony, so I was guessing that the ward (or lab) in which I was being held was soundproof. The stallion who was monitoring this room knew all about it of course. He probably just turned down the volume of the monitor for the duration of my tirade. Now I was just lying still, my breathing being slightly heavier the only indicator of my recent behavior.
"So, are we back in the land of the reasoning, yet?" his voice asked. Apparently he had turned the volume of the monitor back up.
"For what it is worth, yes. I've had my little tantrum. I should be fine until the next horror revelation," I assured him. "Then again, I may just forgo the whole screaming and ranting bit, next time. It isn't as if it achieves anything."
"You are an interesting mare, I will give you that. I'm surprised no dashing stallion has swept you off your hooves, actually," he said. Clearly he had access to all my private details, because that wasn't something I'd told him. That was a not-so-subtle subject change too. Was he trying to flirt with me?
"They couldn't handle me bouncing off walls," I said.
"Hmm? Ah, you are being literal. I see from these notes that you are into freerunning," he observed. Yup, he had my bio.
"It's the best way to get around this city," I said, "and the most fun."
"It would have fit right in with your job as a field agent."
"That is why I was a field agent. The boss was kind enough to pick the jobs with the longest routes, or steepest climbs for me," I said. "Not that I will ever get the chance again," I added glumly. I think I had been the answer to the boss' prayers - a worker who wanted to take the hard jobs.
"You are lucky to be alive at all," the voice said, "If not for the modifiers already partly converting you, the fall would have killed you."
"I'm sure all the things I bounced off on the way down, slowed my rate of descent to the realms of survivability, not that it makes any difference in the long run," I muttered. "You said before, it would have been better if I had died."
"Yes, I did, didn't I?"
"Wonderful. At least you are honest. Would you at least finish telling me about why I am doomed before that doom eventuates?" I asked. "What about the modifiers that have infected me? And what's your name? I'd like to be able to mentally catalog you as something better than the voice."
"Oh, okay. I can do that for you. But tell you my name? No. You can call me 4J2. The modifiers that infected you are the class five Hellspawn strain. Class five modifiers are a lot more dangerous than those of class one. To begin with, they are airborne while looking for a host. Class one need to be injected into the bloodstream to have any effect. Class five modifiers also salvage the materials they need to do a conversion before infecting that host. That was the cause of all of the corrosion you found in the under-levels. Basically, you are now made of a combination of your old flesh and the very materials that used to be the structure of the area through which you fell."
"So I'm made of metals and plastics? Insert tantrum and struggles here," I said, drolly. "So where do these modifiers come from?"
"The class five? We don't know. Over the years, there have been a few cases of them appearing in the under-levels. The last recorded instance was two generations ago, in the sealed off area which you discovered. According to the records, the area was totally decontaminated, the source neutralized, and the area sealed as a precaution."
"And what became of the repair crew from back then?"
"No details have survived. It was hard enough to find out as much as we told you. They may well have turned into Hellspawn. The Hellspawn ponies in the under-levels must have come from somewhere."
"Why are they called Hellspawn? Are they evil or something? The pony you said helped me was obviously a caring pony."
"Somepony must have thought it a fitting description," 4J2 said. "Put yourself in their skin and imagine finding a strange pony shaped creature with a black shell and glowing red eyes while exploring the poorly lit and deserted halls of the under-levels," he suggested.
"Apparently I did meet one, though I must admit I didn't notice any glowing eyes, or a hard black shell for that matter," I said.
"True, but in your state of mind at the time, you didn't even realize you weren't alone, so anything you remember must be suspect," 4J2 reminded me.
"So what about me? What you have been saying doesn't bode well. Am I contagious or something? Do I have glowing red eyes?"
"Contagious? We don't think so, but we cannot be sure. We have detected no modifiers leaving your body while we have been observing you. That does not mean that you won't release a great cloud of them later, though. And no, your eyes still look like the ones you were born with. So far your conversion has been limited to your limbs, the skeletal parts of your torso and your cardiovascular system. It appears to be converting the strongest parts of your body and reinforced the areas between them."
"So my brain is safe then, it not being particularly muscular and all," I said, sounding a little sarcastic.
"The sedatives still work, so that would appear to be the case," 4J2 said.
"So, why am I strapped down in here? Generally speaking, I mean," I asked. "Perhaps I should rephrase that as if you intend to kill me, why am I still alive?"
"That was blunt, so I shall reply in kind. We simply took advantage of the situation to observe and record your transformation as we have no details of such in our records," 4J2 said.
"We need a better recording medium, or at least a decent way of archiving stuff," I muttered. "It seems too much information has been lost over the years."
"We must work with what we have," 4J2 said. "We are in a closed system after all."
"You seem to know a lot more about H'ven in general than what we get taught," I extrapolated from his comment.
"That is the nature of my job," 4J2 said.
"If I can't be let back out into society, why couldn't I get a job here, or something?" I asked.
"We don't trust you. We can't trust you. Being trapped in here, you would probably go stir crazy and try to escape," 4J2 said.
"So let me go down below instead," I suggested. "I promise I won't go back to the surface."
"How would you survive? It isn't like there is any infrastructure down there. Licking the walls for mold and condensation wouldn't be very practical, would it? We would also risk you running for the surface if you became lonely or desperate enough. More importantly, we cannot under any circumstances risk you releasing more class five modifiers. You've seen what a mess they create."
"Bugger," I muttered. "What about my family? What will they be told?"
"Your funeral was over two weeks ago. They were told you died in a fire and that your body was unrecoverable. That in itself is accurate, with the exception that it is yet to occur. After we sterilize both you and the lab with EMP bombardment, your body will be vaporized in the plasma arc furnace we use for disposing of all dangerous matter," 4J2 said. "Oh, and sorry."
"Yet you let Hellspawn wander about down there?" It was no surprise that I sounded narked as I pointed out the apparent inconsistency.
"Not if we can catch them. They are shot on sight, pulsed, then vaporized, just as you will be," 4J2 said.
That was when I lost it and burst into tears. So much for my future. So much for my dreams. This world sucked. I had been given a death sentence for doing my job, for helping ponies, for caring! As I lay there sobbing, I heard somepony enter first the room, then the isolation tent. I could hear the rustling of the plastic isolation suit they wore. I felt some of the lines connected to me move as they fiddled with them then...
... Hadn't I just been crying? My face felt dry, my eyes relaxed.
"Hush, don't move," a voice spoke into my mind. Was I wearing a comms unit now? The voice sounded like 4J2. "Now listen very carefully, and keep pretending to be unconscious. It has been a month since we last spoke. The others are not aware we spoke in depth before. This time I have to keep it brief. Your transformation has been stable for the last three weeks. As such, you are no longer of any interest as a scientific subject. Today is the day you are scheduled for disposal. I will not be here."
Bugger that. Why wake me to tell me I am going to die? It would have been kinder to leave me asleep, yet 4J2 had just implied that I should indeed be asleep and he had woken me anyway. So, why wouldn't he be here? Was he trying to excuse himself of guilt by avoiding the problem? Nonetheless, I had nothing to gain by doing other than what he requested, so I remained silent and immobile, prepared to listen to what else he had to say.
"Not long ago I managed to get myself assigned the task of sterilizing the room and disconnecting you from all of the monitoring equipment in preparation for your disposal. No pony else wanted the task, so it wasn't too hard to get them to let me. I was supposed to give you a fatal dose of sedatives, but instead injected you with stimulants. Even without the fatal dose, you were drugged up enough to sleep right to the end. You were bombarded with electromagnetic pulses prior to my entry. As such any still functional modifiers should be deactivated. I tucked your old comms and mapper unit underneath you while I was disconnecting you. Most of its channels have been disabled, but I kept one active. That is how I can contact you now. Being an engineer, you should understand what I am about to tell you. The under-levels go down to sublevel eighty. That's where the elevators stop, where everything stops, right there on the giant flat floor. Despite many searches, we have never found where the Hellspawn come from, or where you go." There was a beep, indicating the transmission had been ended.
So what was 4J2 telling me? Why waste time telling me how he was communicating with me? Let's look at what he had told me analytically. First was the suggestion that either H'ven wasn't spherical after all, or ponykind simply could not get below a certain point. Not being spherical simply did not make sense, structurally, as so much strength would be sacrificed. I did not know if that stopped H'ven being crushed, or exploding into the great nothing, but it made little difference. That also implied the mythical Hell as it was referred to, actually existed below the known sublevels. So was that to satisfy my curiosity? Was it to be one last question answered before I died?
But what was the meaning of his message? It was a funny way to say goodbye.
As I lay there thinking, the stimulant worked its magic and my thoughts became clearer. What had 4J2 said again? Maybe he couldn't be specific. Maybe he was testing me by being oblique. Perhaps he had been allowing for my drugged state of mind. Okay, let's go through this again. My time was limited. I wasn't going back to sleep again. He told me of the known structure of H'ven, aware that I would be able to deduce the probable truth. 4J2 wasn't here. That meant he wasn't in the equation. I had been thoroughly zapped, so I wasn't contagious. My comms unit was pretty worthless, but I had my mapper. There were eighty sublevels in which Hellspawn somehow managed to hide, assuming they didn't have a means of going even lower, where surface ponies had no hope whatsoever of following. What was that last comment. Central had never found where the Hellspawn came from, or where we went. He had called me a member of the Hellspawn.
Oh! I understood! This was 4J2's gift to me: a farewell present. My legs would soon be unstrapped and the doors opened, and I would be awake! 4J2 wasn't going to be here, so it meant there would be no more clues and no more help. It also meant it didn't matter who I clobbered. My comms unit had been disabled, barring a single channel that was linked to a pony that would not be here. In other words, stay quiet. Vanish. Talk to no pony. Because I had been sterilized, it didn't matter who I came in contact with. That meant I definitely didn't have to worry about inadvertently contaminating other ponies with the class five modifiers. I was not contagious and had been sterilized. He was telling me I was allowed to behave in a selfish way without there being severe consequences for innocent ponies. I was Hellspawn. (Ugh, I hated that name.) That meant options available to the Hellspawn may be available to me. Other Hellspawn may even assist me.
4J2 had told me to escape, given as much assistance as he could without compromising his own position, and given me a hint as to where I may be safe!
Maybe he felt he owed me a life debt because my actions saved his father. Maybe he was just a kind hearted pony. It didn't matter which. I now had a chance to live.
I really did not want to die. I didn't care if I had been turned into some sort of biological robot by a cloud of evil dust particles. I didn't care if my eyes glowed in the dark. Did they? I didn't know. 4J2 hadn't told me how advanced my transformation was when it stopped. I guess I would have to look for a mirror when time allowed. At the moment I was too busy pretending to be unconscious while strapped onto a bed in a sealed lab. Actually, I only needed to pretend to be unconscious. The 'strapped onto a bed in a sealed lab' part was real.
Up until now, the main joy of my life had been running and bouncing across the city of H'ven. I enjoyed doing that so much that I had not settled to raise a family. As was my birthright, I was allowed to have one foal to replace me when I died, and one foal for whatever male I took for a life-mate; in other words, two foals. When I could have these foals was determined by Central in an attempt to keep the population numbers steady. I had not applied for my time slot as getting pregnant would bring an end to my running. Now both of those possibilities were no more. No pony up there would want to mate with me, resplendent in my shiny black shell-like skin. No pony would let me run about in public either. I understood that all too well. In 4J2's brief message, he made no mention of me not returning to the surface, but I had no doubt whatsoever that if I did it would go very badly for all involved. That left me one route: down. While the sublevels were not ideal freerunning territory, plain old running was quite doable. There was a lot I hadn't explored down there either, so who knew what secrets there were. Eighty levels, each a little less than twenty miles in diameter, provided one heck of a lot of exploring space. I may even discover the Hellspawn, and where they were hiding. Maybe I could even get into the unknown area below sub-level eighty.
So I knew where to go. That left me with a few other issues to solve, such as how to survive when I got there. I mentally started making a list of items that would be convenient to have. Well, there were the obvious ones: food and water. Most likely I would not have to resort to licking condensation off the walls as 4J2 had sarcastically suggested. More than likely there would be ample access to water through some of the old residences there, or perhaps directly from the main feed pipes to the surface from the purification plants below. There had to be points where water could be siphoned off for testing.
Food would be harder. The underlevels I had seen had been stripped of near on everything, so finding a stash of food would be less likely. Perhaps I could find a dispenser, or steal one and rig it up down there. After all, the damn thing in my house had always seemed to be able to produce food on demand, and the sort of things it presented were not what you would expect to be able to flow through pipes. There had to be something special going on inside those near indestructible boxes.
Tools would also be good. And lights. My poor old survival saddle had been pretty much destroyed in my multi-level plunge, and the sudden stop at the bottom, so it had probably been tossed into the plasma arc furnace already. I briefly entertained the idea of putting all the ponies here into the same furnace, thus freeing up this place for me to live. There were just a few problems: little, annoying, insurmountable problems I would have to overcome in order to achieve that, each of those problems being a murder I was not prepared to commit.
The door opened, and I heard the slight squeak of wheels, and the hooffalls of the two of ponies that had come to remove my body. I could hear the rustling of their isolation suits. Once they were inside the lab, the door sealed behind them. I wasn't sure if I would be able to open the door myself so my best bet would be to wait until I was outside this room before making a break for it. I had to wait for them to unstrap me anyway. I guessed protocol required I be strapped down until the last moment, or 4J2 would have removed them when he disconnected me from the equipment. That or he was simply a dork.
"Shit, the mare is still alive," one of the ponies complained. Oh, the tragedy.
"How can you tell?" the other, also male, but younger, asked.
"She's breathing, ain't she?" the first pointed out the obvious. Well, excuse me for breathing.
"So what are we going to do? Should we inform anypony?"
"Nah. Dead now. Dead in five minutes. What's the difference?" The first commented after a few moments of thought. Charming bastard.
"But..."
"Shut it, 5D3. Two stallions against a dyin' mare. I'm sure we can handle it. She's got enough dope in her to kill a herd," the older stallion said, bringing the objections to an end. Thank goodness for that! The last thing I needed was another shot of sedative. Of course I couldn't let that happen. I would be forced to act, legs strapped down or not.
Unexpectedly, I felt my tail get lifted. Mental gasp! I had to fight instinct to flinch, pull my tail away, or anything else like that, and pretend really hard to be unconscious.
"What do ya' think ya' are doin', 5D3?" the bastard asked. I guess that made them both bastards, or a bastard and a pervert at any rate. To distract myself, I concentrated on the bastard's accent. Where in H'ven did he pick up such an awful drawl?
"Just feasting my eyes. Wow. What a waste!" 5D3 stated, letting go of my tail. That comment left me with mixed feelings. It also let me know I was still genuine pony back there. I wondered what sort of offspring I would have. Pony or Hellspawn? How thoroughly had the modifiers been sterilized? I knew I should be fine during my break for freedom, but I couldn't be sure my body wouldn't manufacture more at a later date.
"C'mon, let's get on with it," the drawler instructed. Reaching for the straps, he unfastened them and pushed them aside. Finally! As far as I knew, I'd been strapped to the table, left side down, for well over a month. Certainly both times I had been awake, that was the position in which I found myself lying. The drawler roughly grabbed my forelegs, while 5D3 grabbed my rear.
Pretending to be unconscious while getting handled roughly by a couple of ponies who did not care about my wellbeing was not the easiest thing I had ever done! They dragged me from the bed and onto a trolley that was covered in plastic. Moments later I discovered the plastic was part of a bag as it was sealed up around me. Should I act now, and hope one of these fellows had a key card or something? I gently eased my eyes open a sliver, trying to catch a glimpse of anything like that. Of course all I saw was distorted and fuzzy due to the plastic. At least it was transparent. I closed my eyes again.
"What the? The mare was lying on an old mapper," 5D3 stated. Perhaps I would lose the mapper after all. It wasn't as if I could grab it without alerting them. Oh well. Maybe I could come back and retrieve it. Maybe it would be useless to me even if I did retrieve it. 4J2 had not mentioned the mapping function at all, only that he was using it to talk to me.
"She was wearin' that mapper when she was brought in. The lab boys probably took it off, and didn't notice when they dumped her on top of it. She's been out cold for weeks, so it isn't as if she could complain about being uncomfortable," the older pony theorized.
"Should we inform anypony?" 5D3 asked.
"Waste of time. It's probably contaminated," the other stated, "an' if we ask somepony every single time somethin's a little different from what we're expectin', we'd never get anythin' done." Moments later I heard the plastic containment bag in which I was lying unzip, and felt the mapper whack into my side. The pony zipped the bag up again.
"Problem solved," he stated. Yup, problem solved. I had my mapper!
I hoped they wouldn't stuff around for too long, as this bag didn't have a lot of air in it, and I was still not through the door. As I was worrying about it, the trolley jerked and started moving. Good, good. Prepare yourself, Aneki. You'll probably have to put this pair to sleep to avoid the alarm being raised. You also have to fight your way out of a tough plastic bag. The trolley paused again.
I heard five button clicks, each accompanied by a beep, then the door unsealed. The trolley lurched, twisted sideways a little, rocking me as we moved off again. Unnerving! It felt as if I could fall off. Nah, that wouldn't happen... or could it? The change of ambient sound alerted me to our passage through the door, and into what must have been some sort of airlock. We paused there, as air blasted past us for about a minute. When the noise of the airflow ceased, the outer door unsealed without any pony intervention. This might be a good place to lock a couple of ponies... but they knew the door codes. Bah, I should just whack them hard. They were about to kill me after all.
The trolley rocked again, started moving, then lurched as they turned sharply. I took advantage of the momentum to roll. I heard cussing from the two as I teetered on the edge of the trolley for a moment before going over, more or less hoof down. Before I could hit the floor, I kicked out, simultaneously getting my hooves under me, and tearing the containment bag apart. Conveniently both ponies had leaned forward to try and catch me, placing them in striking distance. The first got a forehoof to the forehead. He dropped like his lights had been turned out. The second got a hind hoof to the throat, and collapsed, coughing and choking. I finished shedding the plastic of the bag, turned, and silenced the cougher with a well placed kick to the forehead. He was the younger of the pair, a blue-grey color with back mane and tail. Another swift kick from me meant his other tail would be black and blue when he woke.
Rearing, I grabbed him by his neck and tail, and heaved him up onto the trolley, surprised at just how easy it was to do with these new black legs. I saw he had some sort of ID card hanging from a lanyard around his neck, so I retrieved it and hung it around my own. It may fool any security scanners that weren't also using facial recognition. I turned to the older fellow who was pale mustard, with brown mane and tail. I took his ID card too, then peeled him out of his isolation suit and face mask. He stirred a little, so I gave him another firm whack to the head. I heaved him up onto the trolley as well, and shoved it back into the airlock.
With them as hidden as they were going to get, I retrieved my mapper, and strapped it onto my new black, left foreleg. It was just so weird. Despite its fluid 'organic' lines, it had more in common with some sort of machine than it did anything made of flesh and blood, yet it retained it's pre-conversion sense of feeling. Thank Luna for that! I didn't fancy having to walk around on what amounted to a set of stilts. Quickly accessing the mapper, I flicked through the saved data but found no maps of this facility stored there. When I tried to activate the automatic mapping mode it flashed "Restricted area. Mapping not permitted" on its local display. So much for that idea. I guessed I would have to resort to trial, error and thumping ponies until they told me which way to go (as distinct from where to go). Quickly I dressed myself in the stolen isolation suit and face mask. Ooh! I still had a natural feeling coat on my face! I squinted and looked at my nose. Yup, cream colored. Yay! Everything else I could see was black. Not so yay. I hung the second ID card around my neck, this time outside the suit. So 2EQ was the identity of the drawler. Have fun explaining yourself to your boss!
With nothing to indicate which way I should go from here, I trotted off in the opposite direction to which 2EQ and 5D3 had been wheeling me.
Ooh! A restroom! Immediately I ducked into the aforementioned facility, and checked it for occupants. When I was sure I was alone, I peeled myself out of the isolation suit, and delaying the inevitable appointment with the mirror, settled myself in a cubical to deal with certain pressing matters. Things proceeded as normal, much to my relief. Finally, unable to put it off any longer, I exited the cubical and tentatively approached the large mirror that adorned the wall behind the row of wash basins. I can't say I knew what would be looking back at me. I knew what I hoped for, and I knew how much I had already seen: black legs, black flank, back, chest. Basically, everything I could see without a mirror was the new me, shiny, black and decidedly organo-robotic in appearance, apart from my tail and mane, which remained variegated ruby red, and, well, hair-like.
Okay, Aneki, look, I told myself, so I did, and much to my relief, I found my dear old cream colored face, complete with annoying bony lump in the middle of the forehead looking back at me. Yay! I still looked like me! If I stretched my imagination, I could see the old me standing there, wearing a new high-tech running suit. It even terminated below my head in a neat looking roll neck collar.
Hmm. Eyes: normal. Weren't they meant to glow red or something? Ears: normal. Nose: normal. Teeth: Normal. Tongue: bleaah. Yup, looks normal. Oh, yeah, what of my fingers? I lifted a forehoof, retracted the hoof wall and extended my digits. They had taken on a new patina to match my new look, but apart from that, they were my same old fingers. I took advantage of the situation to wash them. Why not? I could probably do with a shower too, but here and now were not the place and time to do so. The lack of facilities also didn't help.
Pleased that I could still like myself, even with the changes to my body, I redressed in the isolation suit and mask, and stepped back out into the corridor.
"You have two options," I told the whimpering mare that I had cornered. "One. You can tell me what I want to know. Two, I take off this mask and breathe Hellspawn germs all over you."
"That's horrible! You're horrible! Everything's Horrible!" she responded, distaste temporarily replacing the fear on her deep pink face.
"And you ponies are any nicer?" I asked, leaning so close the tip of my mask touched her nose. "You and your buddies were going to murder me!"
"S-s-sorry, but I c-c-cannot help you, e-even at the c-cost of my own l-life," she stammered, somehow turning a paler pink, despite the dark color of her coat. Apparently my proximity was bothering her.
"Okay, breathe deep," I said, as I reached up and bonked her on the head. Needless to say, I did not deliberately breathe Hellspawn germs all over her. Hey, I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to!
Her squeal died as she lost consciousness, and slid to the floor. What was it with this place. No pony used their real name. It was all codes. None would help either, not even under the threat of death. What had 4J2 called it again? I thought about it for a few moments, as I rummaged through the pockets of the mare's lab coat. Deniable? That's right; he had called it one of Central's deniable facilities. I guess telling me that was a slip in itself, but then again, at the time 4J2 was certain I was going to die. I guess 4J2 really had gone out on a limb for me, knowing if I was caught and forced to talk, it could be all over for him.
This mare hadn't been a lot of help directly, but her meal, which I had interrupted, looked appealing, so I quickly gulped it down. She would have a fit if she knew I really had removed my mask near her. I grabbed her personal saddlebags from the shelf behind her, and emptied them out on her desk. Leaving the particularly personal items, I gathered what I could use, and put them back in the saddlebags. Her desk also gave me a few mostly useless trinkets, but until I found some real tools, anything was better than nothing. Finally, I added her ID card to my growing collection.
What did surprise me was that no alarm seemed to have been raised yet. That was five ponies I had knocked out. Surely some of them must have woken since. It wasn't like I was tying them up or anything either. Perhaps removing their ID cards really was disabling them, or at least their ability to use the facility.
My next discovery was the kitchen, or canteen or whatever we called the place these days. Once these words had individual meanings, but now they were simply the place that had the food dispensers in larger establishments. Places like my home didn't even have a separate room, instead mounting the apparatus on the most convenient wall. I stepped up to one of the dispensers and was dispensed three successive meals, each corresponding to one of the ID cards I was carrying, along with two admonishments for trying to get seconds. I also received three reports on unexpected weight variations. That was a little surprising. Most public machines didn't bother to identify you, merely scanning you to see what your body required. They really had gone overboard with security here! Nonetheless, it was a bonus for me, because it gave me some reserve food, which I could take with me. There were also several bottles of water, for ponies that wished to take drinks back to their workstations. They went into the saddlebags as well.
So my check list wasn't doing too badly. I had some food, water, a hairbrush, saddlebags, a small screwdriver set and my mapper. All I needed now were some lights, some tools and some way to get out of this damn place!
Hadn't I been down this corridor before? Twice? It all looked the same to me. Clearly there had to be some sort of way to tell the levels and passages apart, but so far, I hadn't worked it out, other than the floor level name (which were just colors) marked at the elevator. The floors themselves were not numbered, so I had no idea where I was relative to ground level. The damn buttons on the elevator were alphabetical too; one could easily find themselves going down instead of up, despite pushing a button for a level listed above the one I had just visited. Having not found any exits on a particular floor, I would try the next elevator button above that, and then the button below that, then I would get confused, and maybe end up on the same floor I had been on two attempts previously. Some buttons were locked out too, demanding I enter a passcode.
As such I was getting pretty fed up with this place. It was larger than I expected, and, to my surprise, mostly deserted. The good side of that was there were less ponies to impede my progress. The bad side was there were less ponies I could ask for advice on how to get out of this damn maze, not that a single one of them I had already asked would tell me. I understood that this institution was a black facility - totally deniable, and that the ponies were prepared to die rather than tell its secrets, but did the nearest exit constitute one of those secrets? Perhaps it did. The only way they could ensure my knowledge of the place was never shared beyond its walls was to simply never let me leave.
And if I never got out of here, I would eventually be caught. And if I was caught, I would be vaporized. Literally. Maybe I could take up living in the ventilation shafts, hiding, constantly on the move between rooms, sneaking out at night for food, like I had heard happened in urban legends. Nah. I'd rather be dead than cooped up like that. I had to run.
Eventually, I had concluded that it was currently after business hours. The only ponies left here were the janitors, for a lack of a better description of the two that were going to feed me to the furnace, and the minimal night crew. It would also explain why 4J2 had said he wouldn't be here.
"Yo, Ann baby, when you leavin' work? I'm gettin' tired of waitin'," a voice suddenly spoke into my head. Despite the strange choice of words, and pseudo drawl, I recognized the voice. Even if I hadn't, the comms unit supposedly had only one operable channel, and it was to him. I guessed he was playing it safe in case my comms unit had fallen into the wrong hooves.
"What for, Jay? Too late for that now," I subvocalized. I may as well play the same game.
"So I see you've figured me out. I had to make sure I had the right mare," he said, confirming my suspicions.
"You do. Now that you've called, I'd like to know how to get out of this wretched building," I said. "I've covered several floors, but so far none of them have had an exit."
"Sorry I couldn't be more specific before," he apologized, "but first let me ask: the ponies you've run into, have you had to kill any of them?"
"Kill them? Of course not!" I said, shock evident in my tone, "although some seemed prepared to die rather than help me. There will be a few concussions when they wake up."
"I'm glad to hear that you haven't killed anypony," 4J2 said. "I didn't think you would be the sort of pony who would." His tone told me that if I had killed, this call would have ended here and now, leaving me to my original, gaseous-state fate.
"I wish I could say the same about you guys! You were going to feed me to a plasma arc furnace!" I pointed out. "Actually, I'm surprised the ponies here aren't already running around after me. Maybe they are just scared of me."
"They may be, at that. The thought of turning into Hellspawn is pretty terrifying, as is knowing what we do to any we catch," 4J2 said.
"A delayed death, after being observed for several weeks?" I asked.
"You may as well know. You weren't just watched. You were prodded, poked, injected with various experimental concoctions and had multiple biopsies taken. They subjected you to vivisection twice."
"What?" I gasped, both mentally and in the real world. "You are joking, aren't you? How can I have survived through that?"
"Joking? No. There wasn't anything funny about how you were treated. They did take care to keep you alive during the process, but that's only part of it. That body of yours is amazing. It has unbelievable healing abilities. I think you will grow to like it."
"Assuming the electromagnetic sterilization didn't disable that ability," I mused. "So what now? If I'm going to like it, I have to survive long enough to try it out, and that won't happen unless I get out of here," I pointed out the obvious.
"And as I implied, that is why I've contacted you now: to help you get out of there. You say you have access to several levels already?" 4J2 asked, bringing the subject back onto more important matters. We could chat about other things once I got out of here.
"I do have access to several levels," I said. "I've been up and down between five floors so far... I think. It all gets very confusing."
"You have somepony's ID card, don't you?" 4J2 asked.
"I have the ID cards of everypony I have encountered. I hoped taking them would help me and impede them," I said.
"And that is exactly why they haven't been harassing you, assuming they have woken," 4J2 said. "Low security doors open for those simple wearing their ID card. High security doors require a passcode as well. They are probably trapped wherever you left them."
"As am I trapped," I said. "Did you expect me to get out of here without any help?"
"I didn't. All I expected you to do was get out of the lab and survive until I could contact you again. I was extremely limited in what I could do to help you directly. Not only would I get in trouble if detected, but any chance you had would be lost. To keep up appearances, after I left work, I had to go home, just the same as I always would," 4J2 said.
"Let's cut to the case before something goes wrong then," I suggested. "It will only take one pony to hit an alarm button somewhere. Where am I, geographically speaking, I mean? How can I get out of here?" I was starting to sound like a broken recording.
"You are in the industrial ring near the outer wall. The facility has sections both above and below the Mane Way."
"Oh, great, so the exit is on one of the middle levels, just to be confusing," I muttered.
"Correct, but going out that way will expose you to more danger that I would like. A better option is to exit two levels below where you were being held. Down there you will find the service connections between the facility and H'ven. There is a heavy access hatch there that leads out to sublevel six. You will need both a card and a code to unlock it," 4J2 said.
"Heading down," I said, immediately trotting back along the corridor I believed would return me to the elevator. "But I only have ID cards. I don't have any codes."
"Whose cards?"
"5D3, 2EQ, 3C3, 1K8 and 5G4," I said, pausing to read of the identifiers on the cards around my neck. I had to retrieve 5D3's from inside the isolation suit to read it.
"Let me see," the voice in my head said. "2EQ. He's what we need. Casual bugger. Doesn't quite play by the rules. I'm betting he has his code written somewhere. Maybe in his clothes, in his locker, or somewhere like that."
"I know he is too casual. He didn't care that I was still alive, and his solution to finding my mapper was to incinerate it with me. All he was wearing was an isolation suit," I said, "and I'm wearing it now."
"No good. Those are generic, and disposable," 4J2 said. "His locker will be down on Red floor, which is the same floor that has access to sublevel six."
"For Luna's sakes, this place goes out of its way to make life difficult. No wonder I was getting confused," I complained.
"All in the name of security," 4J2 said. "It takes new employees a few weeks to come to grips with it all."
Eventually I managed to find the elevator again, being guided by 4J2's running commentary. I suspect I would have found it sooner if he just kept quiet, as he kept picturing me in different locations to those I actually was. I stepped into the elevator car which was still conveniently waiting where I had left it. There we go, Red level, I said, extending a hoof and tapping the button.
It beeped at me. "Please enter your five digit identification code to proceed to that level."
I facehoofed. "Jay, the key is locked in the box," I subvocalized. "I need 2EQ's code in order to access his code."
"Oh.... that is a problem," 4J2 confirmed. "Give me a moment to think."
"Just don't take the rest of my life," I muttered back, fearing that any delay could be exactly that.
After reading the pseudonyms on ID cards to 4J2 again, I decided to see if I could solve the problem of moving between levels myself. I looked about me, examining the elevator car. Clearly the elevator shaft had access to the other levels, even if the car would not take me there. The first step would be to get as close to level Red and I could. I had been held on level Yellow, so I hit the button for that level, and the annoying elevator gave me the same damn request for a five digit identification code. Oh, of course. It didn't know I had come from there, and any place that held the likes of me would be high security.
"Jay," I subvocalized, sticking with the pseudonym I had chosen for 4J2, "which levels are either side of Yellow Level ?"
"Green would be above, Orange below," he said.
"Bah!" I said, facehoofing again. "They are in spectral order, and if they follow the industrial standard color codes, there will be Red level below that, and a Brown level at the very bottom."
"Correct," 4J2 said in a distracted sort of way. He must have still been puzzling over how to get an identification code for me.
It was button pushing time! I was on level Violet at the moment, so I pushed the button for Green, and was greeted with the doors closing, and the elevator beginning to descend. After its doors opened, I tried the buttons for levels Yellow, Black and Brown, finding I was denied access to all. Fine. Green was as low as I could go.
"What about stairs?" I asked.
"Same problem," 4J2 summarized.
"What about the doors themselves. Or the walls? Could I kick through them?"
"I sincerely doubt it," Jay quashed the idea. It was back to trying to take the shaft down, sans elevator car.
Stepping into the door opening, I reached back into the car and poked the button for level Violet, before rapidly exiting. As soon as I was clear of the doors, they closed and I heard the elevator car moving upwards. A quick glance around found me a decent sized garbage bin, which I lay on its side, hard up against the doors. Now for the hard part. Extending my fingers, I worked them into the crack between the doors, and pulled hard. Much to my surprise, I slammed the doors back into their cavities! After that, they fought back, trying to close again, so I edged the bin forward, allowing the doors to close up against it. That left me a decent sized gap to peer though, or climb through if I so desired.
The action of opening the doors also tore my isolation suit at the forehooves. That invalidated me wearing it. It would only hinder me with what I was about to try anyway. I removed the mask, and peeled myself out of the suit, bundling it all up as a toxic ball for whoever found it. A passing thought had me retrieve both, and give them a once-over in case 2EQ really had written his passcode on either. No such luck. I balled it all up again and tossed it back in the corner.
Putting my head through the open elevator doors and into shaft, I studied what I could see in the relative darkness. Actually, the light filtering in through the open doors was more than enough for me to make out the details of the shaft. As was typical of elevators used in H'ven, this one had motors and gears mounted on the elevator car, and climbed its way up and down on the gear racks at each corner of the shaft. There were no dangling cables, protrusions or any other significant obstruction between me and the floor way down below.
"Jay, where is Black level?" I asked.
"Huh?" 4J2 said, absently, clearly still concentrating on how to get me a passcode.
"Black level," I repeated. "Is it below level Brown or is it above level White." Black represented zero, so it could have been used for either zero or ten.
"Oh, it's above level White. Incidentally, Grey has the main entrance," Jay said. "I do not recommend you go up there."
"Without an identification code, I don't have access to Grey anyway, so it's a moot point," I said, as I turned from the elevator and walked away. "All I needed to know was how many floors Red was above the bottom."
"Just the one," Jay said. "Why?"
"Because I can jump that high," I said. With that, I turned and ran straight at the gap between the elevator doors, leaped over the garbage bin, hit the opposite wall hooves first, launched, twisted in mid air, hit the closed doors of the level below and launched again. A shaft like this really wasn't that great a challenge to a pony that enjoyed freerunning; I had bounced my way down the gaps between buildings often enough. I landed safely on the floor at the bottom of the shaft, turned, and stared up at the closed doors one level above. Bouncing up there, and getting a good grip on the doors to force them open would be a real challenge. Perhaps I didn't need to, though. There may be something on Brown level I could use to climb back up. Even standing on a desk would help.
Extending my fingers, I worked them into the crack between the doors to Brown level, and pulled them apart, stepping through the resultant gap into the dimly lit bottom level of the facility. It was time to start hunting for things to climb on!
"I think I know where you can get another code," 4J2 interrupted my thoughts. "5G4. She's relatively new here, and I bet she had her code hidden in her office. You could try looking for a piece of tape stuck to the bottom of her desk, or the bottom of one of the draws. She may have hidden it in her comms address book."
"Irrelevant," I said. "I'm down on Brown level now. I'm looking for a ladder or something I can stand on while I open the elevator doors to Red level."
"How did you get down there?" 4J2 asked.
"I jumped," I said. It was a pity he couldn't see my smirk.
Brown level was actually pretty cool, and I wasn't referring to the lack of heating or the dry air. The level was a storehouse of all sorts of interesting stuff not suited to being kept elsewhere. It was amusing that I had bypassed their security so easily! I soon found a ladder and dragged it out to the elevator doors, which, like had been done above, were held open by the nearest piece of junk I could find to jam in between them, on this occasion an unmarked crate.
While I was there, I started checking through the cupboards, looking for anything that could help me. Largely, they were packed with assorted archaic equipment the functions of I could only guess at. It was hard to tell if they were secret devices, or just ordinary devices that were used in the operations of Central's secret bureau. Given time, I would have loved to played with some of the devices, but time was a luxury I didn't have. In fact, I was using more time than I should have just looking around down here.
The third cupboard I opened contained row upon row of what appeared to be small food dispensers, going by the markings on them. They were molded in a wonderful array of muted retro colors. Some had cracked cases, which was interesting, because the ones I had seen had always been so strong. Curious as to how the marvels worked, I extracted a powder blue one, as it appeared to be the most damaged. If I could look inside one, I might be able to work out how to connect these to the distribution system. Assuming I could find distribution points below, taking one with me would solve my food problem. That, of course, was assuming I was correct and that these were in fact old food distributors!
Unlike the larger food distributors, which dropped your food onto your plate, or into its integral bowl, this one's bowl was at the top, with no obvious way for the food to be put in it. Perhaps it was for cooking? That was something of a lost art, with the exception of restaurants. I soon found there didn't appear to be any way to connect the thing to the distribution system either. Perhaps I was totally mistaken as to its purpose. I reread the identification place on the bottom. It was definitely by the same company that made the food distributors.
"Aneki, what are you doing?" 4J2 asked, probably puzzled by my extended silence.
"Huh?"
"You've been quiet since you found the ladder. Is anything the matter? Have you managed to get the doors to Red level open?"
"I'm still down on Brown level, poking around," I admitted. "I'm hoping to find some tools or something that will help me when I leave."
"You'd have better luck on Red level. That is where the maintenance ponies are based," 4J2 informed me.
"I have found something interesting here. It looks like it was made by the same company that makes the food distributors, but is a lot older and not as strong," I stated as I wiggled at the broken casing. It came apart in my hooves, revealing all of its works, not that there was much in there, and what was in there was truly bizarre. The core of it was a familiar looking solid spiral that was made of what appeared to be ceramic. Attached to that was a band, running right around it, and bearing scripts written in very fine print, almost like a computer printout. A listing? No, it was some sort of program. What was a program doing attached to this ceramic replica of the bony disfigurement I had sticking out of my forehead. Hang on... it wasn't ceramic; it was bone.
"I've got the case off one of these devices..." I subvocalized.
"Oh," 4J2 said. That was all he needed to say for me to know he was well aware of what was going on here.
"Why do these distributor things have the bony growths of dead ponies in them? What is their purpose?" I asked.
"That... would be difficult to answer. It is classified," 4J2 answered.
"So am I, so spill it, secrets boy," I growled.
"You are correct. Those are ancient portable food generators."
"Generators? Not distributors?"
"There is no such thing as a food distributor," 4J2 admitted. "Those things you have in your homes are generators. They convert raw materials into edible food via magic."
I laughed. "Magic? Come on, stop trying to lie your way out of this," I admonished him.
"I'm dead serious. They use a rare unicorn's horn that has been programmed with scripted spell to do the conversion. You place any organic matter in the bowl and activate it. It scans you, works out what your body needs, and converts it into a suitable food. The portable ones do have limitations though. They can only work with what you put in them. If you don't have enough matter, it simply can't make enough food. The modern ones are linked to a recirculating system of nutrients, so don't have that shortfall," 4J2 explained.
"So if I take one, it will help, but only if I can find organic matter to dump into the bowl first?" I sought confirmation.
"Exactly. So take a dump in it," 4J2 said.
"Pardon? Did you just tell me to relieve myself in my potential food bowl?" I asked. "That's pretty gross!"
"It's no different to what you are used to. Waste gathered from toilets and garbage collection is broken down and mixed with water. That is then fed through pipes to the food generators," 4J2 revealed. "Admittedly there are a few stages in between, such as filters to remove solids and so on. The portable ones just do it all in place."
"Oh, yuck. That is disgusting," I muttered.
"So you won't be taking one then?" 4J2 replied, and I was sure I could feel him smirking though the comms interface.
"No, I won't be taking one," I replied, as I reached into the cupboard and pulled out a dusky pink one, and a pale jade green one.
"Wimp," 4J2 teased me.
"I'm taking two," I snapped. A quick inspection proved both to be intact. I would test them later. Chances are at least one of them would be functional. I stuffed one into each of my saddle bags. An afterthought had me pushing the broken blue one in to a bag as well. I wanted to have a closer look at it later. Concluding the rest of the stuff down here would probably be more interesting than actually useable, I decided it was time to leave the floor, and see what I could find up on Red level.
"Now tell me about the spiral bone, and how it is magic. And what the hell is a rare unicorn?" I asked, as I walked towards the elevator.
"You are," 4J2 answered. "You have a horn."
"I have a deformity poking out of the middle of my forehead," I responded. "There isn't anything magical about it."
"It would have been if you hadn't been exposed to a modifier at birth. We can't have unicorns running about H'ven causing all sorts of trouble. We give you fingers. We take away your magic. It's a fair exchange," 4J2 offered his view. Oh wonderful! Why didn't this surprise me?
"And the doctors are in on this too?" I asked, beginning to wonder just how far through H'ven society this conspiracy went.
I stepped over the crate holding the doors open, then pushing the doors apart a little, kicked the crate out of the way, so that the doors could close.
"The doctors are clueless. In all medical texts and training, horns are described as harmful growths. The doctors are taught that administration of a specific drug at birth will save the affected from a painful and early death. And when a unicorn dies, the 'harmful growth' is removed, and used in one of the many systems in H'ven."
"Let me guess. This drug is another one of your class one modifiers," I muttered, "It must have taken centuries to get enough horns with us being so rare and all."
"Indeed, it is a class one modifier. As for the unicorns, they weren't always so rare. There is currently a class four modifier present in H'ven that attacks pony reproductive systems with the specific task of aborting any unicorn foetuses. No, we weren't responsible for it. It has been around for many years," 4J2 stated. "Somehow, despite that, you made it to full term and were born."
"The more I know, the less I like this place," I stated darkly.
"You have to admit that despite the less than savory side of all this, it has led to a successful and sustainable society. Imagine the difficulty in keeping life balanced in such a relatively small space."
"By calling H'ven a relatively small space, you imply there are larger spaces in existence, as though you know there is more outside the shell of H'ven, as if there isn't simply nothing out there," I observed.
"As far as we know, there is nothing outside, but not nothing in the sense that you can't go outside the shell, but in the sense that if you went out there, it would be deathly cold, totally dark, and there would be no air to breathe. Nothing."
"What? A vacuum? That's scary, but more comprehensible than the 'non-existence' that is taught. It also supports the H'ven is a sphere argument. So in theory, if we had the engineering skills and enough material, we could cut though the shell and expand out there," I suggested.
"In theory, yes, that is what Central currently believes. History is such a mismatch of half-remembered facts, rumors and superstitions. Even our best minds can only guess. So far no pony is willing to try breaking through the shell as it could kill us all. Hell, we don't even know what is down below, under the sub-levels."
"Hell, we don't know what's down in Hell," I retorted.
"Pretty much sums it up," 4J2 agreed, with a chuckle.
"I'm going up to Red level now," I announced my intentions.
4J2 didn't reply, so I turned my attention to positioning the ladder so it leaned just below the closed doors of the level above and climbing up there. Allowing the doors to Brown level to close had robbed me of my stronger light source, but even this far down below the doors open several floors above, I could see what I was doing well enough, although color seemed to be missing from my vision in this lower level of light. Again I used my fingers to pry the doors apart, and push them back far enough for me to fit through. It seemed leaning against one door was enough to hold them both open. With my free hoof, I grabbed the ladder, and pulled it up and into Red level with me. As soon as I released the door, it closed again.
"Okay, I'm up on Red level now," I told 4J2, "and I'm taking that." I added, more myself than him as I grabbed a convenient tool and stuffed it into a saddle bag.
"Taking what?"
"Just a tool I found," I responded. "Now, where are these lockers?"
"First door to your left after you come out of the elevator," 4J2 informed me.
I headed for the door, opening it without trouble. Either there was no security on it, or the ID cards I were wearing were enough to satisfy the requirements.
"Jay, why are you helping me?" I asked. "Obviously, you risk getting into trouble over this. Somepony is sure to work out this was an inside job."
"Maybe they will, but I don't think it will be too likely. The worst they could do would be reprimanding me for administering the wrong drug, but even then, I didn't leave any evidence of that. After I left the lab, I bagged up my isolation suit, the syringe, and vial, and took them to the plasma arc furnace myself, like the hard working, rule abiding staff member I am. It will probably be assumed that your Hellspawn body grew resistant to the drug we were using. Explaining how you ended up with the mapper may be harder."
"2EQ thought I may have been lying on it all along," I commented, "but if I was vivisected, it would be clear that I wasn't lying on it for weeks. It would have been noticed."
"2EQ wasn't privy to what happened. All he knew was from what he saw when he went to remove you," 4J2 stated. "While he does have the required clearance to see what happens around here, he isn't of high enough rank to be informed about what he is seeing. Basically he is trusted to keep his mouth shut in public. It is the same for his apprentice. Even if 2EQ keeps quiet, 5D3 will probably blab to the investigators."
"Good luck with that. Anyway, you've haven't answered what I really wanted to know. Why are you helping me?" I tried again.
"Well... I like you. You think," 4J2 stated. "So many ponies who live in H'ven are like mindless drones. They live the pointless lives Central have set up for them. All they do is mark time for the species, passing their genetic material onto the next generation, but leaving behind nothing else of real significance."
"That makes you wonder at the purpose of H'ven, or even the purpose of life itself," I pondered. "And it isn't as if I've made any great mark on pony society."
"You are a structural engineer," 4J2 stated. "That alone leaves a mark, but given time, I think you would have been able to go beyond that. You may have even been recruited by Central."
"You say that as if it is a good thing," I said.
"The chance to expand on what you have learned today, to voice your opinion, to make changes to how this place is run: that is a good thing," 4J2 told me.
"Too late for that now, isn't it?" I asked, not expecting an answer. Ah, personal lockers. That's what I was looking for.
"Now, you aren't going to be a silly mare and go spouting all this classified information to the ponies on the surface, are you?" 4J2 asked, swinging the subject to security, and any possibility of me talking.
"I'm not stupid," I informed him. "As you said, officially, I died weeks ago. I don't exist. I won't even attempt to leave some sort of last farewell to my poor parents. They will be better off grieving for me for a while longer than they would be fretting over whether they would ever see me again, and destroying their lives trying to fight Central so they could. While I do have friends, none are particularly close. They will recover sooner than the folks, and get on with life as if I was never even there."
"Smart girl," 4J2 said.
"And what if I want to contact you?" I asked, not entirely sure why I would.
"I don't know. Maybe I will leave the channel between our comms units available or maybe I will permanently purge the ID of your unit from the system. If it looks like they are onto me, that will certainly be the case."
"What about the rest of your department, though? Will there be a witch hunt? Will packs of ponies descend to the lower levels trying to eliminate me?" I queried. "Even if they don't realize how much I have learned, I am still one of those undesirable Hellspawn creatures, which, according to what you have told me, are always caught and vaporized."
"They may. I really don't know. I will suggest they limit any searching to near ground level though. Seriously, the sheer size of the underlevels will make searching for you practically impossible," 4J2 assured me.
"Thank Luna for that."
"I have to leave you for a while," 4J2 suddenly apologized. "If you can't get the code for the exit, there is nothing I can do to help you. From the beginning, all I could offer you was a slim chance of escape... and... sorry."
With that, I felt the connection go quiet. Something felt odd with his reasons. Maybe he did like me, really like me. Maybe that was the only reason... but that last sorry felt loaded. Something had been left unspoken.
Pondering that, I turned my attention to finding 2EQ's locker and hunting for any passcodes he may have hidden within.
As I had come to expect, the decor was the same standard cream color used throughout this facility, and much of H'ven for that matter. The staff lockers were beige, which was a pleasant tonal change. They were subject to the same sort of security as everything else around this place. Fortunately, I had the ID cards needed for the lockers in which I was interested, specifically, I had the ID cards to the two ponies that had intended to stuff me into the plasma arc furnace alive.
These lockers were of a fair size, large enough for a pony to stash several changes of clothes, personal tools, and so on. Each locker had a card sized slot in its door, next to the handle. While 2EQ's locker was the most likely to contain a copy of the pony's passcode, I opened 5D3's first, mostly because I felt bitchy towards him for his voyeurism. I pulled out each of his items of clothing, checking them over for any codes he may have written on them, but found none. The clothes themselves weren't that special; blue overalls, a light sweater, pale green in color, for H'ven's ever-so-mildly cooler winter, and a black, brimmed hat. I stuffed the overalls and sweater into my saddlebags, which were getting quite full now. After all, these bags were only meant for a mare to carry around a few personal items. I missed my survival saddle. That had some decent storage space in it. 5D3's hat I trampled. Hats like this were a stupid fashion statement. It wasn't like there was anything a pony needed to protect their head from in day to day life. Now he would probably be obliged to feed it to the plasma arc furnace.
I discovered another set of saddlebags on the lowest shelf, and extracted them, emptying 5D3's possessions all over the floor. Most were useless to me, so I trampled them for good measure. The few tools I found went back into his saddlebags, now mine, which I tossed across my back. With everything finally removed from the locker, I looked over each of the shelves and panels for any signs of a recorded passcode. There was none. I guess that was no surprise, as 5D3 did seem to be the sort that worried about every rule, much to 2EQ's annoyance.
That left 2EQ's locker. I inserted the card in the slot and turned the handle... or tried to, but it didn't budge. Bugger! Why did everything always have to be difficult. Before I tried smashing my way through the solid looking door, I thought I'd try the card again. I pulled it from the slot, and stared at it for a moment. 5D3 was written on it...
"Wrong card, you stupid mare!" I chastised myself, removing each of the other cards I was carrying from around my neck until I found the correct one, dangling from its grubby looking lanyard. I pushed that into the slot and was rewarded with a satisfying clunk as the lock released. Opening the door, I immediately began searching for a code, starting with the rear of the door itself. Bah! The bastard had smutty pictures taped up there. Carefully (much to my distaste) I removed each image of debauchery so as not to damage the paper, studying both sides of each for any hidden codes. Finding none, I would rip the image apart and toss the pieces aside. The door itself was also devoid of any clues. His clothes were next. A formerly white overcoat was the first item out. I stuffed it in one of my saddle bags, despite it being grubby. Next were the expected pair of overalls. They had no redeeming features, so they went over my shoulder to land wherever. Most of the rest of the items in his locker were also useless to me, in that they neither held the required code, and appeared to be every discarded piece of crap he had saved instead of throwing away. Worn and broken tools, bags with holes in them and safety goggles with scratched lenses were typical of the garbage he had gathered. They all went over my shoulder to join his overalls, well, sometimes. Sometimes they hit other things with varying sound effects purveying the damage they did when landing.
Nothing. After all that, nothing! Not a Luna damned code scribbled or hidden anywhere! I was screwed. Dead. My conversion into gas in the plasma arc furnace was certain. Despair overtook me, and I settled to the floor, my legs curled up under me. What would I do? What could I do? I gently rocked myself, wishing my brain to devise an answer for me.
I started considering the alternatives, if I could call them that. Getting back up to the higher levels would be difficult, if not impossible. I didn't have the code needed to open the door to the stairwell. The elevator was stuck up several floors, where I had left it, prevented from moving by the doors I had jammed open. If it was still mobile, it would probably ignore me anyway. Even if it did come down here, all it would give me would be access to the floors on which I had been trapped earlier. What's more, I could not access the floor on which I had been held, so I had no way to approach 2EQ himself. That in itself would be an act of extreme desperation. "Dear would-be killer, please help me escape." Yeah, right.
As for the door that exited from this floor to sublevel six, I doubted I would be able to break through it even with the tools available to me here. I had only glimpsed it, and it was substantial. What the hell was I going to do? I did not want to die. Maybe I would have to get more violent next time I encountered a pony, and force them to let me out of this cursed place. And that pony would no doubt be one of an armed squad sent to deal with me, when the alarm was eventually raised. Bah, that couldn't work either. Reaching out, I slammed 2EQ's locker shut as hard as I could and sat, staring at it. I wondered if 4J2 would have any other ideas. It was too bad he wasn't contactable at the moment.
"Dear Jay, please throw away your life for mine. Please come down here, and open the door for me. I'll even let you come with me. How would you like a life on the run, hunted by the very ponies you used to serve? Come on, it can't be too bad. After all, that's the life you've given to me. It is only fair that I share it with you."
Of course there was no answer from the dead comms channel.
My eyes wandered back to 2EQ's ID card, and its grubby lanyard with grotty spots spaced about it... hang on.. was that grotty spot actually a number written on the lanyard? Would he be so stupid as to record his passcode on his lanyard? I whipped the card out of the slot and examined the dirty band of cloth. Spaced well apart from each other where five digits, written in black marker on the grimy, dark blue and green material. 25723 it looked like, or was that 28724? The second and fifth characters were somewhat blurred and faded. It was a start. It was hope. Maybe I would get a lockout for entering the wrong code. Maybe I would get lucky and hit the right one. There was only one way to find out, and that was to try the door.
With renewed enthusiasm, I leaped to my hooves and scarpered across the floor towards the exit on the far wall. As I got closer, I realized just how futile any attempt to break through it would be. I didn't think bank vaults would offer that much resistance. The door was imposing, very imposing, constructed from machined, heavy plate metal. Actually, door wasn't quite right. I would have described it as a hatch. It was circular, and was pivoted from an arm constructed of the thick plate metal, attached to a substantial but fully enclosed mechanism mounted above. Hatch? Who was I kidding. This thing was more like a giant plug, designed to withstand huge pressures from within the facility. Heavy rivets were evenly spaced around the outer plate of the hatch itself, attaching it to some form of sealing ring. A smaller, thicker concentric plate was mounted to that first plate. The lower portions of the hinge mechanism were attached to that. I doubted explosives would be able to budge it, let alone my kicks. It made me wonder just how damn thick the outer walls of this facility were. I could almost believe that a hatch like this would be used to block an exit from H'ven itself, out into the nothing: the hard vacuum. Maybe my thoughts on explosives were correct. If a dangerous experiment exploded down here, all of the damage would certainly be contained within the facility itself. Perhaps the hatch predated the building's current use.
To the side of the hatch, attached to the equally impressive bulkhead, was the control box, complete with a slot for an ID card and a numeric keypad. I pushed 2EQ's card into the slot, and the keypad lit, awaiting my lucky numbers. Okay... 2. Beep. One lamp lit. 5. Beep. Another lamp lit. 7 2 3. Three more beeps and three more lit lamps. A loud long beep emanated from the box, and all of the lamps went out. No other action occurred. Well, bugger.
I looked harder at the messed up writing on the lanyard. The top of that five was a bit too rounded. Maybe it was an eight. The final character was also near impossible to read. Was it a three? No, again maybe a five. My earlier thoughts of it being a four were wrong, as the straight bit of the marking was just plain old grease. The top was also too rounded. Perhaps it was another eight? Damn it. Here goes. I tapped in 28728 and waited for the very short eternity to pass. This time the lamps went out, but there was no beep. Okay... Better? Maybe. I scanned the panel again, before starting over, and noticed two of the other buttons had now lit. I read the text beside them. One read Lock in open position. The other read Automatically close after preset delay.
Success! I danced on the spot in glee! Time to go. I glanced back at the laden saddlebags draped across my back. I had some water, food, clothing, some tools, a flashlight and some food generators. Actually, I had more than that, but the ones I just checked off were the important items. Once out of here, I wasn't going to risk coming back in. I tapped the button for the second option, and the panel beeped at me again, but nothing further happened. Damn, what now? The slot into which the card was inserted was flashing.
Oh! It wanted me to retrieve the card. I whipped it out of the slot, and was rewarded with the sounds of heavy servos operating. Moments later, the hatch backed out of the hole it plugged in the wall, then lifted clear. The air that came through smelled a little different, and I could see light. Yay, the under-level lights were working, on this floor at least. I hung the lanyard back around my neck, in case the door got pedantic about me passing through without the ID card, and stepped through, to freedom. I was right about the door, hatch or whatever, actually being a plug. The bulkhead appeared to be a couple of hooves thick. The hole through it was gently tapered. The corresponding part of the hatch was a truncated cone, machined to fit the hole precisely. Both were made of high quality, corrosion resistant metal.
"You have five seconds to return through the door, or you will be locked out," a recorded voice warned me. I stepped away from the hatch, and kept walking. I heard some warning beeps, then the whines of the servos as they closed the hatch behind me. I looked back, watching the thick slab of metal plug the opening, blocking out the light that had been coming from within. There was something about watching that door close that was very final. That was it. My old life was locked away forever.
"Goodbye, Jay, and thank you." I said, mostly for my own benefit. I wondered what he looked like. I would probably never know.
And so began my life in exile. For the moment I was truly alone, more alone than I had ever been before. I wondered if I would look back on my past life fondly, cursing the misfortune that had befallen me, or if I would consider my conversion to one of the Hellspawn as when my life really began. Would I encounter that shadowy figure from my shock induced nightmare? That was possible. They had helped me before. Perhaps they would help me again. Would I discover the secrets of the Hell: the unknown under-levels? Would there be other interesting answers down there? Perhaps I could find records of our lost history? Would the true name of H'ven be revealed? Would I discover why there was nothing outside the sphere, or indeed if the nothing was just a local barrier, beyond which other spheres existed? What else could be out there? As my mind filled with wonder at the possibilities, I realized I was looking forward to it!
I was standing in a pool of relatively bright light, although apart from this patch, the light levels were not the greatest. The lamps were spaced quite some distance apart, and were of low power. I could understand that. Even spaced out like this, there must have been thousands of lamps needed to light the under-levels, and that would be a huge waste of power. The brighter light here probably meant that there was a camera covering the area, which did make sense outside the door to a high security facility. For that matter, where did all of the power come from? In school, we were taught that power came from somewhere down here. Professionally, I was told, it was need to know only information that I didn't need to know. Maybe I'd solve that mystery for myself too.
My first priority was to get to a lower level. 4J2 had told me the facility exited onto sublevel six, so that was presumably where I now was. My adventure had begun with my long drop from sublevel fifteen, and had ended up down on sublevel twenty-one. That was where I had apparently met the Hellspawn that helped me. Damn it! Hellspawn this, Hellspawn that. I was still a pony, albeit a modified one. Double damn it! Every pony in H'ven was modified to some extent or another. That meant Hellspawn were ponies, and that was the way I was going to think of them... us.
Sublevel twenty-one seemed like as good a first destination as any. I didn't have priority access to the elevators, which was tantamount to having no access at all, so the stairs were the most likely way I would be descending. Of course, if I found any open shafts or direct openings between levels, I would probably jump and bounce my way down. That would be a great way to add distance between me and any pursuer, not to mention a stack of fun!
Before I set off, I checked my mapper was no longer configured to transmit details of my travels to anypony else, and saw that it, like the comms unit, had been cut off from the communications system. Actually, being cut from the comms system was probably what had disabled that function. That suited me fine. I didn't want it sending out any here am I messages while I was on the run. At least the mapping function was independent of that, reliant on markers hidden within the structure of H'ven itself.
Now, how many miles was I from the nearest set of stairs? It wasn't as if though I had any maps starting from this point of reference. While it did have maps of more or less everything above ground level, my mapper did not contain full maps of the under-levels. In fact, I didn't think there were any map sets available for the under-levels. If Central had any, they weren't sharing them, even with their contractors, although they had let me get the enhanced map set that gave the locations of the entry points to the under-levels.
Okay, let me think. I knew where the under-level elevators were at ground level. Their locations were part of the enhanced map set. Stairs were usually near the elevators, although there could have been others that I did not know about that didn't go all the way to the surface. Stairwells, after all, were cheaper to install and maintain than elevators. With over three hundred square miles of area at ground level, there had to be more ways to get between the levels. There had probably been more elevators when ponies used to live down here, but they would have been stripped for use above, much like everything else. Perhaps the shafts remained. I couldn't say I fancied bouncing down seventy five levels of shaft though! One slip and it would be back to where I was a number of weeks back - splattered on the ground. Perhaps there were even ramps.
The mapper suggested that elevator twenty-eight was the nearest, so I set that as my destination.
"Bye bye!" I waved for the camera before I trotted in the general direction my mapper suggested.
Freedom! Well, I hoped I was free, permanently. Hanging around in the general area of the place from which I had just escaped would be counterproductive. With that in mind, I increased my pace a little, and within moments, and a minor zigzag of the corridor, arrived at a T intersection. The intersected road was, well, a road, not just a corridor. It was wide enough for ponies to move equipment about. If anything, this road was wider than those of the Mane Way. So, this was a sublevel ring road... Up until now, I hadn't realized quite how close Central's hidden facility had been to the outer wall of H'ven despite having the mapper. My destination, elevator twenty eight, was at the outer end of one of the roads of the Mane Way, thus also near the outer wall of H'ven.
I headed right, with the outer wall to my left. That was the wall the lamps were mounted on, again in standard H'ven cream, albeit dirtier, and somewhat underlit. Trotting along, I soon noticed that the lighting down here was not active all the time, as I had initially thought. It merely gave that impression by lighting several lamps either side of the one to which I was nearest. In the twisting and turning corridors of the areas of the underlevels I had explored before, this effect would have been masked by the walls that divided the area up. Out here, on the equivalent of a Mane Way ring road, it was easy to see relatively far in either direction. At nearly twenty miles in diameter, this ring road appeared to be straight at the local level, until you noticed the distant lamps didn't quite line up.
I looked back over my shoulder, and could see three lights lit behind me before the darkness overtook the corridor. Three lamps on behind me, one lamp near me, and three on ahead of that. Seven dim lamps were all that marked my presence. As I was staring at the lamps behind me, another group of lamps lit a long way back. Somepony else was down here? Uh-oh. Those light were near where I first entered this ring road, thus near the facility from which I was escaping. They were after me already? Good grief! Like those lamps telling me I had pursuers, I had a set of lamps telling those pursuers exactly where I was!
Adrenaline thumped through my body like razor sharp ice, (ah, so that bodily function hadn't changed with my conversion) and my ancient flight instinct kicked in, set to eleven out of ten, perhaps even higher, as I took off like I had powered assistance... I did have powered assistance. These new limbs... I pressed myself even harder, and they responded. Sweet Luna, could I move? Could I move? Wow, I could move! The din my hooves were making would certainly alert them to my presence, even if they hadn't noticed the lights. Some sort of soft shoes would be quite useful now, both to quieten my hooves and improve my grip on these metal floors. I pondered how awesome it would be if I could simply adjust the construction of the hooves themselves, widen the base a little, produce a nice soft pad of a larger surface area that would both distribute the impact, and put less stress on the softer material. Yeah, like that, I agreed as my imagination created the image for me. Huh? I flicked my ears. Something seemed to be blocking them. It was as if I had suddenly gone deaf. No, not deaf; I could still hear my breathing, which despite me belting along at a fair old rate, was still even and strong. With the amount of exercise I was used to, that was no surprise, but why could I hear it so clearly when I couldn't hear my hooves... Unless...
I risked a quick glance down at them, and I'd be damned if they hadn't changed to match the mental image I conjured up moments back. Oh, you have to be kidding me. All this crap was a dream? You mean I've lived through hours of imaginary hell because I got a bit hot while sleeping? Falling asleep while wearing the survival saddle could do that. Now I was mad!
Screw this. I hated dreams that were harder work than real life. So often I dreamed I was repeating my final year of schooling because my mother insisted I do so, despite the fact that I had already passed with honors the first time through. Even when I realized I was dreaming that was happening, it didn't stop the dream. Instead, I'd simply find myself repeating the year and all its horrors a third time.
It was probably time to wake up anyway. Even if it wasn't, I was tired of this crap. I'd get up and have a nice drink or something. I tried to roll over, finding my body a little more responsive than I expected. My running turned into crashing and bouncing off the floor, sliding and skidding before I eventually thumped into the wall, albeit at a gentle angle. Bugger! That was unexpected. Either this dream was harder to shake off than I was expecting, or... I held up my forehoof and looked at it. It still bore the modified pad. My fingers were curled up safely behind it. Nope. This was being too consistent for a nightmare. My hoof should have reverted to its normal form, or become an even weirder shape if I was dreaming. And my thoughts shouldn't be this clear.
A second wave of adrenaline thumped through me as I realized my brain was having a little trouble coming to grips with my new reality, and that I was in fact awake, and SHIT, I was being chased! I was back up and running at full tilt before I had even fully sorted out my balance. I had a body that I could modify. I had a body that I could control. I had a body that I could reshape! A couple more glancing blows with the wall stabilized me as I galloped away from my pursuers.
My next problem was to become invisible. I could run around this ring corridor all day, but that wouldn't get me away from anypony in the long term. What I needed to do was stretch the gap between us so that they could no longer see the lights lit above me, then veer off on a different course. The gap had to be large enough that the lights on the alternative course wouldn't give me away either. Something like a simple right angle change in direction would fail. Hiding in a room, should I find one, would also fail, unless the system was smart enough to shut off all lights outside a room once its door was shut, but I couldn't count on that, and didn't have the time to experiment. Not knowing the layout down here was a major disadvantage. I could so easily turn down a dead-end, or even box myself in a larger area to which there was only a single entrance.
I settled into a rhythm of running hard, backing off, and checking briefly over my shoulder, then going back to running hard, all the time watching the walls and openings that I passed, trying to learn if there was any repeating structure, as well as keeping my eyes out for any variation that could prove advantageous. A stairwell would be good, as it would allow me to change level relatively quickly.
It was my ears that eventually alerted me to what I had hoped to see. The was a subtle change in the ambience of the corridor, as if it was opening out into something greater. The lamps lighting ahead of me revealed a large opening to my right. As I got closer, I could see it was a ramp spiraling upwards. That itself wasn't of any real use to me, but shadows implied there was a corresponding ramp, spiraling downwards. Great, a I had a probable way to drop a few levels. As I got closer I could see that the ramps were open sided on their inner curve, just a safety barrier there, with no great central structure blocking my view. It must have been a plaza of some sort in its day.
I made plans, based on assumptions I had extrapolated from what I saw. Final details would need to be calculated in a split second. Stuffing this up would be fatal. On the other hoof, it was the opportunity I needed to get away from those who were plotting to kill me. Had they not been there, I wouldn't be quite so rash. Here goes!!! I adjusted the angle of my course, barely slowing, then broke into a hard sprint as soon as I was heading straight towards the safety barrier. A glance up and down allowed me to estimate the distance between the floors, and the diameter of the shaft the ramp encompassed. I did not know how many levels the ramps connected. There may be just one below me, in which case I would hit the floor. If there were more, and I got my timing right, I would land on the opposite side of the ramp three levels below.
You love this stuff, Aneki! I told myself as I leapt, easily clearing the safety barrier. Twisting mid-air, I angled myself to allow maximum clearance while fitting through the gap above the safety barrier on the opposite side, or to be ready to plant my hooves and spring, should I miss the gap. I really didn't want to try to jump that... gap.... a..... second...... time.......
I sailed over the opposite barrier with room to spare, using my legs to absorb my impact with the far wall. Immediately I bounced to my feet, and ran for the nearest exit, which took me back onto the ring corridor, but three levels below where I had been. I followed the direction the ramp pointed me, now running in the opposite direction to which I had been going before. While it would have been advantageous to use the ramp to go down more levels, the last thing I wanted was a pursuer looking down, and seeing me galloping down the ramp several levels below. I very much doubted they would think to look for me along my current route, one which would soon put me underneath their facility. I would, however, start heading away from the outer wall soon, then twist and weave a new route towards another stairwell. Elevator twenty eight, with its accompanying stairwell, was just too obvious a destination now.
That had been quite a run! It was a good thing I enjoyed running across H'ven, because that was how I had spent the last few hours. My modified body held up to the stress of it better than my original one had, and even that would have been okay after a stint like that. I hadn't seen or heard any hints of possible pursuers, so I figured I was 'safe' for the moment. As per my original plan, I had managed to get down to sublevel twenty one. After at least an hour of working my way towards the center of the level, I had come up against a walled area that was different to those I had encountered before. It was a giant box, for lack of a better description, made of metal plate held together with heavy riveting as well as welding, all a rusty brown in color, in contrast to the bluish-grey of the remainder of the corridor. The way its walls interfaced with the floors around it suggested that it wasn't actually attached to them, but rather was held in position with vibration damping mounts. Its sides probably extended both above and below the current level, not that I could see past the soft mountings. The other thing that made this box distinct was that it was noisy. Humming and hissing emanated from it. I pressed a hoof against it, and could feel the low frequency throbbing that the vibration dampers were preventing from being transmitted to the surrounding structure. So this was probably one of those mysteries I was looking forward to solving. If I considered everything I didn't know about H'ven a mystery to be solved, this certainly qualified. What was H'ven? What was its purpose? I could not believe ponykind began here, in this sealed environment, despite what some would have us believe.
Curious as to what it hid within, I decided I would spend a little time exploring it, but it would have to wait until I had something to eat and drink. The hissing from within the structure could have possibly been made by escaping steam, and where there was steam there was water. A supply of water was one of those problems I hadn't sorted out yet. Moving to the darkest place I could find in the area, a shadowed area mid distance between lamps, I lay down. Removing my saddlebags, I rummaged through them, pulling out the food I had taken from the staff dispenser, and one of the bottles of water. I devoured the food with some enthusiasm, glad I had brought it along, as my body wasn't yet ready to provide the biomass the food generators required to be able to make more edibles. I suspected any excess water my body had been holding had evaporated way in the form of sweat.
After filling myself, I lay there, just thinking about the day, the changes to my body, and 4J2. Eventually, I brought one of my modified hooves up before my face, mentally reconstructed it to its original form, then watched as it changed, and quite quickly at that. I wondered what else it might be possible to form, but didn't have the inclination to actually try anything. Perhaps a hook could help climbing ladders, but fingers already worked well enough for that task. Perhaps I could form blades or weapons, but I really didn't want to hurt anypony. Perhaps it was just limited to traction control. That was a restriction I could live with. Hey, maybe I could make flippers for if I ever found myself in a significant body of water.
As I lay there, thinking these things through, my thoughts became tangled, and I let them go, drifting towards the black nothingness of a sound sleep. Everything else could wait until later, whatever it may be.
I woke in the morning, feeling wonderfully refreshed. Actually, I had no idea what the bloody time was. It was just some time after I had fallen asleep, presumably a long 'some time'. It was also pitch black, so either the lights had switched off as I slept, or I had been captured and locked somewhere dark. It was too early to panic, so I tried stretching first, and found there were no straps or shackles on my legs. So far so good! I tried standing, which I managed with no problem at all, and in direct response to my movement, lights came back on, each a fair distance either side of me. Opposite me was the rusty colored wall of the giant tank, or whatever that isolated structure I had been circumnavigating was.
Okay, so it looked like I was still in the same place in which I had gone to sleep, which was pretty good. With recent events having me turning into a strange creature, being locked up, tied down, and vivisected while sleeping, I think it would be a while before I really trusted I could sleep safely.
That time had come, so I pulled the green food converter out of the saddlebags and placed it on the floor. After triple checking I was alone (of course I was bloody alone) I... err... deposited my waste biomass into the dish of the converter, then stepped away, turning to see what needed to be done to convert the foul into food. Lying there, in the bowl, was a selection of leaves, succulent and fresh. I was quite sure they were not what I had deposited there! So, the converter was programmed to work instantly, with no further input from the user? Perhaps. It hadn't converted me, or anything in my saddlebag into food, so it must have been programmed to either recognize pony waste for what it was, or to read intent. It must also have scanned my body to work out what nourishment was required as I did my business. I nibbled at a leaf. Nice! Tasty! This had more flavor than the usual fare. I tucked into it without further thought as to what it had been moments before.
Replenished, and ready to adventure again, I packed my bags. I really would have to have a closer look at the workings of the food generators. Logic said that to convert biomatter from waste to food, there had to be energy entering the conversion somewhere. That energy could not be getting drawn from the pony for who the food was being prepared, as that would be similar to not allowing that pony to eat at all. There had to be an energy source from elsewhere. That applied to the whole of H'ven too. Perhaps the systems of H'ven were able to capture and repurpose the energy from waste heat, but even that wouldn't be enough. I was pretty sure much of what I had been taught as a filly was nonsense. I had always had niggling doubts about some things that didn't quite add up. I didn't doubt that some of the teachers believed every word they told us. As far as I could figure, the conspiracy was limited to those within some departments of Central. Whatever the case, a truly closed system would either boil itself in its own waste heat as it consumed itself, or be cold and dead if it didn't.
Returning my attention to the immediate mystery, that of the multi storey, rust colored box, I decided to tackle it from where I had left off before I took my nap. I trotted along the corridor, the rust colored wall to my left, looking for clues, a way in, or anything that might give details as to its function. I found the corner before I found any answers, so I turned left, and followed the next wall along. It was easily big enough to qualify as a building in its own right, if not a city block. The second wall was as long as the first, and just as devoid of any information or entry points, so I turned the corner and trotted on. At least this time I could see something ahead that broke the monotony, projecting up from the floor.
Arriving at the projection, I found I had been staring at a ladder, side on, and a safety barrier consisting of a couple of curved pipes, that circled a the hole in the floor through which the ladder passed. Following the ladder up with my eyes, I found it passed through the ceiling, and onto the floor above, and so on, for at least three levels, all the while attached to the side of the same structure. Yes, this was definitely a building within a building. It extended as many levels of below the current floor too. So, should I go up, down, or round and round? Bah, I'd finish my circumnavigation at this level first.
I trotted on, turned the corner again, and was greeted with... another wall that was devoid of any information or entry point. Oh, what a surprise. It was not long before I was back were I had started. Applying logic to the problem I realized that if this tank-like structure was in fact a tank, then any entry point would be at the top, lest gravity use the opening to drain the contents from the aforementioned vessel. So back to the ladder it was. It was a good thing I enjoyed running, wasn't it? Arriving at the ladder, I prepared myself for the climb by making sure that both of my saddlebags were secured around my midriff, and that all of the bag flaps were closed and buckled. That done, I tackled the ladder.
Fingers made climbing the ladder easier than if I had hooves alone, but the lack of fingers on my rear hooves did not help. Several times I found my rear hooves slipping from one of the narrow bars that made the ladder rungs. Frustrated, I applied my newfound ability to my rear hooves, forming a notch large enough to catch the bars in them, thus giving me secure footing. That proved to be remarkably successful, and I was soon moving up the ladder quite rapidly. After passing through a fourth floor, I discovered I was at the top of the tank, and likewise, the end of the ladder. I stepped from it, and onto the floor.
Immediately to the left of the ladder was a hatch, the controls to open it, to one side. I reached up with a hoof and tapped the button marked 'open'.
"Please wait while scanning for qualifications", the panel voiced, and after a few moments, it lit, green. "Qualifications accepted."
"Um... What?" I asked myself as the door servos lifted the hatch clear, allowing moisture laden and... umm... aromatic... air to escape. I couldn't say the smell was particularly pleasant, but it didn't make me reel back or anything. Did the systems of this tank know I was a structural engineer? Had it looked me up on Central's records or something? That couldn't be right. I was dead, according to any official records, so if it had, it should have rejected me. As soon as the hatch was out of the way, the interior illumination of tank came to life, presenting me with a walkway across a void. I stepped thought the opening, turned, and looked for any control that would allow me to open the door from inside, should it close behind me. There, much to my relief, was a large button simply labeled EXIT.
Now sure that I wasn't about to become a permanent resident in another sealed sublevel facility, I turned myself, and my attention, to the mysteries of this tank. Ahead, on the left was an array of valves and outlets positioned over a trough. On the right, was an observation platform bearing a control panel and a computer terminal. I walked the few paces to the control panel, sat myself down in the provided seat, and extended my fingers. "Okay, panel, start talking," I said, not really expecting a response, despite the number of inanimate objects that seemed to talk to me on a regular basis. Actually, if they talked, they weren't really inanimate, where they?
The first answer I received from the panel was in the form of text, printed across the top of the aforementioned's metal surface: Biomass Processing and Reserve Facility No. 4. Well, that would explain the funky smell. So, this was where the initial processing of pony waste products and garbage was conducted. Its position this many sublevels down would be to make gravity feeding of the waste products of a large portion of the city to a single location much easier. It was, however, too high up the structure of H'ven to have been of much use when ponies were living in the sublevels.
I was starting to have a theory about that too. When ponies first retreated into the sphere of H'ven, they had materials, but had not yet had the time or resources to build the city itself. They lived down here, while they worked above, creating the new world in which they were going to live. Once it was completed, they abandoned the tunnels and corridors, and moved up to live under the sky dome, stripping out what they could from down below, and modifying what was left behind to serve the city above. And that left the question as to what was even lower down, in the unknown area below sublevel eighty. Was that a city occupied by Hellspawn? Was it reserved for whatever was generating the power this place used?
Looking out from the observation deck, I studied the pipes and machinery and so on that made up the workings of the place. The outer shell of the tank, as I was calling it, was there to contain any spills, and keep the less than pleasant air contained. As such it really wasn't a tank. However, covering much of the floor area, but inset by enough to allow easy access for repair, was an actual tank, also rectangular. I estimated it filled more than half of the volume of the outer shell. Presumably it contained the biomass reserves, or if I allowed myself to be crude, it was full of shit. Giant pumping machinery, the source of the deep throbbing I could feel through the walkway, was situated at one end of the main tank. Also above the main tank were smaller vessels, presumably containing filters, or severed unicorn horns to do some sort of processing prior to the gloop being diluted and pumped back up to the food generators of the city itself.
Much closer to where I was sitting was a stainless steel table that was positioned under all sorts of manipulators. It had all the appearance of a medical apparatus, and I wondered what it could possibly be doing here. My attention had been drawn to it when the manipulators began to move, pulling back, out of the way. I watched, wondering what it was going to do. I didn't have to wait long to find out.
A mechanism unfolded from above, lowering a brightly colored bundle onto the table before retracting again. A beep from in front of me caused me to glance at the computer screen, as various messages scrolled across it. My eyes picked out "subject confirmed deceased" from the screen full of text. What? I looked back up at the colorful bundle as the manipulators reached for it, spreading it out, untangling it into a form I recognized. My heart felt like it skipped a beat when I realized I was staring at a pony, a dead pony. The pony was elderly, and had probably died of natural causes. I had never given too much thought to where ponies went after their funerals, but it made sense that their bodies would be recycled like everything else in this closed environment.
Before I had a chance to think any more on the subject, and just what that meant, in the immediate sense, the manipulators descended on the body again, flaying it. I was too stunned to look away, and watched as muscles and organs were stripped away, and fed down one chute, and as bones were separated, and dropped down another, where, by the sounds that issued forth immediately, they were ground to powder. Finally all that was left was the skull, which was cut apart with precision, the bones again going down the chute. The brain itself was lifted, then placed onto a small platform to one side of the table, where it was rapidly wrapped in a mass of fine, writhing black tendrils.
Another beep from the computer drew my attention to the screen again. The message it displayed was "Analyzing", and an increasing percentage as a symbolic bar progressed across the screen. Why would a dead brain be analyzed? Were they checking for unnatural death? Were they checking to see if the pony had died of a stroke or aneurysm? "Analysis complete," the screen displayed. "Brain functionality is severely compromised. Brain is unsuitable for computer or system automation applications."
My last meal nearly joined the stored biomass.
The computer continued. "Memory capacity severely degraded. Brain is suitable only for low priority, short term storage applications. Checking stock. Reserves full. Disposing of brain."
I glanced up in time to see the brain plucked from the nest of black tendrils and unceremoniously dumped down the chute into which all of the pony's other flesh had been placed. My insides heaved again, but again the contents of my stomach stayed put. No wonder our history kept getting lost! H'ven was using dead ponies as part of its systems. I already knew unicorn horns were being used as the scanners and converters in food generators. This little show had just revealed to me that so called "computers" and their storage arrays were the brains of dead ponies repurposed to serve the living. So, was that how we paid for our life in H'ven; work until we die, then work until our dead brain completely fails?
As I was pondering the horrors of this, a flurry of steam swept the operating table clean, sterilizing it in the process. The mechanism unfolded again, placing a more petite corpse on the operating table. This one had died young, a pretty mare, with a great hole ripped in her side. What in H'ven could have caused that? She must have taken quite a tumble. The shock of seeing what happened to the dead lessened with a repeat performance, so I remained, sitting there, watching as the machine went through the whole process again. This time, the screen declared the brain to be a prime candidate for use as a computer, so it was carefully removed from the nest of tendrils, and placed into a little cart that whisked it away, presumably to where they stored or converted the salvaged brains. I wondered if the brain would be aware of its new purpose, whether it would enjoy it, or find it to be a personal hell. Perhaps what made a pony be a pony had left the body, and the meat that remained didn't care one way or another.
And I was sitting at one of those computers right now. I tapped the screen. "Hey, you in there. Can you hear me? Are you even aware of me being here?" I asked.
"Your presence at this terminal has been noted," came the reply. That surprised me. I really hadn't expected any response, especially as it had ignored me the previous time I had addressed it, albeit flippantly.
"How do you feel?" I asked. "What is life like as a computer?"
"I am interpreting your first question to be a status check. I remain at ninety eight percent functionality. All interfaces are functioning correctly," it answered, it response devoid of anything that could be considered a personality. "Please rephrase your second question in a manner that can be answered."
So much for that. This computer seemed to be nothing more than a machine, be it organic or mechanical in nature. Perhaps the brains were treated with modifiers before use. After all, something had to stop them from decaying.
"What is your name?" I asked. "What was your name?"
"I... I do not know," it responded.
That was something! It had fully understood the question, not dismissed me by requesting that I rephrase the question. I decided not to press the issue. If the poor pony within was clueless as to its origins, that would be for the best.
"Goodbye," I said as I stepped from the seat, turned, and walked to the array of valves that was behind me.
In front of me were a row of valves, positioned over a trough, each labeled with what was available on tap. It didn't qualify as a bar though, because no pony would deliberately drink the shit that was on offer here. Oh, I was being literal. These valves were sample points for the various stages of effluent processing that was going on in this giant vessel, the Biomass Processing and Reserve Facility No. 4. The rightmost tap was theoretically potable, though, as it was marked as being an outlet for purified water. I wondered what my food converters would make of that. There was only one way to find out.
I extracted all three of my food generators, even the broken blue one, although after looking at it, I put the blue one back into my saddlebag. With its innards exposed, I didn't want it getting fouled up. I placed the pink one under the valve for purified water, and ran some water into it. As soon as the generator's bowl was full, I flicked off the valve, and leaned forward to see if anything noticeable had happened.
A feminine voice spoke into my mind, much like my comms unit did, but this time is was actually the generator communicating. "This water is fit for consumption. The source is pure," it stated. Okay, so the generator didn't attempt to turn water into food, not that it would be possible. I stuck my muzzle into the bowl and slurped up the refreshing, completely tasteless liquid. Ah, that was good; just the way I liked my water.
I pushed the generator under the next valve, this one labelled "Filtered, unpurified water." Okay, so this was the liquid portion of the effluent. I filled the generator bowl again.
"Purifying water," the generator announced. "Storing biomatter for later use. The water in the bowl may now be consumed."
It sure was a chatty little thing, wasn't it? The green food generator had been silent when I had tried it, but then, given the situation, maybe it hadn't needed to say anything. I wondered if it would say anything about this stuff. I placed it under the outlet for "distributable biomatter" and filled it with the strongly colored liquid that issued forth. It said nothing, producing another bowl of greens from the liquid 'browns'. Well, I guessed I was giving it more or less what it expected again. I pushed it aside, still laden with edibles, and moved the pink generator under the outlet. As soon as I shut off the flow of processed effluent, the contents of the bowl transformed into something else. I wasn't sure what, though! I lifted both generators out of the trough, and placed them on the floor, where no more biomatter could drip into them, or onto my nose as I tried to eat from the bowls. It looked like both food generators were offering me a full meal, even if I wasn't sure what the pink one contained. It did, however, smell delicious, so I tried some; it tasted just as good! Perhaps it was some sort of fruit with which I was not familiar, something that was not available from any of the food generators I had regularly used up in the city.
After a few decent mouthfuls, I turned my attention and mouth to the green food generator's bowl, and was somewhat distressed to find out there wasn't anywhere near as much in it as I had recalled. I ate a few mouthfuls of the leaves it was offering, then turned back towards the pink generator. Damn, the same thing had happened again. I finished off what was left, glancing across at the green bowl as I did. Each time I swallowed, the equivalent amount seemed to vanish from the other bowl. Ha! The bastards! There was no way to cheat the food generators into providing me more food than I needed. Each constantly offered me what I needed, on a bite by bite basis. Where the vanishing food had gone, I didn't know. Curious to see what would happen, I put the generators back in the trough, and filled them again. In the green one, the biomatter just vanished into it for a few moments, before the flow was stemmed by the valve mysteriously closing itself. The pink one behaved in much the same manner, except to inform me that its reserves were full and that it had shut off the valve. I seriously hoped it wouldn't try to "shut off the valve" when I was depositing my own waste biomatter into it. That would be... uncomfortable.
What about water? Would it try to control the amount of that I could consume too? After all, water contained no calories. Moving the generator under the appropriate outlet, I filled its bowl with water. "This water is fit for consumption. The source is pure," it stated, exactly as it had before. The bowl remained full, allowing me to drink the water. So water was not rationed. Good. While I was there, I refilled my water bottles, then packed them and the food generators, which now felt a little heavier, into the saddle bags. I supposed understanding how the food generators behaved counted as solving a mystery. I had also learned the secrets of funerals, and what became of garbage and other bio-waste in greater detail than what 4J2 had told me.
It was time to move on again. I had been in this area for too long, especially if the facility's computer had checked with central about my qualifications. Hmm, I wondered. The computer had answered my other question. I approached it again, sitting before it.
"Computer, what are my qualifications and how did you check them?" I asked.
"A scan of your body confirmed that you were qualified," the computer replied, then fell silent. That was it? The whole answer?
"What data is assessed to determine qualifications?" I tried again.
"The scan of your body was compared to preset parameters saved within the scanning unit," the computer responded. "It was found to meet the scanning unit's programmed requirements."
"But what are those requirements?" I tried again.
"Unknown," the computer responded. "The scanning unit predates this computing unit."
Okay, so it sounded like we had a unicorn's horn wrapped in some sort of script hidden within the door's scanner itself, and unicorn's horns didn't appear to have a longevity problem. Whatever the scanner's parameters were was coded into that script. In other words, I had no bloody hope of working out what they were. Unicorn's horns may have been able to handle basic tasks, as per those of the food generators, but they lacked any intelligence. Their behavior was entirely down to what somepony had encoded into the script that controlled them. The up side of this was the scanner had not contacted anypony when I had opened the door.
I checked that I had everything I owned on me, then walked out of the facility, through the door, still open since I had first entered. As soon as I was clear, the servos kicked into action, and lowered the door shut behind me. It was time to descend to the lower levels again. Modifying the shape of my rear hooves again, and extending my fingers, I mounted the ladder and began the climb down.
By the time I was on the third step down, I heard the echo of hoofsteps. I froze, moving my ears about in the hope of determining from which direction anypony would be approaching. I soon heard voices, muddied by sound reflections. They sounded like were coming from the level with the door into the facility, the floor I was leaving. I quietly began my descent again, feeling relieved when my head was below the level of the floor, and thus, out of sight, well, out of sight until they got closer and decided to look down the ladder.
I was a floor lower down when the ponies above had come close enough for me to make out what they were saying. It sounded like it was a cyclic conversation, where neither involved would back down, and both constantly restated their position. Some pony needed to push their pause button.
"But I tell you, the vibrations we detected were consistent with the door being opened," one pony stated. Ah, they were some ponies from a company such as the one I had worked for, investigating disturbances detected in the lower levels. I didn't think our equipment had been sensitive enough to detect an opening door, though! I had certainly never been sent to investigate one. Usually, my investigations had resulted in the discovery of a substantial crack in some structural element. Sometimes the disturbance was just some old piece of loose scrap falling with a mighty bang, and one time it had been the major structural collapse that had ultimately led to my current set of problems.
They were getting closer: so close in fact that I could hear them without straining my ears. I continued my stealthy descent, though being quiet was really slowing me down. I contemplated stepping off the ladder when I reached the next floor, and moving out of sight.
"Look. The door is closed," the second of the ponies above said. "I can see that from here. We are wasting time. No pony has been able to open that door in decades." Good. With that attitude, he might turn his buddy around, and leave. Who was I kidding?
"But we have recorded evidence that somepony or something does open it from time to time," the first insisted. "We must be missing something."
The sounds of their hoofsteps grew louder, then ceased, indicating they were practically above me. Great. Just great. Please, don't look down! Please, just go away.
"I really don't care about your records," the second pony stated. "As long as whatever is inside the facility keeps doing whatever it is supposed to do, we don't need to worry about it, and according to the indicators on the system monitor back at Central, the facility, it is functioning correctly.
"A single green light under a label on a monitor board that is several miles from here does not fill me with confidence. And what if that light goes red?"
"Your confidence is irrelevant! It will probably open the door itself if maintenance is needed."
"Then why the hoof scanner over the door controls? That alone implies ponies are meant to access it from right here," the first pony stated. I heard the button next to the door being pressed. I paused, listening for the response from the scanner. This was getting interesting.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the panel voiced, and after a few moments, it spoke again. "Access denied. You are not qualified to enter this facility." So, I was qualified while the two ponies above were not, yet I figured our jobs must be similar. Did it scan our brains for our abilities? No, I didn't think it did. Logic implied it scanned the hoof I had placed on the button. After all, that was where the scanner was mounted. Then again, the food generators scanned all of a pony.
"And just what are these bloody qualifications?" the second pony spat. He was clearly becoming annoyed at his companion. "We've tried engineers, technicians, ponies with degrees in all sorts of things, and it always rejects them."
I sneezed.
Oh dear. That did it. I may as well have yelled "I'm hiding down here!" Immediately, two heads appeared above me, peering down.
"Excuse me, I don't know what that brought on," I said, and began climbing down again.
"Stay right there, missy," the second pony, the harsher one, commanded. It was hard to be certain in this limited light, but he appeared to be black or dark grey, with a blonde mane, and, presumably, tail.
While they had seen me, it didn't mean they had caught me. For all they knew, I could have legitimate business down here.
"And who the hell are you to order me around, buster?" I responded. If he was going to be informal, I bloody well was going to be, too. "Go about your business and leave me to mine," I instructed.
"I am an inspector with Central," he barked back. "You will do as you are told."
"You understand rank? Good, then you will do as you are told. Show your superiors some respect," I growled back, climbing down another rung.
"Identify yourself now!" the dark pony ordered.
"That is classified. I suggest you shut up, look away and forget you ever saw me," I responded, "or you will regret you ever did." That was true, even if not from the angle I was playing.
"Stay where you are. I want proof of your claims," he tried again. Stubborn, officious bastard. I'd have to play on what I knew of Central from my recent stay with them. I knew they had at least one deniable center of operations, and I expected that was something most Central staff were not informed about.
"Your equipment detected the door opening, didn't it?" I said, echoing back to them what I had heard them discussing.
"You were in there?" the other pony, this one with a deep red coat, asked.
"Of course I was in there. Why open the bloody door if I wasn't going to go in? Now turn away and leave. Discuss this with no one," I tried again.
Neither moved. This pair were determined, one out of curiosity, the other obstinateness. At the rate things were going, I would have to choose between trying to run for it again, or risking them trying to contact those that actually knew about me. Perhaps I would fall back on option three: crack some heads.
"You have access to the facility, and seem to be able to come and go as you please, yet I am an inspector from Central and know nothing of it. If this is really the case, kindly explain why I don't know any of this?"
"Duh! It's classified and you are a mere inspector. It's more effective to let you lot wander around thinking no one knows about how to get into these places than it is to admit we do know what is going on and that we aren't prepared to share it." It was an interesting lie, and one that I hoped would get him thinking. Then again, maybe it wasn't as much of a lie as I thought. I had got into the facility. And thinking about it, not even Central's deniable branch knew what was really going on. It didn't even matter if this inspector fellow was a part of their secret society; this bluff should work.
The fellow nearly exploded at the suggestion that he was a lesser member of Central. Oh well, so much for that idea.
"Get your worthless female ass up here right this instant!" he barked.
"Oh, so you are a sexist as well as arrogant and stupid?" I asked sweetly. If getting into a total tizz was what he wanted, I'd be glad to help.
"You'd better come up, miss," the red pony said over the other ponies ranting.
"You will regret it for the rest of your lives," I warned him, climbing up.
"And why would that be?" he asked.
"See for yourself," I answered as I cleared the floor they were on. I launched myself off the ladder, over the safety rail and onto the floor beyond their reach.
"Sweet Luna!" the red pony exclaimed.
"It's one of those things..." the black pony practically screamed.
I remained crouched, ready to spring, as I stared at the panicking ponies before me. To be fair, it was only the black pony, the inspector that was actually panicking. His red coated companion had just taken a step back after his initial exclamation of surprise. Of the two, he struck me as the more intelligent, or at the very least, the more open minded. My immediate problem was to stop them from calling reinforcements.
"Shit, we've been told not to approach these things. Call it in! Call it in!" the inspector ordered, panic in his voice.
The red pony remained silent and still, making no move to obey. My guess was that he wanted to try talking to me before escalating the issue. Why the inspector himself wasn't trying to make the call I didn't know. Perhaps he was too panicked to think of using his own. Perhaps he was simply used to throwing his weight around. Whatever the case, I figured cutting the black pony off from Central would be for the best, so I lunged at him, knocking him backwards a little, while I grabbed his foreleg and unfastened his mapper/communicator. Before he could react, I sprang away again. He was now between me and the ladder, so that escape route wasn't the best for me at the moment. I tossed the mapper/comms unit down the corridor behind me, and with my newfound strength, that meant it went quite some distance.
"Call it in, Crimson, damn it," the inspector barked again, edging away from me.
"Oh, stick it, you domineering asshole," the red pony replied. "We are on the verge of making an important discovery and you are behaving like a scared foal."
Well, that was a better attitude! I could get to like this pony. I hoped the inspector would shut up and behave like a civilized pony for long enough for dialog to be entered into.
"Do not call it in if you value your life as it is," I suggested. I didn't mean it as a threat either. Who knows what Central's deniable branch would do to ponies they deemed to be exposed.
"You, shut up!" the black pony yelled at me, backing a step away from me.
"Calm down," I said, stepping forward, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. "I am not going to hurt you. I tried everything I could to avoid this situation."
"You stay away from me, you diseased freak!" the inspector yelled in response. Did this idiot actually listen to anything that anypony said? I could now understand the circular conversation this pair had been having before. The inspector had loaded a 'response program' into his conceited brain, and had been ignoring what the red pony was saying, responding with automatic denial. Now he was doing it to me. He hadn't actually listened to a thing I said. Screw him!
"Damn you, you obstinate idiot!" I yelled back. "You wouldn't listen to me when I tried to avoid this confrontation, and now you are such a self opinioned coward that you refuse to listen now that I'm up here!"
"Freak!" he spat at me, then turned, and bolted, leaping for the ladder to the lower levels.
He dropped through the hole, and a moment later I heard a sickening crunch, followed by a deathly silence. The red pony and I looked alternately between the hole and each other.
"That didn't sound good," the red pony finally stated, after several seconds of a silence that we didn't want to believe. "I'll take a look. Stay there, in case you startle him further, assuming..." Yes, assuming he wasn't... well... what we both knew he was: dead.
The red pony took the few steps towards the opening and peered down. With a hoof, he indicated I should join him, which I did, warily. I sort of trusted him, but wasn't ready to act on that trust yet. I didn't want to find myself being propelled down that hole after the inspector. Moving up beside the red pony, I looked down the hole, fully knowing what I was about to see, and there the inspector was, about three rungs down, hanging by his head. He must have missed his footing in his haste. His head had gone behind a rung while the rest of him continued downwards, resulting in him breaking his neck. He was dead: very, very dead.
"This could be a problem," the red pony stated the obvious. I shuddered. This was not an outcome I wanted.
"Why wouldn't he listen?" I asked. "Why did he have to kill himself?" Feeling a little light headed, I backed away from the hole, and sat. The red pony joined me, also sitting.
"I'm Crimson Garnet, or just Crimson, if you like," the pony introduced himself. I'd already heard the inspector call him 'Crimson', so his name came as no surprise.
"Aneki," I responded. "I wish I could say I was pleased to meet you, or more to the point, I wish we could have met under better circumstances."
"You've never seen a dead pony before?" Crimson asked, looking me straight in the eyes.
"Dead, yes, at funerals... and in there," I said pointing at the door to the biomass processing and reserve facility. "I have never seen one die though, or more to the point, never been there when a pony died."
We sat in awkward silence for another minute or so. Anypony would have thought we were on a nervous first date or something.
"This is awkward. What are we going to do?" Crimson asked.
Perhaps we could sneak off behind the ablutions block? I mentally slapped myself. Now was not the time for silly attempts at humor.
"I expect he will be missed," I started.
"Of course. Two go out, one comes back. Questions get asked," he affirmed.
"Is anypony going to accuse you of having a hoof in his death?" I asked. He wouldn't be in the position to call me as a witness.
"I don't think so. No one in the department really liked him, but none of us disliked him enough to wish ill on him. He was a nicer pony before he got his promotion. Perhaps we were all hoping he would return to his old ways." Crimson said sadly.
"I think a lot of ponies at Central could do with learning to respect others," I commented. "My recent tangle with them wasn't particularly pleasant."
Crimson nodded. "Would you tell me how much you claimed before was the truth and how much was a lie? I can understand you were just trying to get away from us before, but please be honest with me now. Did you really go into the biomass processing facility?"
I nodded, then slowly stood and walked the few paces to the door of the facility, raised my hoof to the button and pressed it.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the panel voiced, again. "Qualifications accepted," it stated, but the door did not move. "All other ponies must also present themselves for scanning or clear the area before the door can be opened," the voice added. Okay, that was new.
"It looks like it will only open if I'm alone," I commented.
"What makes you think I won't pass as qualified?" Crimson asked, standing, and approaching me.
"I heard you earlier. I cannot believe you haven't tried and failed before. Besides, I'm beginning to understand how this all works, and what its significance is."
"I'll get you to fill me in then," Crimson said, putting his hoof to the button.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the panel voiced, its intonation identical to every other time. "Access denied. You are not qualified to enter this facility. This access attempt has been terminated," it added.
"Well, there you go," I said, sitting down again, this time right in front of the door.
"So you really do have special qualifications that allow you entry," Crimson stated.
"I do, and it isn't anything I studied. It has more to do with what I have become," I explained.
"You mean you weren't always..."
"... a pony with a funny looking black body? A Hellspawn?" I completed his question. "No. Until around two months ago I was a perfectly ordinary mare that lived on the second tier and worked as a structural engineer for one of Central's contractors."
"Wow. Really? What happened?" Crimson asked, eyebrows raised.
"I walked into a this is classified, resulting in this is classified. After that, this is classified and this is classified," I responded.
"Oh, so you really do work for some part of Central I know nothing about." Crimson concluded.
"Nope. I escaped from some part of Central you know nothing about yesterday," I admitted, "but I did learn some secrets while I was in there. Basically, what I am saying is your life is now in danger, merely from meeting me. Anything I may tell you could only add to that danger."
"Danger from what? Is your condition really a contagious disease?" Crimson asked, looking somewhat concerned. I couldn't say I blamed him.
"Nope. I do not believe it to be contagious, especially after everything they zapped me with. Nonetheless if your legs start hurting a lot when you wake in the mornings, run for it, because this won't be far behind," I warned. "Now, I can tell you what you probably want to know, but I'm giving you the chance to turn and walk away right now. We never met. Your boss was a klutz and fell down the ladder. You have some awkward questions to answer, then you can go back on with your regular life."
"Or?"
"I tell you stuff they don't want you to know, after which you will never look at things quite the same. If you let slip with what you know to the wrong pony, you could find yourself recruited, or pushed from a tall building. I'm not sure what their policy is in that respect, but I can assure you, their intention was to literally vaporize me. They are very dangerous ponies."
Crimson fell silent, then settled to the floor beside me, again. His body language was one of uncertainty, but his actual actions suggested his mind was going to take a particular path no matter what the cost. Finally he spoke. "Aneki, please tell me all you know. At this point, it may already be too late for me. Despite the risks, I wish to know."
"Hmm, where, to start, where to start?" I pondered. "Okay, I'll start with what you probably wanted to know for the longest, with what I know about Biomass Processing and Reserve Facility No. 4."
Crimson nodded. He didn't have the expression of enthusiasm I would have expected from his earlier conversations, but then, the situation had changed somewhat. "As good a place as any," he agreed.
"Basically, the facility is a large storage tank within a larger, containment tank, which forms the outer shell," I explained. "It is full of pony waste, sewage, garbage and... bodies. This is where dead ponies go after their funeral. As well as the large tank, there are assorted processors and filters. That which can be salvaged is salvaged, and shipped off to other facilities. The remainder goes into the biomatter soup. From there it is converted to the stuff that is fed to the food generators all over H'ven, and pumped out. There is also extra processing that results in purified water, also pumped out as required."
Crimson rubbed his chin with his fingers for a few moments. "I can understand them wanting to be secretive about the dead ponies. Knowing that we are eating our own would freak some ponies out. Nonetheless, anyone who works at Central must at least understand that resources are limited and recycling is a must. I can't understand why they block us from entering for just that. What is it that you have that we don't, apart from that body?"
"There are other secrets I'm pretty sure they want kept that way. Did you also know that computers are actually made from the brains of dead ponies? I didn't think so. All the same I'm sure it's this body that is the key," I admitted. "I'm only beginning to understand what is going on myself. Tell me, Crimson, have you heard of modifiers?"
"What? Modifiers?" Crimson asked. "A modifier is just something that causes change. It's a fairly common word, although I expect it would see most use in scientific circles," he said, giving what I considered a generic answer.
"What about classified modifiers and how they affect every pony who lives in H'ven?" I asked. "Is that something ponies of your rank know about?"
"Sorry, I don't understand what you mean," Crimson said, affirming my suspicions.
"Ah, such a tangled web we weave," I mused. "Okay. First things first, or is that second or third by now? The Central you work for is not the power you think it is. It's nothing more than the public interface between the real power and the people. From what I can gather, the real Central, which, incidentally, refer to themselves as 'deniable', have secret facilities, labs and so on. I don't know how many there are, but they told me I was in one of Central's deniable facilities, the conclusion being that there must be at least two of them, and probably a lot more than that. It's all very hush-hush. The staff do not even know each other's names, instead all referring to each other by code."
"Go on."
"When I contracted... this...," I said, waving a hoof at my body, "I was taken there and observed, vivisected and so on for over a month."
"You were what?" Crimson gasped, eyes wide open. "Did I hear that right?"
"Yes, I was vivisected. They were studying my transformation from a pony into one of these Hellspawn things. As they planned to destroy my body when they were done, they didn't care about my wellbeing at all. I was kept sedated through most of it. Fortunately there was more observing done after the last vivisection, so I healed. It was only me growing resistant to their drug that allowed me to escape when they came to terminate me." I explained. The bit about drug resistance was a lie, but to tell the truth could cause a certain other pony trouble, should it ever be revealed.
"Anyway," I continued, "I learned a lot of dark secrets while I was there, mostly involving something they call 'modifiers'. These modifiers are some sort of tiny machine that can change, even rebuild a pony. The ones I heard about ranged from class one to class five. Class one are mostly harmless, and have to be directly injected into a pony for them to have any effect."
I extended my fingers and wiggled them at Crimson. "For example, these fingers are not natural to our species. They are created by a class one modifier that is injected into us at the time of our vaccinations."
"Really?" Crimson asked. I felt he was double checking if I was still telling him the truth.
"Yes, really. I have been totally honest with you since I was unable to escape."
Crimson nodded, and relaxed almost imperceptibly.
I continued. "At the other end of the spectrum we have the class five modifiers, which go out hunting. Unlike class one modifiers, that are under the control of ponies, class five are wild. Central neither understands them, or knows where they come from. I was first exposed to them while investigating structural damage down on sublevel seventeen. My legs ached for a few days after that. I then went down to sublevel nineteen, where the air was thick with dust. Apparently the class five modifiers are airborne. They also strip any material they need to perform their function from the surroundings, and lie in wait for their victim. Once you breathe a lungful of the buggers, you are done for. Going on how fast I seemed to be converted, they may well have attacked me directly through the skin too, although that doesn't explain why they left my head alone. The modifiers also caused major structural damage by stripping material in the area, in order to prepare themselves. As such, my body was modified with materials stripped from H'ven itself."
"Oh, hang on. Something about that story sounds familiar." Crimson said, again tapping his chin with his fingers, before lifting them to study them as if they were something totally alien. "Ah, I remember. There was a bulletin that was circulated a couple months ago, warning that there was toxic gas below sublevel sixteen, and that we were to stay away until given the all clear. That would correspond with your dust cloud."
"And you didn't wonder where the info came from, or who was fixing the problem?" I queried.
"It was not our department, and frankly, that's all we needed to know," Crimson admitted.
"Ugh," I muttered, clapping my own fingers to my forehead. It was a work ethic with which I was familiar. After all, I had always felt pretty much the same way. "Did we all make it that easy for the bastards to keep us in the dark?"
Crimson snorted. It was almost a chuckle.
"Well, to get to the point," I continued, "I think there are modifiers in that facility, so for safety reasons, an ordinary pony can't get in. A pony that has been converted, such as myself, is probably immune to further modifier action, or at the very least, immune to the sort that are being used inside there."
"So what you are telling me is that you are a maintenance pony, and that you may have been created by H'ven itself," Crimson summarized.
"Yup, it looks that way, doesn't it," I had to agree.
"Once, many, many years ago, the ruler of all of H'ven was a wise and strong pony. He was greatly respected because it was under his guidance that ponykind had finally risen from the underlevels and taken their place in H'ven. But not all ponies were happy. The dark and twisted folk of the lands below were not invited to the new paradise, even though they had helped create it. The ruler looked down on them, and could see no place for them in his ideal world.
"In turn, the twisted folk of below, the Hellspawn, cursed his daughter with a terrible disease that turned her into one of them. The ruler was so enraged by their action that he ordered the Hellspawn be punished. Paradise was finished. There was no need for the twisted, jealous creatures anymore.
"Many Hellspawn were caught. None would reveal how to cure the ruler's daughter, so he had them killed. When the hunts were over, the Hellspawn had all but vanished. The ruler's daughter also disappeared. Some say she was killed along with the other Hellspawn, by intent or accident. Some say she fled.
"Black twisted creatures, with glowing red eyes, the ghosts of the Hellspawn can sometimes be seen haunting the levels below the ground, so make sure you never go down there to play, because even if you don't see one down there, they may see you, and strike you with the disease too."
Crimson fell silent, staring at me expectantly. I had mentioned that I would like to know how things went so wrong that Hellspawn were being hunted to extinction when it appeared they had a vital role in keeping H'ven functional. Even allowing for memory lapse, and personal interpretation, Crimson's story was a little odd.
"That wasn't something that was covered in our school history lessons," I stated. Either I had never heard the story before, or it was a lesson I had forgotten or missed. Even so, it was way too simplistic, as if it was meant for foals. It reminded me of the scary stories of the great nothing that was outside H'ven's walls.
Crimson snapped his fingers. "You are right. Now that I think about it, it wasn't technically a lesson: not a history lesson anyway. It was in an old Breezie Tale that was read to us at school."
"That would explain its structure. It may have been created merely to keep inquisitive foals from trying to go down below, where, as we both know, it is very dangerous," I commented.
"That is quite possible. Nonetheless, there are other elements of truth to it, too. You, Aneki, were struck down by the 'disease' yourself. If there was no knowledge of the mechanism that created the change, it could seem like an attack from the disinherited," Crimson suggested, "and if the Hellspawn really were kicked out of paradise, aggression from them could have been expected, even if none occurred. Let's say that I threatened to make your life hell, then went on with my own life, never following through on the threat, yet misfortune befell you the very next day. Who would you blame? You'd blame me, of course," Crimson conjectured.
"If you'd said that to me a couple of months ago, I would probably hate your guts about now," I responded. "As for truths, I do know that there are other Hellspawn alive down here, somewhere," I admitted.
"How?" Crimson's eyebrows went up at the comment. "So some have survived?"
"Supposedly one helped me after I fell from sub-level sixteen down to sub-level twenty one. Needless to say, I wasn't any sort of condition to verify that myself, but somepony at Central told me the pony that assisted me was Hellspawn, and also mentioned them in other ways that suggest that some survive down here, hidden, and probably doing their jobs, just like always."
"I guess places like this facility confirm that. We can't get in, and you can, and it still seems to be functioning correctly, so the only conclusion is that Hellspawn have been going in there from time to time to repair or maintain it as needed," Crimson summarized.
"Going on our limited pool of knowledge, I'd say it certainly looks that way," I agreed.
"I pity them; I pity you," Crimson said. "You're stuck down here in the endless dim tunnels, with only walls and ceilings to look at."
"Most of them probably don't know anything else, but is it really that much different to what's up there? It may be about ten miles up at its highest point, but the sky is just another ceiling, another set of walls. I want to know what is beyond them."
Eventually all Crimson and I felt we could say to each other was exhausted. I thought it funny that I, who had never been directly employed by Central, knew more about its dark side that one of its employees. Crimson had worked there long enough to be a few rungs up the internal structure too, and after that many years working there, one would have thought that he would have heard something, even just a rumor or a hint.
Crimson and I stared down the access hole at the ladder, and the body of the inspector hanging from it. Somewhere, several levels below was his mapper/comms unit. We had dropped it down there, hoping any ponies that chose to investigate the death would conclude it had either been knocked off during the inspectors fall, or dropped down there by him. The latter at least gave him some reason to have been on the ladder in the first place. Of course, the little diversion could be pointless, depending on how much he told them, and that would depend on how receptive they were to the truth.
Crimson and I had agreed on a few variations of the story he would tell. Time, and pressure, would tell which he used. Story number one was pretty simple. He was poking at the button of the door to the biomass processing and reserve facility, when the inspector did the klutz thing and fell, breaking his neck. That was the story for people like the inspector himself: bullheaded and stuck in their own ways, sure that what they personally believed was the absolute and irrefutable truth. We hoped that would be it, but if they found any evidence I had been in the area, something a little closer to the truth would be given: that the inspector had tried to get away from me, and fallen. Anything about the conversations that occurred after the inspector died would be omitted. I had merely run off. That said, I was planning to do exactly that now.
A much better outcome would be if the pony investigating was open to the truth, and was also curious as to how anypony accessed Biomass Processing and Reserve Facility No. 4. After all, this had occurred right outside its door, after Crimson and the inspector had come down to investigate the possibility it had been opened. In that case, he would tell the story, much as it had happened. Getting the Hellspawn off the hunted list, and getting them talking to the ponies from above would be beneficial for both parties, even if those from above still weren't that keen on any of us moving up to the surface.
"Okay, Aneki. I'm calling in the accident in a moment. Best you be gone," Crimson suggested.
"Okay, Crimson. Look after yourself, "I said, hoping he wouldn't end up in the deniable facility after this. That gave me an idea. "Crimson, I will tell you a code. Never repeat this to anypony, as doing so would destroy its value. Instead, if you find yourself in real trouble, listen for it. It's a remote possibility, but it could save your life when all else has failed. It is the only thread I hope I can offer. The code is 4J2."
Crimson raised his eyebrows. "Um, thank you, I think."
"I hope it is something you never have to face," I said, "and learn the standard color code too, if you don't already know it. That's something else I found handy."
"...okay. Fortunately, I do know it."
"Great, then this is goodbye," I said.
"What's your comms unit ID, in case I need to call you?" Crimson responded.
"It's been nobbled," I replied. "Only the mapper works."
"Give it here a moment," Crimson suggested, so I unfastened it and passed it to him. It had occurred to me that I could have grabbed the inspector's comms/mapper unit, but had decided I preferred my one's anonymity. After a couple of minutes of poking at it, searching through menus, and opening it to check its insides, Crimson closed it up again and passed it back to me. "Hmmm," was all he said.
"You haven't set it to track me or anything, have you?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "I could have salvaged some parts from the inspector's unit to fix it, if we hadn't dropped it down the shaft, or even from mine, if I didn't need to use it right now."
"Thanks, but no thanks. Anyway, it's time for me to be somewhere else. Somewhere else far, far away. For all I know, the ponies from Central are still looking for me," I said, as I turned and galloped off. I would probably never see or speak with Crimson again. With the inspector's body in too dangerous a position for us to remove, the ladder was effectively out of commission, so I had to find another way down. It was like I was playing a real life game of Snakes and Ladders, although for me, that ladder had worked against me. What I needed was another snake... well... another spiral ramp at any rate!
I heard Crimson call a final farewell before I was too far away to hear. I turned a corner, isolating myself, then went back to my dodging and weaving to put me and my trail of illuminated ceiling lights as far from any pony as I could.
Damn, at twenty miles diameter, this place was huge! I already knew that from running about on the surface, but it took on a whole new meaning when you were sandwiched between a never ending floor and ceiling. I had been trotting for a while before I found another possible way to change levels. It was an elevator shaft. I recognized it more by the layout of the corridor than anything else. There were no glowing numbers to indicate which floor the elevator car was on. Likewise, the call buttons were dead. Closer inspection of the doors revealed that this particular shaft had been decommissioned; the doors were welded shut, and the call buttons and indicators had plates welded over their vacated locations. Actually, that was good for me, because it meant there would be no unexpected visitors stepping out at inconvenient moments. Had it still been functional, it wasn't as if I could use the elevator myself, as Central overrode control of all elevators to the sub-levels. What I needed to do was find the accompanying staircase. There was always one nearby somewhere. Well, every other elevator had one nearby. This location was proving to be frustratingly devoid of one!
Eventually I found what I was looking for. Again, anything that indicated the staircase was there had been erased, as had the door handle to the stairwell. In its place was a small welded patch. More beads of weld joined the metal of the door itself to its frame. Bugger.
Sitting down, facing the annoying blockage, I pulled out a drink bottle and sipped at it while I considered my next move. Last time I had encountered a welded obstruction, it had been in a place of structural weakness, and in an area where modifiers tended to gather, if my condition was anything to judge by. This sealed door may be concealing a similar problem. I didn't fancy going down multiple levels, express fashion, atop a collapsing staircase. The modifiers themselves, should any be there, were not something I was overly concerned about. What could they do? Finish the job, maybe? I thought of continuing towards one of the elevators marked on my mapper, and using the associated stairwell. Bah, that was a lot of effort, and I was getting curious about why this staircase had been blocked off.
Suddenly, my mind made up, I was up and aiming my hind hooves at the door. Unleashing my new-found strength, I bucked the door as hard as I could, hoping to crack the welds. The mighty clatter and bang that resulted as the door smashed into the stairs overhead, then the far wall was somewhat surprising. I turned and stared at the dark hole, amazed. Had I really just kicked a welded closed door off its hinges? I hoofed at the space in disbelief. Nope, there really was no door there to ram my face into if I proceeded.
I reached into my saddlebag, returning my water bottle and fumbling through what was there until I found my recently purloined flashlight. Gripping it in my mouth, I edged into the black maw of the stairwell. It was truly decommissioned. No lights came on, not even on the levels below or above me. Looking about, mismatched paint outlines and small mounting holes showed me where the sensors, light fittings and wires had been removed. The floor itself was patchy, some floor plates had been lifted, leaving just a narrow strip on which to walk. Exposed beams extended from either side. Directly across from me, the staircase descended. It was somewhat skeletal, with two out of every three steps missing. Ahead and below, leaning at the bottom of the first flight was the twisted form of the door I had bucked. Wow. Just wow. There was no way I could put that back into its frame.
The lights out in the corridor, no longer able to sense my position, suddenly switched themselves off, leaving my flashlight as the only source of illumination. I shuddered, remembering the last time I was down here without lights, having just been ejected from the service elevator. At least this time, I had only been ejected from society!
I took a step further into the stairwell, balancing without trouble on the remaining floor plate. The next remaining step seemed secure enough, so I jumped down to it. From there, aiming the beam from my flashlight, I studied the remains of the staircase. Any other pony may have been scared off by the sparsity of places to stand, and all the gaps giving views of the mosaic of shadows and glints my flashlight was creating. Being a freerunner, I just leaned further down, studying where I place my hooves... and knocked the flashlight from my grip. It was with some dismay that I watched as its beam of light showed its path as it bounced and ricocheted down the stairwell into the depths below. Eventually the banging and clanging faded away, and of the beam there was no sight. I stood there, staring after it. What was I meant to do now: climb down there and get it?
With considerable dismay, I stared down the stairwell the flashlight had fallen. To have dropped it after the considerable effort to find one to steal from Central, was just sooo... ugh. If this stairwell went all the way down, the poor thing would have fallen to its doom. Chances of it stopping on a step part way down were negligible, because even if it hit one and didn't bounce, it would surely roll. Ah, my poor friend, our relationship was so short. I will miss you.
Was it worth the effort of trying to find it?
Bugger!
As I pondered my problem, I studied the structure down which I would have to climb. That had been the plan anyway. A nice set of complete stairs might have been safer... well, safer until I got bored and started launching myself from the top of each flight of stairs, and bouncing off the wall at its foot, freerunning style. That wasn't going to be possible here, or was it? I still had the walls. Whether or not I could safely land and launch again was a different matter. Too much floor was missing... Hang on, what was going on here? I was plotting a course down a set of stairs that I thought I could no longer see, due to it being totally dark, except I still could see it relatively well, albeit lacking any color. Ah, that was right, I'd experienced a similar effect when I jumped down the elevator shaft at Central.
I raised a hoof in front of my face, and studied the reflections on its shiny black surface. There were two rings of light, distorted by the shape of my hoof. Each showed a hint of color - orange. I moved my hoof around, watching what shadows it threw. There was no doubt about it: the source of the light was my eyes themselves. It would appear that I had glowing irises. Hellspawn had glowing eyes. I had glowing eyes, even though my head had not been converted like the rest of my body... or had it? It wasn't shiny and black, but at the very least, my eyes had been enhanced. I figured I could really scare a few ponies up top by creeping up on them in the dark. I had a quiet chuckle at something I would never have the chance to do. The most likely outcome would be for their glow to give away my position to those that may be hunting me, should I ever be hiding in the dark.
So I could see in the dark... in monochrome. Bugger! I really was going to miss my flashlight.
I decided to proceed down to the next level. It wasn't very far, and the state of the stairwell door on that level might prepare me for what I would find lower down. If there was no other way out, there was little point in taking this route. I carefully jumped from stair to stair until I got to the remains of the first landing, where the stairs doubled back to continue their downward trend. There I had to carefully navigate the mangled door I had propelled down here. Once past that, it was back to jumping from stair to stair, checking before each jump that the next stair really was at the expected position. It would be embarrassing, painful, and quite possibly fatal to try to land where one was missing!
Arriving safely at the landing for the next level, I studied its structure (most floor plates were missing), and that of the door (which wouldn't budge, presumably because it had been welded shut from the other side, much like the one above). Okay, that could be a problem. There wasn't much space to stand, and to get the door to open, I would have to kick it through its frame, and that was a whole different story to kicking a door out of its frame in the same direction in which it usually opened. I carefully positioned myself to give the thing a good kick. Considering how far the last door flew, I was worried about launching myself should the door not budge. I figured aiming for the dead center of the door would be the best, as it was the least supported. I positioned myself so that if I went flying, I would whack into one of the steel beams that supported the remaining steps.
I braced myself, counted down to give me time to psych myself up, then WHAM! Well, it wasn't entirely successful. The door was still there, but on the good side, so was I. Studying the door, I found the impact had distorted it, so I positioned myself again, and let it have a few more good bucks. On the fourth attempt, I felt it move considerably more than it had on the previous kicks, so I turned to inspect it again. It had taken on a decidedly concave appearance, and the edges had pulled away from the frame, implying that the welds had either broken, or the material of the door itself had torn. I gave it one more hard kick, then inspected it again. This time there was definitely a gap along the side. A couple more good kicks would probably knock it clean out of its frame, assuming I couldn't simply grab it and rip it open. As I didn't actually wish to access this level, I decided to declare the experiment a success and return to my descent. I had a good laugh thinking about what the door would look like from the other side, and the questions it would raise in the mind of whoever found it. They would probably conclude it was welded up to keep some sort of monster inside!
Anyway, it was time to get back to the task at hoof - going down. What level was I on now? I couldn't remember. Who cared? I didn't. All I knew was that I wanted to be a lot lower. I wanted to be eighty levels below the surface. It was time to go back to jumping over the gaps and onto the stairs that remained.
Soon I was bouncing my way down again, my mind wondering what I would find on the lower levels, and if the reason this stairwell had been decommissioned would make itself clear. I had quite a nice rhythm going, completely forgetting that a rhythm was bad in a situation where the unpredictable could happen, like the unexpected five step gap I had just leapt into the middle of. I realized my mistake as my hooves failed to land on anything solid. If only I could have gone up physically as fast as my adrenaline levels rose! It was simply too late to adjust my trajectory, or even try to reach for anything nearby as I plunged through the space. Okay, this wasn't the end of the world. There were more steps below to land on, well not that set, I thought as I plunged through the narrower gap a floor below the first step I had missed. My angle was good for the next level down, so I clanged onto the step, crouching as my legs absorbed the energy from the fall. Phew!
I stood there breathing deeply, letting myself calm. It wasn't as if that was the first time I had come unstuck; it was one of the hazards of freerunning on a course with which I was not familiar. Even scouting out a path before I took a run didn't always work. Sometimes a pony would move something into my way, or even simply get in my way themselves. As it was my personal policy to never allow another to become injured due to my freerunning, if there was any way to avoid doing so, I would take it. I had been known to make risky jumps into the unknown to avoid hitting other ponies. I had dropped a storey or two doing that on my old genuine pony legs, and come away uninjured. These bio-robotic things I had now could take a lot more punishment than that. They didn't even ache: not even a twinge.
I looked through the gap beside the step on which I was standing, judging distances. A calculated bounce had me dropping through the opening, and landing on the step one level below. That saved a lot of effort, and was a lot quicker! After trying that again three times, I decided it was safe enough to continue doing so. I figured my rate of descent would be marginally slower than that of a regular elevator. Woohoo!
Eventually a jump brought me onto solid floor. I knew I hadn't descended far enough to be down on sub-level eighty. I figured I was probably closer to sub-level fifty, yet this was where the stairwell ended, so I had no choice but to leave it and explore. Hey, my flashlight was around here someplace!
Five minutes of shuffling around staring at the floor eventually located my poor flashlight, as battered as it was. It no longer worked (oh what a surprise), so I tucked it into my saddlebags to examine later. Perhaps its crystals had been dislodged. I hoped so, because the alternatives were not so repairable.
Now that my treasure had been reacquired, I turned my attention to finding a way to either continue my descent, or to leave the immediate area so I could find an alternative 'snake' down which I could slide. I looked up at from where I had come. It was quite a way, not that I could see much beyond three or four levels above me, and even then, only as shadows varying darkness. I sincerely hoped that the only openable doors were not the two right up there, where I had started. It wasn't a climb I particularly fancied.
And thinking about up there, by now it was likely that Crimson was trying to explain the inspector's demise, and helping to rescue his corpse. I wondered if I had been mentioned, and if anypony would try to find me. This time, I felt no urgency to keep running. If they found this stairwell, they wouldn't be eager to climb down here on the chance that was where I had gone. Even if they were determined enough to follow me, their descent would be perilous, thus slow.
After another brief tour of the area, this time looking up, instead of searching the floor for my flashlight, I found I was in what appeared to be a vestibule for several other establishments. The doors were sealed up of course. The first bore faded remains of a sign that declared it to be the such and such laboratory. I imagined it was signs in this condition that had lead to H'ven getting its weird name in the first place. The dva p'ns eve'nt Labo'ies made just about as much sense as H'ven did. Some of the gaps were spaces, some were missing letters. At least the Laboratories bit was easily guessed at. The next sign had somehow survived in a lot better condition, suggesting that the other had been deliberately vandalized. Celestial Body Simulator Emergency Control Room, it read. What, in Luna's name, was a celestial body?
Surprisingly, both the lab and this control room still had hoof scanners, despite the doors being welded to the frames in a few places. It was time to do some aggressive exploring. These rooms reeked of mystery, and mysteries were what I was chasing. I put my hoof to the scanner to the control room and waited. It took a few moments for it to even respond, presumably because it had to scavenge power reserves from somewhere, or request rerouting, but it did respond, and with the message I was hoping for.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner requested. "Qualifications accepted," it stated after the mandatory pause. The door did not move, but I was expecting that, seeing how it was welded shut and all. "The door is malfunctioning. Standing by for remedial action. Please engage the locking mechanism after maintenance has been completed," the scanner added.
That was mighty helpful of it, I thought as I turned my rear towards the welded door, and applied 'remedial action' with my rear hooves. On the third buck, the welds gave up their grip and the door slammed open. As if struggling from lack of power, some feeble lights attempted to light the room, although at their weak levels, it didn't do much to restore my color vision. If anything, it tinted everything amber. From within the room wafted the stench of ancient, decayed insulation and other smells I associated with stagnant electrical equipment. In this case 'mystery' reeked a little more than I had expected...
Entering, I found myself in a moderate sized room, surrounded by heavy cabling and equipment racks of thoroughly outdated switches and relays. Cables snaked from these across the floor to the central feature, some sort of rotating drum-like assembly, or more correctly some sort of drum assembly that looked as if though it should be rotating, even though it wasn't currently doing so.
As it appeared to be central to what was going on in here, both hypothetically and physically, I approached the drum assembly. Even though it was made of corrosion resistant material, it still exhibited a patina of extreme age and neglect. Within the drum itself was a complex gear-chain, driving concentric ring gears just within the perimeter of the drum. Cams rested on each of these rings. Unfortunately, old oil and grease residue gummed it all together, any lubricating properties of the substances long since gone.
I figured this machine was an elaborate timing device. Looking closer, I discovered regular dark patches in the grime on the rings suggested there were deliberate markings buried beneath the gunk. Rummaging in my saddlebags, I extracted the old lab coat, and using it as a cleaning rag, began to carefully rub at the surface of the rings. It would not do to scrub away the markings in my enthusiasm!
Gradually the symbols appeared as the grime thinned. I was relieved to find they were etched into the surface, so there was no chance I could accidentally erase them. I increased my effort, scrubbing with some enthusiasm. Even so, the rings themselves were locked in place, either by their gear trains or by the solidified lubricants. Finally, with the rings almost shiny, I stuffed the rag back into my saddlebags and set to studying the machine.
One of the symbols on one ring was familiar. It depicted the crescent shape of Luna. Other symbols on the same ring had Luna sequentially changing shape to become a disc, before shrinking down to nothing (represented by an empty circle), before changing back to her recognizable shape again. The axial thickness of an associated ring slowly rose for half of its circumference then ramped back down over the other half, bring it back to its starting height. Could this ring represent Luna's position in the sky? So, Luna was a celestial body, a simulated celestial body? And what of the changing shape? Was Luna meant to change shape over time?
I glanced down at a monitor panel below the timing device. A row of decidedly vintage panel lamps, all unlit, were in a column down the left. To the right of each was a label bearing text with which I was unfamiliar. I could read the words, but what they meant was unknown to me: Sun, Moon, Lunar phases? Star Map, Season. Okay, there were a few words with which I was familiar. But what were sun and moon, and why was Luna spelt wrong? Lines on the panel indicated the moon and lunar phases were related, so Lunar phases had to be referring to the changes of shape of this moon thing. I concluded Luna had to be the popular name for the moon.
With further study and a lot of conjecture, I figured this machine's purpose was to control the various aspects of H'ven's weather. Summer meant the sky dome was lit longer, while the short winter cycle had daylight reduced to less than half of the hours in a day. These changes were represented on one of the rings. Luna's position and shape, or phase were determined on another pair of rings, as well as further rings controlling the star map and another simulated celestial body called the sun. On the panel, somepony had hoofwritten Celestia beside sun. Of this sun, Celestia, I had never seen any sign.
So control of our day and night was all laid out as little rises and falls in a few metal rings. They didn't even use a computer! I didn't know whether to be shocked or not. The condition of this equipment implied that something was seriously wrong with the whole system, H'ven wide, as even though this was some sort of emergency backup system, it clearly wasn't in use when it should be, because whatever was controlling the system now was clearly broken.
For how long had the Hellspawn been hunted? Was the situation so dire that they only ventured out of hiding to repair systems that affected their own well being? I could fully understand why they wouldn't bother with a system that for all intents and purposes was cosmetic, and only for the benefits of those above.
How long had we been trapped in this bottle that collectively, we could forget something as fundamental as the sun and moon, entities deemed significant enough to simulate? They weren't even in legends or breezie tales anymore. They were even more lost than the name of H'ven itself!
It seemed I was discovering more questions than I was answers. I wondered if any of the Hellspawn knew the answers.
So that had been the Celestial Body Simulator Emergency Control Room? Antiquated equipment designed to control the simulated moon and sun of our sky dome, not that I actually knew what the sun was, other than it being a round version of Luna that appeared during the day. Nothing in the room had seemed to warrant its door being welded shut. I could think of two alternative reasons to weld up a door - to indicate to repair and service personnel that what was beyond didn't warrant any attention, or to stop the surface ponies from stripping the place. That was a valid reason, because somepony had certainly taken a good portion of the materials used to build the staircase itself.
So, next on the list to explore was what was behind the door labeled 'dva p'ns eve'nt Labo'ies'. Eve'nt Laboratories? It would do as a name for the moment, although the gap between 'eve' and 'nt' was several letters in length. Maybe there would be more clues inside the room. I offered my hoof to the door scanner and was rewarded with the same results as the previous time, approval, then a request for maintenance, so I tackled the required remedial work the same way too, and kicked the door until the welds that held it sealed broke, allowing the door to swing open. Crude, but effective!
I stepped through into the dimly lit area beyond. It wasn't really big enough to be considered a room. In fact it was more like an air-lock, complete with a more substantial door in front of me. This door was like that on the biomass processing facility: more of a hatch than a door. If this really was some sort of air-lock, or high security arrangement, the door through which I had just passed needed to be closed again before I would be able to open this one. I closed the door I had battered open, and with a few well placed kicks, managed to get it more or less back into a functional shape. That done, I presented my hoof to the scanner on the inner door. There was no messing about, announcements or anything, and the door immediately opened. The passing any of the check/pass routine such scanners usually put me through puzzled me. Perhaps it was enough that I had qualified at the first scanner and this one merely verified it was the same pony and opened the inner door.
Beyond the inner door, it was better lit than everywhere else down here, but, by no means, well lit. Nonetheless, it clearly had a better power feed than the previous room had. I could even see in color again! I stepped through the doorway, and was surprised when the hatch immediately closed behind me. Hopefully I wasn't trapped! I had managed to leave the other facility with such a door without difficulty, so it was probably just a matter of finding the switch to open it. In the mean time, I let my eyes wander over the massive array of equipment that was down here. Racked cabinets with meters, dials, gauges, switches and more knobs than I had ever seen in one place covered the walls, arching over, giving the impression they were trying to shield the room from outside forces, or try to bend down to offer their faces to a lowly (and short) pony within. Tanks and benches filled the space in between. A door at the far end of the room led to presumably more of the same. I took a few steps forward.
"A feesitur! It is sooch a lung teeme seence ve hefe hed a feesitur," a voice announced within my head. Oh. My internal adrenaline meter jumped up a bit. So did I, probably.
"Indeed! Ve hefe a noo soobject veet vheech tu pley. It hes beee tuu lung."
Make that two voices, not that I could understand either of them. Was this a different language? It had been a long time since any pony had been down here, after all. Perhaps ponies spoke different languages a long time ago. And that led to the very valid question: who, or what was speaking anyway? I seemed to be alone, and these voices were in my head, much like with my comms unit, and the scanners. That implied an automated system of some sort, a computer, or at the very least, a repurposed unicorn's horn or two.
"Cume in sveeteee. Let us get a better luuk et yuu," once voice enticed.
No, it wasn't a different language. The written word was still the same, at least it had been where not deliberately erased, like on the front door of this place. I cast my eye over some of the equipment, and picked out recognizable words labeling the various knobs and dials. Yup, same language, different pronunciation or dialect.
"Dun't be shy. Cume in und intrudooce yuoorselff," the voice crooned.
Well, that statement I certainly understood, despite the extreme lilt. Epiphany! Centuries of gradual variation had occurred in the pronunciation of the language. Despite sounding different, we were using the same words, and sentence structures! Admittedly the latter was a little surprising, considering how much other historical information had been lost. I took a few steps forward, scanning the racks of equipment for anything that looked like a pony, a scanner or a computer. I couldn't see any.
"I am Aneki," I spoke into the room, unsure of who I was addressing, or even where they were hiding themselves. "You can see me. Perhaps you could return the favor and show yourself." I made no attempt to mimic their accent.
"Ooh deer, she duesn't speek oooor lungooege," one voice stated.
"Yes she dues, boot veet sooch un evffool eccent," the other replied.
"You're the ones with the bloody awful accent," I interjected. "Language has moved on, and a long way at that, too, by the sounds of you two."
"Vhet is she oon ebuoot noo? I deedn't understund a vurd ooff thet."
"I deed, boot it is certeeenly nu vey tu huld a cunferseshun veet a tist soobject. Ve reelly moost hefe cleerer cummooneekeshuns iff ve ere tu get guud feedbeck."
"Now wait a minute," I interrupted. That had sounded way too close to 'test subject' for my liking. I was about to raise my objections when... OUCH! Something had just stabbed me in the butt! Well, it stabbed somewhere around there. The area went numb before my mind could precisely recognise their target. I looked back in time to see mechanical arm retreating rapidly into an alcove in the gloom of the ceiling, a syringe in its manipulator. Luna, how old was the crap they had just injected into me? And what the hell else was hiding up in those dark alcoves.
"What the hell are you doing?" I snapped, suddenly feeling a little unstable. Sensation and strength were ebbing from my body. Oh, you had to be kidding. I had walked from the lab of one set of bastards who had no problem with experimenting on me, straight (okay, not quite so straight) into the lab of another pack of unethical pricks that were about to do the same to me. The drug was quick acting and I wilted to the floor, but remained conscious and alert. That was unexpected. Yay. At least I could call them names.
"Du nut puneec. ve veesh tu leern yuoor lungooege," one of the disembodied voices said to me.
"Screw you, you bastards. You didn't have to drug me to do that!" I seethed.
"Ve cen nut hefe yuoo thresheeng ebuoot, oor mufeeng dooreeng zee prucess. Noo huld steell," the voice requested. Hold still? It wasn't as if I had any other choice, was it? This blasted drug had well and truly nobbled me.
"You must be pretty dumb. I seem to be grasping most of what you idiots are saying!" I spat back, "So why can't you pricks understand me?"
"Vhet hes oooor leettle soobject su upset?" the other voice asked. This was the voice that didn't seem to have any clue to what I was saying.
"She cleeems she cen understund us," the first replied.
"Und yuoo cen understund her?" the other wondered.
"Epperently."
Great, I had been nabbed by a pair of comedians.
"Noo huld steell," the voice requested again as another black implement descended from the horrors of the ceiling, aiming straight for my head, the one bit of me that was not 'protected' by the black shell, not that it had helped when the jabbed me in the behind. Oh, you had to be kidding me... There was another bit of me that wasn't protected too. They'd gone straight for the 'soft spot' that couldn't be armored while maintaining functionality. The pricks!
The manipulator grabbed me by my head, moving my mane and exposing my bony nub... horn.
"Ooh, thees oone hes zee megeecs!"
"Boot zeey du nut vurk. Her hurn hes beee deescunnected by thuse evffool inheebiturs."
"Let mee see, let mee see. Eh heer ve gu. Cuncucshun seexty fuoor, ferseeun feefe hes zee ebeelity tu recunnect hurns."
"Vhet ebuoot seede iffffects?"
"She veell geeen eccess tu megeec egeeen."
"Boot thet is nut a seede iffffect! It is zee preemery poorpuse ooff Cuncucshun seexty fuoor, ferseeun feefe!"
"Eh, here ve gu, ve ifeen hefe sume ooff it lefft!"
Another (or was it the same) manipulator with a syringe dropped from the ceiling, this time aimed at my head. I felt it poking around my horn, a stab, then massive pressure as the contents of the syringe were emptied into my noggin. OUCH, that hurt. Now if I had understood what the comedy duo of mad scientists were on about, they had some way to, ooeer, that hurts, some way to reactivate my, my, my, horrrrrrrnnnn.
"Water."
"Fluid."
"Drink."
"Cup."
I think the pain must have got a bit much. I recalled how much my legs had ached over the early days of their transformation. Having that all concentrated at the one part of a unicorn's body with the most intimate connection to the brain had overwhelmed me.
"Glass."
"Mug."
Hang on a moment, what was going on here?
"Plate."
"Bowl."
"Food dispenser."
It seemed like by mind was being interrogated. They'd show an image, and I'd provide the word, or in this case, pronunciation. Why I had to be disable for this, I didn't know. Perhaps they didn't want me walking off due to boredom. It was painfully slow and inefficient.
"Oh, no you don't," I said. I'd had enough of this one-way transfer. The image repeated itself. I wanted this ability to rip languages from other's minds. It could come in rather convenient for conversing with other mysteries I may find buried below us. Oh, was that how they were doing it? It was a sort of code that tied into the fabric of the universe itself. Oh, I see, if I changed that word, and rearranged these two statements, I'd be in control here. And that block of code is awful! Optimized, you could speed up the process a hundredfold.
Concentrating on morphing the code to what I wanted, I turned their interrogation back on themselves, made the tweaks to the code I had visualized, and within moments had managed to rip their language from their minds, sorted the personal variants, and stored it safely in my own language centers. A few more tweaks and I was able to stuff my own language into their minds, or whatever it was they were using. Well, dialect, not language, but the process was designed to deal with language, so it would serve my purposes later. As for this pair of jokers, I still hadn't seen anypony, and I wasn't entirely sure I was dealing with ponies anymore. Actually, I'd never really had any idea what these mad scientists really were.
"Whoa, she's a bright one! We've got her trussed up and drugged, and only just repaired the connections between her horn and brain, and she has already stolen our spell and turned it back on us!" one of the voices said. Now, that was better. I could understand them perfectly.
"At least we can now communicate, you bastards," I muttered.
"Pardon? You don't sound too pleased," the other voice observed.
"You think?" I spat. "You capture me and hold me against my will, then start experimenting on me."
"But.... but... we gave you the magics!"
"For that, I thank you, perhaps. But all the same, you did so without asking me, just like the magic was taken from me without me even knowing I had it in the first place. And just like this body that was forced on me, again without anypony asking me."
"Those magic stealing inhibitors are such nasty little modifiers, aren't they? Those were designed by politicians, not scientists, so they could control their subjects. They felt they couldn't risk having any more unicorns wandering about."
"So you know about these things, obviously," I commented.
"Of course, sweetie, they have been around... forever... It seems like forever. "
"In fact, you can manipulate this magic stuff, which would imply you are unicorns, or have access to unicorn horns. And in this case, I suspect your forever and their forever are the same," I said darkly.
"Yes, she is a bright one, isn't she?"
"Yes, yes. She may take our secrets." Now there was an idea! I could modify the language spell to interrogate them further. All I would need to do would be to become as unethical as those I despised.
"Okay, here's a question for you, if you've been around forever. What is the name of this place?" I wondered if they predated the vandalism of the name of H'ven.
"Well, that's an embarrassing question, sweetie," one said. Now I was having trouble keeping track of which was which.
"We don't know," the other admitted, a tad sheepishly.
"Somepony or something successfully erased all records of it long before our time."
"There has been much discussion between us on the subject."
"We have plenty of free time, you see." That, I had the feeling, was the understatement of the millennium.
"But we have been calling it H'ven, based on the remains of some name-plate or sign, the only 'evidence' of it that remained."
"So you have no more idea than we do," I muttered. "We call it H'ven too. Some think it is 'Heaven', while others think it is 'Haven', but no pony knows."
"What do you think it is?"
"I think it is a meaningless name derived from corrupted data. It's rather like the sign on your outer door," I explained. "Let me spell it out for you: dva p'ns eve'nt Labo'ies. And if I was to tread it in the same way as how H'ven got its name, this place would be the 'Eve'nt Laboratories'."
The voices laughed.
"And while we are on the subject of ancient dialects and broken signs, what I don't get is how you two had such an ancient dialect, while the scanner to your door was quite up to date, especially considering no pony has been down here in a very, very long time."
"It's been at least a dozen centuries, sweetie," one confirmed my suspicions.
"As for how the door scanner knows your language and dialect, it is pretty simple. It uses a spell, much like we were using on you to learn them, to extract the words it needs to use directly from your brain. That way it is always up to date."
"What about you two? I assume it is two," I asked. "What are you, and how have you survived this long?"
"We are ponies, sweetie, just like you." Yeah, right. Twelve hundred year old ponies? I didn't think so.
"Or more accurately, we were ponies just like you." Now, that I was more open to believing.
"When we were sealed in here to die, we were forced to take desperate measures."
"We pickled ourselves."
"Embalmed ourselves."
"Hooked our brains up to the equipment in this room."
"Reinforced them with modifiers so they wouldn't rot."
"Sweet Luna, you're computers!" I realized.
"No, no, we are ponies," the voices insisted.
"So are our computers," I responded. "Computers are nothing more than the brains of dead ponies preserved with modifiers, and sealed in unbreakable boxes so we don't learn the dirty little secret."
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that," I insisted.
"I've never thought about it that way. We still have bodies, but yes, in a way, you are correct. We are sealed in our little coffin, our lives supported by magic and modifiers."
"So where are you then?" I asked.
"Right in front of you, Sweetie," one answered. Right in front of me was one of those tanks. It was certainly big enough to hold a pony or two.
"Both of you, in that one tank?"
"Indeed. Can you imagine centuries isolated in separate tanks? We would have gone mad!" I didn't think the time together had prevented that.
"Or perhaps we were already mad," one offered. Thank you!
"True, true. So scared of us they were, that they sealed us in here to die, after all." Did they mean mad-insane or mad-angry, I wondered.
"So, this is your prison and grave? What did you do to deserve a death sentence?" I asked, realizing immediately that some questions are best left unasked.
"We had created new modifiers, a craft that has been illegal for as long as history recalls. Concoction sixty four, version five gave us our magics back, and that scared them."
"And concoction ninety two, version eight, never tested on a pony, had them running for their pointy sticks and knives."
"And welders."
"Yes, yes, the welders. Being welded into a room is most unpleasant. Especially when they cut the power."
"It's a good thing we were able to cobble together an alternate feed, or we would have died as they intended."
"All the same, hasn't such a long incarceration been impossibly hard?" I asked. I wondered if they were going to force me to release them, if indeed they could be released.
"We get bored and put ourselves into hibernation. Your smashing away at the doors did disturb us, somewhat."
"So we woke ourselves so we could have a little fun!"
"And what about me? You called me a test subject. What was that about?" I asked. Them having fun, and me being immobilized did not sound like a great combination: not from my point of view, anyway.
"We have been waiting for a pony to test our new designs on for... a very long time, so no, you can't leave. Not yet anyway."
"And if I object?" I growled.
"It could make for some unpleasant conversation, but otherwise change nothing. We suggest you cooperate, sweetie."
I had to reactivate the language spell in order to stuff the cuss words I was using into their brains. I couldn't have them miss the finer points of being called.....
"What the hell did you pair of reprobates do to me this time?" I demanded. I had lost track of how long I had been trapped down in this laboratory. I had been unconscious for quite a while, I suspected, because I could now feel all of my body again, and that meant the anaesthetic had worn off. They hadn't used the anaesthetic to put me under though. The pain in my head had done that. I extended my fingers from my forehoof and reached up to feel around my horn, where they had injected the first set of modifiers. The skin felt quite normal, which was a relief. I was, however, quite surprised when I went to check the bony nub that was my horn itself. Was being the operative word, because a bony nub it was no longer. And that was a poor choice of words, because longer it was! It felt good, elegant, spiraled, and was probably the length it should have been if it hadn't been tampered with when I was born. It also came with a mental list of a few convenient new program samples, or spells, if you preferred the mythical way of thinking about it. Those had been scrolling through my brain, dream-like, while I had been unconscious.
"She awakes, at last," one of the mad scientists hiding in the cylindrical tank commented. The thing was longer than it was tall, domed plates forming each end. A second, capped cylinder, midway along the body was presumably where they had entered the thing. That cap bristled with connections, both of the plumbing and electrical variety. The whole thing had a heavy, riveted appearance of an ancient pressure vessel, which was probably what it had been.
"And she does sound a little annoyed, at that," the other observed.
"What would you expect?" I growled. "You've been experimenting on me, a living creature with feelings." Not that having feelings should make any difference, I thought.
"Your point being?"
"Arrgh!" I yelled. "It is immoral, indecent, despicable, and downright rotten!"
"But you are our subject. How else are we to advance our science?" one voice offered.
"You don't, you clueless bastards," I spat. "You. Do. Not. Experiment. On. Living. Beings."
"Yes we do," the other corrected me.
"Bah!" Language wasn't failing, in the literal sense, but conceptually, these guys simply weren't getting it at all. "I am NOT your subject!"
"Yes you are. You are here. We let you in for the express purpose of being our subject."
Ah, thus unlocked inner door. Chances were I hadn't been 'qualified' to go through their outer door either, before they unlocked it for me, at any rate..
I advanced on their tank, looking it over, wondering how I could give the contents of it a good scare. Perhaps I could pretend I was going to open it. That would probably upset them. I wondered what they looked like in there after over a millennium of soaking in whatever fluids they had pickled themselves in. Perhaps they were nothing more than a broth, with a computational matrix of modifiers doing all of their thinking. Pony soup. Yum.
"Hmm," I said as I ran my fingers over the connections to the tank. "This tube feeds you from H'ven's nutrient distribution system, and this one takes your waste away to be processed. Ah! This bundle of cables is probably what lets you control the equipment in the room, as well as powering any form of life support you may have in there with you."
"...What are you doing, Aneki?" one asked. The voice sounded concerned.
"Oh, I'm just wondering what you two look like, so I'm working out how to get you out of this big can of soup. Are you are all mushy and gooey, or have your bodies shriveled up?" I said as I tapped on the body of their tank, making a dull thunk, with each tap. The thing certainly sounded full.
"No! Stop!" one yelled into my brain.
"No I won't," I responded. "I want you to see what it feels like when somepony experiments on you against your will."
As I was already listening for it, I heard the relatively quiet sound of the manipulator behind me descending, no doubt a dose of sedative in its grip. Using one of the spell fragments I had learned, I lashed out at the manipulator with my mind, and pushed it away. I was rewarded with some crunching and grinding as I managed to break at least one of its servos. Impressive! Those damn things had been strong enough to hold my weight before.
"You broke our manipulator, our arm!" one exclaimed, somewhat anguished.
"Would you like me to break the next one, too? And the one after that?" I asked sweetly.
"Stop, please stop! Don't break anything else. Do you have any idea how hard it is to repair things when you are trapped in a tank, and locked away from any source of spare parts?" one of them begged.
I leaned against the aforementioned tank and tapped my fingers on it again. "Okay, I've stopped, for the moment. Now, you bastards, what did you do to me while I was unconscious?" I tried again, keeping up my sugary voice. If it was any sweeter they would choke on it.
"We were searching your body for hellite modifiers..." one offered.
"What is a hellite modifier?" I pressed.
"You know, the modifiers that give you Hellites your hard shell, and tough constitution," one answered.
"They are little machines that converted you into a bio-robot," the other expanded.
"Hellite? The guys up above call this sort of body 'Hellspawn', as if we were members of a race, or something," I stated.
"Sounds racist to me," one voice agreed.
"Yes, yes, maybe racist, but you are a race of sorts. You Hellites do come from Hell, after all," the other expanded.
"No I don't. I'm from the H'ven dome, not from the underlevels," I insisted. "I was an ordinary pony until a few weeks ago."
"That is..." one started.
"...extremely unusual. But your knowledge of Hell seems lacking, so we believe you," the other finished. So Hell was that old? It wasn't just something cooked up by recent generations?
"It is very rare for a conversion to occur outside of Hell itself. I presume," the first added. "I only recall hearing of one case."
"Oh, really? Stop spouting non-facts, would you? You two have been locked in a tank for the duration of recorded history, or damn near close enough to it, so how could you hear anything?" I argued. "Anyway, why do you reprobates want the hellite modifiers?"
"So we can become Hellites, of course!" they chorused.
"What? You mean you aren't already?" I spluttered. For some reason, I had assumed anypony behind a door with a hoof scanner would be Hellspawn... Hellite.
"Of course not. If we were, we wouldn't have needed to pickle our bodies to stay alive down here," one stated.
"But not a single modifier was to be found. Your conversion is complete, so there was no need for them to remain," the other added.
"None the less, we still expected to find a few hold-outs, not a total lack of them," the first added.
"And learning that your conversion was so recent, I would have expected to find an abundance of them," the second concluded.
"Oh, the ponies up at Central zapped me good and proper to make sure none had survived," I explained. "I guess they did a good job."
"A very good job, yes. None left. Absolutely all gone," they agreed.
"But clearly my conversion can't be complete. My head isn't black, or can't you see that?" I asked, wondering how they could do things around this lab if they were effectively blind.
"We can see your pretty head, and yes, your conversion is complete."
"Just how thorough were you guys being? Did you cut me up again or something?" I demanded an answer.
"No," one answered.
"Or something," the other said at the same time.
"Spill it, before I spill you," I threatened.
"We did not cut you open. We used magic to scan you. We do have the magics, remember?"
"So, you've seen all of me, inside and out, is what you are saying? I asked.
"Yes, yes. We can investigate you in many ways."
They weren't kidding. They had been investigating the contents of my language centers earlier. Just how much of me had these guys studied. I knew they couldn't have absorbed everything, though, because how can one mind fit the contents of another within itself?
"And that would be the second reason you bastards were welded in here. Ponies must have been tired of the extreme invasions of privacy," I muttered.
"No, no. We learned those skills during our incarceration. With nothing else to do, we have been writing new spells, practicing on each other, getting better..."
"Practiced to the point you can't tell yourselves apart from each other, I suspect," I muttered to myself, then with a louder voice, continued, "Ah, so this time it won't be enough to weld you in here, eh? Should we pour in molten metal? And if you spent that much time writing spells, how come your language transfer spell sucked?"
"Ah, that was not a contingency we had contemplated. We never imagined language, either yours, ours or both would change so much with time. We had to throw that spell together while we were trying to talk to you," one explained.
"And we had to hold you still so you would not break the spell. It was not a very good spell," the other admitted.
"Okay, subject change time, you two. What are your names?" I asked.
"Brainstorm," they replied together. I facehoofed.
"Your names, one at a time, please," I tried again.
"Brainstorm."
"Brainstorm," they replied one after the other.
"You have to be kidding me," I stated. "You really both have the same name."
"Yes, yes."
"Doesn't that get confusing?" I asked.
"Not really. If I refer to Brainstorm, I mean him," they chorused.
"And if someone else needs to address us, it does not matter which replies, so again, there is no problem."
"Bah, I should give you unique names, just to annoy you," I muttered, "but I fail to see the point."
"Smart mare," one of them said. I'd given up trying to work out which was which. Apparently they preferred it that way. From this point on, I was going to consider them to be the one and the same, for the sake of my own sanity as much as anything.
"Now, Brainstorm," I said, trying to redirect the conversation, "you used to develop modifiers down here in this laboratory, even though it was illegal?"
"This is true. This is true. We developed a cure to the magic inhibitors, did we not?"
"And other things as well. We, out of the goodness of our hearts, were trying to prevent the unicorns from going the same way as the pegasi."
"You mean the winged ponies were real?" I asked, somewhat surprised to have these guys imply they were anything but a legend or a breezie tale.
"Of course they were real, but politicians of old did not like them. Very hard to control!"
"The modifiers they created wrote their genetics out of the gene pool even before we were born."
"But some old pegasi were still alive when we were foals, so we know they existed, even if society has forgotten them."
"Unicorns were a bit hardier, resistant to having their genes rewritten. We were born, after all, but as a breed we were dying."
"So, great creators of modifiers, tell me why you need the Hellite modifiers. Why can't you just create your own?" I asked.
"Very complex modifiers, those. A little too hard for us to recreate without a few clues."
"And even if we could, they would not be compatible with the ones that exist. We do not want two types of the nasty little things running around making a mess of unsuspecting ponies, do we?"
I nodded. "You do have a valid point there."
"So how did you ever get away with setting up this lab in the first place? And how does that relate to the sign on your door? Remember, it has been destroyed. All the same, I can't see you declaring your illegal activities on it."
"It read 'Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories'," Brainstorm replied. "The modifiers were a secret side-line, part of an underground resistance, which, alas, met a fate similar to ours. Officially, we were developing weapons."
"Damn good ones too, but they used unicorn's horns as the power source," Brainstorm explained, "thus our inductance to the underground."
"How successful were your modifiers, then?" I asked.
"You stand before us, a unicorn," Brainstorm stated. "That seems pretty successful to me."
"But my horn was crippled and magic nonexistent," I reminded them.
"Yes, but that was caused by those nasty inhibitors they inject into you when you are born. Our modifiers try to reestablish the unicorn genetic pattern when they can. They look for a pattern of genes that belong to unicorns, then correct the genes that allow the horn to grow, as those are what the generally distributed anti-unicorn modifiers change. Without our modifiers, unicorns would be as extinct as pegasi by now. How many of unicorns with crippled horns are there? How many are there with functional horns?"
"Rare, and none at all," I responded. "I thought my nub was a deformity. I have only seen a few others like it in my entire life, and I get around a lot. As for unicorns with functional horns, they simply don't exist. I guess the shortage of horns from dead unicorns will eventually stuff up their technology, won't it?"
"Ah, a pity. Our modifier was not as successful as we had hoped. As for the horns of dead unicorns, I'm sure they have stockpiles," Brainstorm said.
"I thought you said a shortage of unicorn horns was going to make it hard for you to produce weapons," I poked at the hole in their story.
"We were making weapons that could use the dead horns, but our advances make use of live horns, still attached to pony heads! That was why we tried to correct the problem. Losing that option gave us no edge over our competitors."
"I see another hole in your story," I stated. "If modifiers were illegal, and you used them to restore your horns, wouldn't that give yourselves away? Wouldn't that be a monumentally stupid thing to do?"
"We didn't know!" Brainstorm chorused.
"Didn't know what?" I asked.
"We didn't know that making modifiers was illegal! They weren't discussed anywhere. Nothing could be found about them by researching records. They simply appeared to be totally unknown. We thought we were doing something wonderful for ponykind, not to mention helping our business. It wasn't until after we had stuck the advertisements to our foreheads that things became awkward. It was quite the battle of wits after that. Us trying to explain what had happened while researching as hard as we could, using the underground channels that had opened to us, while Central tried as hard as it could to find out what we had done. In the end, when they discovered we had developed concoction ninety two, version eight, they found us guilty in our absence, and sealed us and our experiments in here, writing the whole area off as a hazardous zone."
"Oh," I said. "So fast forward some twelve hundred years, and I walk in."
"We are curious. What do the ponies do for weapons up in the dome now, Aneki?"
"Brainwashing. Keep the ponies sedate. Fill their minds with so much drivel they can't see reality," I answered. "Visible weapons are rare. It's all psychological now."
"I have to admit I don't know what to say about that," Brainstorm admitted, "yet you come from up there and seem to be reasonably aware of what is going on."
"Not as aware as I should have been," I stated. "I was not a member of the mindless masses, but I was also unable to see the bigger picture. In fact, even now I can only see a sliver of it."
"Seeing the bigger picture completely is not possible. Knowing there is a bigger picture is far more important," Brainstorm commented. "And you do. So, would you like to see our weapons? We haven't shown them to anypony in such a long time."
"Sure, why not," I agreed, not that I was really interested in weapons, because weapons were meant to injure and kill.
"Perhaps you would like one for yourself?" Brainstorm suggested.
"No thanks. I have no desire to kill ponies," I responded, shaking my head.
"Aneki," Brainstorm said, suddenly sounding very serious, "there are many things other than ponies against which you can use a weapon. They are also very powerful negotiating aids, even if you never brandish them. Imagine if a group of those Hellite hunting ponies have you cornered. Even if they were armed, all you would need to do was point the weapon in their direction, and they would back away."
"Or that could make them attack," I suggested. "Anyway, the last one I met was so scared of me he killed himself trying to escape."
Their silence was condemning, and not because a pony had died, but because I wasn't keen on taking one of their pride and joy.
"Okay, I give. I'll seriously consider taking one of them, if I find one that suits me," I conceded. "Now, where are they?"
"In our display room, of course," Brainstorm responded. "They sealed it off from the rest of H'ven by welding plates over our display windows and main entry. We haven't had any customers for such a long time."
At that moment, the door at the other end of the room slid away, leaving a semi-transparent window, passing a blue glow from the next room. After a moment, that, presumably some sort of force field, shimmered and collapsed, revealing the sizable chamber beyond, very much displaying an electric blue theme. Chrome and black metal glittered from multiple chest-high display cabinets, each lined with beds of shimmering blue satin. It contrasted somewhat with the room in which I was standing, and extremely with what I expected of this pair.
"Weapon porn?" I murmured, eyes wide, as I was lured a step forward. If presentation sold weapons, these guys had it down to a fine art.
"She understands," Brainstorm whispered to his other self.
I stood in the display room of Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories. Twelve hundred years of being locked away hadn't had any visibly adverse effects on it. It was dust free, the electric blue satin beds in the display cabinets looked as good as when it was made. I was afraid it would disintegrate the moment I touched it, leaving blue fluff all over the black and chrome of the weapons lying there.
"Is it okay to touch?" I asked the two ponies who were Brainstorm. "It is so old I'm afraid it will all disintegrate!"
"Fear not, Aneki," came their voices. "The display is current, not from back when we were locked away. It is perhaps two years since we laid it out like that, before we put ourselves under for our last bout of hibernation. Surely you did not think it has been sitting like that since we were locked in here?" Brainstorm, part one stated.
"We even use a magical stasis field on it to keep it all nice and fresh!" Brainstorm, part two added.
"Stasis, I find that hard to believe," I muttered.
"You are right. It isn't real stasis. It's a simple spell that holds all the molecules of the air in place. That stops the oxygen and other potential corrosives from touching anything, thus preventing chemical aging."
"It keeps the dust out too!"
"You are so full of surprises," I added, still muttering. Admittedly, they had some good ideas. I just didn't feel generous enough to tell them so at the moment. "So where should I start?"
Most of the display cabinets were around the edge of the spacious octagonal room, interrupted only by gaps for doors, one of which I had just passed through, one directly across that had metal plates welded over it, and one to the right. In the center, its opening a few paces from me, was the sales counter, positioned so Brainstorm could move quickly between there and the lab. Integrated into the left most side of it was the most elaborate of the display cabinets, this one fully encased in glass. In this case was something unique. It looked nothing like the other guns I could see. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was a gun. It appeared to be more like some sort of expanded construction kit, or a complex antenna. Its core was a barrel or tube. From this short lengths of perpendicular rod held small curved pieces of metal at some distance from the central tube. The curvature of those suggested that they belonged tightly packed around the core, rather than sitting out at the end of the little sticks. There were several layers of these odd protrusions of varying lengths. Within its shadows, there appeared to be some sort of cable-work as well as some tiny and intricate machinery. Whatever it was, I decided to worry about it later.
"Pistols are always a good place to start," Brainstorm answered my question. "There is one in the cabinet immediately to the left of the door you just passed through."
I turned to look at the thing. Its outer grip was designed to hold onto the retracted hoof wall of a pony, allowing the fingers to hold the inner grip as well as operate the trigger, safety catch, and other controls that were in there. Reload. Eject. Clean. Hmm, seemed to be everything you would need there. I extended my fingers and reached for it. As they closed around the inner grip, the gun moved itself about, settling itself into the correct position for firing.
"And what if I want to walk?" I asked.
"Put your hoof on the floor and see," Brainstorm answered.
I did, and as my fingers retracted and hoof wall extended the gun folded backwards, reconfiguring itself so it was hugging my leg like some sort of weird boot. "Convenient," I agreed. I lifted my hoof and extended my fingers again, and was rewarded with a gun, again ready, nestled in my grip. "You guys have too much time on your hooves," I observed.
"That, Aneki, is an understatement," Brainstorm concurred.
"And what if I want to use my fingers for something else?" I asked.
"Let go of the grip," Brainstorm instructed. I did, and the gun folded back into a sort of boot, but clear of my fingers.
"And if I want to use it again?" I casually asked. I wondered if they had solved that contingency with as much elegance.
"Grasp the grip," Brainstorm replied. Got him. How could I grasp something that was currently integrated into some sort of boot that was totally out of the reach of the fingers of that hoof.
"And how do you suggest I do that?" I asked, sarcasm showing through.
"Reach out with your fingers to where the grip should be, and grasp it," Brainstorm replied, totally seriously.
I did, reaching for the grip that wasn't... was there, as the gun unfolded itself, and placed its grip within my grasp. Oh, just too beautiful! I didn't care if I ever had to shoot anypony. This thing was a work of engineering genius and I wanted it.
"This thing is practically reading my mind, isn't it?" I asked.
"Quite so, quite so. It is reading your intent, filtered by your actions. Just thinking the gun into your fingers will not work. You have to reach out for the grip at the same time. It stops it getting in your way by accident."
"So what does this fire? What sort of ammunition does it need?" I asked.
"Whatever you put in it," came the confusing reply. Well, it was a straightforward enough answer, but given the context, it was confusing.
As I pondered that, a drawer extended from the pedestal on which the display cabinet sat. In it were assorted cartridges and boxes with codes written on them. One thing they all had in common was that they were colorful. Some were red, some were blue. Others were green and yellow. There were even multicolored ones. I reached in and took the most colorful cartridge.
"Yes, yes, wonderful choice! You will enjoy this one. Press the Reload button and insert the cartridge," Brainstorm instructed.
I fingered the reload button, and two panels at the top of the gun folded out, revealing a chamber that was simply too big for the cartridge I had chosen.
"It's the wrong size," I stated.
"One size fits all," Brainstorm responded.
"If you insist," I replied dropping the cartridge into the weapon's maw. It responded by closing itself around the cartridge. The reload button moved against my finger, becoming firm and unresponsive. Tactile feedback. "So what next? Where can I fire this thing without doing any damage?"
"She didn't try to shoot us!" said one.
"Yet," added the other.
"Don't give me ideas, Brainstorm," I responded. After an appropriate pause, I continued. "Seriously, didn't I tell you I didn't want to kill ponies? That includes you two, irrespective of what I think of you."
"Just fire into the room. That is a demonstration cartridge. It is harmless at anything greater than point blank range, and at that, all it would do is cause a bruise," Brainstorm explained.
"Okay," I said, pointing the gun at specifically nothing at all. I flicked off the safety catch, and pulled the trigger.
With a quiet chuff, a little burst of blue luminescent gas shot into the air in front of me, eddies forming at the edges of its path, until the air resistance became too much, ending the trail with a little floating cloud. I fired again, being rewarded with a red trail this time. So pretty! I only vaguely noticed the lights of the showroom dimming as I went on an atmospheric decorating spree, firing the little colored bursts in all directions, watching as their trails and clouds interacted and color mixed. That wasn't enough! Soon I was bouncing and dancing through the trails as I added more, enjoying the airbound beauty, stirring it with my movements, marvelling as little patches attached themselves to my body, following my moves, leaving more trails.
Eventually I felt the reload button go soft, and the gun would fire no more color bursts. Again, I had useful tactile feedback. This pistol was their smallest weapon. Was it also their most featured, or did other guns offer even more? This pair had spent their years making art. How frustrating it must have been for them to have no audience. Having to do everything remotely must have also been agonizing. The colors of the luminescent gasses faded, and as they did, the showroom lights became brighter again.
"Did you enjoy that? You were romping about like a filly," Brainstorm commented.
"Compared to you two, I am a filly," I responded. "There is nothing wrong with appreciating beauty."
"The comment was not critical. It was most refreshing from our point of view too. We have not had the pleasure of seeing a pony in many years, let alone seeing a pony dance."
"Damn, you're making me blush," I muttered, as if I really was bothered by the canned duo. "So, you've impressed me with this gun. It's a wonderful piece of art, but what about real world applications? The monsters under our beds might be scared away by the glow, but I've not had a problem with them for some years. And then there is the matter of supply. I wouldn't want to have to come back here to the only shop in H'ven that sells the ammunition cartridges designed for your guns."
"Cartridges are only needed for gasses and liquids because they won't stay where you want them otherwise," Brainstorm commented. "Other ammunition can be sourced just about anywhere. For example, you could use the gun to fire nails into wood. In that case you just put the nails into the loading port. The gun will take nails one at a time and blast them out with enough force to embed them into whatever you are building."
"Why would anypony build anything out of dead tree?" I asked. It was quite an uncommon resource. The trees of H'ven were regarded as a rather important source of fresh air. Any trees that died were spirited away by Central and a replacement planted in its stead. Everything was made of metal or some variation of plastic or ceramic.
"What has the world come to?" Brainstorm asked. "If only we had managed to grab the Hellite modifier, we could have watched all of this in person!"
"Indeed. Indeed. What has it come to? Perhaps what was common practice for our generation has been lost to history," his other self expanded.
"More than likely. You are relics of a forgotten era after all," I agreed. "I'm not sure being a Hellite would have helped you that much, anyway," I added.
"Of course it would have. We would not have needed to confine ourselves to this tank using the inferior alternative we had available to us at the time," Brainstorm replied.
"But if you had been seen, they would have killed you for being one. They really don't like Hellites at all up there," I reminded them.
"Ah, such is life. We would have had to go to Hell instead, would we not? We expect it would not be that different to these underlevels anyway. This problem also existed in our time, sweetie, so we were prepared for that."
"So what is so special about a Hellite?" I asked.
"You do not know? She doesn't know!" Brainstorm said.
"Neither do you, I suspect," I responded. I figured insulting their knowledge might be the quickest way to get them to talk.
"The Hellite body is designed for harsh environments. It can withstand very high pressure, very low pressure, continuous submersion, impacts greater than a normal pony body can survive, is resistant to disease, and is immune to generic modifiers."
"But you fixed my horn with modifiers before!" I objected.
"The hellite modifier does not affect a unicorn's horn, so concoction sixty four, version five worked on you without modification," Brainstorm explained. "Your repaired horn is, however, resistant to further generic modifier intervention. We saw to that while you were napping. Only specially crafted modifiers could have any effect: modifiers with the required key."
"Oh?" I said. So they had done more than just scan me. It made sense though, because it was the pain in my head that had knocked me out. "So, now you have told me what a Hellite is, specifically a very tough pony, but you haven't told me what they do, or why they are needed. We are needed," I corrected myself.
"You are needed to do things and go places ordinary ponies can't," Brainstorm said. "The most obvious role has been one of maintenance. Generations earlier, you were purportedly involved in the completion of the H'ven dome, before the extermination. There are references to doing things outside H'ven too, although that is more myth than fact as nopony seems to know what, if anything, exists outside."
"So Hellites have effectively been assigned a life of hard labor?" I asked. "That doesn't seem to be fair that some random event makes you, or in this case, me, a slave of the system."
"It is but a small price to pay for immortality," both parts of Brainstorm chorused.
"What?" I spluttered. Immortality?
"Immortality," they repeated. "It's this convenient state where you don't die of old age. You get a body that stays young and healthy forever, as long as you don't get yourself killed. For that benefit, you are expected to help others by doing things they cannot. Actually, that, we think, was the way the system was originally set up. As you said, the bastards up top kill Hellites these days."
"It sounds to me like the breezie tale got it wrong. If any ponies were dark and twisted creatures, it was those from above, jealous of their weak bodies and comparatively short lives," I muttered darkly. Sure, I was drawing conclusions from rumor and fable, but that was all the information I had to work with at the moment. There was an old saying about where there was smoke, there was usually fire. "So you know this immortality is a fact?" I asked. "It isn't as if I have ever seen or heard of any immortal ponies before."
"Celestia and Luna," Brainstorm stated.
"This sun thing that doesn't work anymore, and Luna, the... what was it called... ah, the moon?" I asked. "They aren't ponies. They are just some crapped out automated systems that are meant to move light patterns on the sky dome. You have one of the backup systems just next door, and that looks like it has been sealed up for as long as you two have been."
This time Brainstorm spluttered. "According to what we were taught, Celestia and Luna were the old rulers of ponykind, and were immortal. One raised the sun in the morning with her magic, the other the moon at night."
"News flash. There is no sun. The day sky is evenly lit. Luna is a crescent shaped light that moves across the sky dome at night. The clapped out machinery next door is one example of what makes that happen. There isn't anything magical about it at all," I said. "And if the ponies were immortal, where are they?"
"She has a point. She has a point," one part of Brainstorm seceded.
"Anyway," I said, dragging the conversation back to the weapon on my hoof, "this gun thing could shoot nails into plastic, or presumably, ponies?"
"Yes, yes. Or if you want something less dangerous, you could put a cake of soap in there, or even a carrot."
"I know what soap is. Presumably a carrot is of a similar consistency," I stated. That resulted in more exclamations.
"Carrot is a delicious food, found in natural purple, or designer orange. Surely you eat that?"
"I've not seen any dispensed by the food generators. All that means is that I've not seen the right sort of generator yet. One I have with me dispenses some lovely colored stuff that tastes wonderful. I hadn't seen that before I found it, so perhaps I am in for more surprises," I conjectured.
"You don't grow food anymore?" Brainstorm asked, his voice quiet.
"No. It all comes from food generators that convert waste biomatter into food," I explained. "And you should know how that works, because I can see the feed line running into your tank."
"Maybe we should stay in here and dream of days gone by?" Brainstorm asked his other self.
"Maybe, but if I still have legs, I wouldn't mind getting out of here and stretching them every few hundred years," the other responded. "It sounds like the world needs some serious adjusting, too. Can you imagine those emergency food generator things becoming the primary source of food? Shocking!"
"Maybe you should get out there and start shooting at Central with carrots?" I suggested. "And on a more serious note, in the unlikely event I want to shoot something for real, what then?" I asked. "Nails?"
"Drop a block of metal into it. Feed it an old tool or something like that, and let it bite off what it needs," Brainstorm answered. "The integral unicorn's horn makes the bullets as needed. It also provides the operational forces used by the gun itself, and the propelling force for the projectiles. With some practice, you should be able to control the power put into the projectile, as well as the size, and thus mass, of the projectiles it creates."
"It sounds like this gun does just about everything," I observed. "So why do you have bigger ones available?"
"Longer range, higher rate of fire, fully automatic fire, larger magazines, multiple horn versions for significantly stronger weapons..."
"I think I get the picture," I said, "and you were having trouble competing with other designers?"
"At the time, yes, we were. Of course our weapons were nowhere near as refined as they are now. Whether they stack up against what is currently available, we don't know," Brainstorm said.
"Neither do I. As I said, weapons appear to be rare. They are probably all locked in the basements of Central's deniable facilities, as seems to be what they do with old technology of some use. That's where I got my portable food generators from."
"We could have the whole market!" Brainstorm enthused.
"I think you already do," I responded, "and it is currently standing in your showroom."
"Say what?"
"Do you really think Central would let ponies wander around with weapons? There has to be a reason why they are rare. They are not going to put weapons in the hooves of the very ponies they are suppressing. Imagine if just one charismatic pony managed to break free of their programming. They could incite a revolution, and if ponies had guns, it could be very messy," I said.
"I can see your point."
"Unless... admittedly, having ponies wipe each other out would solve overcrowding, so if I started to see weapons in the hoofs of average ponies, I would suspect Central of trying to engineer exactly such a situation," I theorized.
"You don't like Central at all, do you?" Brainstorm mused.
"It's taken you this long to work that out?" I asked, sarcastically. "So what do you want me to do now?" I said as I removed the pistol from my hoof, waited for it to reconfigure itself, and placed it back in the display cabinet. "Do you want me to try each gun out or should I just take this one? It's small enough not to be inconvenient." I paused. "You do know I can't pay you, don't you?"
"Pay? You can't pay? The tragedy!" Brainstorm, part one said in a silly voice.
"Of this we are aware," Brainstorm, part two added. "Payment would not help us at all at the moment."
"We would, however, like you to try out our masterpiece, the weapon for which our research led to our incarceration."
"The pinnacle of our technology, advanced when it was designed twelve hundred years ago, refined over the centuries that have passed."
"And tweaked to perfection since you arrived!" Again I had lost track of which Brainstorm was saying what. It didn't seem to matter.
"Okay, so where is this super weapon?" I asked needlessly, as the fully encased cabinet opened like a flower, offering me the delicately complex device from within. "So this... whatever it is... is actually a gun? How am I supposed to grip it?"
"That is part of it, yes," Brainstorm answered. "Just reach out for it."
I did as instructed, and watched as the complex collection of parts reacted to me, forming places for my fingers to grip. Two places. It was big enough that it required a pony to hold it with both front hooves? That was awkward! I reared up, took a step forward, and grasped the weapon in the two indicated locations. Finding the balance didn't feel quite right, I tried to release my grip so I could adjust it, but found my fingers rather stuck!
"What?" I asked, then asked again, a little more panicked, as the weapon began changing shape, grasping at my hooves and legs, pulling me closer to itself. The little panels stuck out on the stalks moved in and out, clicking and clacking, the cables behind them writhing, before emerging, and plunging straight into my legs, piercing directly through my tough black hellite skin.
"Aaaaah!" I cried. What was it with this place and pain? I watched in terror as little pieces of machinery forced their way into my body, as all of those little panels on stalks rippled to some strange choreography as they worked their way nearer, then cut their own access points into my body. There they seemed to turn into some sort of goo, and merge with whatever it was that served me as flesh nowadays.
"The other part of the weapon," Brainstorm explained, "was installed in your body earlier."
"After we had examined your hellite body from one end to the other, we had enough information to upgrade concoction ninety two, version eight to version nine, featuring new versions of the modifiers required to integrate the weapon into a pony's body, this time optimized for a Hellite.
I don't know if it was with pain or frustration, but I screamed. Loudly.
"What the hell did you pair of reprobates do to me this time?" I demanded. Hadn't I used those exact words the last time I woke? I had lost track of how long I had been unconscious this time; the lack of any day-night cycle was perplexing. And the pain hadn't just been in my head this time, either. Damn, that had hurt; it defined a level of pain I had not had previously experienced. At least, the last time bastards had cut me open for their experiments, they had the decency to put me to sleep before they started cutting. For that matter, why did this pair of bastards have me pick up this weapon in the first place? They could have just as easily installed this part at the same time as other part they had installed the last time they had me out cold.
Now I was leaning menacingly against their tank, casually fingering their connections to the outside world.
"We gave you our best weapon," Brainstorm replied innocently. "Why all the fuss? Why the melodrama, the big fall on the floor, and all the thrashing about?"
"Not to mention the long nap afterwards," Brainstorm, part two added.
"Because I was in agony, you retarded geniuses!" I yelled at them.
"Oh, I see. That really wasn't meant to happen. The combination should have been quite painless," Brainstorm claimed.
"Well, it bloody wasn't. Why the hell didn't you just install it when you installed the other part? What was the other part anyway? And where the hell is it now?" I fired off questions in quick succession.
"We couldn't install both parts at once. Concoction ninety two, version nine, which we injected you with earlier, needed time to prepare your body to accept the weapon. That was probably what caused you the pain last time, but it should have stopped the pain this time," Brainstorm explained.
"And where is the weapon now?" I tried again.
"It's integrated into your body. It is the ultimate stealth weapon. You can take it anywhere without anypony even knowing you have it. Even if they knew, they could not take it from you."
"Great, so they kill me instead," I responded. "You didn't think that one through, did you?"
"It was considered an acceptable risk, because you can always fight back, not to mention they will probably already expect you to be able form blades and tools with that body of yours."
"You do have a point, as much as I hate to admit it," I conceded. "but that does not mean I consider what you did to be ethical, considerate, or even right. I still hate you at the moment. What will I have to do to stop you seeing me as your experimental subject?"
"Finish the experiment?" Brainstorm responded, brightly.
"And what would that involve, dare I ask?" I almost growled.
"Deploy the weapon and fire it," Brainstorm suggested.
I pointed my hoof at them, pretended to reach for the grip as I had with the pistol, and said "bang".
"Good grief, sweetie, don't do that. You could have killed us!" Brainstorm gasped. How a voice that was been transmitted into my head telepathically could gasp, I didn't know, but he managed to do so, nonetheless.
"What? By pointing my hoof at you?" I asked, incredulous.
"Do that again, but with real intent, instead of joking. Picture the pistol you were using earlier. Oh, and point it away from us, please," Brainstorm, part one suggested.
"And since we are in the lab and not the shooting range, if at all possible, don't fire," Brainstorm, part two added.
Imagine the gun is there? Okay. Earlier, I had imagined the grip was in my fingers when that pistol had been folded up on my leg, and as I had reached for the grip, the pistol had reconfigured itself and placed its grip within my grasp. So I had do the same thing, even though I did not have the pistol. Instead I had the monstrosity that had cut its way into me instead. I didn't know what the result should look like, so I just pictured the pistol again, and closed my fingers on the... how the hell did that get there? I was holding the pistol again. It was sitting correctly, clamped to my retracted hoof wall. I released the grip, wishing it would fold back, and it did. So far, so good. Now, was this the actual pistol from before? I wasn't so sure it was.
I walked back into the showroom and checked the display case where I had left the pistol, and there it still sat. Lifting my hoof, I reached for the grip of the pistol wrapped around my leg, and it unfolded, putting its grip in my grasp again. It was definitely not the same pistol, but was a copy of the pistol as I had remembered it. I reached for the loading button, but found there wasn't one. Only the safety and trigger were present in this version. Did it read intent for this too? Reaching into the open drawer below the display cabinet with my other forehoof, I retrieved another of the demonstration cartridges, and went to load it into the new pistol. It responded as I wished, opening and accepting the cartridge, closing as soon as the cartridge was in position. Aiming at the ceiling, I fired, and was rewarded with one of those delightful luminescent gas trails.
So it was as simple as that, was it? That whole nasty looking contraption meant I had a pistol hidden inside me that I could recall as I wished? No, there had to be more than that. If picturing the pistol made me capable of reproducing it, would picturing one of their other weapons do? I walked over to one of the other display cabinets, reared up, and grabbed the long barreled weapon from within. This this was fairly cumbersome, and was simply too big for it to fold itself into a boot when not in use. I didn't load it, or try to get it to transform or anything. I simply held it and stared at it until I had the general feel of it. I placing it back in the display cabinet. I then pictured myself holding it again, closing my fingers around where the grips had been. As I did, the pistol, which was still pretending to be a boot on my right forehoof, shimmered, liquefied and began morphing into a duplicate of the larger gun. Within moments, I was holding a substantial replica of it. As the pistol had still contained the demonstration cartridge when it morphed, I expected it would also be loaded in this weapon. Pointing at the ceiling, I fingered the trigger, and a bright red puff of luminescent gas blasted out of the barrel, hit the ceiling, and became an umbrella of spreading color. Bigger gun. More force. Actually, I realized, the reason this gun had more force than the pistol was merely because I assumed it would have. Brainstorm had told me earlier that projectile force, and in the case of internally manufactured ammunition, bullet mass, were under the control of my mind.
"Well, you blighters, have I got the drift of this thing, or is there more?" I asked bluntly.
"There is more. At the moment you are just emulating existing weapons and firing prepackaged ammunition. Even if you had loaded it with metal, you would still be operating on assumptions. Do you recall what we said was special about this weapon's requirements?" Brainstorm answered.
"I do. You needed a live unicorn's horn: one still attached to its unicorn," I answered.
"Can you see the difference in concept?"
"Not really. The dead horn in the pistol pretty much managed to do everything needed," I answered.
"It did everything we programmed it to do. Sure, it was programmed to do a lot, but that's it. It cannot do anything outside of that. A live horn removes that restriction. You were supplied with basic weapon operating skills when we first restored your horn. More were added when we gave you concoction ninety two, version nine. Since then, you have subconsciously written several new spells yourself, when you copied those existing designs," Brainstorm said.
"So while you would be able to design anything I could come up with, the difference is I don't need to come back here to get the weapon made and programmed by you. Instead I could do it right there and then, as the situation required," I proffered, my mind already ticking over, contemplating some of the possibilities.
"Yes, yes. You are getting the idea," Brainstorm enthused.
"Fine," I said, pointing my newly created gun at the display cabinet where the original lay. I pulled the trigger, and there was a splash of color, but not because of the cartridge of iridescent gas that was loaded. I had completely bypassed that with new programming.
"What did you just do?" Brainstorm asked, aghast.
"You can see? Of course you can," I responded. "I shot your display case with a spell."
I had used a spell as ammunition. It had been a simple spell, but satisfying. It totally ruined their beautiful electric blue theme. The satin of the case I had just shot was now scarlet velvet.
"I shot you were it hurts most," I answered.
"You horrible mare," Brainstorm responded. I wasn't entirely sure if he was serious or joking.
"Now is there anywhere I can fire this thing without causing too much grief?" I asked, casually aiming it in the direction of their tank.
"The other door in the showroom leads to our private shooting range. It is a simple affair designed to allow customers test the weapons prior to purchase," Brainstorm responded, speaking rapidly, as if I might pull the trigger before he got all his words out.
"It would have been rather difficult to allow them to test this weapon prior to purchase, wouldn't it?" I asked. "What if the would-be purchaser didn't want the bloody thing after you had installed it?"
"How could they not want it? That is inconceivable! But yes, you are correct. Such testing would not be possible," Brainstorm agreed. "That would be something we would need to work to overcome. Perhaps, instead of trying the weapon in person, they would have to watch a demonstration. You, for example, would have to demonstrate it for the next customer, and so on. The point is moot now, anyway. Instead we will have to limit our satisfaction to the scientific aspects of the project, and so far, that appears to be quite successful."
"With the exception of angering our test subject," Brainstorm, part two, added.
"And she is rather angry at that," I added, referring to myself in the third person. "I only hope you two do not find out how angry she is, especially as you two idiots have literally just put your best weapon in her hooves!"
With that, I toddled over to the indicated door, remaining on my rear legs as I could not be bothered reforming the weapon for such a short trip. The door to the shooting range opened with a hoof tap to its control pad. The lights faded in as I stepped into the long, thin room. The door closed behind me, presumably for safety. The walls of the shooting range seemed to be a little too bright for the amount of light that was hitting them, so I extended my fingers and felt the surface of one, while studying it. Indeed, the area of shadow I was casting wasn't as pronounced as it should be, a creamish glow evident. Ah! The walls were protected by a spell to prevent bullets from penetrating them.
Bullets, that was an idea. I needed some. Faint outlines on the wall beside me suggested there was an opening panel there, so I tapped it, and was rewarded with a drawer sliding out. Lined up within were conveniently sized ammunition blocks, for lack of a better description. A block of steel, a block of ceramic, a block of soap, and cartridge of water were sitting there, ready for selection. The other shriveled item was presumably all that remained of a carrot. I went straight for the hard stuff, grasping the block of steel, and offering it to the weapon, which, as I wished, reached out and consumed it.
Right, how do I aim this thing? Some sights would be good. As I thought about it, I realized the ideal situation would be to have a visible marker appear directly in my vision, and have it follow where the weapon was pointed. Trying to sight along the barrel would be damn inconvenient. Would that be possible? I had spells; I had Hellite eyes that generated their own light when needed, and I had some sort of mega-complex gun that had merged with my body at the modifier level. If such a sight wasn't possible, I'd beat Brainstorm around the tank in annoyance. I'm sure they'd really love the din. Hopefully it would give them headaches. While pondering how to create such a sight, I squeezed off a few rounds, surprised when they hit pretty much where I was hoping to aim. Scratch that. They hit exactly where I was looking. How was that possible? Without making any conscious attempt to aim, I looked towards the upper left quadrant of the target of concentric circles. How about putting a bullet right through the very edge of the outermost ring? Could I do it?
Pft.
A large cross hair on the target itself had lit to show the point of impact. Well, what do you know? Somehow I had managed to put the bullet exactly where I had wanted to. I used my eyes to target the opposite edge. Pft. The target again responded by marking where I had wished to hit, and thus had. Three more shots resulted in three more well placed hits. As of yet, I had not consciously created any spells to do this. I didn't think I had done it unconsciously either. Could this be the work of...
"Brainstorm?" I yelled. "Does this weapon have automatic targeting built in?"
As Brainstorm's voices were transmitted directly into my mind, they didn't need to yell their response. "Of course it has automatic targeting, sweetie. Even the other models have assisted targeting if you want to use it. With this one, we went that extra step and fully integrated it."
"So wherever I look I hit?" I asked.
"Wherever you look with intent, you target. That target will remain selected even if your eyes wander a little, for example if you were seeking a better place to shoot. However, if you lose sight of the target or look away, you will need to retarget before you can shoot at it again. If you have not mentally selected a target, no amount of trigger pulling will get the weapon to fire: a safety feature."
"You do realize the safest option would be to not have a gun in the first place?" I offered.
"You mock us," Brainstorm responded.
"Sometimes the truth hurts," I countered as I put a few more slugs into the target. These guns were nice and quiet... nay, they were nasty and quiet.
Hmm, what if... I stopped shooting, ejected the remains of the block of metal and the cartridge of iridescent gas that had been left in there from before. Who knew where that hid itself while the block of metal had been loaded? Now the gun was as it would be if I found myself in an awkward situation, unprepared. My only course of action in such a situation would be to fire off a spell. Mentally I began compiling my ideas. The material change spell from earlier wasn't a bad starting point.
"Aneki, are you all right? You've gone rather quiet," Brainstorm interrupted my stream of thought.
"No, I'm not bloody all right," I yelled back. "because a couple of bastard mad scientists filled my body with all sorts of weird tech stuff!"
"She's fine," Brainstorm, part two concluded. Which one was part one, and which was part two? Whoever spoke first. Whoever spoke second. Anything beyond that would get too confusing. If I ever got them out of the tank and found they were colored differently to each other, I'd worry about making greater distinctions then.
Now where was I again? That was right: firing magic from the gun. I selected the relevant snippets of code, and sequenced them together, creating new code as required to join the pieces. For a few missing gaps in my knowledge, I took my best guess. I ran the spell, aimed the gun, pulled the trigger...
It was funny how the sound of the explosion seemed to linger on long after the event was over. Some of that could be attributed to natural reverberation in an empty room. Some of it could be attributed to "ringing in the ears" or whatever it was that affected those who had just been hit by a massive pressure front. Most of it was probably due to the mental playback mode of the event being set to loop!
That was probably the case, as it was drowning out the other voices in my head, specifically those of Brainstorm. Eventually my brain realized the event was over, that I was alive, in part at least, and despite all of the smoke and the scattering of shrapnel in which I was lying, was currently free of pain.
"Aneki? Aneki? Are you alive? What was that? We can't see you. You blew up the cameras." These comments and questions, and others like them, streamed from Brainstorm.
"Yeah," I groaned from where I lay, pressed up against the door. "Despite my best efforts, I appear to have survived."
"Surely... you weren't trying to kill yourself were you?" Brainstorm sounded worried. Now, that was an idea... that had not crossed my mind.
"A figure of speech, my good ponies, a figure of speech," I assured them. "I had no intention of causing an explosion, although now that I think about it, I should have seen it coming."
"You blew up the gun?" Brainstorm asked. I couldn't tell if they were more worried about my wellbeing or that of their gun. Perhaps now that the gun and I were the same thing, it didn't matter. Not being able to see me, or anything else in here, must have been driving them nuts. I considered lying here for a while longer, just to annoy them.
The smoke was gradually dissipating, revealing the extent of the damage I had wrought on the room. Surprisingly, I wasn't coughing. This Hellite body must have a way to filter out smoke, or to supply alternative air when needed. I knew it wasn't the gun that had detonated. That was still attached to my legs. I wished it away, and it liquefied again, and was absorbed by my body. I shuddered: that was just too weird.
"No, the gun is just fine," I answered. "But I didn't realize carrots were high explosive ammunition."
"What? What are you talking about, Aneki? Carrots are a vegetable!" Brainstorm said. "Besides, where did you get any carrots?"
"There was some in the ammo drawer here. Admittedly it was rather shriveled," I stated.
"Impossible," Brainstorm stated. "There is no way that carrot could do that."
"Okay, you've caught me out. I wasn't using a carrot," I admitted. "Sorry guys, but I just blew the other end out of your shooting range."
"You what?"
"I just put a rather large hole through the far end of your shooting range," I repeated, standing, and walking towards the dark maw I had created.
"How?" Brainstorm asked. "The range was shielded against penetration. The spell should have also absorbed any energy from the projectile so it wouldn't ricochet, and hit the shooter."
"I used a disintegration beam," I answered. "I don't think your spell knew how to deal with that."
"And where did you get one of those?" Brainstorm sounded puzzled.
"You installed it in me, you idiots. I was testing your gun, wasn't I? So, clearly, that was the gun that fired the disintegration beam," I told them.
"How did you create that? And how did it cause the blast?" More questions? I thought they were meant to be geniuses.
"Think about it. It was relatively simple to achieve. I wrote a spell that temporarily broke the atomic bonds of the material it hit. Of course, it being a non-physical form of ammunition, it went straight through the protective barrier you have on the walls in here, and proceeded to atomize the materials the wall itself was made off," I explained.
"Oh," Brainstorm said. "It wasn't the beam itself that caused the explosion was it? It was all the free atoms reacting with each other and the oxygen in the air."
"Semantics," I responded. "Even if the explosion was a secondary effect, it was still the result of the beam. Whatever the case, I've proved your gun is adaptable, and bloody dangerous. Are you happy now?"
"Yes, yes, very happy," Brainstorm responded. They continued to babble on to each other about more tests, but I tuned them out.
I poked my head through the opening the blast had made in the wall, my eyes automatically adjusting for the lower light levels. There was quite a cavity beyond the wall, and it was full of pipes and heavy cabling running vertically. That made sense. The designer had grouped elevators, inter-level staircases and conduits for cables and pipes for ease of construction. There were also some seriously large vertical structural beams in there too. The shaft went both up and down as far as I could make out. Structures like this were what kept the floors apart, and supported the weight of the city above. Convenient ladders and landings were placed where needed, and offered me a lovely alternative to playing dodge with anypony who was still looking for me... unless Brainstorm decided to chase me. They were no longer trapped by doors that were welded shut. In fact, I didn't think that was what had held them captive for all these years. Initially it would have been fear of those who had condemned them. Now it would be the state of their pickled bodies. I wondered what it would take to get them out of there. Given a reason, they would probably be able to figure it out. Anyway, I had found my opening, and I was taking it.
I returned to the showroom, walking around to the display cabinet that held the pistol I had been using before. I retrieved as many of the colored gas cartridges from the drawer below it as I felt I could carry, taking them with me into the lab. I soon located where my saddlebags were, and stuffed the cartridges into them.
"Aneki..." Brainstorm interjected.
"I'm taking these," I stated. "They are pretty. If you have the formula for making them, I'd like that too."
"Aneki..." Brainstorm repeated.
"I told you I am taking these. I have half a mind to take that boot-pistol too," I replied.
"Oh, fine. Go ahead. At least it will be getting used... Aneki... your head is black."
"What? Black? As in Hellite black?" I ran my fingers across my face, finding the same smooth material with which the rest of my body was covered. So now I really was one of those all-black, glowing eyed creatures. "How? When?" I managed.
"I expect it occurred as a result of the blast," Brainstorm stated. "Hellite skin is a form of armor after all."
I ran my fingers down the side of my face, and neck finding the ring around my neck where the armor had previously terminated had vanished.
"Oh, the collar has vanished. That must have been where the material that is covering my head was stored. You guys did say my conversion was complete, so I guess I shouldn't be that surprised," I admitted. Disappointed was a different matter. I would have preferred to keep my pony face. I wondered if my horn was black now too. Somehow my mane still protruded from it. Thank Luna for that small mercy.
"Quite so, quite so," they agreed. "It wasn't just a solid mass, but rather a bundle of thin petals, if I can use that analogy, all tightly wrapped, awaiting activation. I imagine it was done that way as some sort of emergency measure, allowing a pony to keep a natural looking head for as long as possible before becoming fully armored, should the need arise.
"Hmm," I said, pondering the change. "It can't be permanent."
"She wasn't listening to us," Brainstorm said.
"Or she doesn't believe is," Brainstorm, part two replied.
"Maybe I just know better?" I suggested.
"How so? All Hellites we have seen have black heads," Brainstorm countered.
"Really? So how did you conclude that my conversion was complete if my head wasn't covered?"
"She really wasn't listening, was she?"
"We scanned you. What we saw at that level suggested you were completely converted. As we already said, we saw that your collar was undeployed armor for your head. Also, we have never seen a Hellite without a black head, suggesting that it is permanent." Brainstorm insisted.
"You have probably seen only one or two of them. That is hardly a representative sample," I said.
"But we have heard of many, from before the extermination," Brainstorm said. "Besides, now that it is deployed, we can detect no seams in your new skin."
"Again, irrelevant," I said. "Now it is your turn to watch and learn."
"Mighty confident, isn't she," Brainstorm said to his other self.
And I had every reason to be. I had reformed my hoofs as required on more than one occasion. Even Brainstorm had said I should be able to form blades and tools. This had to be just as simple. In fact, all I needed to do was imagine myself as I had been, and wish it so. And thus I bloomed. Well, the armor around my head peeled back as if I were a flower, before neatly furling itself back into its collar form. That counted as blossoming, didn't it? Can't be done? Ha.
"Well, would you look at that?" Brainstorm commented. "She did it."
Of course it had stopped when the collar had reformed and my head was free. No amount of wishing would peel it back any further than that, and I really did try. Some 'wishes' simply could not be granted. It appeared the designer of the Hellite modifiers had allowed a pony to keep their face for cosmetic reasons. Perhaps other Hellites simply preferred to be totally black. I'd ask them if I ever found them.
"Well, boys, now that the theatrics are over, I'm off. Maybe we will meet again some time in the future. I don't intend to come back this way, but who knows? Maybe you'll even get yourself out of the tank by then," I said.
"We are still unsure if it is possible," Brainstorm stated.
"So, make a new concoction to unpickle yourselves," I suggested. "By the way, to encourage you to act sooner rather than later, I'll let you in on a little secret."
"Go on..."
"That blast crimped your nutrient feed pipe in the main shaft. I figure you have maybe two or three days at tops before what's left in the pipe runs out, and you starve," I said. Giving them a wave, I turned and trotted out of the lab, pausing only to scoop up the boot-pistol and stuff it into my saddle bags with my other loot.
"Aneki! Stop!" Brainstorm cried out.
"No way," I responded.
"Please, fix the pipe, we beseech you," they begged.
"No way," I repeated, without pausing or looking back.
"Please stop. Please fix the pipe."
"You wouldn't stop when I asked you to, so I'm not stopping now," I responded.
They continued to cry after me. As soon as I was in the shooting range, I closed the door, annoyed that doing so had no effect on the volume of their telepathic voices. I would probably have to descend a couple of levels before I was out of their range.
"Aneki, please have pity on us!" Brainstorm tried again. "Consider all we did for you." They really did sound pathetic.
"I am considering all you did to me," I muttered. I doubted they could hear me. It didn't matter what they tried. There was no way they could either engage my sympathy, or guilt me into going back to do anything about it for two simple reasons. First, their nutrient line supplied nothing more than filtered effluence, and that implied they had to have some sort of food generator in their tank system somewhere. It would be simple enough for them to link their waste line to their nutrient input. After all, that was more or less how I had to get my own food, wasn't it? And, yes, as soon as I was out of their range, I promised myself, I would relieve myself in a food generator bowl, then have a good feed. I was damn hungry!
Oh, the second reason? There was nothing wrong with their feed pipe. If they failed to come up with any alternative, they would be stressing out for the last few hours of the second day, pondering their luck by the third, while becoming even more desperate. By the fourth day, they would be questioning if I had got it wrong, while still hoping the feed stayed good. Maybe after a week they would realized there really was nothing wrong with the pipe, and that there never had been.
Or maybe they would be standing on newly formed foal-legs, staring through the hole left by the blast, cursing me for tricking them, and thanking me for giving them a stronger reason to act than to play it safe.
Ah, that felt so much better. There was a basic satisfaction in having a full stomach. In fact, it was slightly overfilled, as I had worked out how to cheat the food generators into giving me more. It really wasn't that hard, and I had done so without realizing it before. When the food generator presented me with a bowl full of food, all I had to do was take the food from the bowl with my fingers, and place it elsewhere. Then I could either get that machine to generate another bowl full of food from its reserves, or get the second food generator to create a bowl full of food for me as well. I wasn't greedy, but having gone without food for however long Brainstorm had held me captive had left me feeling rather ravenous. I managed to eat the full bowl of the usual leafy material and overstuff myself with some of the tasty stuff the pink generator produced. I still didn't know what sort of fruits or vegetables it was producing, but I was pretty sure none of it was carrot.
I repacked my saddle bags, strapped them on, and returned my attention to the great descent. I was already five levels below Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories and out of range of Brainstorm's telepathic pleas turned curses. In fact, I was out of range of pretty much everypony. There was that much metal here, any form of radio wave wasn't going to be able to make it to me. Any bug I was inadvertently carrying would also be unlikely to alert others to my position, though it wouldn't take a genius to work out where I had vanished. I wondered if modern ponies knew anything about the Brainstorm duo and were as afraid of them as those who had sealed them up had been. If so, that at least would stop them following my path directly. Thinking about the pair of reprobates, ponies really did have reason to be scared of them. They were quite capable of delivering modifier based mayhem. I hoped that if my actions did set them free, they would at least behave responsibly. If anything, their desire for the Hellite modifier would probably have them follow my path rather than return to the H'ven dome.
Onwards! With my hooves again modified to deal with ladder rungs, I began my climb down. A light below me illuminated, while one above me switched out. They had made their existence known as soon as I had actually climbed into the shaft, pleasing me no end. While my Hellite eyes were capable of seeing in the total dark, the pleasant warm glow of the lamps made an otherwise empty and lonely cavern feel at least slightly cosy. Not as many lamps were lit at one time as out in the corridors. There was no illusion of the whole place being lit. The pitch black formed a visual ceiling a couple levels above, and a floor a couple of levels below me. Cables, beams, brackets and supports all added to the darkness by forming complex shadows, the light passing through creating mosaics on the surfaces it illuminated. Just for fun, I paused to fire off a couple of those wonderful luminescent gas shots, watching the green and red trails intermingle as they plunged towards the darkness below, before air resistance turned them into swirling puffs of cloud. I reabsorbed the gun and started climbing again.
So far I had found no doors into or out of this shaft. I knew there would be hatches somewhere, but even if I didn't find one, I wasn't overly worried, as I could now make a door anywhere I bloody well wanted. If the idiotic duo had told me it was a universal door maker instead of a gun, I may well have shown more interest in it from the start. I had no problem with shooting at walls, well, assuming I didn't damage anything structural in the process; I was a structural engineer after all!
I was in no particular rush at the moment, so I took my time climbing down the ladders of the service shaft built around one of the massive mainstays of H'ven's structure. The amount of material used in this single structural element was mind boggling, and I tried to picture how many ponies, and what sort of infrastructure would have been required to make it, let alone the... I'd already used the terms massive and mind boggling... how could I describe the... audacity of the entirety of H'ven? The level of technology to achieve something this big was long since lost, along with the history of its creation or purpose. Likewise, we didn't really have the technology or skills needed to maintain this place. The more I explored, the greater I understood this. The highly qualified, such as myself, merely had the ability to judge the condition of these structural elements by visual inspection and recommend or repair them to the best of our abilities. What was going on below the skin of the metal was an unknown. Massive cracks, crystallization, corrosion, any number of metallic maladies could weaken them to the point of failure, and we were limited to the "it looks fine, let's check the next one" approach. Maybe one day not too far away, it wouldn't be one silly mare plunging through weakened floors, but the whole of the habitable zone falling and crushing all that lay below.
The ability to scan materials at an atomic level like Brainstorm could, would have made checking the integrity of the structure a lot more efficient and thorough, but that required ponies who could use magic, and according to Central, magic was undesirable because it was hard to control, so they had done everything they could to stamp it out. Central were correct, though; magic was bloody dangerous in the hooves of the wrong pony. I, who had been endowed with magic so recently as to be able to count my experience in hours, was already skilled enough to cause major damage, albeit with the aid of a magically powered weapon. Although I had not yet tried it, I expected some of my spells could easily be adapted to work directly from my horn. Perhaps I could find or be taught spells needed to scan and repair the structure of H'ven properly. It would be a life-time assignment. If Hellites were immortal as Brainstorm suggested, perhaps it really would be possible.
One thing was becoming patently clear to me: H'ven was on borrowed time. Its original purpose forgotten, ponies had continue living in it long after its projected life span. What had once been outside was lost to time. What was outside now was unknown to the point it was taught as being literally nothing, as if the walls of the H'ven dome were the edges of reality. I didn't... couldn't buy into that. It was all too clear to me that H'ven had not existed 'forever'. It had clearly been manufactured. That led to the obvious question: were there other H'ven-like structures out there, carrying other ponies, or, heaven forbid, other forms of life? It didn't make sense to me that ponies were the only significant life form. Even if ponies really were the only significant life form, the attitude of those in command was seriously flawed to the point it didn't reflect this. They had already killed off the pegasi, and, if not for Brainstorm's intervention, would have succeeded in totally eliminating unicorns by now too, not that those with the crippled bony nubs on their foreheads could really be called unicorns. Were there really only three true unicorns left in H'ven?
I was on the verge of answering a pretty significant question too: what exactly was below sublevel eighty?
The doors into this shaft were few and far between, and were exceptionally tough, as if when closed they formed part of some blast wall or fire wall. Hoof scanners made it clear that the shaft was a no-go zone for non-Hellites too. Of course the hole I had blown into it up above might allow some reprobates to enter. Whenever I found one of these doors, I'd leave the shaft and do a little exploring, but the results were the same each time. Nothing but gutted corridors, empty rooms and the occasional piece of heavy plant were out there. The H'ven dome dwellers really had stripped everything salvageable from down here. So, after each exploration, I'd present my hoof to the door scanner, get told I was qualified, then wait while the substantial door unplugged itself from its frame and moved aside to allow me through.
The last door I had passed through, the one just behind me, was to the bottom level of the H'ven dome, sublevel eighty. I'd been out there, exploring for a couple of days. Hmm... That would make it about four or five days since I last saw a pony, or more accurately, talked to a pony. I wondered how Brainstorm was doing with that little problem I had left them. What I had been looking for was any evidence of a way to go lower - to sublevel eighty one, should it exist. Whether sublevel eighty one existed or not was moot, because there definitely was more to H'ven below this level, whatever form it took. The huge pipes and cables that shared the shaft with the massive structural beam showed no sign of terminating in any valid sense. They went straight into the floor, and beyond.
Having satisfied my curiosity about sublevel eighty, which, while punctuated by frequent structural elements, was more or less an open expanse, I concluded the only way for me to keep going down had probably been underneath my hooves all along. It was just a matter of recognizing how the access point was concealed. For now, I lay on the floor at the bottom of the shaft, eyes closed, ear pressed to the floor, listening to the sounds of H'ven. Something was moving below - creaking, groaning.
Spurred on, I stood and glanced around me. On each of the levels above, I would come down the ladder, traverse the landing, and start on the next ladder down. The ladder positions alternated each level. This time, the ladder let me out on a landing that was half the size. To my left was the door out into the level itself, and that was what had drawn my attention, because to the right where the next ladder should have been was... nothing: blackness. It was nearly impossible to focus on. It practically yelled "there is nothing here, look somewhere else" at me.
Enchantment.
Whatever was there was hiding under some sort of spell. It wasn't meant to be found. I approached, extended my fingers and poked at it. If it was another matte black wall, I didn't want to bash my head against it (again). Instead, I found my fingers sunk into it. It felt... unpleasant: gooey, clammy and somewhat chilling. I quickly withdrew my fingers, raising them up so I could see if any of the gunk had stuck to me.
My fingers were clean.
Hmm... This was an optical, psychological and tactile illusion. If it was just an illusion, it wouldn't be able to stop me. I took a decisive step forwar... BANG. Ouch. Raising my fingers through the syrupy illusion, I rubbed my poor nose. What was it with me and black walls? I was at least head-deep into the illusion and couldn't see a thing. The virtual murk didn't affect my breathing though, nor could I taste or smell it. Turning my hoof, I started feeling around the wall I had hit. It did not take long to find some ridges and seams that suggested a door outline. Reaching a little further away, my fingers found a hollow, so I allowed them to explore its depths. There was some risk to sticking one's fingers into a hole one could not see, but...
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified," a disembodied voice announced in my mind. "Access granted," it concluded. Okay, this was good. As a Hellite I was permitted to pass beyond here, and more to the point, was capable of surviving beyond this point too.
The black murk faded to nothing, and I saw that I was standing in front of one of those substantial plug-type doors. I stepped back, giving it room to swing out of my way, then stepped into the illuminated chamber beyond. There was just enough room in here for two ponies. In front of me was another of these doors, and to the right, a control panel labeled 'Air Lock Controls'. There were two buttons, each shaped like an arrow, presumably indicating the direction through the airlock in which you wished to travel.
The arrow pointing in the direction from which I had come was labeled 'Life Support Chamber'. It is funny how a single label can impart that much information. The upper part of the H'ven sphere, the H'ven Dome, as I taken to calling it was a giant facility created for the purpose of keeping something, presumably ponies, alive. That implied very strongly that outside the Life Support Chamber regular ponies probably couldn't live at all, thus the existence of Hellites. And I was going out there? I wondered if my facial armor would deploy again.
The arrow pointing in the direction in which I was going was labeled 'Lower Levels'. Okay, that label told me exactly nothing that I didn't already know.
Above both buttons were another two words, a title I guess, as they weren't really labeling anything specific. Those two words also answered several of my mysteries, including the one that started me thinking about all this.
Habitat Eleven.
Habitat Eleven... H'ven.
So I was going from the Habitat Eleven Life Support Chamber, to the Habitat Eleven Lower Levels...
to H.E.L.L.
Oh, you had to be kidding me!
And this was Habitat Eleven. That implied there were at least ten other habitats (and Habitat Eight would also have a HELL), so that meant there was more than nothing outside the walls of H'ven. If there had been eleven habitats, they must have, at one point, shared a common ground, literally, assuming they didn't still. That brought back my thoughts on bottles. H'ven was a pretty big 'bottle', so whatever contained it and ten other similar sized structures would be huge! Were they all under a non-simulated sky with celestial bodies above them? I sank to the floor, boggled. My mind was too busy imagining, considering the possibilities, trying to picture a world many times greater than mine, trying to grasp the concept of a world that was not enclosed, so big it could contain any number of habitats, any number of clusters of habitats, and so on, forever.
I pressed the Lower Levels airlock button. Now that my mind had finished its fantasizing, it was time to proceed, to see if anything I had imagined could in fact be on the other side of this door. Mind you, I didn't expect to step out into great open spaces or anything. More than likely it would be another corridor, or the continuation of this major shaft. Air temperature changed, as did the pressure, my ears feeling briefly uncomfortable as they adjusted to the new environment. The change wasn't huge, well within a normal pony's ability to tolerate, one would think. Nonetheless it was chillier than I was used to.
I contemplated the problem for a moment before realizing I had stuffed various clothes into my saddlebags during my escape. Rummaging for them, I found some blue overalls, a light weight, pale green sweater and a grubby white overcoat. They had belonged to the pair of janitors that had been lugging me off for disposal back at Central. I dressed myself in them, feeling marginally warmer for my efforts. Hellites couldn't simply get used to feeling chilled all the time, could they? Of course not. There had to be some way to adjust one's sense of temperature, or to have one's body make the changes needed... oh, it was automatic.
Within moments of me realizing the hellite body was taking care of the problem itself, the airlock hatch opened, inviting me to exit into the area beyond. The area was better lit than the entry to the airlock had been, suggesting that this side was not hidden. I stepped into a bluish, metal colored room. Turning I found the expected controls for activating the airlock, as well as more labels informing me that the Habitat Eleven Life Support Chamber could be accessed from there.
What was going on with this place? I had already seen two sets of labels that clearly gave the name, and thus function of H'ven, and I had only traveled a few of paces, yet up in the life support chamber, the quoted name could not be found anywhere, its bastardized form coming from legend, officially interpreted as 'Heaven'. Had someone been on a deliberate campaign to hide the truth? Probably. Enough time had passed for there to have been numerous changes in the power structure, thus in the attitude and actions of ponies... could our history have been lost deliberately?
Politics. I hated the stuff!
The other feature of this little antechamber was, yes, a ladder heading downwards. Unlike the ladders above, this one passed through a much narrower tube - just big enough for a pony to comfortably fit through. The tube was of same sort of metal as the antechamber, and a tap with my hoof suggested the material it was made from was quite thick. Looking down the shaft, I could see it was a greater distance than that between the levels above, perhaps the equivalent of five or six storeys. There were no landings either, suggesting that including any would have complicated the required engineering. I concluded I was about to descend through a large tank. Well, there had been pipes sharing the main shaft down from the upper levels, after all. Feeling adventurous, I hooked my fingers and hooves around the side rails of the ladder, and let myself slide down. After all, why waste effort? I had done that on and off throughout my descent, already.
Finding myself on a landing below the ladder, I was surprised to find how open the area was, and that was mostly through lights I could see, dotted off into the distance. Pipes, wires and conduits twisted and turned, ran at odd angles before doubling back and taking another odd turn. Massive arrays of lattice connected the bottom of that huge tank (to which I could see no end) to another equally expansive surface several more storeys below. After contemplating what I was staring at for a few minutes, I realized what it was: a huge suspension system. The life support chamber was isolated from any vibrations or shocks that would come from below.
I laughed to myself. One thing I hadn't expected was the possibility that both theories about the shape of the place could be correct. The life support chamber itself was indeed a dome with a flat bottom. I still expected the outer envelope to be spherical though. I would soon know if it wasn't!
Glancing around, I soon located the top of another ladder, so I headed in that direction. Before I reached it, I spotted movement, which did somewhat startle me. I had become so used to being alone I wasn't expecting to meet anypony. The pony was black, of course, but had a buoyant blonde mane and tail. Her general form was petite and feminine. I was about to meet my second, or first Hellite, considering I didn't really remember the last meeting. The pony saw me too, angling towards me immediately. Within moments we were face to face, looking each other up and down.
"I didn't expect to see you again," she said. Her voice, slightly husky, hit me like a fall from five levels up. That voice. It was that voice that had helped me from where I had fallen, all the way to the elevator where I could get help. If it wasn't for her, I would probably have died down there. She had a bit of an accent, but spoke with what I believed to be perfectly good pronunciation, unlike the gibberish Brainstorm had been spouting before we did our language swap.
"I must admit this is unexpected," I replied. "Thank you for your help that time."
"What I'd like to know is how a normal got down here," she said, pretty much ignoring what I had said. "You'll have to dress warmer than that if you don't want to die of exposure."
Ha! The clothes I had donned were fooling her into thinking I was an unmodified pony. As I had already realized I didn't require them, I began to undress, tossing the overcoat playfully over her head. "Catch!"
"Don't! You'll chill!" she warned as she untangled herself from the garment.
In the mean time, I had managed to quickly shed the other two items of clothing. There hadn't been any grace in the action. I had practically ripped them off.
"Quick, put this back on... oh." Her voice trailed off as she spotted the shiny black skin of my lower body. "So that's how you got past the doors."
"Indeed," I responded.
"But how? You were wearing a mask when I found you, and I got you away from my trap as soon as I could. You shouldn't have breathed enough modifier to be converted," she stated.
"A trap? YOUR TRAP?" I yelled. "You mean you placed those bloody modifiers there deliberately?"
"A trap? YOUR TRAP?" I yelled. "You mean you placed those bloody modifiers there deliberately?"
Immediately before me stood the blonde haired, black skinned... creature... that had set the traps into which I had fallen: the traps that had robbed me of my old life, converted me into a Hellite, and necessitated me fleeing down to these lower levels. I lifted my right forehoof a little, reaching for the virtual trigger of my inbuilt weapon system, feeling the pistol form around my hoof.
"Yes," the mare in front of me answered without really thinking, taking a step back when I raised the weapon to the height of her face.
She had no chance to dodge as I pulled the trigger repeatedly. With each pull of the trigger I felt better. What annoyance I had felt evaporated, leaving me calmer and more in control of myself. So this gun thing could also serve as stress relief? Good stuff. All the same, shooting others to relieve stress was a tad... excessive? immoral? Whatever. Shooting others was a bad idea, whatever the reason.
The mare was still standing in front of me, colored, luminescent gasses swirling around her face, which bore an expression that was a cross between puzzlement and fear. She blinked a few times. "Huh?" she said quietly. "What did you do to me?"
"Startled you, I think," I responded. "That stuff's harmless."
"Then why?"
"If you had any idea of the hell you have put me through, of how much pain I have been forced to endure, of how many times I have nearly died thanks to your traps, you would be apologizing, and thanking me for not shooting you with something more substantial," I said, making a show of pretending to put the weapon in my saddle bag. She hadn't seen me form it, so there was no need for me to give away its secret this early. "Fortunately for all involved, the only 'ammunition' I packed was so I could shoot pretty lights for my own amusement," I added. Hey, it was true! Spells couldn't be packed!
"I still don't understand how that little exposure could have converted you," the Hellite said, lamely.
"It wasn't my first encounter with the modifiers. I ran into them a few days earlier and was already half converted by the time you found me. I took a few good breaths of them that day too, before I got my mask on, as well as staying in the cloud for some time while I investigated things," I explained. "I doubt my mask was a perfect fit, so I probably sucked in even more of the little buggers then. They probably managed to attack me via every exposed mucus membrane too. Now, before I really do decide to get violent, and give you a good slapping, kindly explain why you set traps in the first place."
"Oh, all right," she answered, sitting before me. "It's kind of a long story, and it is about survival of our kind. Oh, and I'm sorry."
I sat down myself, using my recently discarded clothing as a convenient cushion on the cold floor. I dug out my water bottle and took a sip. "Go on. What were you trying to achieve by setting traps?"
"I was trying to catch a stallion," the mare stated, bashfully.
"We do that all the time, but find feminine charms work better than a cloud of modifiers," I retorted.
"That's okay for you, but there aren't many Hellite stallions down here. We have to make new stallions when we need them. Oh, I suppose it is your problem now too," she replied. "And it's getting a bit desperate. We haven't caught one in quite a few years. Most of them escape and don't come back." No doubt they escaped straight into the clutches of Central and got vaporized, despite any warnings the Hellites gave them.
"They would all be dead. Hellites don't survive up there for very long. Central hunts them down and kills them," I stated, "which is why I am down here now. They were going to vaporize me, but I escaped."
"Oh, that's horrible! That makes me feel really rotten," the mare confessed. "We were always told to stay out of sight when we were up there, and not to get caught. I knew it was dangerous it was for us, but I didn't realize they actually hunted us."
"Yeah, it's rotten, but what you were doing is just as bad. Kidnapping is just wrong, no matter the reason. How many have you caught?" I asked.
"Me? Just you, it seems. I was just on my way up to try again. It was my assigned task and I failed last time."
"I suggest you find an alternative. Seriously, what of the colts born down here?" I asked. "Even if a few of you have to share a stallion, it could be made to work."
The Hellite mare immediately rose to her feet, and turned on the spot, lifting her tail as her nether regions shifted into view. She finished turning and settled to the floor again.
"What was that about?" I asked. I wasn't used to mares randomly showing me their private parts.
"I'm a boy," she stated, despite her obviously feminine attributes.
"You look like a mare to me, right down to the plumbing," I insisted.
"True, but I don't have all of the required equipment. I may look female, by I have the male karyotype."
"Huh? The male what?" I asked.
"My chromosomes are those of a male, but due to genetic tampering, male hormones have zero effect on me, so my body appears to be female," she explained.
"So why claim to be male?" I asked.
"Because I am not really a female. I am sterile. I have no uterus. I still have testes, hidden inside me." Ugh. Genetic abnormalities. I had read about this extremely rare condition in biology class: complete androgen insensitivity syndrome.
"Oh, that sucks," I managed.
"All of our males have been born like that since the bastards up above modifier bombed us," the Hellite stated. So much for 'extremely rare'.
"When was that?" I asked. I had no doubt she was telling the truth. Or should I be calling her a him?
"Oh, at the time of the extermination." I mentally moved the extermination from breezie tale with some anecdotal evidence to most likely a fact. Oh, what a wonderful place Habitat Eleven was. The ponies in power were using all sorts of nasty methods to wipe out who they didn't want in their society. Were they justified in doing so? I didn't think so. Did they think they were justified in doing so? My conversations with 4J2 suggested they thought they were.
"I was a victim of that sort of modifier too, although it didn't mess up my gender. It messed up my horn instead," I stated.
"We have that modifier down here too. As for your horn, what happened to it? It looks a lot better than last time I saw you."
"It was fixed by a couple of mad geniuses. Hey, speaking of that pair of reprobates, that gives me an idea," I bubbled, "but first, I have an annoying itch in my mind that needs scratching."
"So scratch it."
"What's your name?" I asked, "And do you prefer to be addressed as he or she?"
"Oh, that sort of itch? It doesn't really matter, does it? Mostly ponies call me she because I look like a girl. I was brought up as a girl. It wasn't until puberty didn't hit that we realized. Some of the males just call us those things."
"So, what do you do for partners, or do you just live alone?"
"Oh, rub it in, why don't you." She game me a dirty look. "Usually, neither females or males want anything to do with us, as we are of no use procreating. Mostly we live with others of our type. We are considered expendable too, so no one really wants to start a serious relationship with one of us."
"Expendable?" I queried.
"We are usually given the more dangerous tasks, as our demise does not reduce the gene pool, thus why I was given the task of trapping a male."
"That's pretty rotten," I muttered. Sure, I had taken on a lot of dangerous tasks as part of my profession, but that was because I had chosen to. "And what's your name?"
"Catwalk Runner," she said quietly. "It's a stupid name, but they gave it to me because I liked zipping around, even when I was a foal. Most just call me Cacha. And you?"
"Aneki," I replied.
"What's that mean?" she asked, head tilted.
"I don't know. Big sister, maybe, but that's according to my aunt. I really don't think it means anything. It's just a name," I admitted. I'd never really considered it to have any significant meaning, and my mother was the same. It 'sounded pretty' according to her.
"So what's your idea?" Cacha asked.
"You have Hellite modifiers, right? I mean with you, right now."
She nodded.
"I have, assuming the bastards are still where I left them, a pair of unicorn stallions who want to become Hellites."
"Wow, let's go get them!" Cacha was on her feet immediately. "C'mon."
"I just got down here!" I complained, "but okay, our chances are better the sooner we start upwards."
"What are our chances of finding them?" Cacha asked nervously.
"Well... they have been in the same place for the last twelve hundred years... but I kind of lit a fire under their asses last time I saw them!" I admitted as I climbed to my feet, stuffing my clothing back into my saddlebags.
"Twelve hundred years. You have to be kidding! No pony lives that long!"
"What? aren't you guys meant to be immortal?" I asked.
"Immortal? Hell no. We usually only manage 300 to 400 years before something kills us."
"Is that all? Brainstorm will be disappointed!" In their current pickled condition, they were more immortal than the Hellite! Then again, knowing that pair, they'd work out how to overcome any shortfall.
"Some do live longer, but often they are quite mad because the stray modifiers left from their Hellite conversion eventually stuff something up in their brains. Then there are those that argue we are in fact already dead. We are no longer made of just pony, but a combination of pony and machinery. Even our brains are reworked. Some believe they are now robots, and nothing will convince them otherwise," Cacha expounded. "That doesn't stop 'em having foals though!"
"Strange view. I still think of myself as a pony," I insisted.
"Good," Cacha said. "I may be a sexless freak, but I am a pony!"
"So how old are you, and if all males are born like you..."
"Where did my father come from?" Cacha took the cue. "He was 'recruited' from upstairs about seventy or so years back,"
"Recruited? An earlier trapping expedition?" I asked.
"Yes. Somepony got him with a Hellite modifier bomb, then dragged him down here, where he then fathered several of us over the years. He's one of the rare ones that didn't try to escape. I must have about eighty half-siblings by now. I also have three full sisters, real sisters. Mum's a lot younger than Dad is. I'm only in my twenties."
"Me too," I admitted.
"Oh yeah, while I'm thinking of it, these fellows we are going to fetch are the ones that fixed my horn. They can make new modifiers. Maybe they can undo your damaged genetic code, so at least the next generation won't be affected. It was their intervention that prevented the total erasure of unicorns."
"That would be awesome! I could be some sort of hero instead of a failure!" the mare enthused.
"Well, here's hoping. Have you got any way to get up thirty something levels without using ladders?"
"We could take an elevator once we get through the airlock," Cacha suggested.
"Oh, you have a way of bypassing Central's lockout?" I asked.
"We just use different elevators. There is no need for us to announce our presence! So, where are these stallions of yours exactly?"
"We climb up that ladder I just came down, and keep going. Their lab backs directly onto the service shaft."
"That's convenient. There's an elevator close by. We'll take it," Cacha said.
"But isn't that one decommissioned?" I asked, thinking of the very dead looking elevator with the doors welded shut.
"It's been blocked off on the first twenty or so floors, so ponies from above can't really use it. It is great for us though."
We began climbing as soon as we reached the ladder that went though the giant tank. That reminded me, I had so many questions to ask about this place, yet here I was, leaving almost immediately I had arrived. It seemed Cacha had as many questions as me though!
"How did these stallions live to be so old?" she asked.
"They were welded into their lab twelve hundred years ago by ponies who were afraid of their ability to make modifiers. Having no chance of escape, and little of survival, they put themselves into some sort of life preservation tank where they have been alternating between very long sleeps and short periods of alertness where they do things around their lab using remote equipment," I explained.
"So how do..."
I cut Cacha off. "My turn. What is this giant tank thing we are passing through at the moment?"
"Oh, that's the water jacket. It surrounds the whole of the life support chamber. Pipes also go up through the middle of the chamber where they spread out under the ground level radiator. It's how the system stabilizes the temperature in the life support chamber," Cacha explained.
"Ground level radiator?" I asked.
"A huge lattice that covers the whole of the ground level. There's a roadway built on top of it."
"Ah, the Mane Way!" I realized. "Not that it feels particularly warm or anything."
"Of course not. Any difference between its temperature and that of the air is minimal if the system is balanced," Cacha pointed out. "The water jacket is there to provide the thermal inertia. It is, of course, heavily insulated on the outside, so we don't get much benefit from it down here. We were never meant to live down here in the first place!"
I contemplated the Mane Way and was wondering why I hadn't encountered this radiator and its pipes in connection with my work, before I recalled Central dealt with all maintenance matters where the Mane Way was concerned, including following up anything detected by our sensors. I didn't think it had anything to do with censorship, rather it had to do with the Mane Way always being regarded as an asset that Central was directly responsible for.
"My turn." Cacha stated. "How do you know these fellows really are alive? Did you see them? You said they were in a tank."
"Correct, they were in a tank. I didn't see them, but I certainly... interacted with them. They are the ones who gave me that pistol. They make weapons."
"So you can't be sure they are alive? Could they be some sort of computer or a programmed response matrix made with horns?"
"I don't think so. I got into their heads with a spell and extracted their dialect, so there is something in the tank operating as a pair of brains," I said as we arrived at the top of the ladder. Then again, computers were little more than pony brains, weren't they? My earlier thoughts on Brainstorm returned. What if they were nothing more than a modifier constructed neural network floating in 'pony soup'?
"I hope they are okay," Cacha stated, no doubt having similar thoughts. "As interesting as their brains may be, it's their balls we need."
I nearly choked. After I recovered my breath, I asked my next questions. "Do you know the purpose of Habitat Eleven? Do you know what is outside? What shape is it? Is it spherical?" I fired off in quick succession. Yes, I was cheating.
"The purpose of Habitat Eleven is obviously to preserve the life of ponies," Cacha stated as we entered the airlock. She hit the cycle button, and I immediately felt too warm. Ah! A temperature gradient. My body was compensating for the change, but it wouldn't stabilize until the temperature itself became constant.
"That Habitat Eleven is to preserve the life of ponies is obvious. What I want to know is why it was built. Why do we need such a structure to preserve ponies in the first place?" I asked. Surely she had understood the meaning of my question the first time.
"Stuffed if I know. Anypony who had that knowledge was killed during the extermination. That goes for what is outside the outer envelope too. It's supposedly nothing, but obviously it can't be nothing because there must be other habitats out there somewhere. Yes, the outer envelope is a giant sphere. And that was more than one question."
"So, I cheated," I admitted. Damn. I hadn't expected the Hellites to be as clueless about H'ven as the ponies in the life support chamber. So much for getting easy answers. Hey! I was right, the outer envelope was a sphere!
"That's okay. I'll save my other questions up for later," Cacha said. "You seem to have an enquiring mind. When we go back down to the lower levels, I'll give you a tour. There are sections we don't know enough about. We have our theories, but I'd like to see what you deduce before we pollute your mind with our conclusions."
"Interesting," I stated.
"If you really want to, we can sneak off into the restricted areas too. No pony has been allowed in those areas in years because they were deemed too dangerous, even for us expendables. Either they don't want us to know what is in there, or there is simply nothing in there worth risking injury or life over," Cacha explained.
"What about repairs?" I asked. It was starting to sound like these Hellites weren't doing much in the way of maintaining this place, despite what Crimson Garnet and I had figured.
"Oh, we repair what we can, or more to the point, what we need to. We don't want the systems to fail and kill us, after all."
"What about the ponies up in the H'ven dome?" I asked.
"The what?"
"Oh, in the life support chamber? Do you repair their systems too?"
"Of course! A lot of the systems are the same systems. The critical systems that are unique to them we have to sneak up and fix when we must. System balance must be maintained! If it failed, how many innocent ponies would die?"
"I saw dead systems when I was up there. There is a Celestial Body Simulator Emergency Control Room next to Brainstorm's lab, and it's nonfunctional. There is no simulated sun in the sky of the dome, so the main system must also have problems," I offered.
"Oh, that's where we are going? I know that place. All the doors are welded up, aren't they? That's part of why we haven't bothered servicing whatever is inside. Besides, that system is purely cosmetic. I isn't as if there are enough of us to waste our time fixing non-critical junk like that. If the sky went completely dark, then we might do something about it. Even then, it would just be to restore the general lighting, and not the theatrics," Cacha said.
"So what do you think about the ponies who live up there?" I asked.
"I tried to save you, didn't I? We realize that it isn't the individual pony, or even the masses that are our enemy. It's the institution. It is Central, and whoever or whatever are a part of it. Mostly it is their ingrained philosophy, and that goes back to before the extermination. Some nutty asshole with a lot of charisma and power decided he didn't like us because we were not pure or some such nonsense, and because he was such a moron, he failed to understand that he was killing off the very ponies that kept them alive."
"I don't understand how such a situation could arise. Surely the populous knew?"
"Did you know?" Cacha asked. "I mean before you became one of us, did you know?"
"No, I didn't," I admitted.
"We think some sort of worship or religion was involved. Our guess is that knowledge was considered 'evil', and was systematically purged from the life support chamber. Anything that wasn't deemed as correct or acceptable by their leader was destroyed, and that included libraries, storage media, even the signs on the doors. And of course, ponies. The compliant ones were brainwashed. The others were eradicated, sometimes quickly, by their death squads, and sometimes by genetic tampering like they tried to do with us."
"It's not like that now," I commented, thinking back to my relatively unrestricted lifestyle, and the absence of death squads.
"Isn't it?" Cacha asked. Her tone suggested I should know better.
She had a point. The populous were already suppressed. I was an aberration. The reason I had not been curtailed was I was useful, and the visible aspect of my aberration, a desire to run and jump, was apparently harmless. Had they realized I also thought about and questioned what I was taught, then the situation may have been very different.
Life has its surprises. Usually they pop up when they are least wanted. Mostly they are something I could do without. I don't think I really liked them much. This one was no exception!
As Cacha and I had rounded a curve rather near to the welded-up front entrance to Brainstorm's Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories we had come across a party of ponies traveling in the opposite direction. While we were not expecting to see them, the reverse was not true. They were down here looking for us! Their intentions, on the most part, were pure... or should I say, were to purify: a little bit of ethnic cleansing never hurt anypony, did it? It was for the good of all, wasn't it? How could these fools believe this perversion?
Bullets zinged off the wall behind us as the ponies opened fire. So, Cacha's death squads were still a reality. Yelping, Cacha and I both leaped out of their line of fire, heading back in the direction from which we had come. I wasn't quick enough to avoid taking a shot in the rump. It stung, felt like I'd been whacked with a hammer and was piercing all at the same time. The shock wave traveled through my whole body, causing me to stumble. Armored or not, it seemed I wasn't bullet proof! I could hear their hoofsteps as the gunners continued to advance. I hadn't got a good look at them, but I estimated there were five of them, four clad in black armor, the fifth, to the rear, red in color. I felt Cacha's shoulder against mine as she steered me out of the main walkway of the corridor into a small alcove towards our right. I hit the floor just as we made it into the shelter. Immediately, I scrambled about so I was facing the danger.
"Stop firing!" one of the ponies in the attacking group barked. "I wish to speak to them." Still stunned, it took me a moment to realize he was yelling at his own ponies.
Another burst was fired in our direction, even though Cacha and I were managing to stay out of sight. The alcove offered immediate shelter, without which we would not have survived, the alternative was to continue down a more-or less straight corridor in which we would have been easy targets. Had I not been shot, we may have made it to a further intersection before the death squad were far enough around the immediate curve to see us. As it was, we were trapped here unless something went in our favor really soon.
"I commanded you to stop firing!" the voice barked again.
"Stuff you, office boy, we have orders that supersede any you give," one stallion snapped back. "We were just using your assistance to track the Hellspawn down."
"Fuck you, then!" the pony yelled. I could hear a scuffle break out, presumably between the speakers.
"Aneki, if that's you, RUN!" the first voice bellowed. Now, I recognized that voice: Crimson! Unfortunately he didn't quite grasp that we didn't have anywhere we could run to without getting more holes shot in us. I heard another shot fired, but this time nothing hit the walls near us. They must have just shot Crimson! Bastards!
Meanwhile, I could feel Cacha rummaging through my saddle bags. She was muttering "Bandages, bandages," as she did. Suddenly my pistol landed in front of me. "Shoot gas at them or something. Threaten them. Make them stop advancing," she suggested. That was a bloody good idea.
I didn't bother with the pistol though, instead reaching for my integral weapon as I scrambled to get into a reasonable firing position. Luminescent gas wouldn't be up to this task, but a variant of the spell with which I had blown away the wall of Brainstorm's shooting gallery could do. Noise and smoke. Shock waves. Things that should scare. Calling up the spell, I quickly changed some of the parameters, dropping the size of shots to a fraction of what I had used before, deliberately putting a depth limit on the penetration. I also restricted the effect to non-living materials. The result should look like I was firing explosive rounds. Even if I hit the enemy, I would not seriously harm them, but the same did not apply to their armor. No matter what I thought of them, I still didn't want to kill any pony.
I didn't bother to target any pony, not that I could see any of them at the moment. Rather, I just aimed as far around the curve as I could see from where I lay, selected a section of wall to shoot at, and let rip with half a dozen shots. The cussing and scrambling suggested it was having the desired effect, so I leaned out just far enough to see one of the hit squad, targeted his armor and fired half a dozen shots at him. The result was spectacular, with small patches of his armor exploding off each time I hit, and each small explosion behaved much like a round hitting him, knocking him back a little. At most his physical injuries would be a few bruises and a bit of smoke inhalation, but it would be sure to have put some fear into him.
I pulled back into the safety of the alcove again. Cacha pressed a wad of cloth to my wound and held it firmly. It hurt like hell!
"Stop squirming and give your body the chance to heal!" she snapped.
"This is a combat zone, Cacha," I responded, exasperated. "There is no point worrying about one bullet hole if it causes me to gain another dozen of them."
"Just hold still for ten seconds. That will be long enough for it to stop the bleeding," she suggested, her voice strained. "There is point in worrying about a bullet hole if ignoring it causes you to bleed to death... and I thought you only had pretty gases for that gun!"
I pointed at the pistol lying where she had dropped it. "Different gun," I stated. Actually, it was the same gun I had used when I was firing the gas at her, but long winded explanations could wait until later.
"Are you a soldier or a combat specialist or something?" Cacha asked as another burst of bullets ricocheted off the nearby wall, causing her to instinctively duck.
As I was already lying on the floor, I couldn't get any lower. Ricochet! Now there was an idea. My ammunition didn't do that as it reacted with the first surface it hit, exploding if that surface was non-living, or dissipating if it was pony flesh. More bullets ricocheted into our alcove as I finished making some modifications to the spell. The targeting portion of the weapons system spells would still work, as I would be targeting areas of the wall which I could see. Where the spell bounced after that was down to geometry. A quick scan through the system parameters revealed a repeating fire option that Brainstorm had neglected to mention, so I enabled that, then aiming at the wall, I pulled the trigger and held it down as I swept my aim.
The resultant cacophony of small explosions and loud exclamations was satisfying. I heard the ponies retreating rapidly.
"You've done this before, haven't you," Cacha asked.
"Are you kidding me?" I responded. "I've spent a short stint in a shooting range. I've only had these things for a week or so, and I've not used them in that time, except to make pretty patterns, oh, and to shoot you. I'm a structural engineer! Now, have I stopped bleeding enough that I can move?"
I felt Cacha lift the wad of cloth. The pressure didn't return. "Yes, the blood flow has stopped. Don't forget that you still have a bullet in there wreaking havoc with your every move, so go gently!"
Remaining on the floor, I scooted myself forward carefully so I could see where the death squad was. Nearby, the crimson pony was lying in a pool of a similarly colored liquid, while the other four were somewhat further away, crouched and aiming at my position. I shuffled back as another burst was fired in my direction. I returned the favor. I couldn't keep this up for much longer, or they would realize my shots were harmless. I needed something to knock them out. Concussion. That should do it. I adjusted the projectile diameter of my spell upwards, while leaving the restriction on the penetration. That way I wouldn't damage any of the structure significantly, but the explosive reactions would create quite a shock wave. In effect, I would be turning the paint and corrosion on the walls, as well as thin layers of their armor and weapons, into explosives.
I scooted forward again, pulling the trigger as I did. Three rounds immediately thudded into my forelegs, causing a massive explosion of pain, but I psychologically waded through the instinctive reactions, and held my aim as best I could. I could feel the resultant shock waves as the explosions threw the ponies of the death squad around like rag dolls. I released the trigger when I could no longer see them for billowing smoke, and giving into the agony, I sagged onto the floor.
I lay there while Cacha fussed over me, wrapping my wounded legs with strips torn from the old overcoat, my brain replaying the events. All those explosions sure would be making the structural vibration detectors up in the office carry on a treat! And Central's were even more sensitive. After all, Crimson had come down to investigate when I had opened a door, let alone... oh, shit. I'd led the bastards right to myself, hadn't I? Or more specifically, I had led them to this area by blowing a hole in Brainstorm's shooting gallery. The ponies from Central must have been sniffing around the area for a week, trying to find it!
My mind eventually caught up with my last view of the corridor before the smoke had blocked everything from sight. Crimson! What had happened to him? Last time I saw him, he was down and bleeding, if not dead!
"Cacha! Can you see the red pony out there? What happened to him? Did my explosions get him?" I gasped.
"I don't know. It's still pretty smoky. It's a bit risky to go looking, too," she replied.
"Screw that. Help me up," I insisted. "He needs help!"
"But... can you trust him? He and his buddies were shooting at us," she pointed out as she gathered my belongings and stuffed them back into my saddlebags.
"Yes, I trust him. He wasn't shooting. He was the one objecting. Help me up, please," I repeated, struggling to rise myself.
"Okay..." Cacha conceded, immediately coming to my assistance, helping me onto my hooves. My integral gun folded itself out of the way, just as the pistol it was mimicking would have done. The pain was intense, but I managed to stabilize myself, and slowly shuffle my way forward, leaning on Cacha as I went. I heard coughing nearby, so I immediately lifted my gun, aiming it towards the noise. After another bout of coughing, and some exclamations using some pretty choice words, the pony spoke to me from within the smoke cloud.
"Aneki, is that you?" Crimson asked.
"It is," I responded.
"Thank Luna for that. What about the other ponies?" he asked as he appeared through the smoke. He was hobbling along on three legs, pressing the fingers of his fourth against his flank, blood slowly oozing out between them.
"Cacha is with me. The ones that were with you are further down the corridor, and hopefully unconscious," I responded.
"You didn't kill them?" Crimson asked, his tone hard to read.
"Of course not. I don't kill," I answered.
"More's the pity," Crimson muttered. "Backstabbing bastards. The supposed purpose of this mission was that I was to open a dialogue with the Hellspawn to see if we could negotiate their return. I can see now that I was nothing more than a convenient pawn to be used to track you down."
"You found me because of that explosion a few days back, didn't you?" I asked.
Crimson nodded. "It was hard to miss."
"Cacha, see if you can help bind Crimson's wound. He looks like he's lost a lot of blood," I suggested.
"But what about you?" Cacha objected.
"Help me down onto the floor again. That will take the weight off my legs."
"Oh, okay," Cacha agreed, assisting me to lie down again. Once down, I readied my gun again, aiming it towards the dissipating smoke cloud, and where I estimated the death squad would be. At the moment they were silent.
As Cacha went to assist Crimson, he continued with his story.
"We sent someone down to investigate, but he couldn't access the location of the blast. After he reported back, I had a closer look at the recent data, and was able to trace your movements through the doors you kicked down, the above-average vibrations caused by you jumping down the decommissioned stair case, and the opening of the doors in the stairwell near here. We've been down here a couple days now, hunting around for a way to get nearer to the blast site because we haven't been able to get the door to one of the restricted areas to open, of course. The other one is in as much of a mess as you left it."
Hmm... Brainstorm hadn't let any pony into their lab, either to assist them, or to use as experimental subjects. I really hoped they were still all right.
"How badly are you wounded, Aneki?" Crimson asked.
"Four bullets," I responded. "One in my butt, two in my left foreleg, one in my right. It makes standing a challenge. And you?"
"Got one in the guts. I probably have internal injuries and bleeding too. Feeling pretty light headed. I'm as good as dead, unless you have a surgeon tucked away here somewhere."
"Could you live with becoming a Hellite, a Hellspawn?" I asked.
"Huh? Hmm... obviously I can't go back up top now as Central would finish the job these bastards started," Crimson muttered, "so technically I could consider that an option. Why?"
"You'd heal quicker if you were a Hellite. That may help saving you. It would also give you an alternate place to live..." I gasped as my wounds reminded me they were there. After the pain receded a little, I continued. "Get us... to the restricted area. The one with the messed up sign. The reprobates inside may be able to help us, assuming I can't help myself. You, at least, need their assistance."
"That's as good as I can bandage you," Cacha announced. "I can't help you any more than that, other than to turn you into one of us."
"Thank you. Now, if you could grab the weapons and mappers from the other four bastards, we'll get out of here," Crimson said, looking through the thinning haze at the heap of bodies further down the corridor.
"Dangerous, much," Cacha muttered.
"The door to the stairwell is down there, just beyond them, so we may as well salvage the equipment as we go past, not to mention that confiscating it from them it will severely limit what they can do. For starters, it would stop them requesting assistance. Aneki, are you sure we can't just shoot them?"
"It really wouldn't do much to help us, would it?" I asked. "All I see it doing is making Central even more determined to catch and kill us."
"Good point. Cacha, is it? Kick them hard if they so much as flinch," Crimson suggested.
"My pleasure," Cacha responded. "Even if these were the last stallions alive, I'd be more than happy to stomp them. No fucking way they get into our gene pool," she stated as she trotted off towards them.
"Huh?" Crimson asked me.
"Long story," I said, "but the summary is she's up here to recruit males for breeding purposes."
"Aaaaah," Crimson said, a knowing smile forming on his lips.
It appeared Cacha wasn't taking chances with the death squad waking because she gave each of them several solid kicks before she began to strip each of their kit. She wasn't stopping at their guns and mappers either. Their armor and supplies were also being taken. It was about time I got moving. She would be finished stripping them by the time I got down there if I waited any longer.
Struggling to my hooves, unassisted this time, I tried a couple of steps. It was rather painful. I seriously considered dropping back to the floor and scooting myself along with my rear legs despite the bullet in my butt, but before I did that, there was one other thing I wanted to try. I reabsorbed my gun, before reforming it on my left foreleg, the more wounded of the two. I formed it as a long barrel weapon, rigidly attached to the length of my limb, effectively splinting it. I tried a couple of steps, somewhat pleased with the result.
"What the hell did you just do?" Crimson asked, eyes wide, as he watched the changes to my configuration. "Or have I lost so much blood I am hallucinating?"
"I grew a splint," I responded. "Hellite bodies are variable, mine doubly so, because I've been enhanced. If I could get my mind past the pain, I could probably eject the bullets from the wounds myself. Maybe if I wait, the body will do it for me automatically. It has already dealt with the bleeding."
"You don't know?" Crimson asked.
"It didn't come with an instruction book," I muttered. "C'mon, let's get to the lab."
I don't know how long it took for us to walk from the public corridors into the service area behind Brainstorm's Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories. It can't have been long. After all, the distance we traveled was just a few dozen paces, but with members of the party wounded or dying, each second took on unreal proportions. I was in quite a lot of pain, so each step I took was an exercise in itself, but it wasn't me I was concerned about. My pain was a frustration, a hindrance; it prevented me from getting assistance for Crimson as fast as I would have liked. He was still on his hooves and walking, but was now leaning against Cacha, the only one of us who hadn't lost blood. She was also carrying the recently looted equipment of the four members of the death squad, including their armor and saddlebags. How she could even move while carrying that lot and supporting Crimson was a mystery.
Worry almost overcame me as the entrance to the lab came into view. The outer door had been battered in again, probably by Crimson's team. I had thought he said he and his team had been unable to get through it. Speeding up as much as I could, I hobbled and hopped across the remaining distance and into the airlock-like vestibule of Brainstorm's lab. Much to my relief, the inner, hatch-like high security door was perfectly intact. I awkwardly reached for the hoof scanner, but before I was able to get my injured leg up anywhere near high enough, the door began to cycle. That filled me with hope. I knew these hoof scanners really scanned a pony's whole body; presenting one's hoof was merely the way of activating them, but I hadn't reached high enough to do so. That suggested, like last time, the door was being operated from within. I moved back a little to allow the substantial, circular door to swing up and out of the way without hitting me.
"Hurry up, guys," I called back over my shoulder. The other two were just coming into view.
With some difficulty, I managed to get my unsplinted leg over the knee-high opening and onto the lab floor. The splinted leg proved to be too difficult to maneuver, so I gave up, reabsorbing the gun from which it was formed. The next attempt at getting in was more successful, although it certainly didn't qualify as graceful, as my forelegs collapsed and I faceplanted onto the floor before my rear-end overtook me and flipped me onto my back.
"So, our wayward test subject has returned," I heard Brainstorm say. Yay, they were definitely still alive... and here.
"So, you have got yourself all shot up and have come crawling back in need of our assistance," the other Brainstorm spoke into my mind.
"Actually, I only got shot up while trying to get back here to help you bastards," I muttered. "I came, bearing gifts."
"Such as?" they chorused. At least I had their attention.
"Hellite modifiers, of course. What else would you want?"
"She has a point," the first said. Something was off. I had heard him, and I meant with my ears. I rolled onto my front and scooted a few steps further into the lab. Standing there was a scruffy looking, pale jade-green unicorn with a sapphire mane and tail. He had little meat on his bones, and no muscle tone to speak of. He stood, hooves apart to help him maintain balance. He was, in effect, a stallion sized foal.
"You're out of the tank!" I exclaimed. Behind me I could hear the other two enter the vestibule.
"Partly," Brainstorm said. "Are those two with you, or should I lock them out?"
"They are with me," I said as a pile of armor, saddlebags and weapons bounced into lab through the open door. "Please, if you can, could you help Crimson? He's dying of a bullet wound to his guts. And before you ask, he's of value to the Hellite, and she is the one with the modifiers."
Moments later the red stallion was assisted through the hatch by Cacha. At least their entry was more graceful than mine. As soon as they were clear of the door frame, the hatch began to close again, no doubt directly under Brainstorm's control.
"Okay, we'll see what we can do. Get him onto the table," Brainstorm instructed. "What about you?"
"I'm not dying, despite all the wounds. I can wait," I said.
"And the other one, the Hellite?"
"Relatively healthy," I said. "Nothing you need worry about at the moment. Get her to help you; she's strong."
I was feeling a lot better. I was resting on a second bench in Brainstorm's lab, my good leg dangling over the side. The bullets were still in me, but using the manipulator arms in the ceiling of the lab, the Brainstorm in the tank had injected me with pain killers, straight into the wounds, and they were doing their job wonderfully. He had already scanned me from nose to tail and decided the best course of action was to let the hellite body deal with the bullets itself. Apparently the bullets had already been partly eroded by the body's systems. The wounds were slowly closing, too. At the rate things were progressing, he estimated it would be a day before I was all healed.
Meanwhile, Brainstorm, the ambulant, had applied a local anaesthetic to Crimson's wounds. He didn't want to risk putting him to sleep, as that could easily become permanent. Nonetheless, Crimson had fallen completely silent, the only indication of life from him being the irregular rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Brainstorm had his head down and his horn was pressed against Crimson's side again. Presumably he was either using some sort of spell on Crimson's injuries, or was conducting a more thorough scan on him.
"The internal damage isn't too bad," Brainstorm finally announced. "The bullet has been removed and I have been be able to fuse the wounds of his internal organs. There will be scar tissue, though. Hopefully that will be corrected by the Hellite modifiers. The big problem is blood, or the lack of it. He needs it, and he needs it now."
"Who's compatible?" I asked.
"You are, but Brainstorm has just informed me that the risks of taking it from you are too great. You don't have enough to spare," Brainstorm said. "Cacha is incompatible." He didn't mention himself, but looking at his physical condition, it was clear that Brainstorm couldn't afford to donate either, even if he was compatible. No doubt the same applied to the Brainstorm still in the tank.
"Take some of mine anyway," I insisted. I hadn't noticed any symptoms of blood loss. I didn't think I'd even bled that much, really. I figured I could afford to share a little to save the life of another... well... to save the life of this pony anyway. I wasn't so sure I'd donate a drip to help any of the death squad.
"Are you sure? It's really risky for you," Brainstorm tried again.
"If it means saving Crimson, or even just increasing his chances, yes, I am quite sure," I said.
"As you wish," Brainstorm conceded.
Immediately, Brainstorm reached into a drawer below the table on which Crimson was lying, pulled a flask from within, flipped off its cap and touched the now-exposed needle to his horn. The spell he placed on it left the needle glowing a greenish color. He approached me, holding out the flask in his fingers, aiming it at my unarmored neck. As it got closer, the flask began to weave and pull, so he lessened his grip, and it plunged itself into my flesh, the spell seeking out a suitable vein. I almost yelped. I could still see enough of the flask to be able to watch as my blood squirted into it. Long before it was full, he pulled it from me.
"Cacha, press your finger here until she stops bleeding," he instructed the Hellite, then returned his attention to saving Crimson. I felt the gentle pressure of a finger against my neck as Cacha moved up beside me. Brainstorm returned to the other table, casting a spell on the flask as he did. The new spell effectively reversed the blood extraction process, the whole flask glowing this time, as it sought out Crimson's vein, inserted itself and began injecting the freshly harvested blood into him. Suddenly I felt nauseous and weak, so I laid my head against the bench and closed my eyes. Maybe Brainstorm wasn't being needlessly fussy after all.
"There are four thugs out in the passage, assuming they haven't woken and run off already," Cacha said. "What are the chances of one of them being a suitable donor?"
"The chance is better than one in four," Brainstorm said. "We should have thought of that before. Cacha, are you up for collecting a flask or two of blood? It will be you alone against the four of them. I'm sorry but I cannot assist you; I am so weak that even doing this much is a challenge. Perhaps you could take one of the guns with you."
"Yes, I'll collect the blood," she said, "but I won't bother with the gun. Even if they were to try to fight me now, they are very battered and unarmed. They don't stand a chance against me. Give me a flask."
The high security door of the lab began to open as Brainstorm pulled two more of flasks from the drawer, enchanting each as he had with the first. He tucked them into Cacha's saddlebag.
"The flask will only draw the sort of blood we need. It will also purify it of any contaminants, so you don't need to worry about any of that. Do not try to draw two flasks from the same pony, unless you want to kill him. Chances are you will only be able to fill one of the flasks from the four ponies. Now, go, my girl, as fast as you can," he instructed.
Cacha didn't wait to be told twice, breaking into a gallop as soon as she was clear of the door. The sounds of her hoof-falls dropped off as she exited the service corridor. That would put her practically on top of the death squad. A few yells and screams of rage wafted back moments later. Bugger, they were awake, or we had more company. I struggled to rise, but immediately felt Brainstorm's hoof hold me down.
"Stay. Your courage is commendable, but I doubt you'd even make it off the table," he said. He was correct, of course, so I allowed myself to go limp again. Brainstorm's behavior was somewhat different to how he had been last time I was here. Now he was behaving more like a concerned grandfather than a mad scientist. I think I liked this Brainstorm better.
"I'm fine," Cacha's voice drifted in faintly from down the corridor. "I had to put one of the buggers to sleep again. They are going to hate me when they wake up."
Thank Luna she was okay. My mind visualized what Cacha would have to go through for each flask. She would have to hold it near the first pony to see if it would react. If the flask did not react, she would have to move to the next, and so on. Once a flask found a suitable donor, she would be able to leave it to draw blood while she tested the remaining ponies, if there were any, with the second flask. After that came the long wait while blood fought its way through the needles, and slowly filled them to capacity.
While I was doing that, Brainstorm walked over to an alcove over the other side of the lab and rummaged around for a few moments before extracting a tired looking blanket from within. Returning, he carefully draped it over me. I was scared it would disintegrate if I tried to move. For a twelve hundred year old blanket, it was doing remarkably well to even be recognizable! Some more rummaging produced an old metal cup which he filled from one of the taps connected to the pipes that ran into the life support tank. Once it was filled he brought it over and placed it before me. How I was meant to drink from it while lying with two injured forelegs, I didn't know.
As I was contemplating that, the other Brainstorm, the one still in the tank began speaking into my mind, relaying me some sort of magic technique. Apparently it was one of the first skills a unicorn learned as a foal. My magic tuition had been anything but traditional. Mostly I was relying on intuition and the code snippets that had been installed with the repair to my horn and installation the weapon. Oh, I see, that's what that group of snippets was about! Telekinesis! Wow! To think I had the ability to do that! I reached out with my mind for the cup. It wobbled a little, but I was able to stabilize the spell and lift the cup to my lips. The contents were warm, thick, and soothing: some sort of vegetable broth. I took a sip, savoring it.
Suddenly my ears perked up of their own accord. Hoof-beats. Galloping. A pony was returning. I hadn't heard anymore scuffles or yelling, so I expected it would be Cacha. I could not imagine why one of the death squad would even attempt to come in here, unless suicidal heroics or penance were a requirement of their order. At this point, even that would not have surprised me. H'ven was turning out to be a much more sinister place than I had ever imagined. To think, only a couple of months ago I had been bouncing around at ground level, enjoying the challenges associated with freerunning across the city. Since then, I had gone much further, and much deeper than I had ever imagined.
"Nearly there!" I heard Cacha call as her hoofsteps got louder. I opened one of my eyes to watch. Moments later she had jumped through the door opening, and was passing the flasks, both full, to Brainstorm. The door immediately began to close, again isolating us from potential threats.
"Good girl, thank you," Brainstorm said, flicking off the cap of the first flask, and guiding it towards Crimson's neck where it automatically sought out a suitable vein. The life-sustaining fluid began flowing into him. I knew that was all we could do for him, other than exposing him to the hellite modifiers, but he had to live long enough for them to be able to work their magic. I guessed we'd discuss that later, after we had all had some time to rest and recuperate.
Crimson groaned. That was an improvement. He'd been still for so long.
"Oh, I feel bloody awful," he muttered, "which is a massive improvement on how I felt before."
"Stay still. Rest for now," Brainstorm instructed him.
"Trust me, that is exactly what I plan to do. Thank you," Crimson said, before again falling silent.
"Aneki, how are you holding up?" Brainstorm asked me.
"I feel like shit, and am very sleepy," I said.
"Hang tight. I'll be there in a moment," he told me. "I'm going to use some of this second vial of blood on you to bring you up to your correct volume."
"Would it not be smarter to use the second flask on Crimson, or to keep it in reserve in case he hemorrhages?" I asked before taking another sip of the broth.
"No. Brainstorm and I both agree that we must use it on you," Brainstorm said as he inserted the needle of the flask into my neck, I felt a sting as it went in. "And now, an apology. We are so sorry, Aneki. If we had realized this before, we would never have subjected you to our weapons experiments. For that matter, we would have been reluctant to restore your horn."
"You shouldn't have done the experiments on me, no matter what the situation," I muttered, "or don't you understand that yet?"
"You forget the way we were last treated by ponykind, twelve hundred years ago, and that we have not socialized with anypony since, so our... manners? ethics? were somewhat lacking, forgotten as it were. Your parting gift to us gave us time to see the error of our ways. Facing the possibility of death really made us think about our actions," Brainstorm said.
"But..." I managed.
"Yes, it was just a bluff on your part. We soon realized that, but by then things were already in motion, and as you can see I am already free of the tank, with Brainstorm to follow suit in the next day or so..."
"You are beating around the bush," I observed.
"Ah, quite so. We do not know how we missed it the first time we scanned you. As I said, had we realized, we would never have conducted the experiments, even before... before we rediscovered morality."
"Bwahahahaha!" Brainstorm guffawed, as he collapsed in an undignified heap on the floor. "You should have seen your face, Aneki!" he exclaimed, then continued laughing uncontrollably, his scruffy sapphire mane bouncing about.
"Huh?" said Cacha, somewhat puzzled by his change in behavior.
"You're joking, aren't you. You've just pranked me," I muttered. "Revenge for me telling you your feed pipe was crimped, no doubt."
"Sorry," Brainstorm managed between more bouts of laughter and gasps for air, "but the opportunity was just too good to pass up!"
"So, I'm not really pregnant, am I?" I asked, feeling somewhat relieved. The last thing I needed at the moment was a foal.
"Sorry, Aneki, but that part was true," Brainstorm chuckled as he climbed unsteadily back onto his hooves.
"You're still pranking me, aren't you?" I asked.
"No. You really are pregnant," the other Brainstorm insisted. That Brainstorm wasn't laughing.
"WHAT? How could this be possible? How? I've never taken a stallion... oh shit. The BASTARDS!" I yelled as realization struck.
"How long?" Cacha asked quietly.
"She's only around six to seven weeks, which was why it was so easy for us to miss it last time she was here," Brainstorm answered from the tank.
Cacha leaned over me, so close I could feel her breath "Aneki?" she prompted, her voice one of concern. "What happened back then?"
"I was unconscious, and strapped to a table in a laboratory, around that time," I muttered. "I was a captive of Central. I remember nothing from after you left me at the elevator, until I accidentally woke up in the lab of one of their deniable facilities weeks later. I was able to chat with one of the ponies for a short time, before they knocked me out again for the rest of my stay there. He was only willing to talk because he knew I was to be terminated. As such I was not a security risk."
"You poor thing! So, you are telling us they raped you while you were out cold?" Cacha asked, clearly shocked at her conclusion. Her forelegs wrapped around me and held me firmly, but not so tightly it caused discomfort.
"Hell, no. They were afraid to even touch me in case they were attacked by the modifiers themselves. They were performing all sorts of experiments on me at the time, including vivisection!" I spat, "so artificially inseminating me to see what would happen is the more likely scenario."
"Idiots," Cacha said, shaking her head. "It isn't as if you were contagious. Didn't these fools know anything about hellite modifiers?"
"They knew very little," I confirmed. "That was why they had me strapped down for over a month. They wanted to learn as much about the process as they could."
"I am sorry, Aneki. I am so sorry. If I had realized... I would have taken you with me instead," Cacha apologized, her voice wavering a little. I felt some gentle impacts on my skin. What? She was crying!
"So, you'll never know who the father is, then?" Brainstorm asked. "Maybe that is a good thing."
"Oh, I think I have a very good idea of who the sperm donor was," I said, seething.
"Who was he?" Cacha asked, then added lamely, "not that we will know him, or anything."
"I never saw him. I don't even know his name because they all used codes instead of names," I admitted, "but one pony went out of his way to help me escape. It was the same fellow I had talked to when I briefly woke. He told me some of what they had done to me, and he apologized to me in such a way that I was sure he was holding back on something... He was apologizing for something personal, not just their unforgivable treatment of me."
"4J2," Crimson said quietly from where he lay. I hadn't realized he was part of the conversation. He had been so quiet since his last comment, I thought he had drifted off to sleep.
"Pardon?" Brainstorm asked. "4J2?"
"Aneki gave me a code to listen for if Central turned nasty on me. 4J2. At the time she didn't clarify what that code meant, stating it must not be repeated to them, and that it would only help if I listened for it," Crimson said. "And just now, Aneki told us the ponies where she was held used codes instead of names, so I am taking a leap of faith, and guessing that the pony that donated the sperm was calling himself 4J2, and that he was the one that helped her, and his unborn child, to escape."
"Aneki?" Cacha prompted, after I didn't respond.
"What he said," I muttered.
Silence settled on the room for about a minute. Eventually it was me that broke it.
"Cacha, what will I give birth to?" I asked, my mind trying not to think of the possibilities of a modifier enhanced birth. My mare bits were still flesh and blood, although I didn't know if that was the case for all Hellites... or did I? When Cacha had flashed hers at me, they had looked just as natural as any ordinary pony's.
I felt the grip of her hug shift a little. "You want me to guess if it will be a filly, colt or something like me?" she asked, puzzled.
"No, I want to know if it will be a pony or a Hellite," I said.
"Oh, a pony. We always have ordinary pony foals. We have built environmentally controlled living quarters down in Hell. Mostly, we built it for the young as they can't survive the temperature variations of the rest of Hell. They don't get converted to Hellites until later, at the same time we give them the modifiers for growing their fingers," she said. "Hellite conversion is a per-pony event. Once the modifiers attach to a particular pony, they register their DNA, and become harmless to all others, except perhaps an identical twin, and when's the last time you heard of one of those?"
"DNA registration? That was good design," Brainstorm said, "and was something we hadn't considered."
"No doubt the dangers themselves were something you did consider, though," I said.
"Yes, yes. That's why we didn't try to make our own version of them," Brainstorm agreed. "There is enough grief in this place without another uncontrollable plague of modifiers being released."
"Mostly the Hellite modifiers are harmless, too. The standard variant is, anyway, which is what we usually use. It has to be injected to be effective, much like the finger modifiers," Cacha said.
"Cacha..." Brainstorm's disembodied voice prompted. "You said something like you. What are you, if you are not male or female?"
"Oh, you caught that, did you?" she asked shyly. "I'm a victim of a modifier plague, as you put it. Down below, due to genetic sabotage, males are never born. We are either female, or something in-between like me. I am genetically male but with external female sexual organs. I can't have foals because I don't have ovaries or a uterus, and I can't get females pregnant because I don't have a... dick."
"Would you like one?" Brainstorm asked, as if giving Cacha one would be the easiest thing in the world to do.
"Of course I'd fucking like one," Cacha growled, "or if that wasn't possible, a uterus and ovaries. Either would be better than being a sexless thing."
"Then we may be able to help," Brainstorm said from within the tank, and this time we heard him, with our ears.
Thumps and sloshing sounds alerted us to movement within the life support tank, so we all glanced over that way. Fortunately I could see it without having to move. A head appeared through the opening at the top, a wet jade green mane slicked across a startlingly feminine face of sapphire blue. Next were a pair of hooves and long, slender legs, again lacking any muscle tone or meat. That was one sexy looking... what?
"You... you're a mare?" I gasped. And I'd promised Cacha two stallions. Oh, I guessed I was still delivering two, if you counted Crimson.
"I am a mare now," the female Brainstorm said. "That's why I am still in the tank. We restored Brainstorm first, so he could get out of here before we added concoction sixty three. That altered my DNA for the rebuild."
"While we were in the tank, it didn't matter what gender we were," Brainstorm, the ambulant, said, "but now that we are out, we thought we might try having a family together, and we couldn't do that if we were both male."
"These... these guys could save the Hellites!" Cacha gasped. I felt her grip around me tighten in enthusiasm. I wondered if she realized she was still hugging me. I didn't mind.
"I told you they were good. And it is their brains that are important, not their balls," I said with a chuckle. Life was going to get very interesting from here on in. It was becoming very... fluid. Very little seemed set in stone anymore.
"This could be so... wow!" Cacha squeed, giving me another squeeze. She had to know she was doing that.
"And Brainstorms, a suggestion, if I may," I said, "Pick yourself some new names. We can't keep calling you both Brainstorm. It's damn confusing!"
"You can call me Stormie," the new mare suggested, smiling.
That would work.
"And you can call me Storm," Brainstorm the male said with a grin.
"NO!!" we chorused.
A good night's sleep had done me wonders. For starters, I could stand again. Crimson was also on his feet again, doing surprisingly well for a normal pony that had a bullet removed from his guts only hours before. Brainstorm and Stormie were lounging about. Like foals, they needed a lot of rest. At the moment we were gathered around Cacha while she taught us about hellite modifiers. Perhaps gathered around wasn't quite the right description. Cacha was standing so close by my side we were touching.
She went on to explain that there were two types of hellite modifier, the original injectable version, and air-born variant that was only developed so the Hellites could catch males. It was ironic that if the Hellites hadn't been modifier-bombed by the surface ponies in the first place, this nasty class five, hellite modifier would never have been developed. Further explanation on Cacha's part revealed that the class five version was in fact made of two types of tiny machine, the true hellite modifier, the same type that was injected, and a second machine, called a carrier. Upon activation, each carrier loaded itself with a modifier, then went hunting for materials the modifier required, while waiting for a victim to wander by. Once the combination was absorbed by the victim, the carrier deactivated and was treated as building materials by the hellite modifier.
The first batch of modifiers I had encountered had not been long released, so when they attacked me, the carriers were not loaded up with extra resources, so the hellite modifiers had to make do with using the carrier for source material, as well as anything they could scavenge from my regular meals. As such, my conversion was proceeding at a leisurely pace until I walked into the second batch of them, which were all loaded up with significant resources. That was enough to push my conversion too far to be reversible. Cacha hadn't seen any evidence of the conversion when she left me, so it must have become visible after that. Exactly what happened between my collapse outside the Elevator Fifteen doors, and waking three weeks later, I would never really know. When I woke then, my conversion had been limited to my limbs, the skeletal parts of my torso and my cardiovascular system. Apparently, just one week later my full conversion had been completed. The scientists had probably been feeding some of the required minerals into my bloodstream. I was then studied for a further three weeks before being slated for termination. All up, my conversion had taken about five weeks from initial exposure.
According to Cacha, in optimal conditions, two to three weeks was sufficient for a complete conversion, although in emergencies, that could be reduced to just one week. The down-side of that was the extreme pain. My aches had been bad enough, so I didn't like the sound of the express conversion at all!
"The time the conversion takes isn't a problem. We aren't going anywhere, anyway," Stormie said from where she lay. She was spread out on the bench on which I had been recovering a day earlier. She was taller than the average mare, and rather sleek, not unlike some of the media's superstars. I wondered if her colors, which were the reverse of Brainstorm's, were natural, or a part of her rebuild. What exactly that rebuild entailed, I had not asked. Perhaps they really had been nothing more than neural matrices floating in pony soup!
"Neither I or Stormie would make it down two ladders before we were totally exhausted. If it wasn't for the Hellite option, we'd have to spend weeks exercising and eating to get to the point fleeing would be practical," Brainstorm said.
"You'll need to exercise anyway," Cacha said. "It will help a lot. Increased blood flow, muscle growth and so on all help."
"Aneki spent her conversion lying in a lab," Brainstorm pointed out. Hmm, Brainstorm didn't like exercise!
"Are you kidding me?" Cacha spluttered. "First, I expect that slowed her conversion down somewhat, and second, Miss super-mare here would have had twice the muscle mass of any regular pony when she went down. Even now her hellite form emphasizes that."
"Yours isn't any different," Brainstorm said.
"Because I spend all my time running about. My name is Catwalk Runner for a reason. Even so, my definition is nothing compared to hers."
I chuckled. "So the two most defined ponies in H'ven are sharing a room with the two weakest."
"Take your medicine, like a good boy," Stormie stirred. Brainstorm spluttered.
"It sounds like I need to do more exercise, too," Crimson interjected, eyeing our well formed bio-robotic bodies.
"Wait until you have healed," Cacha suggested. "Give it a week before you start."
"Will do. So how are we going to do this? Do you have enough modifiers for all of us? Will you just inject us with them, or what?"
"Conversion will be quicker if the modifiers have the chance to gather materials first," Cacha said. "We need somewhere safe we can set off the bomb. A contained area would be best. Any scrap we have access to should be tossed in there as well. If it's going to take a while, we could inject some into each of you now too, to start the process while we prepare the area. I have more than enough modifiers to do both."
"The shooting range would be a great place to use," Stormie suggested. "There is a protective spell in there designed to protect the walls."
"Once we fix the hole in the far end," Brainstorm said, with a smirk.
"Don't fix it too well," I said. "That hole is our best way out of here. Even if we go looking for an elevator, it would be best to do it several floors below here."
"What about materials?" Cacha asked. "We could toss in the armor the death squad was wearing, assuming we don't want to keep it for ourselves."
"And their weapons," Brainstorm added.
"Won't we want those?" Crimson asked. "They could prove valuable."
Brainstorm, Stormie and myself all laughed.
"What's the joke?" Crimson puzzled.
"Watch," I instructed as I mentally pictured one of the larger weapons from the showroom, an area to which Crimson had not been given access so far. His eyes widened in disbelief as I stretched out my hoof, my leg seeming to liquify as it formed the weapon I was imagining. "Welcome to Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories. Brainstorm and Stormie are expert weapon designers. Their designs are undoubtedly superior to anything Central has."
"So cool, so cool," Brainstorm said. "Thank you for that demonstration, Aneki."
"We can't offer you that model, as it requires the user to be a unicorn, but we can offer one that looks like it, as well as many other advanced designs."
"So I wasn't dreaming when I saw Aneki form a splint," Crimson said, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Anyway, what's with the sales pitch?"
I laughed. "Humor them," I suggested. "They had been locked in here for twelve hundred years without a single customer, before I showed up. This is their dream."
"Oh, okay. You may continue," Crimson acquiesced.
"Later, perhaps, when we show them to you. There are more important things to initiate at the moment," Stormie said.
"Yes, yes. Resources for the modifiers. There is material around the lab we could sacrifice," Brainstorm picked up the thread of the earlier discussion."
"We could gut the celestial body simulator next door, assuming Cacha doesn't object," I offered.
"That could be dangerous," Crimson said. "Central will be back, and sniffing around all too soon, and they will know where we are, or at the very least, have a pretty good idea."
"Assuming those thugs get far with broken legs," Cacha said darkly. "I expect their journey will be slow."
Broken legs? Wow. Cacha had meant business!
"They only need to get to the nearest Central controlled elevator shaft," I said, "and from there they will be able to call for assistance."
"Support may already be on the way," Crimson interjected. "No pony has reported to Central since yesterday." He pointed at the small pile of mappers on one of the workbenches. They had all been opened, and had their comms systems disabled, something Brainstorm had attended to after the medical emergencies had been dealt with.
"As you know, I've disabled the door between the service area and the public areas," Cacha reminded us, "although it is not as secure as the door to this lab."
"Not to mention possible access via the staircase, which is how I came down here," I said, "It can't be locked at this level because there isn't a door, although I guess I could blow away a few more stairs."
"Securing an outer perimeter would be good, with us effectively being trapped here for the duration," Stormie agreed. "Come here, Aneki. Touch your horn to mine."
I separated myself from Cacha, who seemed to have become a permanent accessory, and took the few steps to Stormie. A glow had been building on the tip of her horn, and as soon as we touched, knowledge flooded into my mind: more code snippets, more spells. More magic. Oh, awesome! I could now directly use my horn to fuse materials. I could weld! I could have been an even better structural engineer if I had these skills back when I still had a job.
"Fantastic!" I exclaimed. "I can weld up and reinforce the access points to this level. If I climb up a couple of floors, I can strip out the remaining floor plates and stairs. That will make it harder to climb down. I can then use those materials to fashion a false floor one level up. That will block off that access route. After that, I will repair and strengthen your outer door too."
Cacha laughed. "It sounds like we have a happy structural engineer on our hooves!"
She walked over to where I was standing, sidling up beside me again. Okay, this was getting pretty damn obvious.
"Are all you Hellites this clingy?" I asked.
"Ah, no. Sorry, I thought you didn't mind," she said shyly. I imagined she would be blushing under her black head armor.
"I don't mind," I admitted. "I just wanted to know if it was personal or not."
"Ah, it is. I kind of feel responsible for getting you into this mess, and I want to support you as much as I possibly can," Cacha said quietly. "Besides, I like you."
I could feel every pony's eyes on us, and started to turn red myself.
"Aneki's got herself a girlfriend," Stormie said with a smirk. "Look, she's blushing!"
"I'm a boy," Cacha declared, stamping her hoof to emphasize it. "Even if I do have mare bits. Even if you call me she."
Cacha's stance on the subject of her gender seemed to have moved from last time we discussed it, but back then, she didn't have any hope of becoming sexually functional either way. Brainstorm had broken into guffaws at Cacha's antics, though he managing to do so without being cruel. I could see this was going to be an amusing family, if I could use that term to describe the ponies gathered here with me. I had to admit, at that moment, I wasn't too annoyed about the changes that my life had taken. Banishment, separation from my family and friends, conversion into a bio-robot, getting pregnant, whatever; it was more interesting, more satisfying to my soul than my old life had ever been. I was already forming stronger bonds with these ponies than I had with any of my friends up on the surface.
"Hey, Cacha, I bet you are blushing too, even if we can't see it," Crimson prompted.
She let out a funny little sound in response. Yup, she was blushing all right.
"Cacha, show us your face, please," Stormie crooned, "You can do that, can't you?"
Like my head armor had, hers folded back like the petals of a flower. What was this beauty that had blossomed? Cacha's coat was a gorgeous pale pink, offset by her cherry-red eyes, all topped off with her buoyant blonde mane. Absolutely stunning, beautiful, delicate... and about as far away from boy as you could get.
There was a collective gasp, but no laughter.
"Are you sure you don't want to get turned into a fully functional female?" Stormie asked. "You are so feminine it hurts!"
Securing the perimeter around Advanced Weapons was an interesting challenge. To the rear we had the thick lab wall and high security door of Brainstorm's lab. To the front we had glass display windows and the showroom entrance, with panels welded over them, dating all the way back to Brainstorm's original incarceration. How well they would stand up to an onslaught was debatable. If the situation became really desperate, we could lock ourselves in the lab and close the door between the showroom and the lab, but that would trap us just as surely as Brainstorm had been trapped. We needed access to the shooting gallery, and that was through the showroom. At the moment, the greatest protection we had for that front wall and sealed up entry was ignorance. According to Crimson, he, and his team, had simply not known their destination was on the other side of that thin wall. It had also been presumed to be as strong as the walls around the lab.
We figured any attempts to gain access would be through the doors from the service corridor, so that is where we concentrated our efforts. With Cacha pulling guard duty, armed with one of Brainstorm's boot pistols, she and I had gone up several levels of the stripped staircase, and harvested the remaining stairs and floor plates. More of the salvaged steps were welded across the doors of the lowest three levels. Some were used to fashion a floor, one level above the access corridor. Hopefully the lack of stairs would prevent any fool pony from trapping themselves in the oubliette we had accidentally created. Needless to say, I welded in the last of the new floor from below.
The remainder of the salvaged steps and floor plates were taken down to our level where they were used to reinforce weak points. If the thugs from Central cut through the door through which they had seen us last retreat, they would be faced with a new wall of solid metal just inches behind it. Of course, we made cutting through that door as difficult as we could. I had made the cavity between the original door and our new wall totally watertight, then filled it with liquid meant for the food generators. Any penetration of the door would result in their cutting equipment getting a shower of sewage, extinguishing their cutting torch flames, or shorting out any electrically powered tools. I was not aware of any form of unicorn horn based cutter existing. I hoped they didn't because how they could be combated I did not know. Maybe, if they made it through the to the new wall, I'd just have to weld as fast as they cut!
With that done, we had stocked the shooting gallery with more suitable materials for the continued conversion of Brainstorm, Stormie and Crimson to Hellites. The armor and weapons we had initially tossed in were looking somewhat worse for wear. We ripped some of the equipment out of the failed Celestial Body Simulator and tossed it in there too. Other materials required were taken from Brainstorm's stock of chemicals. A couple of mattresses had been dragged out of Brainstorm's living quarters to offer some physical comfort, although there were bets being taken on how long the ancient materials and springs would last against the resource harvesting modifiers before the mattresses collapsed and dumped those on them onto the floor.
Somehow Cacha had managed to convince the modifier bomb to do a controlled release that kept an optimal number of modifiers in the air while not having the clouds so thick that ponies constantly choked on them. Sneezes, however, were a frequent occurrence!
Once that was done, it was just a matter of waiting.
"Oh, dear... that was weird," I muttered, stirring. I shook my head to try to dislodge the confusion of sleep.
"What was?" Cacha asked, from where she lay beside me. We'd been sleeping on one of the beds in Brainstorm's tiny, on-site living quarters. Of course, the mattresses were missing, so they weren't the most comfortable place I'd slept.
"Oh, just a stupid dream," I said, as I rubbed my eyes, "or perhaps I should call it a nightmare."
Cacha stirred, moving so she could look me in the eyes.
"What was it about?" she pushed.
"Like it makes any difference. Dreams are just a jumbled mess of fact, fiction, ideas... whatever," I said.
"So what did you dream about?" Cacha tried again. She was being rather persistent. I wondered if I had been talking in my sleep. That could have piqued her interest.
"You. I dreamed about you, about you trying to get turned into a stallion, and the ugly mess the whole situation became," I muttered.
"Oh," Cacha quietly voiced. "I guess I haven't really thought hard about the details of what could come after such a transformation. I've been assuming that life would go on like normal, but better. What was the worst part of it?"
"Well... you wouldn't be you anymore, would you?" I asked, tapping her on her nose with one of my fingers.
"Wouldn't I? I don't see how I would be all that different," Cacha said.
"And there is the problem, nicely summed up, coming from your own mouth." I said. "You... you are stunningly beautiful right now, and so feminine. I'm not just talking about your looks, either. Your movements, your behavior, your very essence: you. I just can't picture you turning into some muscle-bound male. I think the result would be very artificial, with you pretending to be stallion-like: a cliche of what you are trying to become."
"Oh. I'd never thought about it that way," Cacha admitted, with a tilt of her head that sent her mane swinging.
"You told me that you were raised as a girl, didn't you?" I asked, thinking back to our earlier conversations.
"Yes, like everypony else in Hell, we are all raised as what we appear to be: fillies. It isn't until puberty fails to turn us into a functional mare that we know something is wrong," Cacha said.
"I'm betting that despite your recent affirmations to the contrary, you self identify as a female," I said.
"Umm..."
"So why not let Brainstorm turn you into a mare?" I asked "Think about it. Don't be such in such a rush to get turned into a male."
"Umm..." Cacha tried again. "What about, you know... us... I thought you weren't into mares."
"I do like you, but no, I'm not into mares," I confirmed. "However, I do enjoy your company, and I don't mind snuggling with you..."
"But?" Her expression was as close as a pony could get to emulating a question mark.
"But what's the rush? I'm pregnant to a pony I've never met, trapped by the situation in the laboratory of a pair of reprobates who did nasty things to me, while death squads from Central poke about outside. I kind of have enough happening. I don't need to try to help a mare who's just been trapped in the body of a stallion because she was hoping to impress me. Let me get used to being in this body first."
"Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. I destroyed your life. You need time to adjust," Cacha said, glum.
I wrapped a leg around the sad mare and gave her a hug. "Maybe what I need more than anything at the moment is a best friend. Maybe that is what you need more than anything else at the moment, too. That is something we can both be. And snuggles are wonderful. It doesn't need to be about sex."
"Yeah, maybe, but it would have been nice not to be useless," Cacha mumbled, looking somewhat dejected.
"Useless? You are not useless. You are a most helpful mare. Look how often you've saved me," I said.
"I still feel useless," Cacha said, totally failing to object to being called a mare.
"You had it hard when you grew up, didn't you?" I asked.
"Yeah, most of the ponies with my condition get treated poorly. It's fine until we reach the age where we should mature. Then we go through a period of hoping we are just late to develop, all the while getting berated. Then, finally when we reach eighteen, we are officially recognized as failures, although by that point it's been pretty obvious for a while. That's when we start getting sent out to do the dangerous stuff," Cacha seethed. "Sorry. It's not your fault. I shouldn't be getting angry."
A voice interrupted our conversation, although at this point, I had the feeling it was going to loop back into trying to reassure Cacha. It was Stormie calling out for us, presumably with an answer to Cacha's earlier request. I took the interruption as a gift.
Cacha and I climbed off the bed, stretched, (I shook, out of habit), then walked out to see what Stormie wanted. It appeared both she and Brainstorm were taking a break from the shake and bake room, as we were jokingly calling the shooting range while it was full of modifiers. Presumably Crimson was still in there. Stormie indicated she wished to speak to us as she settled herself on the table that had become her favorite resting spot.
"Well, my friends, it isn't good news," Stormie said. "None of the concoctions we have here can help you, Cacha. At the moment, you are stuck with your girly body. Concoction sixty three will work on you, but all it could do would be to rebuild you as a true mare, though admittedly, you would be functional that way."
"And before you ask, if you were subjected to a second treatment, it could not convert you back to a true male from there, because your genetics are still faulty. It would simply rebuild you more or less as you are now," Brainstorm said, "thus being a major waste of time and effort."
"Oh," Cacha said, her voice betraying nothing.
"It isn't a total loss," Brainstorm reassured Cacha. "Maybe in time we can work out a way around the problem. We have succeeded in writing a spell that can correct the damage to the ovaries and testes of Hellites. It's difficult to perform, so we won't be offering it to every pony we meet, but it is a start. We will use it only when it is needed. With it, the next generation will be born without the faulty genes. It also functions as a shielding spell, preventing any further modifier attacks, if those modifiers are still active, so any newly conceived fetus can reach maturity undamaged. Unfortunately, the spell dissipates when a foal is born, leaving the foal's gonads open to attack, unless we cast the spell on them too. It is a temporary solution until we can create modifiers of our own to do the task, or until we can eliminate all the detrimental modifiers themselves. We at least have a decent head start on that task. We will be basing them on the modifiers we used to protect unicorn fetuses, and this time we will make them cure both faults."
"Oh, I guess that is all good news. You will use the spell on Aneki, won't you? Hopefully it isn't too late for her foal," Cacha said.
"Aneki and her foal are fine. We detected no damage to the DNA of either when we scanned her. Nor were there any signs of any of the genocide modifier in her body," Stormie said. "We couldn't detect any in your body either, for that matter, which makes us wonder if the modifiers have vanished altogether, having done their job. Whatever the case, we will cast the spell on Aneki before we leave for Hell, but before we do, we want to test it on somepony who isn't pregnant."
"I suppose you could let it loose on my gonads then, even if they are male," Cacha said.
"It should work on either sex, so thank you, we will take you up on that offer," Stormie said.
"Hey, if you converted me to a mare, would I be able to have colts? Real colts?" Cacha asked.
"If the spell works, yes, although we would need to cast it on you again, after your conversion, because the conversion would replace your testes with ovaries," Brainstorm said.
"So, let me get this straight," I interrupted, "You have a spell that can correct the DNA of ovaries and testes, and any eggs or sperm they may contain or produce, but you can't do the same for the rest of the DNA in a pony's body?"
"That sums it up," Stormie agreed. "It is a very high level spell, and damned hard for us mere unicorns to cast. You'd need a magical specialist to even have a chance of expanding its field of influence, and neither Brainstorm or I are that good. We are much better suited to technology. What we will be working on is a way to achieve what the spell does, using modifiers. And that, I am afraid, will take us some time."
"There... there is no rush," Cacha quietly said. "I've been talking to Aneki, and she doesn't think I can be a stallion."
"Why not?" Brainstorm asked. "I'd like to know her reasoning. As we said, we should be able to work out the details of the conversion with time. We just need to make new modifiers."
"That's not what I meant. I'm really a girl, inside," Cacha admitted. "Even if my DNA says my body should be male, my mind is female. I've always lived as a girl. The reason I wanted to be a boy so much was that if I was, I would be valuable to my community. Even more so than if I had been a mare. It would make returning to them so much more impressive. Instead of a useless thing, I would be a stallion. I would be the first Hellite born stallion in generations. I thought it would be glorious, that I would be able to face all of the ponies that laughed and ridiculed me, that I would be special! Aneki pointed out that if I got converted, despite my new body, I would be a mare pretending to be a stallion, and that I would look trite at best, and ridiculous at worst... and that would put me exactly back in the same situation I was trying to get away from. It was a childish dream. That's all."
"I can understand all that, but what about you and Aneki? You wanted to be a stallion for her, too, didn't you? That's what you said to me," Stormy said.
"Umm... I was getting ahead of myself. Aneki doesn't want a stallion," Cacha admitted, blushing furiously.
"She's into mares?" Brainstorm asked, somewhat taken aback.
"No. She just wants a best friend, at the moment. I can be that for her as a mare. I can be that for her exactly as I am."
"Oh?" Stormie voiced. "I think I see what's going on here. Cacha, more than anything, you want acceptance, don't you?"
"So, there is no rush, is there?" Cacha asked. I wrapped my leg around the funny little mare and gave her a squeeze. It seemed she had understood what I had said enough to take it to heart. I was proud of her. I was glad she was capable of listening and understanding, too.
"Maybe there isn't a rush, but I will point out that your best opportunity to be converted to a fully functional mare is right here, right now, in that tank beside me," Brainstorm said. "We don't know when we will next have the opportunity to set up a conversion tank. For that matter, when we flee down to Hell with you, we won't be able to carry all of our concoctions or equipment with us. Maybe we will be able to come back up here to salvage it later, but setting it up again could take months, maybe even years. Conversely, right now, we are stuck here for at least another week while we are transformed into Hellites. Converting you to a mare now would not inconvenience anyone. In fact, it would be even quicker than Stormie's conversion because you are most of the way there already."
"Umm..." Cacha said.
"As we said earlier, it may be possible to convert you to a stallion later, if you wanted it, so what you choose now won't mess up your future options," Brainstorm said. "but that won't be until we work out how to fix the genetic damage right throughout your body."
"Umm... Aneki?" Cacha asked.
"You don't need my approval, silly. Follow your heart," I said.
"I want to be a real mare," Cacha stated emphatically.
The lab was fairly busy, despite me being the only pony visible in here. Overhead the manipulator arms were whizzing about, fabricating and machining parts that were needed by Brainstorm and Stormie, for whatever they were creating this time. The benches were covered in clutter. Organized chaos was a fair description of how it looked to me. Brainstorm had separated the system controls that had previously all been attached to the tank. Anything that was related to the weapons building process had been rerouted to a pair of headsets he had just installed in the shooting range. He and Stormie were now busily creating new weapons and other things remotely, much as they had while they were trapped in the tank. The headsets and cabling had been protected by a spell to prevent the Hellite modifiers from eroding them for resources. The same spell had eventually been applied to their mattresses too, but not until they were looking somewhat worse for wear.
Much of my time was being spent packing, running errands and moving most of Brainstorm's inventory of weapons and ammunition through the shooting range, and into the main service shaft beyond. The showroom was looking quite empty now, just a select few weapons left, at Brainstorm's request. I was stashing the items in all of the alcoves and corners I could find, and so far, had carried quite a few of the items down several floors. It wasn't as hard as it sounded, because most of the between-level carrying was accomplished with that marvel of marvels, levitation. To assist with getting the equipment through the shooting range un-eroded, Brainstorm had taught me a basic shielding spell to prevent the modifiers from trying to digest the equipment I was moving. I, on the other hoof, was totally immune to the things, my conversion already complete. Crimson was helping with the movement of equipment through the shooting range itself. I'd leave things just inside the door and he'd lug them down to the other end. When there was enough junk at the other end to warrant it, I'd go through and into the shaft, and he's pass things through to me. He got the exercise he wanted, and it saved me some time.
Cacha was in the lab, inside the life support tank, now repurposed for gender change, where she was currently immersed in a suspension of concoction sixty three modifiers, while they rebuild the relevant parts of her. Despite the promise of a dream come true at the end of her stay in there, the process was, to put it bluntly, boring. I was spending most of my free time in the area so she had some company. The tank lid had been reattached to offer her some privacy and to reduce contamination risks while her privates were being rebuilt, but that had the downside of adding to her isolation.
When I wasn't busy, I had taken to sitting or lying on the floor at the base of the tank, out of the way of the manipulators, chatting to Cacha through the mental link. Sometimes I even dozed or slept, taking advantage of when it was quiet, figuratively speaking; the manipulators above were far from silent. Being the only pony that wasn't currently being modified, I was also on guard duty. Admittedly that wasn't exactly accurate. Cacha was monitoring the cameras we had set up around the perimeter we had created by sealing off the service corridor. The big problem was that most of these cameras were on our side of the metal walls. That meant we could only watch for damage to the walls, or listen for the sounds of tools. That, Cacha was doing from her hookup inside the survival tank. It was my job to act anytime she saw something that warranted attention: a cutting blade penetrating the wall in a shower of sparks, for example, although with the racket that was making, I think even the dead would have known about it.
"Aneki, I'm opening the door now," Cacha informed me. "Please take care... and ammunition."
"I have some. Ammunition, I mean," I responded, although I found the thought of carrying something that could kill, offensive. Nonetheless, I was feeling these things that kept crawling down from Central intent on killing us were not living in any sense of the word that I would use. What empty souls they must have. It was too bad I couldn't load the gun with care and shoot ponies with that.
I stepped through the doorway as soon as the door had moved sufficiently out of my path. I could hear the door as it continued opening. I took the couple steps required to reach the second door of the airlock arrangement. The airlock protocol had been overwritten, and that door was also opening. Quick exit and quick entry were more important at the moment. I stepped through the widening gap. That put me in the service corridor. The welded-up door that gave access to the public areas still stood firm. Earlier attempts to cut through it had resulted in the attackers getting doused in effluent. After that, cutting through the wall seemed to be a better option to them, judging from where they were now cutting.
I could see the blur of the blade well enough, despite the shower of sparks. Positioning myself so I could target the blade at an angle while maintaining a safe distance, I raised my hoof, and wished my weapon into existence. It obliged, forming a long barreled weapon to aid with accuracy. A bipod extended, giving me extra stability. I didn't want to be anywhere near that blade when I shot it. Of course, with the targeting spells that were part of the weapon design, the boot pistol would have been adequately accurate; I was just using the opportunity to practice forming alternative weapons.
I loaded the weapon with a version of my disintegration spell, set the charge and penetration to minimal values, took aim, then gently squeezed the trigger. The wonderful thing about this weapon design, powered as it was, by my magic, was that it was very quiet, and did not recoil.
The spell hit the rapidly spinning wheel, blowing away a small section of the abrasive material, twisting the wheel as it did. The result was instant. The blade jammed and shattered, throwing pieces around the corridor. Things would be worse on the other side of the wall, where the larger portion of the blade was still being held against the metal panel. The resultant bangs, clangs, scream and string of curses was most satisfying. With any luck, it would have injured some of them. With even more luck, they would eventually run out of ponies to send down to kill us. How many death squads could H'ven support? It wasn't as if Hellites were constantly being hunted and killed, was it? Surely their visits up here were few and very far between. I sincerely hoped so. How many poor ponies like Cacha had been executed over some ancient fear, or dispute?
I reabsorbed my gun then quietly crept forward, towards the cut wall panel. As I passed my stock of metal salvaged from the stairs above, I levitated a section of inch-square tube that had once formed the front edge of one of the steps. I had separated it from the tread plate earlier. Carefully I pressed it up against the wall where the cut was, then using my welding spell, fused it into place. Unlike technology based welders, the magical process was quiet, dark and cold. It didn't give away my presence to those on the other side of the wall. If they were really attentive, at most they might notice a change of light or color at the depth of their cut. When they tried to continue their cut, as no doubt they would, they would find they hadn't achieved as much as they thought. Even if they re-cut the slot, they would not be likely to cut deep enough to go through the far side of the tube, which would again thwart them. They had also shown their hoof in that I knew the area they were working on. Taking this into account, I levitated across another piece of tube, and welded it parallel to the first, then again twice more, so that I had four tubes spaced out across the area where I believed they would try to cut the opening. I then welded four more tubes at right angle to the first four. The theory was that even if they were able to cut an opening without me interfering, the piece they were trying to remove would be supported by the extra tubes, giving me enough time to get to the problem, even if I was several levels down carting Brainstorm's inventory at the time.
Walking back towards the airlock, I realized that should the wall be breached, I would be totally vulnerable as I tried to exit the airlock. After a moment's thought, I levitated up another of the salvaged steps, and welded it to the floor, on edge, so that it formed the lower part of a barricade. Three more steps followed, with me leaving a narrow gap between the second and third steps so I could peek out, or push a gun barrel through. Another piece of tubing along the outer edge made it sturdy.
That done, I sat quietly behind my barricade and waited, listening.
After a few minutes, Cacha spoke into my mind. "Aneki, are you okay? You are awfully quiet."
"Oh, sorry," I subvocalized. "I should have reported in. I destroyed their cutting blade. I expected they would be cutting again by now, but all is quiet at the moment. Maybe they didn't have a spare. Maybe I damaged their machine."
"Come back inside right now, please," Cacha said, a hint of urgency, no, desperation, in her voice.
I obliged, rising, and taking the few of steps from behind my barricade, through airlock doors and back into the lab. At Cacha's bidding the doors immediately closed.
"What's wrong, Cacha?" I asked.
"Please don't do that to me again," she responded, her voice still expressing an edge of desperation.
"Why? What has you so worried?" I wondered.
"Don't stay out there when it is quiet," she answered. "If they are quiet, they are planning or are possibly setting something up. You would be vulnerable if it was something you weren't prepared for. What if they could punch a hole through, then feed gas in? It could be too late for you, or even for all of us if I couldn't get the door closed quick enough."
I sat, just where I was. "Yikes. I hadn't considered that approach. I made myself a little barrier as cover, but that wouldn't be any good against a gas attack, would it?"
"I would suggest only going out there while they are actually cutting. We know exactly what they are doing when there is a sparking blade stuck through our wall, don't we?" Cacha suggested.
"True, true," I answered as I looked across at the tank in which she was lying. I hadn't seen her for a few days now, and was looking forward to her emerging. "How's it going in there?" I asked, as I had many times before.
"Lonely," she answered. "Thank goodness for the camera and microphone feeds, or I would be finding my senses somewhat deprived. And thank you for hanging around as much as you do."
"My pleasure," I responded.
I thought back to Brainstorm living in there for twelve hundred years. That would have been mind numbing, even with the cameras. It wasn't as if anything was happening around the lab before I showed up, was it? It was little wonder they spent the time sleeping, puzzling over intricate technology, and when they could, building their weapons using the remote manipulators of their lab. I wondered if their minds ever became so submerged in that reality that they forgot their bodies were stuck in a tank, that the manipulators became literal extensions of themselves, as if they were their own limbs. That they had come out of it as amoral, mad scientists was a minor miracle. They could have gone totally insane.
The nasty buzzing screech started up outside again. The death squad were back to cutting through the walls. I stood, and turned to face the door, which was still closed.
"No sparks yet," Cacha informed me. "Stay put for the moment. I'll let you know when I think it is safe for you to go out and confound them.
"Okay," I agreed. "Persistent pests, aren't they?"
"You said it. It's too bad we can't break their legs, with the wall in the way and all," Cacha added. As feminine as she was, she certainly had a dark, violent streak. If I was honest with myself, I was beginning to grow a dark streak of my own. I was really getting tired of Central and those who did its bidding. I wondered what dark and twisted sort of creature was at its helm, and what I would do to them if I ever had the opportunity.
"Okay, friend, we have a breakthrough, of the rotating blade persuasion," Cacha announced. "Sparks are spitting out of the bottom of the tube you welded to the wall before."
So, my tube idea was working well, thus was why the cutting had been invisible so far. As the doors opened again, I grabbed one end of the hose that was neatly coiled on a reel by the door, and quietly trotted out, zeroing in on where the sparks were blasting out of the open bottom of the tube welded to the wall. They were continuing with their old cut. Using my welding spell, I sealed up the bottom of the tube, perhaps a counterproductive move because I could no longer see the sparks, but my next surprise for them counted on the tube being sealed at the bottom. Using that other very convenient spell I had recently learned, I levitated the hose up, and stuffed the end of it into the top of the tube, holding it there.
"Ready when you are," I subvocalized. While I hadn't said a word about what I was doing, I knew that Cacha would understand.
The hose hissed, flinched a few times, then went firm as another stream of effluent blasted through. Unfortunately I could not hear the faint voices from the other side of the wall over the sound of rushing effluent, although the sudden cessation of cutting was most notable. I let the flow continue for a few moments more, then indicated Cacha could flush the pipe. A few moments later the hose drooped, so I pulled the end from the tube, dropped it on the floor, and retreated back into the lab, where I immediately began reeling the hose in again. Even before the end whipped through the doors, Cacha had started to close them.
"You know, Aneki," Cacha said to me, "I really think shooting them would be kinder than spraying them with sewage!"
"Oh, Cacha, you know the stuff I am spraying them with is only one process away from being a perfectly good meal!" I responded.
"Remind me why we are flushing out the hose with clean water before you reel it in then?" Cacha replied. She was definitely smirking. I could feel it!
With the hose neatly put away, I stretched, and settled to the floor near the tank again. Just as I was getting comfortable, Cacha interrupted me with news I didn't want to hear. If she hadn't, the racket would have let me know anyway.
"Sorry, Aneki..." Cacha began.
"Maybe I should just shoot them and be done with it," I muttered as I trotted out through the opening doors again.
"Please, do," Cacha requested. She wasn't joking.
This time the cutting saw was penetrating the wall a little higher than it had been before. It was also clear of the tubes I had welded there. Perhaps the ponies on the other side thought they had hit a pipe. Surely they could not be so dense as to not realize I was sabotaging their efforts? What did I need to do to stop them, weld their damn tools to the wall or something? Hey... now, that was an idea!
Once I was past my barricade I carefully approached the spinning blade, and stared at it. I couldn't weld it while it was spinning without it shattering. Glancing around the floor while I wondered how to approach the problem, I saw pieces from the last blade that had exploded, and that gave me another idea. Using telekinesis, I lifted several of the pieces, then fused them together. I pressed the little mass of abrasives to the wall, just below the spinning blade, and welded them into place. Admittedly it wasn't a true weld, but as long as the pieces stuck there, I didn't care. I stepped back, well out of the way, to watch.
While it wasn't spectacular, it was amusingly effective. A stream of dust and particles spewed from the blade where it hit the material of identical hardness. It would have been a lot messier on the other side of the wall than I was seeing, too! The saw would eventually cut through it, but not before it severely worn down the diameter of the blade. The pony on the other side kept on trying though. The vibrations through the wall increased, presumably because the body of the tool was now resting directly on the wall. Perfect!
Estimating where the tool would be sitting, from the portion of the blade that was through the wall, I cast my welding spell, not at the blade itself, but at the wall to either side of it, pushing, forcing the material of the wall to reach out on the other side and merge with that of the tool itself. The flow of dust reduced, then stopped as the speed of the tool increased, no longer loaded by pressure of the blade against the wall. I had done it! The tool was stuck in place. Moments later, the tool powered down. Through the wall I could hear grunts, thumps and bangs, as the pony on the other side tried to budge the cutting machine from where it hung. The cutting wheel twitched a little, before grinding to a standstill, suggesting my weld wasn't as firm as I would like, so I immediately stepped closer and re-cast the spell, this time fusing the remains of the cutting wheel itself to the wall, before again pushing the spell through the wall either side of the blade to fuse its hub as well.
"Fuck! The cutter is stuck! I can't budge it!" I heard a pony exclaim in outrage. Even through the wall, his frustration could clearly be heard.
"Flick it on, see if it can cut itself free," a quieter voice replied. So I had at least two ponies out there at the moment.
"I would advise against it," the first responded.
"Just do it," the other voice commanded. So, the second pony was the idiot in charge.
I held my breath and listened, and there it was, a resounding 'pop' as the surge of current through the cutter's stalled motor blew its coils. That was when I decided it was time to retreat to the safety of the lab again. I could hear the argument between the ponies outside erupting. I'd love to see them explain that one to their boss, or supply clerk or whoever it was that they had to return the machine too. Hell, I'd love to see the stupid tool stuck to the wall. It would be hilarious.
Once again the doors to the lab closed as I dashed past. We were safe for the moment, doubly so.
"Whoa, they are carrying on a treat out there!" Cacha said to me. I can't quite make out what they are saying, but it sounds like heads are going to roll, one way or the other. What did you do exactly?"
I smirked. "I welded their bloody cutter to the wall, didn't I?"
It wouldn't be long now. In a few more days, the Hellite conversions would be complete. Cacha would be done sooner. Despite the idiots from central continuing to attempt to break into the service corridor, I had found the time to move most of the assets of the lab into the main shaft. I'd even managed to repair the damaged shaft wall at the rear of the shooting gallery and had fashioned a hidden door into it. It wasn't as impressive as the real doors on the other levels, but it was adequate. It consisted of two parts, in effect, an inner door and an outer door. Once we had left the lab through it, the outer door would be closed and pegged to the frame. The inner door was then placed over the threaded shafts that protruded from the back of the outer door, through the door way, and the two secured together. As such, the only way to open it was from within the shaft, and that was protected at all other entry points by hoof scanners. It even had gaskets to make it airtight! I was proud of it, especially considering it was the first door I had ever made from scratch.
Between them, Brainstorm and Stormie had even written an EMP spell to kill off the remaining hellite modifiers once they left the 'shake and bake' room. Crimson, complaining that he felt like an extra in a poorly written play, had been assisting me with the construction of the door, all the while chatting about the lives we were leaving behind. His lot sounded similar to mine, although both of his parents had died, and he wasn't that fond of running.
Of course, whenever I could, I'd drop in on Cacha to keep her company.
"Aneki, what are those things the manipulators have been assembling?" Cacha asked me. She was referring to the two assemblies Brainstorm and Stormie had remotely assembled over a good portion of their time in the 'shake and bake' room.
Each of the two items sitting on the workbench appeared to be some sort of expanded construction kit, or a complex antenna. Their cores were a tube, like a gun barrel. From these barrels short lengths of perpendicular rod held small curved pieces of metal out at some distance. The curvature of those suggested that they belonged tightly packed around the core, rather than sitting out at the end of the little sticks. There were several layers of these odd protrusions of varying lengths. Within their shadows was some dense cable-work as well as some tiny and intricate machinery. I was well aware of what they were, and had known very soon after the manipulators had started building them.
To answer Cacha, I lifted my foreleg and rested it on the table parallel to the two devices, imagined a sniper rifle, and reached for the nonexistent grip. As per each time I had done so, the machinery and its associated modifier built support systems went into action, the weapon extruding itself from my leg, morphing, twisting, changing as needed, until there on the bench was the weapon I had wished for.
"Oh," said Cacha. "One of those."
"Two of them, actually," I told her.
"They are scary. I can't imagine how it got installed in you," she mused.
"Unfortunately, I don't have to imagine it," I muttered. "Be very glad you are not a unicorn.
"That bad, eh?"
"Worse," I answered. "Worse than you could possibly imagine."
"Does it hurt you?" Cacha asked.
"Not any more. It just feels weird as it scavenges its parts from around my body and assembles itself."
"Gross," Cacha stated. "Oh, sorry, I don't mean you."
"You are quite right," I agreed, "and installation was a hundred times worse. It cut its way into me and hurt like crazy until I fainted. There's no way I'm going to touch one these, in case it decides it wants to install itself as well. One is enough, thank you."
"So who are they for? Brainstorm and Stormie?"
"I can't see anypony else with unicorn's horns. Can you?" I asked.
"You do have a point," Cacha agreed, then added with a chuckle, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make a pun. What would happen if I touched one?"
"Absolutely nothing," I stated. "You need to be treated with a special modifier before it will work, as I have been."
"That's a bit risky for you, isn't it?"
I shrugged. I could imagine myself grabbing the damn things while not concentrating, and finding myself waking up with even more weapons sticking out of me.
"Brainstorm?" I called.
"Yes, Aneki?" he answered through the thought link.
"Cacha and I would like to know something about these unicorn guns you've made. Specifically, what will stop them attaching themselves to me if I touch them, or will they react like the first one did?"
"There are a couple of safety measures in place. First, they are keyed to a different modifier than the one used on you, so they will not react to you," Brainstorm explained. "Each weapon has a specific modifier coded for it. Also, it is highly unlikely you still have any of the original integration modifiers left in your body. Once the weapon is absorbed, the modifiers are converted to a support role. Oh, we also tweaked the modifier a little since then, to make the integration experience less unpleasant than it was for you, although we still don't fully understand why the installation caused you any pain at all."
"Just a little bug that needs to be ironed out, eh?" I asked, wryly. "I assume these are for you two. I look forward to watching them install themselves."
"I guess we asked for that," Brainstorm admitted.
"You did."
It started out as unnoticeable, then manifested as an uneasy feeling. Things began rattling and buzzing about the lab. First it was bottles on a shelf, then it was some things on the bench. It set my nerves on edge, and I stirred, standing, glancing around, looking for a possible source of the vibrations.
"Cacha?" I asked.
"What's happening?" she asked me. "The cameras are shaking, but I can't see anything."
One of the cupboard doors began to resonate, then after peaking, it quietened down while in turn, some tools began chattering together.
"I don't know, Cacha," I answered. "It's got me worried too. Something large and heavy appears to be spinning up somewhere near by. In all my years as a structural engineer, I've never come across something like this. Even the pumps and rotary converters aren't this bad."
I heard somepony burst through the shooting range door, then grab one of the weapons and ammunition still in the showroom.
"Aneki! Emergency!" It was Stormie. "We've been suckered! Get in here, and ready your disintegration beam at full output!"
"What?" I began to object. "The blast from that would knock us flat!" Not to mention that it would be powerful to put a sizable hole in any wall I hit - even the thick ones of the lab itself.
The vibrations continued rise in frequency, and were now entering audio frequencies.
"Blow out the front door, then shoot anything you see. Hurry! We've only got a few seconds, before we're all dead!" Stormie yelled over the increasing din.
The vibrations that were shaking the entire lab continued rise in frequency, and were now entering the audio range.
"Blow out the front door, then shoot anything you see. Hurry! We've only got a few seconds, before we're all dead!" Stormie yelled over the increasing din.
"Hurry," Brainstorm added. "Shoot to kill."
Something hit the glass of the showroom doors, and they shattered. Presumably Stormie had just shot them.
"We'll shield you from the blast," Stormie yelled. I could feel the vibrations all the way to my core. They were very distracting, taxing my power to think. Then, at the moment, obeying was more important than thinking.
Bracing myself, I lifted my right foreleg, and wished the pistol into existence. The urgency suggested that messing around with complex gun designs would not be wise. As soon as it had finished forming, I mentally slammed the spell into its virtual magazine and squeezed off a couple of shots. I don't know what the second one hit, because the first one totally blew away the doors, and the metal plates welded to them, their twisted remains bouncing out into the old shopping mall with a resounding clatter. Broken glass, pieces of blue satin and other shrapnel filled the air, but none of it made it to where I was standing, instead, hitting a thin glowing wall before dropping to the floor. I recognized it as a variation of Brainstorm's shooting gallery shield spell.
Folding the gun around my hoof, I ran forward, through the smoke, through the doorway, struggling to see what was beyond, in the unlit mall. It was hard to pinpoint the target by listening, because I was being assaulted from all directions by echoes off the bare walls of the mall.
"Shoot to kill. Stop that weapon firing no matter what the cost!" Brainstorm yelled. "If it fires, everypony will die, them included." In other words, they are dead either way. I understood. I can't say that pleased me any, though.
"What am I looking for?" I yelled as I cleared the smoke, and desperately looked around the blackness for the source of the vibrations. Overhead a couple of lights flickered into action, triggered by my presence.
"Fucking huge gun," Stormie clarified. Wonderfully descriptive. Just how big was 'fucking huge'?
Bullets started whizzing past me, an error on the part of our attackers, because that gave me a general direction. Far off, perhaps quarter of a mile away, right down the other end of the mall, where it had narrowed into a large corridor, there were a number of ponies. Behind them, filling most of the corridor, extending from floor to ceiling, was a substantial dark mass. It was big enough to be blocking off most of the light from the ceiling lights behind it. What I assumed was the barrel of the weapon extended forward, over the heads of the ponies that were firing at me. The vibrations had reached a screaming pitch, my body twitching and quivering in response, making it hard to even breathe, yet the frequency continued to climb.
I slid to a standstill, raising and unfolding my boot pistol, still armed with the disintegration spell. I rapidly squeezed off several shots, all aimed at the dark mass. In response, the sound warbled, its climb halting, as the area disappeared in an orange flare of multiple explosions and thick black smoke. I felt the resultant blast from where I was standing. Even aiming at the machine as I had been, I knew that those explosions had killed the operators and those guarding it. I had crossed the line. I had done the last thing I ever wanted to do. I was now a killer, justified or not.
Stormie slid to a stop beside me. With her that close, I could just hear her saddle mounted weapons spitting a stream of bullets into the clouds of smoke. "Keep firing until the noise falls off," she instructed me.
Taking my best aim, I squeezed off another half a dozen shots, and again was buffeted by the resultant blasts. The noise and vibrations suddenly increased in volume and intensity, sounding very ragged, as if metal was rubbing against metal. Suddenly the frequency began to plummet, then following a deafening screech, the area exploded with the sound of ripping and tearing metal, as something huge hurtled about on a rampage of its own. What in Luna's name had I just set free?
"Cover!" Brainstorm yelled, and we scattered, seeking shelter in whatever alcove was the nearest, as the shock wave carrying tons of pieces of shredded walls and smashed machinery blasted towards us.
The silence was deafening... or had I actually gone deaf? I tapped my hoof on the floor. "Thunk." I heard that, so it really was quiet. I wondered if I had blacked out, or had just been too stunned to notice what was going on. It seemed the power had blacked out too.
I pushed the twisted metal remains of a wall panel off myself, reabsorbed my pistol, and slowly stood. After a visual inspection of my body, I tried each of my limbs, pleased to find that everything was still attached and worked. There were a few impact marks on my black bio-robotic body, although only one or two showed any sign of bleeding: scratches, nothing more, fortunately. Extending my fingers, I reached up to check my face, only to find it felt totally alien. Oh, the head armor had deployed. I decided to leave it in place until this mess was sorted out.
"Oh, there you are, Aneki," a slightly husky voice stated. I could hear the relief they felt.
"Cacha? You are out of your tank?" I asked, pointlessly, as she clearly was. Turning I found her a couple of paces from me. Like me, her armor had deployed and her eyes glowed orange-red. Her mane was still wet, plastered down on her black skin. I missed seeing her pretty pink face.
"Yeah, I'm out," she stated. "When I heard the first explosion, I thought it would be better to be out and about as quick as I could be in case we needed to run.
"Stormie and Brainstorm?" I asked.
"Brainstorm is over there, taking a nap too. We haven't found Stormie yet," Cacha replied. She indicated where Crimson was assisting the fallen stallion.
"Stormie was near me, when the machine exploded," I said, glancing around for anywhere she could be hidden.
We heard a groan from under another collection of shrapnel and debris.
"Stormie," Cacha and I voiced together.
"I think I'm hurt," came Stormie's response. "It feels like I have a massive cut along my flank."
Immediately Cacha and I started lifting the debris from Stormie and throwing it aside. If we could get pressure onto her wound, we could stop it bleeding. Hang on... hadn't a fair amount of time already passed? My level of panic dropped. If Stormie was going to bleed out, it would have already happened. Within moments Cacha and I had cleared the debris and could see Stormie relatively clearly, both Cacha's and my eyes providing light. She was lying on her left side, leaving her injured right side clear for us to see. The rent in her hide started at her shoulder and ran right down the length of her body to just shy of her tail. Below was dark, and reflective. Unfurling my fingers, I felt the edge of the tear, finding it felt as dry as it looked. There was no blood. Cacha reached past me and shoved her fingers straight into the wound.
"Cacha!" I gasped.
"You're fine, Stormie," Cacha stated, "assuming you don't have any wounds I can't see."
"What about that cut?" Stormie asked, turning her head so she could see it herself. Her eyes were also glowing. "Good grief! That's serious!" she exclaimed.
"You are armored, you silly mare," Cacha said tapping the black of Stormie's face. "This," she said as she grabbed the torn skin and pulled hard, "is just your old coat."
A great chunk of Stormie's coat ripped free, revealing the fully developed bio-robotic body below.
"What?" Stormie gasped as her old coat parted company with her body.
"You're a Hellite now, girl. Your conversion is almost complete. Your old skin would have come away of its own accord within the next few days. This has just sped that up a little. It's my own conversion I'm worried about now," Cacha added.
"You'll be fine, Cacha," Stormie said as she looked past us. "Crimson! How's Brainstorm doing?" she called.
"Same as you, by the sound of it," Crimson responded. "He's coming around now. Head armor has deployed, and his old coat is torn around his neck."
"Oh good, we are still alive," another voice interjected: Brainstorm.
"Welcome to the land of the living," Crimson responded.
"You succeeded in stopping them from firing the weapon, Aneki," Brainstorm said.
"Did I?" I asked. "This area is totally trashed."
"You did," Brainstorm asserted. "That energy had to go somewhere. If that thing had reached full power and fired, it would have vaporized the lab, and the main structure behind it, not to mention the floors and ceilings for a few levels above and below this one. Every pony within a mile would have died, and chances are a section of the city above would have collapsed." Whoa! That would have been a major disaster! Not that it would have been my problem any more.
Brainstorm stood, and went through a similar routine to what I had when I first got up. Satisfied all of his body parts were still where they belonged, he turned back to us.
"All parts present and accounted for, except for my saddle guns," he said. Now that I thought of it, Stormie's were no longer on her either. After hunting around for a few moments, he levitated his missing weapon from where it had been thrown and settled it on his back. "Hmm. Lights are out, but I can see. Interesting," he added, before heading towards us. Crimson, the only one of us who still looked like a regular pony, followed.
"What the fuck was that thing?" I asked, not caring that my choice of words fell outside my comfort zone.
"It was an ancient weapon that was discovered sealed up in a hidden store room. All sorts of other ancient tech was found at the same time, and spirited off to be used up above. That just left that damn monster," Brainstorm explained, without fully answering my question.
"So how do you know about it? I thought you were locked up for twelve hundred years," I said.
"It was found before they locked us up, and with us being Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories and all, they employed us as consultants to help them work it out," Stormie said. "And as you can gather, we succeeded..."
"...which was rather unfortunate," Brainstorm continued. "Had we realized the enormous power of the thing, we would have told them it was scrap, or sabotaged it or something. Fortunately we were able to abort the test firing before it was too late. That was how I recognized what was happening when the vibrations started."
"So what exactly is... was it?" I tried again. "It was clearly too powerful for use within the H'ven dome. Was it repurposed from something else? If not, and it really was built as a weapon in the first place, it must have been intended for firing at things outside Habitat Eleven."
"You're on the right track, Aneki. It was a main ship's gun," Cacha said quietly.
"Which leads to the obvious question, what the Hell is a weapon that powerful doing in the life support chamber, and what exactly is a main ship?" Crimson interjected.
"I think she means it's the main gun of a ship, Crimson," Brainstorm said. "It does not, however, give us any idea as to what one was doing in H'ven, or if it actually belonged here, in what context?"
"From what I have seen," Cacha said, "and as Aneki suggested, it is meant for firing outside the habitat. There are several positioned around the outer walls, facing out towards the nothing. I have seen them. None of them have been used in living memory. I don't think they even work anymore."
"Have you seen the nothing?" I asked.
"No. There is no way to see what is outside the habitat that I know of," Cacha replied. "The guns are built into massive armored installations that themselves are sealed off from the rest of the Habitat. There are inspection ports that allow us to see them, and sealed hatches that would allow access, but they are locked, even to us."
"So what you have just told us suggests that H'ven is... a ship?" Stormie asked.
"It looks that way," Cacha agreed, "although with the total loss of documentation during the extermination, the how and why of it is unknown, even to us."
"What is a ship, then?" Crimson asked. Thank you, Crimson.
"It is a large, self propelled vessel, or container, designed to move things from one location to another," Cacha said.
"Cacha, I thought you weren't going to tell me anything about Habitat Eleven," I said, reminding her of her earlier comments. "You wanted me to work things out for myself so you could double check my thoughts against Hellite conclusions."
"Oh, I did, didn't I? Well... that much would have soon been obvious to you anyway," Cacha said. "I wasn't allowing for us to come face to face with heavy weaponry in the life preservation chamber, though. How much had you figured out, anyway?"
"Do enlighten us," Brainstorm agreed.
"I figured it was to help preserve a single type of creature, ponies, no matter what other types of creatures may or may not have existed. It was to do so by isolating and protecting us until such a time as whatever was outside had changed sufficiently for us to return out there. As for guessing it was a ship, please consider that to us, from up in the dome, ships are only vague concepts mentioned in old breezie tales, and as the base word for 'shipping', as in moving cargo about. It's another word that has lost its true meaning, along with our knowledge of anything else that may exist outside Habitat Eleven's walls," I stated, feeling a little put out.
"Won't worry, young'n. You are doing okay. Stormie and I are twelve hundred years closer to whatever was the truth about this place, and Cacha has seen things none of us could imagine," Brainstorm reassured me. "But for now, our safe haven has been blown open, and we have just alerted half of the pony population with an explosion they would have needed to be asleep to miss. I suggest we survey what is left of the gun, and the damage it has done, then get the hell out of here. Or perhaps more to the point, we should all hurry up and go to Hell."
The absence of light was a blessing. In the low light from our glowing irises, we were only able to see in monochrome. That insulated us from the true horror of what we were walking through. The pieces of shattered electronics, trailing color coded wires, just became textured debris trailing grey 'hair'. Blood just became grey smudges, while the pony entrails that were scattered about were not that different to the hoses and pipes of both the destroyed weapon, and those torn from H'ven itself.
Water was leaking from pipes that had been built into the gap between the smashed false ceiling and the floor above, raining down on us, splattering on the floor, forming little streams with the blood and oil in the debris, flowing downwards, before pooling or vanishing through the cracks of the bowed and cracked floor.
I really didn't know what we were expecting to find. There was no doubt that this was the main ship's gun that Brainstorm and Stormie had encountered before. The charred markings matched what they could recall. I knew what I had hoped to find though, and it was a stupid hope. I hoped to find survivors, and not for the sake of my conscience, but for the ponies themselves. I had to admit I didn't expect there to be any though. My initial barrage probably killed them all. Brainstorm and Stormie, between them, rained enough bullets on them to finish any I may have missed. The gun blowing itself apart would have torn apart anything that was left.
To my left was the opening the armature of the rotary converter and flywheel based energy storage system had made when it left its mountings. Walls had been ripped from their mounts, torn, and dragged along with the spinning mass as it flung itself away from the remains of the gun. The result was rather like a funnel, feeding off in the direction it had taken. That mess would take engineers a long time to repair. Fortunately I could not see anything that was going to cause significant problems for the ponies up in the H'ven dome. Major structural damage had been averted.
As I stood, staring at the devastation, I noticed a pony leg sticking out from below some debris, a mapper-communicator on it. I carefully wound my way through the jagged and twisted metal until I reached it. There was no movement. Bracing myself against the inevitable, I reached down, extended my fingers to feel for a pulse, but even as I did, I knew it was way too late for whatever pony this leg had once belonged to.
"... 3V3, please report. Anypony. Please report. What is going on down there?" a desperate voice barked into my mind. That was weird. With the leg being severed from its owner, the comms unit was connecting to me.
"Are you the comms pony, or the pony in charge of this debacle?" I asked.
"Ah. I'm the comms pony. I'll put the commander on for you," the voice answered.
After a few moments of silence, a different voice spoke into my mind. "Commander 1R2 speaking. Report."
"What the fuck were you morons thinking?" I subvocalized back. "Firing that weapon down here was a death sentence for everypony around here!"
"Wha... what? I will not tolerate language like that. Hang on... you are not 3V3, are you? Identify yourself. What team are you with?" the voice barked back.
"Oh, I'm the structural engineer," I responded, "I'm standing on a bent floor, half way up the trail of destruction the weapon made when it misfired. And you are lucky it did misfire, because if it hadn't, you would likely have collapsed part of the city."
"Put me on to 3V3 immediately," the voice demanded. Not a great one for listening, this fellow.
"Ah, you are so busy barking out commands that your head is shoved so far up your own ass that you don't listen to a word anypony says, eh?" I yelled at him, making the others near me jump, and stare at me. After all, until this point, the conversation had been silent.
"You are going to be in so much trouble when you get back here!" the voice at the other end raged. "Put 3V3 on!"
"Put him on what? A fucking plate, perhaps?" I asked, deliberately meaning to infuriate the prick at the other end a little more. "In case you haven't caught on yet, 3V3 isn't here to put on. All I have of him is his foreleg. I think a bit of him is smeared on the far wall, and I'm guessing that streamer might be his long intestine."
Before now, I hadn't been aware that it was possible to transmit the process of emptying one's stomach via the mental link. Fortunately I was able to hold my composure, and the remains of my last meal, while the commander went about losing his.
"So, who are you?" the voice tried again, this time expressing somewhat conflicting signals.
"Oh, as I said earlier, I'm a structural engineer. I suggest you look at the employment record of the pony you are hunting. What was her job again? Oh, that's right, Aneki was a structural engineer," I said slowly, and clearly. "That is right, in case you haven't woken up to it yet, RU12 or whatever the fuck you call yourself, I am the fucking target, and unlike every other damn pony down here, I'm actually alive!"
"The only one alive?" the voice managed.
"Yes, that is right. I have been unable to find any pony alive. In fact, I have been unable to find an entire pony. It really is horrific down here. No lights, water and effluent leaking all over the place, the possibility of modifiers leaking from the sealed up lab the blast cracked open. If you guys have even the tiniest bit of intelligence, you will seal off everything below about sublevel thirty and give the Hellspawn the chance to do their job and clean up this fucking mess," I stated. "Or, you could just be bloody minded fools and come down after me again, and die."
"You are threatening to kill..." the voice began. What an idiot. What a closed mind.
"Oh, I don't need to kill you fools. You are doing a pretty good job of that yourselves. I only hope you don't take all the ponies in H'ven with you," I said. "Now listen and listen well. As I have already stated, I am a structural engineer. From my casual inspection, I would say the damage down here is extensive, but superficial, structurally speaking. The safest option would be for you to stay out of the area until either the Hellspawn repair it, or you can work out a way to properly decontaminate it. I also realize that whatever I say to you will probably be ignored and you fools will shortly be down here looking to kill me again, in which case, all I can say is, it will be your death, and not mine. Now if you will excuse me, I'm rather tired of holding onto what's left of poor old 3V3, so I am going to put him down. Goodbye." With that, I released the severed limb, and turned to face the ponies that were staring at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Why didn't you lie about who you were?" Brainstorm asked. We were back at the lab now, and the place was a mess. Fortunately pretty much everything we had wanted to salvage had already been moved into the access shaft alongside the main structural member, and would have been spared from the shock wave.
"Because their records would soon prove that there was no structural engineer, or any other pony, for that matter, that was down in the area. It isn't like the public can just waltz down here any time they like. At least now they might think Crimson and Cacha are dead, and that you two died centuries ago, assuming they worked out you were even here in the first place," I explained my reasoning. "And now that the largest weapon they had at their disposal has blown up in their faces, what else could they throw at me? Using that gun was stupid, over the top and a clear case of sheer desperation."
"All the same," Stormie said, "I still can't think of a good reason for this monstrous weapon would have been within the life support chamber."
"I can," I said.
"Really? Please share your thoughts," Brainstorm requested.
"Cacha said all of the other guns are mounted in the walls of the ship, out where you need to be a Hellite to survive. Even then, they are sealed up, and built into the structure. How is a pony meant to get any hoofs-on experience with maintaining the things? I'm betting that one unit was put up here in the life support chamber so that ponies could be trained to maintain it, even without having to become a Hellite first. If you failed, you were sent back to your civilian life, or trained to do something else, and you were none the worse off because of it," I theorized.
"Valid points," Brainstorm agreed. "Then, with the extermination, knowledge of it was lost, and one day, centuries later, some ponies poking around down in the underlevels accidentally discovered the hidden warehouse, and pulled it out again, taking us to it to try to work out how to operate it."
"And after sitting around for another twelve hundred years, it was dragged out by a herd of clueless idiots from Central in their desperation to exterminate me," I said. "All the same, I find that a bit too extreme."
"Perhaps enough information survived on us for them to know the lab was where a couple of criminals used to make modifiers. They probably imagined you as a rogue Hellspawn with access to equipment that could destroy or convert the rest of them to Hellspawn as well, for revenge. Something like that," Brainstorm suggested.
"And in their desperation, they correctly concluded that the weapon would eliminate both you and the lab, and destroy any modifiers in the process," Stormie concluded.
"And that thing just happened to be conveniently sitting nearby?" Crimson asked.
"Nah. Last we saw, it had been locked up again, miles away and a couple levels up. It must have taken them at least a week to get it down here," Brainstorm said.
"What I'm really not looking forward to is tonight," Cacha interjected, quietly.
"Why? We should be well away from here by then, and even if they caught up, we could take them down without much trouble," Stormie said.
"I'm talking about the stress that will hit us as soon as we settle down for a nice, quiet sleep. I expect I will be screaming, and I was sheltered from the worst of the blast!" Cacha stated. "Anyway, let's get out of here. Hopefully my conversion is complete, because staying here any longer would be stupid.
"Hold still, girl," Stormie instructed, moving around behind Cacha. She rested her horn against Cacha's spine, near the tail, a glow forming around both as she did. After holding her horn there just long enough to both bore and annoy us all, she let the spell dissipate. "Congratulations, Miss Cacha, you are now a fully functional mare. And for good measure, I just applied the corrective and protective spell to your ovaries. All you need to do now is pick a stallion. And while I'm at it, Aneki, please present your butt so I can apply the same spell to you and your little one."
I obliged. The spell felt kind of weird while it was being cast, but not... perverted. I endured it in silence, as Cacha had.
"All done," Stormie stated. "And now I am stuffed. Brainstorm can help you with the spell, Crimson."
"I don't get done by a beautiful mare? Unfair!" Crimson joked as Brainstorm obliged by casting the spell.
Stormie looked around the lab again. To me it didn't look like there was much worth worrying about. A few flasks of unwanted concoctions were lying on shelves or on the floor. The shabby blanket I had been sleeping on was still there, and so was the hose I had been using to booby trap my defenses. Brainstorm's unicorn guns were still on the bench, despite the shaking. I worked my way through the mess and grabbed my saddle bags, putting them on and securing them. Apart from the green food converter, which I grabbed and stashed, I couldn't see anything else of mine about. I picked up Cacha's bags and tossed them to her, then began making my way back towards the showroom door, where the others were still standing.
"Aneki, be a dear, and pass me the new unicorn guns, please," Brainstorm requested. I looked at him as if he had three heads.
"Last time I picked up one of those, you know full well what happened," I said, darkly.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Aneki, I told you these are totally harmless to you," Brainstorm chastised me as he squeezed past Crimson and Cacha. "I'll just get them myse...eaaahhhhg!"
As soon as he touched them, one of the two guns immediately began changing shape, grasping at his hooves and legs, pulling itself to him. The little panels stuck out on the stalks moved in and out, clicking and clacking, the cables behind them writhing, before emerging, and plunging straight into his legs, piercing directly through both the remains of his old jade-green coat, and the tough black hellite skin below.
"Aaaaah!" he cried. "I didn't see... that coming. I thought we fixed... the... pain... problem..." I watched with mixed emotions as little pieces of machinery forced their way into his body, all of those little panels on stalks rippling to their strange choreography as they worked their way nearer to his skin, before cutting their own access points into his body.
"Well, well," Stormie said. "That really is just desserts, isn't it? It seems I forgot to mention to him that I added concoction ninety two, version ten to the last mineral booster mix I injected us with. Since it appears we need to wait for his conversion to complete itself, I may as well take my medicine now, too. Consider this a sincere apology, Aneki." With that she squeezed past Cacha and Crimson, and grasped the second of the of the unicorn guns. The process, complete with cries of pain, started for the second time.
"Well, this is just hilarious, isn't it?" I said dryly. "Come on Cacha, Crimson, help me grab a bit of scrap to weld over the opening into the mall."
"Goodbye, laboratory," Brainstorm bade, as he leaned through the open door from the service shaft, into the shooting range, his horn aglow with the swirling shades of a powerful spell. "You have served us well, even as a prison." The spell that had been building on his horn leapt free, and he rapidly pulled his head back in, slamming the door shut. The spell he had cast was a modifier killer. Any of the concoctions that were left, contained or otherwise, as well as the Hellite modifiers in the shooting range itself, would be destroyed beyond use or salvage. He pegged the door closed.
I levitated up the second part of the door, carefully aligned it with the protruding bolts, and slipped it on. After that came the dozen lock washers and large nuts. I spun them as tight as I could with my magic, Crimson following up on each with a twist with a wrench. I was tempted to weld the door shut as well, but that would really foul us up if we ever wanted to get back into the lab for any reason. That done, the three of us followed the other two who had already descended the few levels to where I had carted all of our belongings, and that which had been salvaged from the lab earlier.
From there we separated, leaving a couple of us unicorns on the highest floor on which our stuff was sitting. The others descended to a much lower level. It was bucket brigade time! Brainstorm and I would levitate a couple of items over the edge of the catwalk we were on, lowering them down until Stormie's spell pulled them onto another catwalk where Cacha and Crimson caught them, and stacked them. The whole process was many times quicker than when I had been doing it all myself. Brainstorm and I would then descend to the next level I had piled things on, and repeat the process. When we had finally cleared all of the items, we climbed down to were the others had stacked the gear, while they went even lower, and started the process again. While suggestions of levitating ponies were made, I insisted that I neither wished to try to levitate, or be levitated!
At sublevel seventy five, we found there was an extended floor, supporting an abandoned storage room. As whoever had last used it had left it completely empty, we took advantage of it to stash as much as we could of the lab equipment and stores into it, sealing it with a lock and a spell when we were done. The less valuable items that would not fit were piled onto the roof of the storage room, easily accessible from one level up, then protected with Brainstorm's pseudo-stasis spell. From the store room it was only five levels down to the airlock to Hell.
One thing we discovered during all of this activity was that it was really convenient to be carrying food generators, because when one needed to go in this pony forsaken area, one did not need to hunt around for facilities. One merely excused oneself, and remained a level up, and when you were done, you had a nice bowl of nibbles to chew on. My food generators were, however, getting passed around a lot. Even the broken blue one was put into service, after its case had been welded back together. The choice of foods available to us also increased with this food generator's introduction. I was assured by Stormie that the pieces of orange and purple vegetable were, in fact, carrot.
Having all taken turns with the food generators, we sat there nibbling, and getting some rest after all of the packing. Whatever Cacha's worries about us having nightmares tonight were, I was pretty sure I would be too tired to notice. I suspected my nights sleep would feel rather like a long blink. I'd just close my eyes for a moment while we were doing something and...
"Hey, Aneki," Cacha said, giving me a shove. "Wakey wakey."
"Oh, you have to be kidding me," I muttered. "How long was my blink?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Dunno, I wasn't timing you. Must have been quite a few hours though. One moment you were nibbling on some food. next moment, you were out cold, your face in the food bowl," Cacha chuckled. "So, I got you a bit more comfortable, had Stormie scan you to check you were okay, then snuggled up beside you and had a sleep myself."
I noticed that Crimson was watching us from where he lay. His expression was hard to read. Seeing that he had our attention, he spoke. "It's just my luck, that of the three mares here, one's spoken for, one's pregnant and doesn't want a stallion, and the other seems to like mares!" he half jokingly complained. Ah, so that was it!
"Oh, give it a few more hours, and you will have so many mares, you won't know what do with them all," Cacha said. "Oh, and I like Aneki, not mares. I expect I will choose a nice unicorn stallion to mate with. I have no interest in mating with any of those assholes down in Hell. My dad is the only stallion down there that didn't mistreat me, and needless to say, I'm not getting fresh with him!"
Brainstorm raised an eyebrow. "Are you hitting on me, young Cacha?"
"Maybe later, you gorgeous unicorn, you, but in the meantime, I don't want to be heavily pregnant myself, when Aneki will need help the most," Cacha said.
"If we could be serious for a moment," Stormie said, "I think there are things we need to discuss and agree on before we go down below, including exactly who is going to pair with whom."
"Yes, yes," agreed Brainstorm. "I expect the introduction of new blood into the herd will cause a moderate amount of excitement, as well as friction. The males that are down there probably won't appreciate a sudden drop in the size of their herds, and, on the other hoof, our mares may be extremely enticing to them, which will be a problem for us if we don't want to share. Cacha, would you care to educate us?"
"It's more complex than that. We have needed to separate breeding from any sort of romance due to the small gene pool. Some mares move from stallion to stallion, living with each while they breed with them. Some stay with a single partner, be that one of the stallions, or another mare, then shop around when they want to get pregnant. Some mares live as couples, some live in small groups, again going to one of the stallions when the need arises. Most stallions do have a few mares in their permanent family. Occasionally, one of the sexless will be accepted in these families as well, usually because they are offspring or siblings of others in the group. Most, however, are kicked out of family groups, for reasons I've already said."
"And you, were you kicked out?" Crimson asked.
"No. My folks are some of the nicer ponies. That didn't stop me getting assigned the dangerous missions though," Cacha admitted. "Some of the other, older mares in the group did however attempt to make my remaining with my family... unpleasant."
"Now that you have turned out to be a really late bloomer, you can go spit in their faces," I suggested.
"Good idea," Stormie said. "I mean the late bloomer bit. That will save us having to reveal our methods."
"What about rivalry? What attitude should we expect then?" Brainstorm asked, guiding the conversation back onto the subject of stallions.
"You are right, in part. There will be some jealousy. Attempts will probably be made for Stormie and Aneki. You and Crimson may have to give one or two of the stallions a lesson in humility. They are mostly quite old. Dad's the youngest, and he's in his nineties. Don't underestimate them, though. Our younger fellows, all three of them, made a run for the surface, never to be heard from again, and even they were between forty and sixty."
"So how many stallions are there?"
"Four, so even if they have to share, that's still a lot of mares each," Cacha said. "It's probably the oldest one you will have issues with. The old codger thinks he runs the place."
I chucked. "It's about time he learned to respect his elders, then, isn't it?"
Cacha chuckled, hiccuped, then collapsed in a heap laughing hard. Clearly it was a joke we couldn't get, at least, not until we saw the old codger. Whatever his age, I knew Brainstorm and Stormie had to be older than him, as the oldest mare Cacha had mentioned to me was a freak for lasting a millennium, and most only made it to three or four hundred years. Then again, Cacha's mirth could merely be an after effect of the psycological shock of the explosion. I could remember a friend and myself laughing ourselves silly in class, after one of our friends had blown a small hole in his leg with a home-made explosive, during our lunch break. What we had just survived had been orders of magnitude greater.
"Aneki," Brainstorm said, "I know you are not interested in mating with anypony at the moment, but may I suggest you let me claim you, in name, at least. That way I can offer you some protection from the advances of others. If at any time you want to wander off and find a mate, just do so, but you will always be welcome in my family."
"Thank you, Brainstorm. I accept," I said. His suggestion was a good one. "And Cacha?"
"The same applies to her. She'll want to stay with you, and has already expressed her preference," Brainstorm reminded me. That was true.
"Thank you, oh handsome one," Cacha giggled. "I accept your proposal." She hiccuped again. "Sorry about this!"
"I expect we will get the joke later, if at all," Stormie said. "And while we are talking, there is another issue that needs to be addressed. Gun safety. Or more specifically, making sure any guns we take in with us cannot be turned against us."
"Needless to say, the unicorn guns we three have in our bodies are free from such issues, unless another pony physically lifts us up and starts aiming us at others," Brainstorm chuckled. "This applies to the boot pistols you and Cacha have, to the gun Crimson has chosen, and to Stormie's and my saddle guns. The process is simple enough. Place your finger in the open magazine, and click the reload button. It will register your DNA, and lock that gun so it can only be used by you."
"And how would we counter that, should we wish to share the gun with somepony else?" Crimson asked.
"You don't," Brainstorm said. "That way, it can never be forced from you."
A general rustling interrupted our conversation as weapons were retrieved, and loaded with a sample of our DNA before being returned to our various saddle bags. While I was at it, I gathered my food generators and stashed them as well.
"And needless to say," Stormie said, "everypony should keep their mouths shut about our stash, and more importantly, about our magic and skills. We don't want to create riots or mobs, especially if we find we are unable to deliver." Her jade green mane bounced against the black skin of her face armor as she emphasized each point with a bob of her head.
"Hmm..." Crimson mused. "I may be getting ahead of myself here, especially after you just said that, but with a little time, and your skills, we may be able to build ourselves a decent, and faithful, support base."
"Go on," Stormie requested.
"Okay. We make no attempt to take the other stallions' mares. Instead, we move in with the others like Cacha, and accept them into our herd. We treat them nicely, and when you get a new tank built, we start converting them to real mares as time allows," Crimson suggested.
"Sweet Luna, you would be totally loved," Cacha gasped. "Any political takeover would be by stealth!"
"Crimson," I said, as realization struck, "you usually don't have much luck with the mares, do you?"
"None at all," he admitted.
For fun, Cacha and I had agreed not to tell the others how to access the airlock to Hell. All five of us were now at the bottom of the service shaft, on what was the floor of sublevel eighty. I moved to one side, out of the way, and settled to the floor, pulling out my water bottle for a few sips. Cacha joined me, and we sat there, nose to nose, smirking at each other, as we watched the others fumbling around looking for a secret entrance.
Crimson and Brainstorm had opened the door out to sublevel eighty and were proving to themselves that nothing was to be found out there.
Eventually, Stormie, who was still in the shaft, stood, totally still, in the middle of the area, and raised her head. I watched as a spell built on her horn, before pulsing out horizontally, striking all of the walls. Her eyebrows went up, then understanding painted itself across her face. Without saying anything, she took the few steps to us, and settled on the floor as well. We shared a grin with her.
Having failed to see anything outside the shaft, Brainstorm and Crimson returned through the door, sealing it behind them.
"That was a bust," Crimson said.
"We've all found it," Stormie stirred. "It must be a girl thing!"
"Really? Only a couple weeks ago you were a male," Brainstorm countered.
"A couple of weeks ago we were neural matrices, skin and bones soaking in modifier soup," Stormie corrected him.
"Not much left then?" I asked.
"You weren't far off with your pony soup comments," Stormie admitted. "While our intellects have traversed twelve hundred years, there is some debate to whether our souls have, or if we are indeed new beings."
"Oh, that must be troubling," I said.
"No, not really. We are alive, aren't we? That's what matters. And we can't be sure how much of our original brains survived, and how much of it was rebuilt around a synthetic neural network created by the modifiers we used to preserve ourselves, so it is something that can never be known."
"I'm glad you feel that way," Cacha interjected, "because that means you won't be worried by some of the Hellites you meet."
"Huh?"
"There are some Hellites that are sure we are dead, nothing more than machines. If you have that outlook after what you've been through, you won't go having any existential crisis the first time one of those nutters shoves their theory down your throat!" Cacha said.
"Well, there's nothing out this way, and there is nothing down the other way either," Brainstorm muttered, indicating the door through which they had just entered the shaft.
"Come to think of it, what is down the other end?" Crimson asked, not looking in that direction. "And why can't I seem to get my eyes to go that way?"
Cacha and I looked at each other and chuckled again.
"Damn it!" Crimson said, deliberately facing away from the spell that was hiding the airlock door. He started to shuffle backwards. "There are no eyes in my ass, are there?" Moments later his rump thumped into the hidden wall, half his flank hidden by the blackness of the spell.
"You are definitely onto something there, my boy," Brainstorm said, looking at Crimson. "Or should I say into something. You are embedded in what seems to be a... wall? Damn, that is hard to focus on!"
"Close enough," Cacha announced. "Well done. You've found the airlock. If you turn around, and feel about in the darkness, you will find the scanner that lets you open the door."
Crimson spun about and felt about, to be rewarded with the announcement "Please wait while your qualifications are verified. Access granted. You and those accompanying you are qualified to proceed past this point." The voice spoke into my mind, as it had last time, so it had to be linking to each of us. The black murk faded to nothing, revealing the substantial plug-type door, which began to open. Crimson moved out of its way.
"Ha! Cool!" Crimson said. "Aneki, remember last time we tried this, and the door wouldn't open because I wasn't a Hellite?"
"Oh, that's right. It was that effluent processing station, wasn't it?" I asked, recalling the first place where Crimson and I had met.
"And apparently the point at which my life took a sudden change of direction, not that I'm really complaining," Crimson added.
Once the door was open, we stared at the illuminated chamber beyond. It was just roomy enough for two ponies. It hadn't been an issue on either occasion I had used it so far, but this time, clearly the group wouldn't all be going through at once!
"It would be best if I go through with the first batch, in case any other Hellites are poking about on the other side," Cacha suggested. "Stormie, come with me. Aneki, do you think you could squeeze in here with us too? Hmm, maybe not. I'll be back in a few minutes, unless you are happy to operate it yourself."
"I got through it once by myself. It's not as if you need to be a Brainstorm to operate it!" I laughed.
"True, true," Cacha agreed, then ushered Stormie through the door, following her in. I saw her poke the button on the control panel, and the door closed.
"So, how does the airlock operate?" Crimson asked me.
"It's pretty obvious. The panel has two arrow shaped buttons. You push the one for the direction in which you wish to go, then marvel at the simple labels that tell us more about H'ven than anything we've managed to dig up while living up there," I said with a wry smile.
We discussed the irony of that, and our theories of lost history while we waited for the airlock to cycle. I guess we must have become fairly focused on our discussion too, because the opening door startled us. There was no one inside, so apparently the program that controlled the airlock was smart enough to realize we were still waiting.
Crimson stepped through the door, moving to allow space for the next occupant. Brainstorm directed me through, but before I could reach for the button, I found myself floating in a levitation spell.
"Up you go!" Brainstorm said as He carefully placed me on Crimson's back, which was a surprise to Crimson as well. Brainstorm stepped into the air lock as well. Perhaps crammed himself into the airlock would be more accurate.
A quick jab at the appropriate arrow started the cycle. That started me thinking. A single button would have been adequate, if one presumed you always wished to exit the airlock from the opposite end to which you entered. Two buttons must have been used to allow a pony to change their mind part way through a cycle. Bah! I shook my head, bumping my ears and horn on the ceiling. It was somepony else's problem.
"It's getting a bit chilly in here," Brainstorm observed.
"Don't worry about it. Your body is already adjusting to it," I advised him.
"I can't say I noticed it too much," Crimson said. "Not only do I still have my original coat, but I'm rugged up with a nice, warm mare."
I gave him a gentle bonk on his head. "Don't get used to it, you cad," I admonished him. "And we now have the interesting problem of getting out of here," I said as the exit plug-door opened, "because, simply put, we can't fit through the door like this!"
"No problem," Brainstorm said, levitating me again. "Now, move it, Crimson, before I apply some kinetic persuasion to your posterior!"
"Careful, good fellow," Crimson said as he climbed through the exit. "I don't want you tearing my original skin. I rather hope to make a coat out of it!"
As soon as Crimson was clear, Brainstorm lowered me, and levitated me out the door, where he gently placed me, then followed me through as I made way for him. Again I was in the bluish, metal colored antechamber. Aqua-blue, I thought, staring at it again. While this room was small, it was fortunately more spacious than the airlock. I did notice that Stormie and Cacha were sitting close together, effectively blocking the exit and ladder down from view.
"Welcome to my home, Habitat Eleven's Lower Level!" Cacha smirked.
"It isn't particularly large, but it is much better than our tank," Stormie said.
"You're joking!" Brainstorm exclaimed, then chuckled. "Is this another game of spot the hidden door?"
"There is no hidden door, Brainstorm," I advised him, deciding to have a little fun as well.
"Quite so," Crimson said, as he walked around the antechamber. "However, this hole in the floor with the ladder sticking out of it does look promising!"
"Ha ha," Brainstorm said dryly.
"Well, let's get going, shall we?" Cacha suggested, as she swung herself onto the ladder in question, hooked her hooves and fingers around the outer rails as I had, last time I had gone this way, then dropped from sight.
Stormie leaned over the opening, watching Cacha descend. As soon as Cacha's voice drifted up, indicating she was clear, Stormie climbed onto the ladder and dropped from view. I noticed her horn glowing as she did: extra braking, I assumed. The three of us that remained gathered around the hole to watch Stormie's progress. Perhaps the spell was for nothing more than illumination. It did make for a fascinating spectacle for those of us watching the glowing ring that marked her progress.
"You go next, Aneki," Crimson suggested. "Are you all right doing that? Or would you prefer to climb down one rung at a time?"
"I'll slide," I said. "I have done it before."
"Oh good. It should be easy for you then. It looks like Stormie is clear."
Nodding, I climbed onto the ladder, and eased my grip, beginning to slide. As I dropped I heard Brainstorm comment, "You know, I knew hell was a long, long way below us, but was always under the impression that it would be somewhat warmer..."
On the landing below the ladder from the air lock, I was again treated to the spectacle of equipment filled space: so much space. It was mostly dark, apart from what I could make out from the lights I could see, dotted off into the distance. At these distances, my illuminated irises made no practical difference. Gesturing to the others, I pointed out the pipes, wires and conduits that twisted and turned through odd angles before doubling back on themselves, only to take another odd turn. The massive arrays of lattice connecting the bottom of the huge water jacket that encased the life support chamber was no less impressive than last time I had seen it. In fact, looking down to the equally expansive surface several storeys below, I felt the suspension matrix was bigger than I recalled. Now that I was staring at it intently, I could see the lower surface was not solid. Sure, there was more material than not, but there was a grid of openings in a hexagonal array. Some of these openings served to allow pipes, conduits and wires to pass through. Other openings were no doubt fitted with ladders. Nonetheless, the darkness obscured most of the details.
With the exception of Cacha, my companions were enthusiastically looking about, trying to absorb as much of the view as they could.
"Oh, so we were isolated from whatever goes on down here," Brainstorm observed. "Impressive. Quite impressive."
"If this impresses you, you will absolutely love what is below the suspension platform, which, by the way, is an impressively tough structure made from the same stuff as the outer shell, whatever that stuff actually is," Cacha said.
"You don't know?" Stormie asked.
"No. All we know is it is very resilient. We can't even scratch it," Cacha admitted. "The shell is impenetrable, or at the very least, hasn't been penetrated yet."
"If the purpose of this place was to keep us safe, by keeping everything else out, it seems to be doing its job quite well." Crimson mused.
"Indeed, but what if out there is now safer than in here? How do we get out?" Brainstorm asked. "Or worse. What if this place was built to keep us in?"
"I doubt that was the intention," Cacha said, "because we've found doors that may lead to exits in the outer shell. They are not clearly marked, though, and like the gun ports, we can't open them."
"What made you think they are exits then?"
"Their positions. There are points around the middle of the sphere where some enclosed catwalks can be extended all the way from these doors to other doors built into the water jacket itself. Logic suggests that if these doors were opened, and the catwalks extended, ponies could walk from the life support chamber, and straight out of Habitat Eleven," Cacha said.
"If that is the case, it is another argument supporting the idea that there must be more than nothing outside," Brainstorm said. "Nonetheless, if you say we can't open the doors from inside, perhaps this place really is a prison."
"Perhaps Habitat Eleven was made to keep us safe while we traveled between places that were more than nothing," I suggested. "Perhaps we have to travel through nothing to get from one place to another. In that case, one would not want to be able to open the doors during transit."
"You know," Stormie said, tapping her armored head with her fingers, "You could be onto something, there, young Aneki."
"There must be an awful lot of nothing between places with something," Brainstorm said. "How many thousands of years have we been traveling? From personal experience, I can say we have been in Habitat Eleven for at least twelve hundred years. History, what little of it remains, suggests the great extermination was somewhere between six and eight hundred years before that. Prior to that was the time of construction, when ponies were living in the under-levels while the city was completed."
"And even the stories from that time suggest that there was already nothing outside the sphere, so the journey must have started before the city was completed," Stormie added, tapping her armored face with her fingers again. "You know what, I think I'm going to open my armor."
"Great idea," I agreed, focusing on rolling back my own. It was an amusing sight, watching three other ponies blossom like some sort of weird flower. Only Crimson wasn't involved, but that was because his pony skin was still unbroken. "Ah, that's better," I said, giving my nose a scratch.
"Cacha," I asked, "do Hellites usually run around armored or not?"
"Personal choice, really, but the fashion at the moment is to keep it deployed. We still have to peel when we need to bathe. I was in the habit of leaving it deployed too, but I think I was trying to hide my face from the other Hellites," she admitted, embarrassed, "but starting today, I'm going to display my face with pride!"
"And so you should," I agreed.
"Likewise," Stormie said. "Let us start our own fashion. The mares of the new herd are proud to display their true selves."
Brainstorm chuckled.
Finally, I was getting to see some of what really was down here, below the suspension platform. It would take weeks just to see an overview of the place, and longer to get to know it. To truly understand it would take a lifetime. It had taken some time for us to follow the twisting path of the ladders and catwalks that allowed us to navigate the suspension system. Like with the pipes and conduits that linked the support systems below to the life support chamber above, a direct, rigid ladder or elevator was not possible.
I was standing on the beige colored suspension platform, looking down through the sizable hexagonal opening. Huge spherical tanks were stacked, one on top of the other, within a lattice of support structures. Their shape suggested they were for storing liquefied gas, perhaps fuel, perhaps reserve air. I counted eleven of them before the gloom became too dark for my vision to penetrate. I could almost feel the great depth trying to suck me over the edge, and to my doom. There were no safety rails. With the exception of the safety rails along the suggested walkway, none of the openings had any safety measures at all. While, with my love of freerunning, I had peered over similar chasms without fear, this particular one offered few places on which I could land, or surfaces on which I could bounce or kick off. To fall would be to die, pulverized somewhere hundreds, maybe thousands of hooves below.
"Getting from here down to the bottom would be rather difficult," I said to Brainstorm, who had stepped up beside me.
"Not at all, not at all. The merest slip of the hoof would be all it required," he said, with a chuckle.
"Getting down there, and surviving, would be rather difficult," I corrected myself.
"Ah, yes, the whole survival thing does complicate things, somewhat," he agreed.
I expected Hellspawn would frequently be required to go into places with inadequate safety equipment. It was no wonder they usually died an accidental death. All the same, managing three to four hundred years in this deathtrap was quite an achievement. I suspected that sort of age was rarely reached by the sexless though. If ponies had wings, none of that would have mattered. They could simply fly up to the point where difficult maintenance was required. We carefully backed away from the edge, returning to the relative safety of the official path, closing the access gate behind us.
"Scary, but awesome," I summed up what I had seen, moving to the side of Brainstorm, putting him between me and the safety rail. We started walking again, heading towards another of the hexagonal openings, this one being equipped with a way to let gravity-bound ponies pass through safely.
"They are the reserve air tanks," Cacha told me, sidling in between Brainstorm and myself. "Some contain liquid nitrogen and some contain liquid oxygen. There is enough liquefied gas to replace the entire atmosphere of the life support chamber a few times over, should the chamber ever vent. I presume it was a measure to combat pressure loss due to Habitat Eleven being damaged by outside forces."
"So how many of the tanks have been emptied?" Brainstorm asked.
"I believe all but one are all at full capacity. Some of the older Hellites remember one of them developing a leak into Hell, many years ago. There was a mild panic because with that venting into the habitat, we risked having the atmospheric pressure significantly increase, not to mention the gas imbalance it would cause."
"So what happened?" Stormie asked from behind Brainstorm.
"Nothing. The extra pressure simply vanished. Some automated system dealt with the problem. Maybe the excess was vented outside. Maybe it was recompressed and stored in other tanks somewhere else. As you would have noticed when passing through the airlock, there wasn't a lot of pressure differential between the life support chamber and down here. And that is mostly because we get greater temperature variations than up there," Cacha said. "Even if the pressure had increased down here, our hellite bodies would have adapted anyway. They are designed to handle such things, after all."
"Ah, we are still thinking like regular ponies," Stormie said. "No doubt we will learn our abilities and limits with time."
We continued on, making small talk until we came to the way down. Cacha hadn't told us what to expect, so I was surprised to find a left facing curve was actually the start of spiral ramp curling its way downwards. For those who felt so inclined, there was also a ladder, running right down the middle of the spiral. It was also equipped with those wonderful outer bars that let a pony simply slide down.
"Ah, for those in a rush, I see," Crimson said when he also noticed the bars. Curiosity satisfied, he returned to his favored position to my right, commenting on the lack of width of the walkway. At around five ponies wide, I felt it was quite spacious!
"Sorry, Crimson, but please hush. I think I can hear somepony coming in this direction," Brainstorm said, raising a hoof to his lips.
We fell silent, and paused, straining our ears to listen. Brainstorm was correct. In fact, there were several sets of hoofbeats muddled together, ringing through the material of the spiral catwalk. Every so often one party would yell something at another. There was no love lost between them, either, if their tone was anything to judge by. What they were saying was becoming clearer as they got closer.
"Stop chasing me!" one of the approaching ponies yelled. Okay, that sounded pretty damn close. One or two loops down at the most.
"Then, get up there and do your job!" another yelled. I heard Cacha groan as she recognized the voice.
"Go do your suicidal jobs yourselves, you bitches!" the first yelled, as she suddenly burst into view, just one loop down, and moving fast, her deep magenta mane and tail streaming out behind her. "Eek! Look out!" The last two words were actually aimed at Crimson, who was in her way, as she swung wide. He braced himself but didn't move out of her way, and she cannoned into him, brought to a sudden stop by his bulk.
"Stay," he told her. She immediately ducked behind him, and hid. One glance at Crimson's face told me he wasn't going to let the pursuers anywhere near this mare. I also noticed the mare made no objection. Was it because Crimson was a stallion, or was it because she was prepared to accept any help she could get?
Moments later the other ponies, two of them, thundered into view, slipping and sliding in a comedy of errors as they tried to avoid us. They managed to stop before hitting any of us, or the safety rail. Immediately, they regained their composure and glared at us, as if it was our fault for their stupidity. They were both quite bulky for mares, unlike the one they were chasing, who was petite, much like Cacha.
"Oh, if it isn't the useless catcher, back from another failed attempt to catch a stallion," one of the two harped, upon recognizing my friend. That there were two stallions in our group seemed to have escaped her notice. She had a fire-red mane to go with her spicy temperament.
"I thought we told you to go up top and not to show your ugly face down here again, unless you were successful," the second of the mares growled. This one was sporting a basic blue mane and tail. Apart from their manes and tails, it was hard to know what any of their colors were, as their heads were sealed up in their armor. "Yet here you are, and what's more, with your ugly mug on full display!"
"Who the fuck are these inbred morons?" I asked Cacha loudly. "And what language do they speak? I hear noises coming from their mouths, but even with my mastery of current and ancient languages, I cannot understand what they are waffling on about!"
Cacha giggled. "Oh, these are the enforcers. Basically, they are a pair of bullies that assign dangerous missions to the sexless and then make sure they undertake them. Of course, they don't have the guts to go on these missions themselves, hiding behind their mare status."
I could see the ire of the pair growing rapidly. It would not had surprised me if steam had blasted from their ears, so visible was their fuming.
"I'll see that these other sexless freaks are sent back up into the chamber with you, catcher, and this time, I will personally throw you off the catwalk if you dare return without at least one stallion!" the red head raged. Who the hell was she calling a sexless freak? Me?
"We can't win against these," a small voice interjected from behind Crimson. "Nothing we ever do is good enough for them."
"You didn't tell me these assholes were this bad," I said to Cacha. "In fact, I think you failed to mention their existence at all."
"I had hoped that bringing back two stallions would get them off my case," Cacha admitted, "although their selective blindness has me puzzled. They usually aren't quite so vicious, either."
"Oh, shut up, freak. I can see the two stallions clearly enough. It's not like we are going to let a freak get the credit for bringing down the first stallions in years."
"As if I am going to let you bitches take the credit," Cacha spat back.
"It's not like you have any choice, catcher. You will go back up there, and keep looking if you know what is smart for you. Open your mouth about this even once, and you go over the railings. You wouldn't be the first we've killed," the red maned mare said with a self satisfied smirk.
The resounding crack caught me by surprise, and the red maned mare somersaulted backwards, hitting the safety railing, where she hung limply, blood dripping from her mouth. Brainstorm's hoof was now in the space previously occupied by the mare's head. He hadn't even used his guns. Since when did he get that strong?
A fast moving shadow caught my attention. My eyes only just had time to focus on the blue maned mare, now glowing, hanging in the air in front of Brainstorm, various blades where her forehooves had once been, before she arced away, vanishing through one of the hexagonal openings in the suspension platform. Her scream marked her passage. It became inaudible long before any fatal impact could silence her. I had completely forgotten about being able to form tools or weapons directly with the hellite body. While my brain was still trying to process what had just happened, the corpse of the red maned mare levitated from where it had landed, and was thrown in a similar arc, vanishing through the same opening.
"That was... unfortunate," Brainstorm said.
"It wasn't the sort of welcome I was expecting," I muttered. We had been down here how long? Already two Hellites were dead. I thought we had wanted to avoid confrontation. Then again, this was one confrontation that had been unavoidable. My own comments had certainly added to their ill feelings. Brainstorm had merely done what he believed had to be done. Maybe I was becoming harder inside. I really didn't feel all that upset about these deaths. I was more worried about Brainstorm's state of mind.
"I honestly can't say I expected it, either," Cacha said. "It was just bad luck we met those two up here. If we had gotten down to the habitat, they would not have been able to try that. But to admit to killing? They can't have actually..."
"Oh yes, they could," a quiet voice interjected. "They murdered my sister. I saw them do it. Of course, they reported her death as an unfortunate accident. Being such senior mares too, it wasn't like anypony was going to believe one of the sexless if they contradicted them. And thank you for protecting me."
"Welcome to the new order," Brainstorm said, expressionless. He raised his hoof to his face, studying it. "I knew being a Hellite would give me strength, but that was ridiculous. It wasn't my intention to shatter her skull. I merely wished to put her in her place." Well, that was reassuring.
"And once her friend attacked, I had no choice but to protect Brainstorm," Stormie said.
"Oh, that was you?" I asked. I had presumed it had been Brainstorm.
"Yes, yes, it was. And before you ask, doing anything less than killing her would have been to our detriment. I have dealt with her kind before," Stormie said.
"I wasn't going to ask," I mumbled. I had dealt with bullying over my nub of a horn when I was a filly. Bullies feel they have the right to abuse you, yet if you attempt to defend yourself, let alone retaliate, they come down on you even harder, making your life a living hell.
"Berry? Is that you?" Cacha asked, turning to face the newcomer as she emerged from behind Crimson. "It is you!"
"It's been a while, Catwalk Runner," the mare said.
"Guys, meet my half sister!" Cacha said. "We used to play with each other as fillies, before her mother went to live with one of the other stallions. We didn't get to hang around much after that."
"I've been living with the other sexless for a while now. I never saw you there," Berry said.
"I lived with my parents, until the bitches insisted I take on the role of a catcher," Cacha said. Cacha the catcher?
"Your name? Your role?" I asked.
"Oh, I was called Cacha first. It was their sick sense of humor to pick me for that role," Cacha said. "So, Berry, what was your assigned task?"
"There was a huge explosion up there yesterday. Somepony needs to investigate what caused it, and make a report," Berry said. "I'm not sure who I would be meant to report to, now those two are dead."
"That was an easy mission, wasn't it?" Stormie said. "You've already gathered all of the information you could want."
"I don't think lying about it would be good. We really do need to know what happened," Berry said.
"Oh, there's no need to lie about anything," Cacha said. "We were there. Central found a ship's main gun up there and tried to fire it. Fortunately we stopped it from firing, but it did kind of explode."
"Did you assess the damage?" Berry asked.
"Aneki did. She's a qualified structural engineer," Cacha said.
"Aneki?" Berry asked.
I chuckled. "We seem to have failed to complete our introductions. I'm Aneki. This is Stormie, and this is Brainstorm, our stallion. The charming red fellow is Crimson Garnet. Yes, he is a Hellite. He just hasn't shed his skin yet!"
"Charmed," Berry said, her armor folding back to reveal her blushing, mauve face. "And your mares are...?"
"Embarrassingly lacking in number," Crimson said. "Would the lovely mare like to be my first?"
"So what?" Crimson asked. "You still think of yourself as a mare, don't you? You'd still like to be treated with respect by a stallion, wouldn't you? I've heard how poorly you girls get treated from Cacha. I'd like to make a difference."
Berry reared up, wrapping her forelegs around Crimson's neck, giving him a hug. "If you are willing to accept me, I'm prepared to give it a go."
I looked away from the ... couple? and addressed Cacha. "It seems Crimson has a better grasp of herd life, or at least of how you are used to living, than I did. Do you girls always move this fast?"
"There isn't much stallion time to go around, so we kind of have to! The fertile mares do, anyway. As you know, the other stallions don't spend any time with us. The only stallion that has had time for me was Dad, and that was a child-parent relationship anyway."
"So, having been treated like a pariah, you crushed on the first outsider that treated you with respect?" I asked, noticing that once again, Cacha was practically glued to my side.
"Guilty," Cacha admitted. "But even so, you are so crush-worthy!"
I extended my fingers and ruffled her hair. If I had to have a pony stuck to me, she wasn't a bad choice.
"So what about you, Cacha?" Berry asked. "Is one of these stallions going to accept you too?"
"Oh, I'm Aneki's... oops... Brainstorm's mare now!" she giggled.
What the Hellites were calling their habitat, or living quarters, wasn't particularly large. The buildings were very box-like, low profile, and long, built it around one of the massive pipes that carried that thermally controlled water up into the water jacket of the life support chamber. Cacha explained how the water was heated by the main engines of Habitat Eleven when it was too cold, and cooled when it was too hot by feeding it though heat exchangers around the lower portions of the sphere wall. From the outside, the living quarters were not much to look at, just dark structures in the gloom. Entry was again through airlocks of a sort, although these took the concept to its most primitive. One opened a door, walked into a small room, closed the door, crossed the room, and repeated the process with the door on that side. All the airlock had to do was to keep the conditioned air from escaping. There was no pressure differential. Even single doors would have been adequate, if they didn't mind the odd draft. Insulation had been stripped from the pipes themselves, and transferred to the walls of the encasing building.
While I had not seen the source of heat, the engines themselves, it was obvious that they were operating. I suspected they also powered the H'ven Dome. It was information available on a 'need to know' basis, I had been told. I wondered if the members of Central I had spoken to knew themselves. 4J2 certainly had gaps in his knowledge, and he was part of their inner circle. He also thought that being a member of that inner circle meant that he was in a place where he could affect change. I was coming to think he was mistaken. I was starting to believe Central were puppets for somepony else. Somepony with absolute say. Somepony with an absolute hate for the Hellites that could not be swayed with logic, appeals, or even the truth. Perhaps there was some truth to that old breezie tale about an old ruler. Could it be possible that ruler was still alive today? It required some free thinking, but it wasn't outside the realms of possibility. Perhaps they had a tank like Brainstorm's. Perhaps they were even a Hellite themselves. According to the tale, the ruler's daughter became a Hellite herself. Could it be her?
"Habitat Eleven to Aneki, please respond," a voice said in my ear.
"Huh?" I asked.
"Move your butt, Aneki. We're blocking the doorway!" Cacha said. "You really zoned out there."
"Oh sorry, I was mentally exploring the political structure of Central," I explained, taking a few steps forward so others could pass through.
"Did you find anything?" Cacha asked, with a smirk.
"Maybe," I answered. "I'm contemplating the relationship between a breezie tale Crimson told me, and our real history. There are definitely similarities, so I'm wondering if the tale holds the link to reality we need."
"And what would that be?"
"A very angry pony, that got turned into a Hellite against her will," I said.
Cacha took a sudden step back, as if I had just bitten her. "Sorry, sorry," she apologized, wide eyed, fear practically radiating from her. She was afraid of me? Even with her major crush on me?
"Oh, you silly thing, not me!" I said in as calming a voice as I could muster. "I'm really not that annoyed about my conversion anymore. It's opened a whole new world to me, gained me friends, magic, all sorts of good things." I leaned forward and gave her a platonic kiss on her nose. I could see the tension going out of her. "And, you are one of those good things."
"Phew, I was really scared there for a moment," Cacha managed. "I'm sorry."
"There you go again, silly," I admonished her. "Have I ever done anything to you, apart from shoot you in the face with colored gas?"
She shook her head.
"Nor am I likely to. Come on, let's have a look at the rest of these living quarters."
We began our tour, again. Inside, the Hellite habitat reminded me somewhat of school. A corridor wide enough for several ponies to pass in each direction ran along the outside wall. On the other side of the corridor, through which the exposed pipe ran, were the rooms in which the ponies lived their everyday lives. The pipe was effectively the far wall, its diameter defining the height of the ceiling from the floor. Some of these rooms were shut off from outside view. Some contained a few ponies going about their business. One even served as a sort of swap-shop or market.
Cacha was getting some odd looks from the other mares as we wound our way though the busy corridor, towards the nursery. The temperature through the whole of this make-shift habitat was pleasant enough, so foals would be able to wander around without adversely affecting their health. Them getting underfoot was another matter. I guess I was on the receiving end of a fair number of odd looks, too. So far Cacha and I had been left to our own devices. While no pony recognized me, it wasn't that unusual, despite the very low population of Hell. After all, no fertile pony paid particular attention to the sexless at the best of times. I was surprised no pony had called me out on my horn, despite my poor attempt to hide it in my mane. Having our faces exposed seemed to focus their attention away from all else.
The stallions and Stormie were taking a different route. Berry was leading them around to the living quarters of the sexless. The whole idea of taking over this place by stealth had significant merit. We'd find somewhere to set up the tank, then start converting the sexless into real mares, assuming that was what they wanted. We would be able to build up a loyal herd of our own while not making enemies of the other stallions. Obviously it would be near impossible to do this in total secrecy, so we had settled on doing it quietly. It wasn't as if we were wanting control of what the others did either. We merely wished to have the option to do as we wished without their interference.
"What angry pony were you referring to, if not yourself?" Cacha asked, riving our earlier conversation.
"It was the pony from Crimson's breezie tale. She was the daughter of the old ruler. According to the tale, she was converted into a Hellite during the extermination. After that, she vanished," I explained.
"What about the ruler himself?" Cacha asked.
"He would be over eighteen hundred years old, if not two millennia, at his youngest, as would his daughter for that matter," I said. "If he is still alive, he is hiding behind Central. I have neither seen or heard of him."
"That would seem to be pretty unlikely, wouldn't it?" Cacha asked.
"Extremely, but if you think about it, ponies living in some giant spherical machine for thousands of years, while hiding from unknown terrors, also sounds far fetched, yet here we are," I said. "And then there was Brainstorm. Who would have expected them to survive for twelve hundred years. They were sealed away to die, not to reappear as powerful geniuses centuries later." I did not miss the confusion of two ponies called 'Brainstorm'!
"Hmm, I never thought of it like that," Cacha said, "but you are right. There is nothing natural about our lives at all. Pony influence and interference permeate our lives completely, right down to our genetics."
And thus that conversation ended with me leading Cacha into the nursery where the youngsters were playing. Pleased to have new guests, the foals soon pulled us into their games. The experience was refreshing, encouraging, and delightful. We must have been playing with them for quarter of an hour before we were interrupted by a mare calling us out. Reluctantly we left the foals, exiting the nursery.
"Who are you, and what does your type want with our foals?" the mare demanded as soon as we were near her.
"I was checking out the facilities, for when mine is born," I responded, making sure my voice held an edge of authority. There was no way I was going to kowtow to any other pony, and the sooner that was known, the better.
"Ha funny ha," the mare drawled. "Since when do those without a uterus get pregnant?"
"Since some slimy bastard in Central artificially inseminated me," I responded, "and whatever makes you think I don't have a uterus?"
"How? What? What are you talking about?" the mare jumbled out. "I ain't seen you around here before, so you can't be a mare."
"I can't be a mare because you haven't seen me? Since when do I need your approval to be female?" I snapped. "I, Aneki, am a mare from the life support chamber. You ain't seen me before because I ain't been down here before, and as the bastards up top seem to make a sport out of hunting and killing Hellites, I ain't planning on going back up there."
The mare stood, staring at me, wide eyed. I don't think she had expected that sort of response from one she had considered to be of the lower caste. "That one ain't got any business in here though," she finally muttered, waving a hoof at Cacha. "I rekkonize her."
"Maybe I don't have any business down here after all," I responded. "I'd hate for my little one to be raised among bigots."
While the mare was spluttering, I turned to Cacha. "Come, my dear mare. I suggest we find a better place to raise our young!"
The resultant giggling fit from Cacha was to be expected.
"Life here will indeed be interesting," I said, grinning. "Perhaps you should introduce me to your parents. I would dearly like to meet some of the better elements of Hellite society."
Cacha's father wasn't particularly impressive in his build. Brainstorm was taller, and Crimson both taller and bulkier than he was. Nonetheless, he didn't look like the sort of pony to whom that would matter. Seeing that we had our faces exposed, he peeled back his own armor. I was surprised to find he was just as black under his armor. His mane and tail were black too. Somehow he had managed to father a pink and yellow daughter.
"Hello, I am Bright Star. I can see you are puzzling over the color of my coat, compared that of my offspring," he commented as we came face to face. He mind-read too?
"I will admit the thought crossed my mind," I said. So did the strangeness of his name. He wasn't bright, so why was he named after a twinkle of light? Oh, the little white marking on his forehead was a bright star against the rest of his blackness. Fair enough.
"Black mother, red and yellow father, and black is dominant, genetically speaking," Bright Star explained as he sat, indicating we should do likewise if we wished. So the eight legged, two headed mare sat, oh sorry, Cacha was glued to me again.
"There aren't many black ponies up in the dome," I said.
"Weren't many when I lived up there, either," Bright Star stated. "I don't imagine that has changed. Surprisingly, I have significantly fewer black foals than I would have expected. Perhaps there is a color randomizing modifier loose down here. You never know."
"Modifiers, yes, the bane of our existence," I muttered.
"It would be hard to live down here without them," Bright Star reminded me.
"And without them, we wouldn't even need to," I countered.
"Touché," he conceded. "Cacha, perhaps you would care to introduce your friend to me. I don't think we have met before."
"Quite so," Cacha agreed. "This is Aneki. She is the result of what happens when a mare does a job that stallions traditionally do."
"Pardon?" Bright Star queried.
"She's the 'stallion' I caught with my first hellite trap," Cacha admitted, sheepishly.
"Oh, so you are an engineer, are you?" Bright Star asked.
"Yes, I'm a structural engineer," I stated. Come to think of it, there hadn't been that many females in that course at school, and as far as I was aware, I was the only one who enjoyed taking the jobs the furthest from the office.
"You are exceptionally well built," Bright Star observed. "And you only just got down here?" There was a little hope in his voice.
"I enjoy freerunning, thus the muscle tone," I answered, as that seemed to be the lilt of his first question. The second, however, was, I suspected, about to be followed by a pick-up line. "Yes, our little herd only just got down here. Two mares, two stallions. I helped Cacha recruit the others."
"I see. A pity. Having a unicorn as a part of the family would have been nice," he conceded.
I smiled. "Our little family has three of them. Cacha's the only mare who isn't a unicorn," I said, with a smirk.
Bright Star slowly looked from me to Cacha. "You've managed to con a new stallion into accepting you? Things could get ugly when he realizes..." His voice trailed off. "Does Aneki know about..."
"Yeah, I know. Cacha wanted to marry me at first." I ruffled her mane. "But an unexpected turn of events put the kibosh on that idea. We realized she was just a late bloomer, and while I may have considered marrying a mutant stallion, I wasn't going to marry a mare." Okay, so I was ad-libing a bit there, but we had agreed to keep the conversion process secret for the time being.
"You're a mare, Cacha? A genuine, foal bearing mare?" Bright Star asked, eyes wide.
"Yup! Unicorn scanned for verification and all. So there won't be an annoyed stallion!" she quietly exclaimed.
"So, where are these other newcomers?"
"Over in the other living quarters at the moment," Cacha answered. "We are trying to keep it all low key for the time being. We want to settle in first. We knew you wouldn't be a problem, but the other stallions might get a little testy."
"Considering the ruckus that occurred when I came down here, I think that is a good idea," Bright Star agreed.
"Apart from letting you know we are okay, we came down to let you know about the explosion that occurred up in the life support chamber yesterday. I'll get Aneki to fill you in on the details. The bad news is there are death squads in the area. The good news is the damage isn't something we really need to fix," Cacha explained.
"Oh, damn. We'd better get Fire Starter and Aquamarine to lay off sending ponies up there for the moment."
"We already bumped into Berry, the pony they were sending up, and filled her in. She's with the new stallions now," Cacha said. She sounded slightly nervous, something her father immediately picked up on.
"What aren't you telling me, Cacha?"
"There were two murderers chasing Berry," I said. "They tried to steal the stallions, threatened to kill Cacha, and admitted to killing several ponies, including Berry's sister, in the same sentence."
"That doesn't sound good. What happened? Where are they now?" Bright Star asked.
"A fight happened," Cacha said quietly. "One of the new stallions dispensed with one, while his other mare saved him from the other. Aquamarine shouldn't have tried to kill a unicorn."
"Aneki?" Bright Star asked.
"Our stallion protected us, resulting in the unexpected death of the red head. That's when blue hair attacked, legs turned into blades. The unicorn mare deflected her attack. Last we saw her, she was alive, but as she had gone over the railing, I doubt she survived," I explained.
"And Fire Starter and Aquamarine admitted to killing others? Really?" Bright Star pushed.
"Yes, they did. They were proud of it. Berry told us she saw them kill her sister, too," I said. "Fortunately, they didn't see her, or they would have killed her, there and then."
Bright Star fell silent, tapping his chin for about a minute. Neither Cacha and I moved from where we sat, but we did lean into each other for mutual support. The silence was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable. It wasn't unlike sitting outside the headmaster's office at school, waiting for news on how he planned to deal with some schoolyard indiscretion.
Finally, Bright Star spoke. "Thank you for informing me of the untimely, accidental deaths of two mares. I shall pass the word onto those who need to know. That does, however, leave us without anypony to coordinate the more dangerous missions." His statement told us several things. Dead mares were best left dead. Their reports of the deaths of others had been accepted without question, so the announcement of their deaths would be no different, and if we were smart, we'd leave it at that. I was smart.
"I suggest you consider us for the coordinator role," I commented. "Cacha knows Hell. I know the life support chamber and its underlevels. Others in our herd also have expertise in that area. Perhaps that knowledge can be used in a way that would result in fewer 'unfortunate deaths' of the sexless."
"I shall nominate you at the meeting then," Bright Star agreed. "Your logic is sound. Your knowledge of the area, and that you are volunteering, is also in your favor."
"Good, thank you," I said.
"I suggest you go say hello to your mother, while I deal with this," Bright Star said. "I'll come and find you, wherever you are, and let you know how things go."
"Will do!" Cacha separated herself from me, giving her father an enthusiastic hug. "See ya around!"
Our combined herd of six were sitting in a circle, having a round-table, or in this case, round-floor discussion. Some of the other sexless were hanging around, nearby, clearly interested in what was going on. Some were wondering what stallions and fertile unicorn mares could want with their kind. Some had already noticed Berry had already been accepted by a stallion, and were wondering if their luck could extend that far. We saw no reason to exclude them. If they wished to ask questions, comment or make suggestions, they were welcome to do so. We acknowledged them with nods, waves and casual greetings. Bah, 'sexless', what a nasty term. I didn't like using it, but I couldn't think of an alternative that would differentiate them from the others. Those with C.A.I.S. 'C' ponies? Could I call them C ponies?
The living quarters of the sexless were less than adequate for our requirements. They were similar to the other living quarters, but made from lesser materials. It seemed the best was always grabbed by the fertile, and the remainder, the scraps, the unwanted, the garbage was tossed towards these ponies. Apparently the recently departed duo had a large part in things running that way. No fertile pony had called them to task on this, and that reflected badly on them as well. We wanted to do things better, much better, yet not in such a way that it had the fertile moving into our newly made home, and giving us their old one as soon as we were done. Besides, the gender correction tank was not something we wanted visible to them at all.
"I know! Why don't we investigate the old air tank?" Cacha asked. "You know, the one that leaked. It would give us a fully enclosed environment in which to do our own thing."
"It would certainly be big enough for half of the Hellite population. What is accessibility like?" I questioned. I hadn't seen much in the way of catwalks or ladders when I had been peering down at them from the suspension platform.
"There is access. Do you know how big those tanks are?" Cacha asked. "The larger ones are nearly a mile in diameter. We are talking huge. If your brain didn't take in the scale, any catwalks would have looked like threads. Besides, the catwalks are close to the bases and apexes to allow for servicing, and were probably hidden from your view."
"How many miles down are we talking?"
"I'm pretty sure it is the top tank of the second stack," Cacha said.
"Heating and cooling?" Brainstorm queried.
"No problem. The tanks have to be cooled normally to prevent unwanted expansion of the contents. There is also a heating system to allow for rapid discharge and expansion of the gas into the habitat. It would be no use releasing the liquid gas into the habitat, as it would freeze everypony inside. A small portion of the liquid is heated as it drains from the tank to generate the pressure needed to drive the liquid and gas up through the water jacket, where the remainder of the heating and expansion takes place before it enters the habitat itself. The point being that there is some sort of heating equipment we could repurpose to our advantage."
"And if it is the top tank, it's closer to the path up to the life support chamber, and to our stash than here," I commented, "assuming there is a direct catwalk or ladder or something."
"We can levitate. We can cut. We can weld. If we can build a new interior for the tank, building a way to get to it should be comparatively easy," Stormie commented.
"Most of the route is there. We'd just need to put in some bridges and ramps. The problem will be gathering the required materials," Cacha reminded her. "We may need to go up to sublevel seventy nine and strip that. As you know, sublevel eighty has already been cleaned out. For that matter, there are the old, empty fuel tanks too, but they might still contain traces of the fuel."
"You can cut and weld?" I asked Stormie. I knew it was possible. After all I had already worked out my own cutting spell. "Yet, when you were welded into your lab, you considered yourselves trapped?"
"Yes," Stormie replied. "We were trapped, but not by the welds themselves, but by those that would have killed us on sight had we exited the labs. We were trapped by the situation, and by the attitudes of others."
"Then I guess you have a very good understanding of why we are stuck living in this second-rate habitat, while the stallions and mares live in comparative luxury," one of the listening sexless interjected.
"The major hurdle has been jumped," Berry responded. "There will always be distaste for our kind by many of the others, but the worst of the worst, the enforcers, have been dealt with."
"Dealt with? How? Nothing we have ever tried did anything but make them worse," the pony said.
"They tried their usual tricks against these ponies here with me. It didn't work. It so didn't work. You won't believe how badly it didn't work. Cacha tells me there will be new ponies taking over their role."
"What happened?" several ponies voiced. Oh, here we go. Berry is going to tell everypony we killed them. Great, just great. That was not how I wished to introduce the new maintenance coordinators.
"They admitted to murdering some of us, and got themselves retired, is what happened," Berry stated.
"So who's going to take over and when will they show their faces? And what of the murderers? Will they still be wandering about?"
"The new coordinators are showing their faces a lot more clearly than you imagine," I said, standing and facing the questioner. "And this time the ponies taking on the role have a much better understanding of how things work up above too, so we won't be sending you off to die."
"You said 'we'," the pony pointed out.
"I did. You don't know me yet, but you do know my partner in this task. It is your own Cacha. The other ponies with us will also be assisting us. It is our desire to make your lives as good as we possibly can, instead of exploiting you for the wellbeing of others," I said as Cacha stood and moved up beside me.
"And the old enforcers, the murderers? You still haven't told us what happened to them? Will they be able to interfere, despite being retired?"
"They fell victim to one of their own kind of 'unfortunate accidents'. One is confirmed dead. The other is presumed dead," I said.
"So you don't know for sure?"
"She fell down between the tanks from the suspension platform. We heard her screaming most of the way down. We haven't gone looking for the body," I explained.
The questioner nodded. "Yes, that would be about as dead as you can get. Thank goodness for that. If we do find her remains, we will make sure we treat them with the greatest of disrespect."
There was a murmur of approval from the others that had gathered. I noticed more ponies had quietly been gathering around us too.
"So, this new living quarters you are talking about getting us to build... who's it for?"
"It's for us, of course," Cacha said. "The mares and stallions already have the best of everything, don't they? What could they want with what we build for ourselves?" There was a definite smirk on her face.
"And if we don't want to? What if we want to stay here?" one of the onlookers asked.
"Or if we don't help now, and want to join in later?" another asked.
"That is entirely up to you," I answered. "We are the new maintenance coordinators, not replacement overlords. And to make things clear, we are going to build these new living quarters, not you. If you wish to become involved, you do so because you wish to be part of this, to be one of us."
A pony began clapping her hooves together. Soon most of the onlookers joined her in applause. A few remained silent, neither showing approval or disapproval. All in all, it wasn't a bad way to start.
What was it Brainstorm has said earlier? That was it: Welcome to the new order.
The members of our slightly expanded herds had agreed to tackle the evaluation of using the disused tank as a mini-habitat after a good night's sleep, not that there was any visible difference between night and day down here. We set off at the crack of... when everypony was awake and fed.
To get down to the upper service catwalk for the tanks from the living quarters, we had two alternatives. We could head a mile or so towards the outer wall of Habitat Eleven, then take the ramp down to the catwalk, or we could take the unicorn approach. I wasn't that keen on the latter, but over my objections, I found myself floating, descending the relatively short distance to the catwalk that ran along the tops of the tanks. The catwalk itself was alternately barely visible, then hidden by the holes through the suspension platform, so it had been a simple matter of looking for a hole through which it could be seen. The drop was several stories, so floating down into extreme darkness, with no control over where I was going, was quite scary, and I made that perfectly clear by yelling my opinion at the two who were lowering me.
Berry and Crimson took off at a gallop, clearly planning on getting out of range of the unicorns before they could be grabbed. I could hear Cacha expressing her disapproval while she paced on the spot, torn between getting out of range, and wanting to get back to me as soon as possible.
"Dammit!" she yelled. "I'll be with you in a few minutes, Aneki." I heard her take off, going as fast as she could. I hoped she wouldn't run into something in the dark. Then again, her name was Catwalk Runner, wasn't it?
Finally my hooves landed on the catwalk, and I willed myself to stick to it. Actually, I think I did more than just will it, as my magic threw off the levitation field Stormie and Brainstorm had been using. Catwalk, sweet catwalk, I could almost kiss you!
"Why the fuss?" Stormie called down from above. I could see the silhouette of her head leaning into the hexagonal opening. "You can't possibly be afraid of heights." That wasn't a question, either.
"No. I'm afraid of suddenly finding myself floating off the ground without warning!" I yelled up at the two unicorns peering down at me. "I used to have nightmares of that happening when I was a foal!"
"You aren't a foal anymore, Aneki. Deal with it. We're going to come down now, one at a time, obviously," Brainstorm stated. "It's your turn to act as the backup levitator."
"You trust a minimally experienced unicorn with your lives? Are you nuts?" I countered.
"Oh, grow up, Aneki," Brainstorm chastised me. "You have proved yourself more than capable on multiple occasions. Now, here, catch!"
Stormie floated into the opening, and I instinctively threw up a levitation spell to keep her safe. It only took moments for her to be lowered to the catwalk safely by my side. My trip down must have been as quick, despite its seemingly, terrifyingly long duration.
"See, easy," Stormie said, giving me a pat on the rump. "Now for Brainstorm. I'll lift him. You are on backup again."
Despite my self doubt, Brainstorm made it safely down to the catwalk too. He immediately turned to face me.
"Aneki, I suspect we will find ourselves needing to do that a lot now, if we are to keep our charges safe. If we can levitate ponies to the difficult to reach repairs, there will be less chance of them falling to their deaths. Maybe wings would be better, but we don't have that option," he explained.
"Oh, yes, that is a point. We are going to be busy ponies, aren't we. The sexless will have to get used to coordinators who actually help and care for them, instead of treating them as disposable assets," I commented.
"I doubt it will take them much getting used to," Stormie stated, "although I expect trust and friendship will be longer in coming. Now, which was the tank we were meant to be looking at?"
I raised a hoof and pointed into the darkness in the direction of the nearest tank. In fact, we were already standing over its massive body. I was merely pointing at the access point at its crown. "That one, I believe."
"Then let's get going," Stormie suggested. "It would be embarrassing to have the others catch up to us before we've even moved.
A few hundred paces later, we were nearing the crown of the tank, and the assembly atop it. In fact, we could have safely dropped off the catwalk and onto the top of the tank itself, its radius so large that this close to the center, the top was almost horizontal. The others backed off from their gallop as they approached, slowing to a trot, then a walk as they joined us. Cacha, despite being the last to leave, was the first to arrive. She immediately came up alongside me and gave me a quick, reassuring snuggle.
"You would probably have enjoyed that run," she said.
"No doubt I would have. I'm looking forward to exploring with you. I'm not sure if I want to rig up a set of lights facing ahead, or whether to just try to rely on my eyes at speed," I mused.
"Try both," Cacha said. "Lights could be fun. Seeing in color would be cool. Mostly, the few lights that are scattered about and the illumination from our eyes are enough."
On the subject of lights, there were a few around the equipment at the crown of the tank, and they lit up as we approached. The best way to describe what the top of the tank looked like, from where we stood, would be to call it a cylindrical room, and spacious one at that. Some equipment was outside that room, while presumably other equipment was contained within. A monitor panel stood outside that room, mounted on a plinth attached to the catwalk, which opened into a circle, encompassing the room. The monitor panel seemed like the logical place to start, so I walked over to it, and glanced over the gauges. The indicating needles of all of them sat at the left end of their travel, at zero, but that didn't convince me. The panel had no life. No lamps glowed, either to illuminate the gauges, or any of the indicators.
"The panel is dead," I stated. "Cacha, what makes you think the tank itself is empty?"
"I wasn't even born when it happened. Don't ask me. That the panel is dead now means nothing. It could have been shut off to conserve power."
"Fair enough. I'm not going to learn anything from staring at it, then, am I?"
There had to be back-up pressure and temperature gauges somewhere. There was no way such a seriously dangerous tank had been equipped with only a single remote monitor. There had to be something else, probably contained within that cylindrical housing that covered the crown of the tank. There also had to be a way to get into that housing. Eventually I found a hoof scanner, but there was no door to go with it. Putting my hoof to the scanner and pressing the integral button presented me with something I was not expecting to hear: rejection!
"Your race is not qualified to enter this facility," the scanner stated. Race? What was it on about? Didn't it like Hellites? Were Hellites even a race? Perhaps it didn't like unicorns.
"Cacha?" I called, "Unless you are a unicorn and I know nothing about it, could you put your hoof in this scanner for me please?" I requested.
"There are no pointy bits on my head, girl," she responded as she approached the scanner as requested. She raised her hoof to it, pressed the button, and, like I had been, was told to bugger off.
"Well, that's mighty rude of it, isn't it?" I commented. "Is that the same response you get from the systems locking you out of the ship's main guns?"
"I don't think so. They never mention anything about race," Cacha said. "Perhaps it wants a pegasus."
"That is the one thing it can't have," Brainstorm interjected. "Cut it open, Aneki. Any authority that once existed in this place has been lost. We are now trying to save ponies in a hostile environment. Almost anything goes."
"I guess that's one way to look at it," I commented.
That stuff was hard to cut! But then, that was the idea of it. Security would mean nothing if every unicorn that came past could create a new door within moments. I could have simply loaded up my gun with its first disintegration spell, and blown a hole through it, but that was so messy, and noisy, not to mention being destructive. Eventually, I had settled on creating a very parred down version of the spell, and eroded a fine cut into the material. I didn't make the opening particularly big, either, just large enough for a mare to squeeze through, which upon removing the separated material, was exactly what I did. The logic behind me doing so was sound, because as soon as I was in, the interior lighting activated, giving me a perfectly clear view of the door operating mechanism. There was no lock on this side, either. I gave it a tap, and a substantial section of wall moved out, then slid to one side. The opening was the same width as the catwalk, presumably to allow equipment to be brought in or out as required.
The others wandered in and began looking around, discussing what they saw, as well as pondering how exactly they would convert the tank, should it be suitable. I turned my attention to the top of the tank itself, and the equipment attached to it.
That was odd. There was a deep line in the surface of the tank, running in a circle about ten pony widths in diameter, as if a section of the tank could be lifted clear. If it was to be pressurized, such a groove would be a major weakness, most likely leading to failure. Then again, this was supposedly a failed tank. I thumped it with my hoof. It felt solid. It sounded solid. It had the same audio signature as the suspension platform, and the wall to the equipment room I had just cut into, suggesting it was made from the same mystery material. Could this be an inspection port that was sealed up on completion of the tank? Perhaps its edge was conical, so that the pressure pushed against it, ensuring it sealed. Hang on, what was that written here? No way. There had to be some other reason for that being written there. An error? A delivery mix-up? I looked across at the bundle of pipes and cables that entered the tank, outside of this area marked by the groove. Sensor lines, heating, cooling, pipes that looked like the standard, medium pressure variety used for sewage, water and nutrient lines, cables for electricity: That was a really odd combination of pipes for a liquid nitrogen tank. And there was that matter of no pressure or gas mixture changes being noticed when this tank supposedly failed.
I noticed a metal panel attached to the port through which the pipes and cables were passing. It was situated at the perfect height for a pony to operate any controls it may bear, yet was noticeable blank. In being blank, it served no purpose at all, perhaps bar one: to hide something. Walking over to it, I reached up and grasped the top edge, then pulled. I felt it give a little, so I tugged harder. It twisted and groaned a little. There was probably a hidden catch or two holding it in position. Damn it. I added my magic into the mix and gave it a mighty wrench. Suddenly it gave and swung down, broken latches dangling from one edge.
Revealed were a set of meters and gauges, not unlike the dead set out on the pedestal. I was right! I had known they had to be in here somewhere. Unlike the others, they were not dead. Perfect! I would be able to check out the status of the tank without doing anything dangerous. The last thing I wanted to do was take a bath in liquid nitrogen. Come to think of it, should that happen, it would be the last thing I did.
Okay, first to check was the pressure... and that was reading was... atmospheric pressure. Maybe the tank really was empty. Temperature? That was at ambient temperature too. Both suggested the tank was indeed empty. Gas mixture? What? A row of small gauges indicated a nitrogen/oxygen mixture with traces of other gasses. Again, it matched the atmosphere out here. Something was wrong though. How was I able to read these temperatures and pressures so accurately? Why was there even a gas mixture display? Damn, so that was it! These gauges were incorrectly marked for monitoring a tank full of liquid nitrogen. They were more suited to...
"Umm, guys?" I called, "this tank... it's labeled Habitat Ten."
"So? It must have been left over from when they build Habitat Ten," Crimson suggested.
"Or was delivered to the wrong site, and as such was more economical to just install it than try to correct the shipping error of something this large," Brainstorm suggested.
"No, I think this is Habitat Ten," I stated. "This tank is Habitat Ten."
"No way!" Cacha exclaimed.
"The gauges are marked with pressures and temperatures suitable for living quarters. They don't go low enough or high enough to cover the temperatures and pressures involved in keeping liquefied gas. This tank never failed. It was never filled with liquid nitrogen. When the monitoring station outside failed, ponies believed what the panel showed them, but as you said..."
"...no change in pressure, or gas balance was noticed in the atmosphere," Cacha finished my sentence.
"You are saying this is a second habitat, hidden within our own?" Stormie asked. "Could habitats one to nine also be hidden in here? That would certainly skew our perception of what is going on!"
"It is possible, I guess. There may be no habitats outside of our outer sphere..." Cacha said.
"Or worse. What if Habitat Nine is inside Habitat Ten?" I asked. "Is Habitat Eleven inside an even larger habitat itself?"
"So how do we get into it, or how do those in it get out?" Brainstorm asked, changing the course of the discussion.
In response, I stomped on the large red button that was also on the panel. A buzzer squawked into operation, clearly reluctant to be revived from its multi-millennia long hibernation. Flashing amber lights added to the illumination of the room. Something could be heard spinning up below us.
"Brainstorm, Stormie, scan for modifiers, and kill any that try to escape from there," I suggested.
"Good idea," Stormie agreed, the spell immediately beginning to build on her horn. "I'll scan."
With a modifier killing spell growing on his own horn, Brainstorm positioned himself beside Stormie, crouching, as if that somehow made him more ready. Something below us thumped and rattled as if trying to force stubborn or seized machinery to move, then with an ear torturing screech, the section of the tank, marked by the groove I had noticed earlier, slowly lifted, foul smelling air blasting out at us. Brainstorm didn't even wait for a word from Stormie, launching his spell. Its faint, pale blue veil swept around the room, thousands of little sparkles marking its passage, as droves of modifiers were destroyed. Fortunately, the spell did not penetrate us. I didn't fancy having any of the modifiers that were part of my weapon systems exploding inside me! The spell escaped through the open door, continuing its destruction as it spread out into the empty spaces of Hell. Fascinated by the spectacle, we all assembled at the doorway, watching it spread. Eventually it wore itself out, fading into nothing.
"Wow, pretty," Berry stated. I bet she would appreciate the luminescent ammo.
"That's a lot of modifiers!" Crimson commented.
"Nothing out of the ordinary escaped from the tank," Stormie added. "Most of those modifiers were already floating around down here."
"What? We were walking around in clouds of modifiers?" I asked. They certainly hadn't been as dense as when I had encountered the clouds of them in the trap that had converted me. Instead, their density was more like that of regular dust.
"That was not unexpected," Brainstorm said. "I see I'll have to cast a stronger version of that spell and really clean this place out if we ever want to be free of genetic sabotage. Now, let's have a look at what we have opened."
"Pee-ew, that air stank," Cacha commented, "There can't have been any fresh air in there for years!"
"The life support chamber smells different to down here, too," I said. "Places where somepony lives will always take on an odor.
"I'm not so sure I want to meet whoever smells like that," Cacha stated, "But I assume I am going to have to accompany you down into it?
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," I said.
"Oh, I'm going where you go. The question was whether or not you were going to go down there," Cacha clarified.
"Of course I am. Nonetheless, it would be a good idea for somepony to stay up here in case things go wrong," I suggested.
"Crimson," Brainstorm said, "Would you and your mare like to stay up here. We'll keep you in the loop via communicator."
"Suits me fine," Crimson agreed. "Berry, what about you?"
"That's fine with me," she said. "The coordinators doing the dangerous stuff themselves is just... wow! Look after yourself down there, sis," she added, directed at Cacha.
Turning, we faced the opening into the tank, into Habitat Ten. The section that had lifted now formed a local roof, under which was a ramp. Some lamps glowed dimly, and some flickered, or pulsed on and off. At the base of the ramp, now visible in the eerie light were, piles of debris, odd bits of ceramic bundled in with rags of various colors. We took a few steps closer, stopping part way down the ramp. Those were not pieces of ceramic. Those were bones, skeletons.
Bones, skeletons, the remains of those that had made Habitat Ten their home, littered the floor, and it appeared we were the first to disturb them in many years. Each skeleton was more-or-less intact, the occasional bone separate from the others. However, despite the integrity of the skeletons, they were tangled together, suggesting those who had died were either heaped here, post-mortem, or had been struggling with each other when the end came. Since then, nothing had interfered with them, other than the passage of time itself.
I wasn't sure we were looking at a mass extinction event yet, as it was possible there were other ponies living further down in the habitat in perfect health. Nonetheless, the great pile of skeletons here suggested many were trying desperately to escape from Habitat Ten's confinement, but failed to do so, dying here. What had killed them? Conflict? System failure? A disease? More rogue modifiers?
Clearly the last possibility was playing on Brainstorm's mind, despite the all-clear Stormie had given earlier, because he had just released a monumental ball of magic, and propelled it down the ramp, past the bones. It hit somewhere down below, and the weak, pale blue veil of the modifier destroying spell expanded out from its point of impact. As it passed us, there were the occasional sparkles of stray modifiers being terminated, presumably ones that had drifted up here from somewhere down below. I guessed there was a limit to how many twists and turns the spell could take before it lost effectiveness.
"I thought you already killed all the modifiers down there," Cacha said.
"You can never be one hundred percent sure," Brainstorm said. "The first spell was configured not to pass through anything that is or was living, so pockets of modifiers, trapped by the bones, could have survived. That time, I bypassed the limiter. It's slightly more risky, but as we are dealing with corpses, it was justified."
"Wait," Stormie commanded as Brainstorm took a step forward. She cast another spell of her own, waiting as it swept over everything ahead of us. "Nothing toxic is in the air," she said as the spell faded. "If this was caused by toxic gases or airborne pathogens, they are long gone. I'm sure it is safe for us to go down there."
"Safe?" I asked. "There are many other ways one could get killed."
"Oh, you... I mean we are safe from gases, biological threats and modifiers, despite the stink."
"Bullets, on the other hoof, would be just as fatal. What if there is some sort of security system?" I asked, as I willed my hoof gun into existence. If something automated started shooting at us, I wanted to be ready. Actually, if something started shooting us, I didn't even want to be here, period. "Wait here. There's no point in all of us getting shot at."
"We'll pull you back if there is any trouble," Brainstorm said.
"I'll throw up a shield spell for you," Stormie added.
"Thanks."
When the pale blue hue of the shield spell became visible, I began hobbling down the ramp on three legs, sweeping my pistol back and forward as I did. All in all, the trip down was anticlimactic and I arrived at the heap of bones unhindered. Now that I was close to them, the details of the dead became more obvious. Decay and insects had between them cleaned the bones fairly thoroughly. What remained of their clothing was similarly affected. Natural fibers were gone. Treated and synthetic fibers survived, giving the remaining outfits a somewhat skeletal appearance of their own.
The skeletons themselves were rather odd looking. The skulls were the wrong shape. Teeth were too sharp. Hooves were missing, with finger like bones on both fore and hind limbs. So, I had guessed right. Apart from insects, ponies were not the only species in existence. Here at my hooves was the proof. The hoof scanner to this area should have complained that we were of the wrong species, not the wrong race.
"These aren't pony bones," I said.
"What?"
"These bones are of a larger creature than us. Their teeth are pointed. They appear to be designed for tearing something tough, rather than chewing on plants. And there are a lot more differences than that."
"So, we were not alone?" Crimson asked.
"Were being the operative word, unless there are other habitats hidden down here," I said, "or other members of this species further down in this habitat."
"And if there are, they may be hungry, feral and violent, and we could be on the menu," Brainstorm said. "Aneki, I suggest you form a weapon mounted up on your shoulder. It won't hinder your walking that way. Set the trigger so it can be fired while your fingers are still curled up in your hoof."
I hadn't considered that before. I had always assumed the trigger would need to be attached to the portion of the weapon that was external to my body. Then again, the weapon had integrated itself fairly thoroughly into my body, so I could consider myself to be the weapon. I already knew I could form weapons on either hoof or leg. Closing my eyes, I imagined the new configuration, considered it, then made more changes to my mental model. A barrel either side, mounted on my shoulder would give me a better arc of fire. I didn't limit them to pointing forward, instead imagining a gimbal based mount. Magic already took care of the aiming when I was waving the gun around on the end of my hoof, so I didn't see there would be any issues with allowing the targeting spell to directly control the barrels. Satisfied with the design, I committed the wish, shuddering slightly as I felt the mechanisms moving around inside me. That was one part of the system I didn't think I would ever feel comfortable with.
"Wow! Turrets!" Brainstorm said.
"Impressive, Aneki," Stormie said. "You really are getting better at this. That is a configuration I had never considered."
"Well, I am the first to be fitted with the system, after all."
"Did that just come from inside you?" Berry asked, peering down at me from the top of the ramp, "or am I seeing things?"
"You are seeing things... that are real," I said.
"So, what are you?"
"I'm an enhanced Hellite unicorn."
"Modifiers did that to you?"
"No. These two unicorns did it to me," I muttered, giving them a dirty look, just for old time's sake. "They also fixed my horn. I'll fill you in later."
"And even like that, being full of machines, I mean, you are still fertile?" Berry asked. Clearly fertility was something constantly on the mind of the sexless, an annoying little fact of life that kept reminding them of their flaws.
"Not only am I fertile, I am pregnant."
"Sweet Luna!"
That was one way of looking at it, I guessed.
Locating an area of floor that had a lower density of bones, I leaped to it without disturbing the piled skeletons. Now that I was beyond the bottom of the ramp, the walkway opened out into a vestibule. So far, I had been relying on light from the raised lid of the habitat, but down here, there wasn't anything adding to the illumination, apart from my eyes. Staring into the darkness, I was just able to make out the walls. The vestibule was spacious, circular in shape, with the ramp down which I had descended at its center. It was roomy enough to comfortably hold several hundred ponies at party density, or perhaps three times that if you packed them in.
There were numerous doors spaced around the wall, most of them closed. Some were clearly doors to elevators, lifeless floor indicators above them, while others went to service rooms. Signs indicated a pair of rest-rooms, a canteen and several private lounges. There were also as many stairwells as there were elevators: six or seven of them. The door to one stairwell had been battered from the other side until it had opened. A couple of the others showed signs of being pounded from the other side, yet remained firmly closed.
I crossed the floor to one such door and tried the handle. It was rigid, held firm by some sort of lock. Under normal circumstances, this area must have been off limits to those from below, the facilities being used only during ingress and egress. Stepping around more skeletons, I walked to the closest elevator, I pressed the call button, but it remained lifeless despite my action.
"Aneki? Have you found anything?" Brainstorm called from the bottom of the ramp.
I turned to face him, shaking my head. "Apart from more skeletons, no. This place is totally dead. Indications are that these creatures were trying to escape from down below. Going on the relatively low body count, I suspect there isn't a working light in the place. The elevators are dead too."
"Is there any indication of the cause?"
"Down here, no. I suggest we go back up, and check the life-support feeds."
"Your race is not qualified to enter this facility," the scanner said. It was complaining about race instead of species again. I wasn't sure I would call the small room that encased the actual control systems for Habitat Ten, a pony-sized box attached to the gland into the habitat, a facility, though. It was more like a broom closet, a small wart on the perimeter of the massive cylindrical port through which all cables and pipes passed, although, presumably, it did allow one to gain access to the inner workings of the port.
Whatever the case, it was locked, and being made of the same super-tough material as the suspension platform, it was going to be difficult to gain access to. With the power out, down in Habitat Ten, the logical first step was to see if any circuit breakers had tripped, and that meant I had to get inside.
"I have an idea," Brainstorm called, from down in the habitat. "It's a little grotesque, but there is a chance it may qualify. I'll need you to step well back from the scanner."
"Grotesque? Yup, I'll step back for that," I said, moving clear of the locked door. I wondered what Brainstorm had in mind that would qualify as grotesque after all we had already been through.
Moments later a skeleton of one of the weird creatures walked up the ramp, contained in the glow of Brainstorm's magic. He was a few paces behind. Seeing the strangely proportioned remains in motion made me shudder as my brain tried to process the life-like motions of something so obviously dead. I had to suppress my instinct to greet it.
As the bony figure walked past me, I backed away a step, noticing the others with me doing the same. Some quiet mutterings suggested the others weren't exactly happy with this, either. We already knew that if we were to use this habitat as our own, we would have to dispose of hundreds, if not thousands of skeletons, but this was different: it seemed disrespectful.
Under Brainstorm's control, the skeleton marched right up to the scanner, reached up, and deftly pushed the button. Would it work? Could something that was little more than calcium, with traces of long dead DNA, be recognized by the scanner?
"All members of the controlled species must be removed from the vicinity of this facility before the door can be opened," the scanner said. Apparently, it was recognized.
"Wha???" I spluttered. "Controlled species? It is differentiating between race and species now!"
His idea defeated, Brainstorm levitated the skeleton over to a clear patch of floor well away from the scanner, and carefully placed it there.
"Maybe it doesn't like Hellites," Stormie said. "Or maybe it really does want a pegasus."
"Or, perhaps there is another race of ponies about which we have forgotten," I said.
Brainstorm ran a hoof through his mane, making it all stand on end. "You may be right. I vaguely recall there being at five, if not six, different types of pony. I think three of the types had wings."
"But you only mentioned pegasi to me before!"
"Stormie and I actually met an old pegasus when we were colts. I think it was he who told us about the other types. They were less common to begin with."
"And... and one of those types had both a horn and wings. Winged unicorns," Stormie said. "I don't remember anything about other races, though."
"I wonder what caused them to die out. How long has the modifier based purge been going on for? And more importantly, why?"
"I don't know, Aneki. In the meantime, perhaps we should do something about forcing our way in. You have the skill, so if you would be so kind..."
"Thanks a bucket, Brainstorm," I said. "Do you have any idea how hard that stuff is to cut? It may only look like it is half an inch thick to you, but some sort of magic has been used to condense it. There are all sorts of materials all sharing the same space. I have to cut through steel, assorted carbon matrixes, titanium, tungsten, silicon compounds and Luna knows what else. There are alloys and compounds I don't even recognize. It's bloody hard work!"
Once again, I found myself using my magic to cut through the material of which the structural elements and shell of Habitat Eleven were made. I considered dialing up my disintegration beam spell and firing it at the door, but the memories of the explosion from the last time I did that were enough to keep me in check. Instead, the spell I formed was more like a scalpel, allowing me to carefully slice through the complex materials slowly enough that atoms boiling off didn't create too much heat when they oxidized or formed other compounds.
Finally, the last section of material succumbed to my spell, allowing me to pull a pony sized piece from the door, and squeeze through. Again the release was easy enough to find, so I hoofed it, and watched as the lights came on and the door opened.
"Aneki, you idiot!" I chastised myself. All I had needed to do was cut a small hole through the door, then reach in with telekinesis, and push the damn button! Admittedly, being able to see where the button was made it easier, but it was more-or-less in the same location it had been with the last tough door. Oh well, next time...
I glanced around the room; well, it wasn't really a room. It was an area big enough for one pony to stand, with wiggle room. To the left and right were pony-holes into the cylindrical portion of the gland. Directly in front of me was the control panel for all of the feeds going into Habitat Ten. It looked fairly dead.
First, I checked the master switch for electricity. The switch had three positions: ON, TRIPPED (FAULT) and OFF. It was in the OFF position. Power had been deliberately shut off. Despite the risk of powering up the systems after such a long period of being inactive, I forced the switch into the ON position. It remained there, a series of small green lamps along the top of the panel lighting, one after the other. Three or four of them flickered a few times before remaining lit, as local systems dealt with the fault conditions that arose.
Next, I turned my attention to the nutrient feed. Like the power, it had been turned off. Air purification was off. Communications was also off. The habitat had been deliberately shut off by whoever it was that had access to this room. I reactivated the nutrient feed and air purification switches, watching as another series of lamps lit.
Stormie squeezed in, part way, looking at the controls, over my shoulder. With her magic, she reached out and pushed a button I had so far ignored, and a virtual display appeared in the air before us. That was pretty neat! Using her magic, she was somehow able to change what was displayed on the screen. She cycled through several different views of what I presumed were locations within Habitat Ten. Some were deserted, while others displayed piles of bones, or lone skeletons.
The display changed again, bringing up charts and graphs. Stormie paged through several such screens until stopping at one displaying air purity.
"We won't be going in there for a while," she said, pointing to a graph that showed carbon dioxide levels. "It's toxic in there. Maybe our Hellite bodies could handle that, but I don't fancy trying it. Any ordinary pony would die. Habitat Ten wasn't a sealed system, unlike Habitat Eleven. It was parasitic, using the life support systems of Habitat Eleven. When they were disconnected, whatever lived in there was doomed. They probably lived until the air was unbreathable, fighting through the darkness, trying to escape. Eventually, the carbon dioxide level was so high it killed them, and the microorganisms that devoured their corpses pushed it even higher."
"What a horrific way to die," I said.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Stormie asked.
I nodded. "Habitat Ten was host to genocide, to a form of racial purification more extreme than has been forced on the ponies."
"It is both the scene of a massive, unforgivable crime, and the final resting place of an entire species. We cannot live here."
"It also means we must now cut our way into the control rooms of each and every other tank down here, to work out which really are tanks, if any, and which may or may not contain other living beings."
"That is not something I look forward to," Stormie sighed. "I always knew those in power were rotten, but this is too much."
"Stormie, this virtual display: it responds to magic? Is there any other way to use it?"
"No," Stormie shook her head. "It's designed to be operated by magic and magic alone."
"Then, that means the race of ponies that had access to this place were not pegasi. They had to be a race with horns, or some other way to use to magic."
"Berry and I are heading back to the others to fill them on what we've found," Crimson said.
"I hope they aren't too disappointed," I said.
"Why would they be?" Berry asked.
Finding a bottle full of bones was not going to be among my greatest memories, but I doubted I would ever forget it. Bottle? Who was I kidding? Habitat Ten was a damn big bottle, despite it only being one twentieth of the diameter of Habitat Eleven. And by considering that as a potential new home, we were going in the wrong direction. Ultimately, I wanted to get out of Habitat Eleven, not go even deeper into the nested spheres. So what was outside Habitat Eleven? Was it Habitat Twelve? Were we inside Habitat Twelve? Was Habitat Twelve inside Habitat Thirteen? I certainly hoped not. Logic and what facts I had gathered so far also suggested that outside Habitat Eleven was... well, it was more than nothing, even if we were passing through the nothingness at the moment. Whatever the case, I figured a tank full of the skeletons of its murdered residents would be unappealing to the sexless as a future home.
After Crimson and Berry had left us, Brainstorm, Stormie, Cacha and myself had begun a search for more habitats disguised as liquefied-gas tanks. It made sense that the most likely locations for other hidden habitats were the tanks nearest the suspension platform, the highest, and thus closest to the exits around the girth of Habitat Eleven.
As searches went, it was a complete failure, not that any of us minded. Fortunately, I did not have to cut my way into the control rooms of the other tanks. Each of the other three tanks at this level had proved to contain what they advertised: liquefied-gas. Two had been for liquid nitrogen, and one for liquid oxygen. The doors to their control rooms opened when one of us offered a hoof to their scanners. The monitor panels for each all displayed the correct information. The cable and pipe ports at the top of the tanks were smaller and of different configuration to that of Habitat Ten; there were no nutrient lines. There were also no magic displays. The most telling difference between the tank containing Habitat Ten and the others was the lack of any door or lid; there was no obvious way to get into the tanks themselves.
There were more tanks down below, but the mile-long descents amplified by the gentle gradient of the ramps had discouraged us from going further as a group. Neither Stormie or Brainstorm had the physique or inclination to be runners like Cacha and I.
"Do you have everything you need?" Brainstorm asked.
"I have my food generators, and enough water, with recycling taken into account," I said.
"What about you, Cacha?" Stormie asked.
"In my saddle bags, of course," she answered. "This all may be new to you, but I've lived down here for years. I don't need reminding!"
"Sorry. I seem to be becoming motherly."
"You are the herd's head mare after all. At least you are a nice head mare," Cacha said.
"Head mare?" Stormie asked.
"You are the oldest, and you are the stallion's first... whatever you were at the time... so yeah. Head mare." Cacha said. "Aneki is more like an adopted daughter, and I haven't even been properly inducted yet."
"I'm happy to help you with that any time you are ready," Brainstorm said, smiling.
"Of that I am well aware!" Cacha smirked, giving him a wink.
Farewells exchanged, Cacha and I set off at a gentle gallop. We didn't want to get too enthusiastic, lest the downward gradient push us beyond our ability to stop. When we eventually arrived at the next level down, we galloped through the labyrinth of catwalks to each of the four large tanks,where we went through the procedure of checking each again. First, we checked the tank under Habitat Ten, and the one nearest to it, then, once again, we had to run around to the two tanks over the other side of the core. The balance of Habitat Eleven was obviously under consideration with how they were spaced. That run, alone, had taken half a day. After that it was another long ramp down to the next level of tanks, so we set off in that direction after some rest and relaxation.
I couldn't say I minded all this running in the slightest. Instead of the hazards of walls, stairways, and other ponies, the catwalks presented their own set of challenges. Sudden turns, missing safety rails, the occasional protrusion or low pipe to duck under, and the darkness that enveloped it all. Sometimes the few lamps that were down here were more hindrance than help, glaring in our sensitive eyes, forcing us to navigate by silhouette and shadow, instead of the grayscale of our enhanced vision. Nonetheless, it all added to the thrill. The only thing I really missed was fighting against the fatigue of my own body, pushing it, striving for it to be better; the hellite body already had that covered.
Reaching the next ring of tanks, I discovered another habitat-wide platform of sorts. Cacha pointed out the notable features as we travelled across it. In some ways, it was similar to the suspension platform, to which it was directly linked by towering, gusseted ribs. It was quite thick too, several stories thick at least, and the cutouts through it were significantly larger, so much so, that from above, the hexagonal pattern wasn't obvious due to it being largely obscured by other structural elements and equipment. I expected the access to the tops of the next group of tanks would be from catwalks below this platform.
Coming to the ramp through the platform, I noticed the catwalks didn't need to form spirals to pass through its depth either, the giant, hexagonal openings being more than ample for the ramps to pass through unhindered, even with the ramp hugging the wall of the opening. Admittedly, it was steeper, at a gradient of one in four, than the ramp between levels had been.
Nonetheless, at the point the ramp reached halfway down the thickness of the platform, it leveled out, widening to the left. The right part of this platform was unremarkable, and soon angled down again, the ramp returning to its original width. In the widened area to the left, however, was a hole, almost to the full width the of the extension, where the slope continued down, right through the thickness of the ramp itself. Had it been directly in line with the main part of the ramp, it would have been so easy to accidentally fall through, to one's death.
Of note was that the hole had reflective strips outlining it quite clearly. Just the light thrown from our eyes was enough to make the edges glow brightly in the gloom.
"Bizarre, isn't it?" Cacha said.
"Do you know what it is for?" I asked.
"Maybe, but do you?" she said, smirking.
"Oh, so this is one of those odd things you'd like me to figure out for myself?"
"It is."
"Okay. Give me a little time to think it over."
"You may notice more clues if you look around."
I nodded, walked to the edge of the expanded ramp, and slowly scanned the area. It wasn't easy to see far in the darkness with just the light from my eyes, but over the other side of the hexagonal opening, stray light from a distant lamp illuminated the top of a ladder. I rummaged in my saddle bag, retrieving my trusty (and repaired) flashlight, directing its beam across the gap. That helped immensely.
At its top, the distant ladder had hoof rails that extended above the top of the platform, then curled over to join the floor, much like many other ladders I had seen. What was weird was that it terminated at its other end in a similar manner, but this time upside-down, against the bottom of the platform, which was, for all intents and purposes, a ceiling. The ladder, in effect, went from the upper surface to the lower surface of the platform. Climbing down that ladder would result in you falling off the bottom, unless you suddenly worked out how to fall up, so you could stick to the underside of the platform.
What was that saying? Something about when all other possibilities are ruled out, the remaining one, however improbable, must be the truth. Hmm, while it didn't make any sense, if that really was the case, that would mean that gravity reversed direction half way through this platform.
Could this be where the Habitat's gravity was actually generated?
If it was, there would be a null point half way through the thickness of this platform, where the gravity reversed direction, and this flat section of catwalk marked that point. While I was still being pulled down at the moment, if I stepped through that hole, I would be safe, because the moment I passed through it, I would be getting pulled upwards.
I glanced across at Cacha, and could see she was watching me intently, her stance one of readiness. Nope, climbing through that hole wasn't going to happen. Cacha looked as if she was ready to tackle me if I tried. There was a better way to test the theory. All I had to do was continue to walk down the main part of the ramp. If I was right, I simply wouldn't be able to go down any further. Instead, I would find myself floating when my center of mass reached the null point. I trotted a few steps in that direction, finding myself descending normally. I went a few more paces and nothing changed; down was still down. I glanced at Cacha again, and could see that while she was still watching me, she was much more relaxed.
"You didn't think I would jump through that hole, did you?" I asked.
"No, but I couldn't be sure."
Okay, so, if my theories had any merit, the gravity generator wasn't working at the moment. Yet that was a contingency that had been planned for, in that the ramp continued to be navigable beyond this point without passing through it. There was the other side of the ramp for when gravity from another force, such as acceleration or an external source, was affecting the whole habitat, and for when the gravity generator was running, there was that hole so you could get safely through the ramp, onto its other side, and continue, this time climbing up against the gravitational pull originating at the center of the platform.
If that really was the case, there would be safety rails for the other side of the ramp as well. Going to the edge, I pushed my head through the gap between the verticals, and stared down. Yes, there they were, safety rails for the other side of the ramp.
I trotted back up past the horizontal section, then pushed my head through the gap between the verticals again, this time finding there were no safety rails for the other side of the ramp. I had to be right. Gravity above this platform was always down as I knew it. Below this point, it could be in either direction, depending upon if gravity was being generated by whatever it was that this platform housed, or by something else that affected the whole of the habitat.
"Well?" Cacha asked.
"Gravity is generated right here, when there is no other source. When there is another source, it is turned off. There is currently another source."
Cacha nodded. "Interesting, interesting."
"Am I right?"
"I don't know," she said, "but I don't want to pollute your mind with my theories yet."
"It also means two other things," I said. "It means that either the habitat is currently accelerating, or that it is sitting on something with a gravitation pull of its own."
"And the second thing?" Cacha asked.
"There are no more hidden habitats below this point."
"Huh? Why do you say that?"
"Simple. Can you imagine trying to live in a place where up and down swapped with each other? Imagine if we were all to suddenly be attracted upwards, right now. The fatalities would be huge. The structures that rely on gravity to keep them where they are would fail. I am sure that would be the case, up in the life support chamber. The buildings of H'ven would all rip from their foundations, falling, and smashing together in what was formerly the sky-dome. It would be a total catastrophe. In fact, I don't think I would really want to go beyond this point, unless I had wings I could use in an emergency, in case the direction of gravity did change while I was down there."
"You have a good point," Cacha agreed. "And, back to your first point: you think we are either accelerating, or parked on something with its own gravitational field, right?"
"That's right, and either we have a very smooth propulsion system, and a flawless change between acceleration and coasting with artificial gravity activated, or we are stationary with respect to whatever we are sitting on. In my lifetime, I have never so much as felt a shake or judder in the gravitational field. There has never been a sudden spate of cracks appearing, or I would have either seen them, or been taught about them, and if we had been accelerating that entire time, the speed we would be traveling at now would be unimaginable, if not completely unattainable."
"Why?"
"We can't accelerate forever! Even if we only accelerated at one G for ten years straight, at the sorts of speed we would achieve, even hitting a single, stationary dust particle would release enough energy to vaporize this entire habitat! And then, if we really are traveling between two locations, we would need to slow down at some point. We would need to rotate the whole habitat, then use the deceleration to provide gravity. I don't recall any evidence of that sort of reversal occurring either."
"We have no memories of gravity changing during our exile down here. Could that have happened when ponies last lived down in the underlevels, back before the buildings up above were completed?" Cacha asked. "What if they were in fact rebuilding the city after the damage caused by such a reversal?"
"No, I don't think that would have caused much damage. The artificial gravity could have been used while they rotated the habitat. Hmm... I think they would have accelerated for only a short time, then switched to the artificial gravity, allowing the habitat to simply coast through the nothingness. Now I think about it, we would not have even noticed the habitat rotating if the artificial gravity was the only source of gravity at the time. The speed of the rotation could be so slow as to be imperceptible. It wouldn't have mattered if it took centuries. All it had to do then, would be to decelerate when it was getting near to its destination."
"So we would accelerate for a few years after leaving wherever we first came from, coast for thousands of years, slowly rotating end for end, then decelerate when we arrived?"
"Something like that, yes."
"So that could mean we are decelerating now?"
"Or that we are already there," I said. "Let's go take a look at these engines."
To describe the engines would be difficult. They were so large it was impossible to take them all in at once, and even the parts we could see were covers, pipes and ancillary equipment. Whatever was going on inside them was well hidden.
"Have you ever been inside the engines, Cacha?" I asked, wondering about repairs and maintenance.
"Are you kidding? We have to patch up the external systems on occasion, but nopony has ever gone inside. I'm pretty sure you would die if you tried."
"So, how do you know their condition then?"
"We don't, but they must be okay, because they still work. Perhaps there is some sort of automated or magical repair system in place."
"Let's hope so. Are there any monitor panels around?"
"There are a few crude ones. You won't learn much from them."
"Show me, please."
As requested, Cacha guided me along the catwalk that ringed the engines, to the nearest monitor panel. That made the engines sound small, didn't it? They weren't. The engines themselves must have been a mile in diameter, by the time one accounted for all of the pipes, wires and the massive support frames. And there were the fuel tanks and the thrusters themselves. At least half of the volume of the lower levels of Habitat Eleven must have been devoted to power generation and propulsion.
The display on the monitor panel was very basic, showing the current output of the engines, which was just under ten percent of the maximum indicated, and a crude systems display, with each subsystem marked with a green indicator. The entire of Habitat Eleven only needed ten percent of the output of the engines? Wow, that was some serious reserve power. It must have been needed to accelerate and decelerate the incredible mass of the Habitat, no, more than that; it must have been required to break away from the gravity of the place we left. Now, all that was expected of the engines was to power the life support systems. It was no surprise that it was still happily ticking away after all of these years; it was rarely ever stressed!
Other than that, there wasn't much that could be gleaned from the basic display. I was about to turn away from it when I saw it was also equipped with a magic-responsive buttons like the panel in the Habitat Ten port. I reached out with my magic, and tapped it, activating the advanced diagnostics display. Now, that was more like what I wanted. Being a unicorn, I had a real advantage over other Hellites. While the other Hellites were limited to guessing what was going on with these engines, clued in by little green or red lamps, I could simply read the magical display to see exactly what was happening.
I spent the next hour or two transfixed by the information available to me. Unlike up in the life support chamber, with its lost history, I had access to records going back centuries; twenty three of them to be exact. Unfortunately, the data was limited to the engines, and didn't cover social history. This data had been recorded from when Habitat Eleven's engines first came online, making them twenty three centuries old. Whether they were started before the completion of the habitat or not, I didn't know, but at least it gave me a reference. Three to five hundred years had passed before the city of H'ven was habitable, and the ponies moved into it from the underlevels.
Of interest from a technical aspect was that the engines themselves produced absolutely no thrust. They merely produced power. Fuel went in, heat came out. The heat was used directly to warm the life support chamber. It was also fed into a set of secondary systems that converted heat into electricity. Electricity was then used to generate thrust by accelerating the engine's toxic waste-products along the length of the thrust tubes, and ultimately, out into the nothingness below the habitat.
That was the theory, anyway. As I had already discovered, the gravity generator was powered down. So were the thrusters. All waste materials from the engines were being stored in the emptied fuel tanks, pending a time where thrust would be needed.
"We won't be moving into any of the fuel tanks, Cacha," I said. "None of them are empty."
"What? But the engines must have used some of the fuel."
"Indeed, they have. According to this, they've already consumed over ninety percent of it. The resultant waste products were then returned to the tanks."
"Over ninety percent?" Cacha gasped.
"H'ven is dying, Cacha. We both already knew that. The only difference is we are now aware of how long we have left. Maybe a couple hundred years at most."
"Have you worked out how long it will take until we arrive at our destination? Or, perhaps, are we already there, and just unaware of it?"
I shook my head. "It's a lot worse than that, Cacha. The expended fuel was meant to be used as the thrust mass, and indications are that it is all still on board. I also have graphs of the engine's output going back twenty-three centuries. During that entire time, the output from engines has been more or less the same, apart from a few peaks marked as tests."
"That means..." Cacha raised her eyebrows, a concerned expression forming on her face.
"That's right. Habitat Eleven never began its journey. Whatever we were trying to get away from could well be waiting for us outside, and with the fuel almost gone, we will have to go out and face it within the next few generations. You and I will probably live to see it first hoof."
Cacha sat, looking fairly stunned. While she had been watching me paging through the various displays, I didn't think they meant a lot to her. Sure, she was clever, but the Hellites had been living in isolation for a long time. Their teaching resources were mostly limited to word of mouth and first-hoof training passed from one generation to the next. If a fault didn't appear for a generation or two, the skills to deal with it were lost, except, perhaps for word of mouth instructions, and had to be learned all over again via experimentation. The only new input of knowledge they were receiving was from ponies they kidnapped from the life support chamber. Sometimes that got them a maintenance worker, like Cacha's father had been. This time it had netted them a pony with extensive engineering training.
While I had not been trained specifically with the dynamics of a large ball containing ponykind being propelled through the great nothingness, I was quite versed with the physics behind propelling elevators up and down shafts, the stresses involved in keeping gravity from collapsing bridges, buildings and so on. I also had a pretty good idea of what gravity did to a hurtling pony body from personal experience. There was no way one could freerun without having an instinctive understanding of what path one would take through the air, after leaping from anything solid.
"So, my conclusions were not quite what you were expecting?" I asked.
"They surpassed it. We had the same theories about the gravity generator, but weren't sure where it fit into the big picture. We thought we were in a ship that was still traveling. We never quite understood the entire accelerating or decelerating bit, and how that could make gravity, but we had theories," Cacha said. "But there is no point sharing them with you now, because you've just gone and presented me with facts."
"Inconvenient little things, aren't they?"
"Such is life. But what do we do now? If what you say about how long we have left is correct, we have to break out of the habitat now. We have to find out what it is like out there, so we can prepare the rest of the ponies in the habitat for living out there. Can you imagine what it would be like if we need to convert everypony into Hellites? Could we even do that? Would we be killed trying? And then what? Ponykind dies out because they are still trapped in here when the power fails?"
"The first thing we need to do is discuss the discoveries with some sane ponies. Brainstorm and Stormie will have to suffice."
"You aren't filling me with confidence!"
"Just kidding... about the sane bit. They may be mad scientists, but they are extremely clever. I think your father should also be involved."
"What about Crimson, his... mare, and the others?"
"All in good time. We don't want to start a panic. For the moment, I suggest that they go on with life as usual. We fix the old habitat or find them a new one, get the tank set up, and convert as many to mares as we can."
"And if they want to be stallions?" Cacha asked.
"We don't have a solution for that yet, do we, so we can't offer it as an option."
"So we do what we can..."
"Precisely. We also have to find a winged unicorn, or some way to emulate one, so we can get the ship's doors to open."
"And how do you propose we do that? Get Brainstorm and Stormie to genetically modify a unicorn so it has pegasus wings?"
"Maybe, but that wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking we go and ask somepony who may already know where to find one."
"Who?"
"4J2."
"What? Are you loco in the coco?"
Cacha and I had made as many notes as we could from the displays to help convince the others of our situation. The hardest part of all that was finding something to actually write the notes on. Eventually, we settled on writing them on the clothes I had brought down here with me. For the writing implement, I used my magic. I'd turned Brainstorm's blue satin display case lining into red velvet, so it wasn't hard to modify the spell to change the colors of the cloth to replicate what was on the screen. Recording completed, I bundled the clothes back into the saddlebag.
"With that skill, you really could have one outfit for every occasion," Cacha said.
"Maybe, as long as I didn't need to change the style. I could design a pretty bridge or building, but a pretty dress is somewhat outside my experience."
"That's still pretty awesome."
"Do you have much in the way of clothing down here?" I asked.
"There are some items that have survived the ages, and a few newer ones that have been made since, but mostly, no, we don't need them."
"Can our bodies shape themselves to look like we are wearing them? After all, we can modify our hooves into tools and weapons."
"Sort of. We can move mass around enough to emulate them, to some extent, but they are always black, and the muscular and mechanical outlines are impossible to get rid of. The hooves are the most easily manipulated. It isn't like we would need to transform our butts into knives, is it?"
"Dunno. I can turn my shoulders into gun turrets, and presumably my butt as well."
"Well, you are a freak, after all, dear Aneki. The rest of us neither have horns or inbuilt mad-scientist weapons."
"Thank you so much for reminding me," I said, giving her a semi-serious glare. "Unless there is something else down here you need to show me, let's head back."
"I can't think of anywhere at the moment. Let's go."
Now we had to walk all the way back up to the Hellite habitats. Cacha revived the earlier conversation as she fell in beside me.
"So how do we get to 4J2? We'll be shot on sight!" she said.
I tapped my comms unit. "I call him, or try to. I don't know if he left the channel connected or not."
"So what's stopping you trying it now?"
"Location. There aren't any repeaters for the system down here in Hell. We will need to get back up to the underlevels of the life support chamber itself before we can even try."
"And if that doesn't work?"
"If that fails, we'll go up in fancy dress."
"Wouldn't we stand out? Are clothes commonly worn up in the life support chamber?"
"A few do dress up, but it's not a daily thing for most ponies, but there is one day where anything goes. We could almost walk up there exactly as we are, and get away with it. Marathon day!"
"Marathon day?"
"Yup. Once a year, Central opens the Mane Way to the public for a marathon. The theory is ponies get to run on it, but in actual fact, it's fairly chaotic. Some ponies try to get from one side to the other directly, while some try to use the ring roads."
"If they aren't going to do it properly, why do they run it at all?"
"There is a direct run from one side to the other, right through the center, that is host to the more serious runners. Marshals patrol the entries to that route, only allowing the fun runners in after the racers have passed. Mostly, though, I think it is more to allow the public to do something they aren't allowed to do all the rest of the year, to give them a thrill, and to suppress any desire to break the rules. After all, why break the rules today, if you can wait, and get to do it legally?"
"Makes some sort of sense. So when is this marathon?"
"We've missed this year by a few weeks. It's next year's problem now. I've got a foal to have first. Perhaps the father would like to meet his child."
"Oh, yes. That."
"Yes. That."
"Umm, sorry..."
"It's not your day is it? Washed your mouth this morning and can't do anything with it?"
"Bah!"
Despite Cacha's bout of hoof-in-mouth disease, we spent another night snuggled against each other, sleeping on the catwalks. The good night's sleep, and a couple of decent feeds did us good, which was just as well because it took us most of the day to get back up to the suspension platform and the Hellite habitats. Neither of us had felt like running up what was effectively a two vertical mile climb stretched over twenty or so miles horizontally. While we did have the ability to run a good portion of the distance if we were so inclined, walking was a more efficient use of our energy, and was more conducive to talking. We chatted about what we had just discovered, the Hellites' theories about the place, the colors of our parents' coats, possible fancy dress designs and whatever else crossed our minds.
Eventually we turned along the catwalk that led to the ramshackle habitat of the sexless. It didn't take long for us to sense something was not right. It wasn't as well lit as usual, and it was too quiet. Even from outside it, we should have been able to hear signs of life, or see flickers in the light that escaped through gaps and cracks in the poor materials from which the structure was built.
Cacha was the first to put the feeling of dread to words. "Something is off here."
"Indeed. There's no movement at all, as if the place was deserted."
"Or if everypony was dead..." Cacha said, shuddering.
"Whoa down girl. There could be valid reasons as to why it's deserted."
"I hope Aquamarine didn't survive and come looking for revenge, or worse, what if the death-squads from the life support chamber came down here after us?"
"If either of those happened, there'd be either a very dead Aquamarine, or a pile of very dead ex-death-squad ponies. Crimson has a weapon. Stormie and Brainstorm are weapons. The sexless aren't pushovers either." What was it with Cacha at the moment? Had she taken a ditz-pill or something, or was this just one of the extremes of her usual range of her behavior?
"But..."
"Yes, you've never encountered it like this before. We've been away for a few days, so anything could have happened. What if your father convinced the others in the other habitat to share, and everypony moved over there?"
"That is so not happening," Cacha muttered. Okay, maybe she wasn't as ditzy as she was acting.
"Or what if in our absence, they found somewhere else they could use as a habitat, and simply moved out," I said as we reached the door. "I think you've simply spooked yourself with your imagination. Look, I'll go in first. If there are bad ponies in there, I'll shoot them. Okay?"
"Oh, all right."
I didn't even bother to deploy my weapons. Pushing open the door, I entered the mostly deserted building, Cacha following a few paces behind, when it was clear that no bullets were going to fly. This habitat was mostly of an open plan, narrow walls protruding into the width where support was needed. There was very little to get in the way of me seeing what was in there, and apart from the aforementioned walls, there were no hiding spots. The belongings and furniture that had been here on my previous visit were all missing, the materials used in the construction of the room reflecting warm colors from the few lights that were still running. Ahead, lying on the floor was a single body... hang on, let's not assume she was dead yet! Her pose was too natural, too comfortable.
"Oh, it's her," Cacha muttered.
"Yo!" I called.
The pony's eyes opened, and she lazily directed her gaze at me. "You're back. Good." Her facial armor was not deployed, so I could see her coat was a cool grey, the muted coloring also extending to her dull-aqua mane and tail, eyes, and, apparently, to her intonation.
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Just wonderful, except for the bit where one of us had to wait around for you guys to show up again. That gets boring," the pony said, her voice continuing to convey very little in the way of emotion.
"At least you get to sleep on the job," I said.
"True."
"So, where is everypony?" I asked.
"In the new habitat you found for us, of course."
"What?" Cacha said. "I thought Stormie was totally against living there, with it being the resting place of so many murdered creatures."
"We live in one resting place for the murdered, or another. It's all the same. The bones don't care, do they, Cacha?" the pony asked.
"I guess not. Once we have cleaned them away, it shouldn't bother any of us."
"That's right. Crimson and Berry were pretty excited when they told us all about Habitat Ten, so by the time we heard Stormie's opinion, we were already packing and getting ready to move. Stormie and your other newcomer friends will just have to get used to it. It shouldn't be hard. It isn't like bones can do anything." The pony glanced at me.
"You clearly missed when Brainstorm made the skeleton walk," I said. "All the same, it won't bother me. Some things will need attending to, though, such as preventing ourselves from being sealed into the habitat by hostiles. I expect you also had to wait for the air to be purified."
"The air in the upper level was okay, not that it mattered. As long as there is oxygen we don't have any problems. I guess that is something you haven't learned yet."
"I haven't learned your name yet either," I said.
"Bittersweet," the pony replied in the same monotone voice she had been using since she first spoke.
"Well, Bittersweet, we're back, so you can get on with whatever exciting thing it was you were doing. Thank you, for what it's worth," I said, again wondering at her attitude.
"You're welcome. Don't get me wrong. I may sound like I don't care, but it doesn't mean that I don't."
"So you don't have anything against me?" Cacha asked, surprised. "I always thought you didn't like me."
"Nah, why would I have anything against you?"
"You always sounded..."
"Jaded? Bored? Disinterested? Yeah, I always do. I stopped sounding enthusiastic about anything a couple centuries ago. After a while, everything takes on a sameness. You kids are the first to interest me in decades."
"We are?" I asked.
"I'm here, waiting, aren't I?" the pony said.
Indeed, she was.
"So, Bittersweet, are you the oldest Hellite?" I asked the grey pony who was walking to one side of me. Cacha was virtually glued to my other side, as per usual.
"No, I am not the oldest, although I am the oldest of those without true gender. I have been around but a few hundred years. The oldest Hellite is a mare. None of us are sure exactly how old she is, but stories about her suggest that she is at least a thousand years old," Bittersweet said.
"What does she have to say about that, herself?"
"Whatever it is she has to say, none of us can truly understand. She is quite mad, and her ramblings make little sense."
"Could it simply be a language barrier problem? Does she simply speak the language of the older generations?" I asked.
"You know about that? I'm impressed, but no, it is not the problem. We can understand her words, but not her meaning. How did you come to learn the language?"
"I pulled it out of the heads of a couple of ancient reprobates that were trying to learn modern language by pulling it out of my mind with a crude spell. I rewrote the spell there and then, and pulled the ancient language out of their minds instead."
"You met ponies that knew ancient?" Bittersweet asked.
"Yup. They're over twelve hundred years old!"
"And they haven't gone mad?"
"That's debatable. You've already met the current incarnation of them. They rebuilt themselves using modifiers."
"Surely, you don't mean that young unicorn couple." With Bittersweet's total lack of intonation, that sounded more like a statement than a question.
"Indeed I do. And I'm the only young unicorn. To them, even you are a youngster!"
"Humph! If only I could recapture the wonder of being a youngster again." There was the slightest hint of emotion in her voice this time.
"You never know. Maybe you could be my foal's grandmother. Maybe you could have one of your own. That would be a new experience for you."
Bittersweet looked at me grimly. "Those sort of jokes are not funny to our kind."
"Aneki isn't joking," Cacha said. "She's pregnant, and I'm a mare, a real one."
"How does that help me have a foal?" Bittersweet asked, the slightest fluctuation in her voice betraying her disappointment with her life in that respect.
"I wasn't always a mare. Stormie wasn't always a mare. Brainstorm and Stormie have created modifiers and written spells to help us become real mares. It's meant to be a secret, so please don't tell the others until they have everything set up."
Bittersweet bounded ahead a couple paces, stopped, and swiveled to face us, blocking our way. She stared at us intently, as if she was trying to read our thoughts, our souls. Finally, her stance relaxed. Apparently she had decided to believe us.
"And if somepony wanted to become a stallion?"
"They haven't worked out how to do that yet," I said. "They can prevent the faulty gene from being passed to your children, but as of yet, they can't fix the gene in your bodies, and that means you can either be as you are, or a true mare."
"Do you want to be a stallion?" Cacha asked.
"No. I have never wished to be anything other than what I am - a mare. It has been frustrating that my genetics did not do the job properly," Bittersweet said, "and if these unicorns really can correct the genetic malfunction, I will be most grateful indeed. Perhaps I might even go as far as to express some enthusiasm."
"I am glad to see you still have a sense of humor," I said.
"Nice of you to notice," she deadpanned.
"You are welcome."
"What is your relationship with Cacha?" Bittersweet asked, observing Cacha's proximity to me.
"Parasitic attachment, I think," I said with a giggle.
Cacha blew a raspberry at me, but made no comment.
I continued. "Cacha was the first Hellite I met. In fact, she was responsible for my conversion. She also saved my life. Somehow, despite the less than optimal introductions, we get on really well. If she hadn't been converted to a mare, we may have become a couple. Now, I guess we are just a pair."
"Your relationship is not sexual." Again her intonation made what could have been a question sound like a statement.
"No, it is not. When either of us get around to doing anything like that, it will be with Brainstorm," Cacha said.
"Will be? Then, Aneki, who is the father of your foal, and where is he?"
I shrugged. "He's up in the life support chamber."
"Do you miss him?"
"No. I know where he is, but I do not know who he is. My pregnancy is the result of a laboratory experiment. Fortunately, the pony I believe to be the father helped me to escape certain death there. All the same, I do not know what he looks like, or even his name."
Bittersweet's expression suggested she had a newfound level of respect for me. "Your journey here has not been a pleasant one."
I shook my head.
"Yet you hold your head high, and speak with kindness. A lot of ponies could learn from you."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
"Do you think I would be welcome in your herd?" Bittersweet asked.
"You are certainly welcome to hang around with us," I said. "As for the remainder of the herd, I see no problems, but I will allow them to speak for themselves."
As we neared Habitat Ten the buzz around it became palpable. Even though no pony was visible from the catwalks leading to its entrance, subtle variations could be seen in the light coming from within, accompanied by the muffled sounds of many voices as ponies went about settling themselves into their new home. I was amused to see somepony had painted No Bigots on the wall to the right of the door. Somepony else had written Embrace the new fashion - display your heads with pride.
Bittersweet, Cacha and I walked through the entrance, and down the ramp, into the lobby of Habitat Ten. As we did, I felt a tingle, and noticed a few tiny fireworks going off on our bodies and equipment. Evidentially, Brainstorm had cast a modifier killing membrane spell across the opening. It also felt noticeably warmer for the few seconds it took for my body to adjust.
While the differing temperatures didn't bother the Hellites directly, lower temperatures resulted in annoying problems such as condensation, liquids freezing when it wasn't convenient and so on. As such, warmth made living a little more pleasant. Then there were the foals; they needed the warmth to survive, but at the moment there was only one of them in our herd, and it was curled up, asleep, inside me. I wondered what secrets about its sire it would reveal. Would seeing the foal help me recognize its father, when we went up into the life support chamber looking for answers?
It was like a camping ground in here. Sleeping mats were scattered all over the floor, the occasional one occupied by a snoozing pony. Other ponies were milling about. Some were eating from bowls, presumably filled in the kitchen or canteen. Almost all of the ponies visible had taken the advice written on the wall outside, their faces visible. Clearly not all of the ponies were in here at the moment, though, or it would have been a lot more crowded.
"Is anypony off on a repair mission?" I asked the nearest, a pony with a lemon colored face, highlighted with a bright orange mane.
"It's more like clean-up duty," she answered. "Centuries of disuse does tend to make a mess of a place. Most of us are down below, making the place more habitable. Nopony is out in the main habitat at the moment."
"How is progress?"
"Pretty good. Some of us have already moved into the living quarters. It's quite luxurious!"
"A mat on the floor here is luxurious compared to what we have had to put up with for the last few centuries," Bittersweet deadpanned.
"And that is exactly why there hasn't been much in the way of fighting over who got to move in first," the pony said.
"Your name?" I asked.
"Oh, they call me Carrot Top, which is stupid, because most carrots are purple, with a green top. Well, that's what one of our food generators produces, anyway."
"Whole carrots?" I asked. Every food generator I had ever encountered produced food in ready to eat form.
"Weird, eh?" Carrot Top said.
"Ammunition production!" I said. "Brainstorm will love that!"
"I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that," Carrot top said.
"It's not as bad as it sounds. They used to make weapons for a living, and pieces of carrot apparently made good, not-fatal rounds."
"So, you know about guns?"
"She does," Cacha said at the same moment I said, "I do."
"You do, too, or you wouldn't be asking," I said.
"The oldest stallion has one, although it is rare that he ever removes it from the safe in which it is locked. The only reason I even saw it was because I am his daughter," Carrot Top explained.
"I didn't know that," Cacha said.
"Let's hope it stays locked away," I said.
"I do not recall it being fired in my lifetime," Bittersweet said. "Once it was brought out and waved about to settle an argument between two stallions, but that was all. I believe it is more a symbol of leadership than actually useful as a weapon."
"Welcome to the new order," Cacha and I chorused.
"Huh?"
"If a gun is the symbol through which leadership is determined, we have a new leader."
"If that is so, my father will challenge. He's an arrogant pony. He likes thinking of himself as being above the rest of us."
I wondered if those of Central, up in the life support chamber, noticed the increased power usage caused by Habitat Ten being brought back to life. There was no doubt that the jump was noticeable; I could clearly read it on the graphs displayed on the remote engine monitoring screens I had rigged up on the magical displays above Habitat Ten itself. It was just a matter of whether they had a way to monitor the engine outputs up in the life support chamber or not. It was only logical that there had to be a command center somewhere up there. It certainly wasn't down here.
As for Habitat Ten itself, it wasn't a bad place to call home. It certainly had its quirks, not having been designed for ponies in the first place, but we were an adaptable lot. Hell hadn't been designed for ponies to live in either, and the Hellites had survived down here for a couple of millennia. By comparison, this was pure delight. We even had furniture! Its design was a little odd though, more suited to the strange species that had lived here before.
At first we just crammed ourselves into the top floor, camping out on the carpeted floor. With a week of furious activity, the sexless, or more accurately, intersex, were able to remove the remains of the former residents and settle in a little better. The week didn't seem that long to me, but then, Cacha and I had spent a portion of it out exploring the other tanks.
We only had a couple hundred years before the power failed, so we couldn't consider these to be permanent lodgings... unless we failed to get out of Habitat Eleven, in which case Habitat Ten could be very permanent as our final resting place, as it had been for the former inhabitants.
We hadn't extended the invitation to move to Habitat Ten to the fertile yet. They needed to learn to be a little less bigoted... okay, a lot less bigoted. Then again, by the time they learned that, we would probably have been able to convert all of the sexless into fertile ponies themselves. It wasn't as if we hid where we had moved to. We were still responsible for taking on the more dangerous repair missions, so meetings between the two groups was mandatory.
For that we decided to use the top floor of Habitat Ten. The main portion of the floor, the foyer, remained an open area in which visitors could relax while waiting for their appointments. Once all the bones and sleeping mats were removed, it was quite an impressive space. One of the smaller lounges connected to the foyer was converted to an office for Cacha and myself, complete with receptionist for when we were out. If there was a problem, that was where the fertile had to come and visit us.
Below the top floor were a number of floors done in a similar fashion to the lower levels of the life support chamber, with the exception that these had not been stripped for their resources. There was a shopping mall, residential areas, a hospital, and so on. Below that was a rather unusual artificial environment, mimicking what must have been the natural habitat of the creatures that had lived here. There was a sky, although it wasn't as impressive as the sky-dome up in the life support chamber. It was only a few stories up from ground level, and just a flat, ordinary ceiling made of translucent blue plastic, illuminated from behind. It was what was below ground level that was intriguing. Soil, lots of it, and it was full of tunnels. Due to instability of the soil, we decided that exploring that could wait.
As soon as the hospital was cleaned out and sanitized, that was where Stormie and Brainstorm were planning to set up the equipment from their old lab. Suitable vessels had already been appropriated for use as gender reassignment tanks. So far there were two ponies on the waiting list for their use: Berry and Bittersweet. Both had volunteered as test subjects in their enthusiasm. Actually, they were the only two that knew of the possibility, having been adopted into our inner circle.
Crimson's coat had parted company with him; one moment he looked like his old self, the next, he was as Hellite as the rest of us, his former coat and skin a pile of hair and dust at his hooves. He wouldn't be making a wearable coat out of it, as he had planned! Cacha and myself had a good chuckle as it was swept away.
Of course, when everything was looking promising was when things got messy. I was strolling through the foyer at the time.
"Shit! It's Richard the Great and his entourage," a pony called from above. "He has to have at least a hundred mares and their kids with him."
While we had been visited a few times by the fertile ponies, usually it was Bright Star, Cacha's father, or one of the few mares that still felt an attachment to their child, regardless of whether the rest of the community had shunned them or not. For their head stallion to show up unannounced, accompanied by his herd reeked of intended foul play.
"Get Brainstorm and Crimson!" I yelled at the pony nearest one of the stairwells. She scampered a few paces and pushed the elevator call-button. That would work, too. The doors opened and she vanished inside, the doors closing behind her. Hopefully she would find Brainstorm or Crimson quickly.
"What are we going to do?" Cacha asked, from her usual place beside me.
"Stall Richard the Arrogant until our boys get up here, I guess," I said. "Of course, that depends entirely on Richard being civil."
I formed the pistol around my hoof, mentally flicking through the ammunition spells I had written. What I wanted was something non fatal, but likely to stop Richard the Great in his tracks. Now, how as I going to stop an arrogant bastard that effectively called himself Big Dick? Aim at his pride. It could backfire, and enrage him further, but that was all I could think of. It was an emergency measure anyway. It was still possible that this could be sorted out with words. Aha! This spell would do it! It disintegrated hair. It wasn't particularly passive, either. Like my other disintegration spells, the atomized material would react explosively. I loaded the spell, but kept the pistol folded around my hoof.
Ready, I walked to the ramp, and positioned myself at its base, so that anypony walking down the center of it would be forced to change direction to get around me. This was really the job of the stallions, but until they got up here, I would need to stand in. Letting Richard and his mares get into the habitat would be a major strategic mistake.
As the sound of many hoofbeats clanging on the catwalks increased, the pony who had called out the warning dashed down the ramp, and around, getting behind me, where she stood. Others began to gather around us too, forming a pony barricade against those that approached. I hadn't asked them to help, but it was obvious that they understood all too well what was happening.
The herd of black-clad ponies reached the ramp and began descending, a large, olive-green maned pony at the front. He had a primitive looking metal contraption strapped to his chest. It took me a few moments to realize it was a holstered gun of a very old design. The pony stopped when he was still a few paces from the floor, giving him a vantage point. The first of his mares stopped a pace behind him.
"These lodgings look quite acceptable," the stallion stated. "We shall be moving in. You useless freaks will leave at once." Well, he didn't mince his words, did he? A murmur spread though the gathered intersex. I could feel their tension. Having what was theirs taken was something they had experienced too often, nonetheless they did not move. There was a difference this time, a significant difference.
I didn't budge. "Clearly you are incapable of following simple rules," I said to the stallion. "No bigots are allowed down here. Please leave immediately."
"Who do you think you are addressing, you unfuckable freak?" Yup, he was a bigot, all right. I wanted to shoot him, just for that, but stayed my hoof. Neither Brainstorm or Crimson were sexist, but to this prick, stallion to stallion confrontation would probably be all that would work.
"I am Aneki, a mare," I said. "This is my home. You are not welcome here."
"As if you could stop me, although, if you are one of these new mares, I will allow you to join my herd. You are a unicorn? Yes, you will join my herd." The stallion took another step further down the ramp. I mentally reached out to my gun. It was ready, as I nearly was. The only thing holding me back was the hope that this could be solved with words.
I heard the elevator doors slide open. Brainstorm's voice rang out clearly. "Richard the Great, I presume. I see you have recognized my superior genetic material, and have come to give me your mares."
I almost laughed.
Richard's voice boomed out. "Young upstart! You will learn to respect the order of things around here. These worthless unfuckables can move back to wherever they came from. I'm moving in with my herd now. The old lodgings are getting too cramped for me. You can head over there, and if you are lucky, I'll let you keep one of your mares."
A twitter swept through the crowd of the intersex that had gathered, but none moved. They had been assured beforehoof that we would not be vacating our home for Richard the Great, or any other stallion.
Another voice rang out, this time Crimson's. "Richard, it appears we have a problem, then. We, in Habitat Ten, do not recognize your authority. You are also breaking our primary rule by being here, so kindly remove your arrogant ass, and take the asses of your assets with you."
I wondered if Crimson was going a little too far with those insults. Some of those mares could be nice. Maybe.
Richard the Great reached up to his chest and unfastened the holster, withdrawing the ancient pistol. From his vantage on the ramp, he had a clear shot at any pony here, should he choose to shoot. He aimed it in Crimson's direction. Yes, that insult had been a bad move. I lifted my own hoof, extended my fingers, allowing my hoof pistol to fold out, ready.
"I have the gun. You will respect my seniority," Richard the Great barked.
"Richard the Great, if I was you, I would lower your weapon, and back out of here, right now," Brainstorm said, raising his voice. "One of the mares standing in front of you has taken out two death-squads from the life support chamber. I'm sure she has you in her sights now." That was a pretty clear message to me, as much as to Richard the Great, specifically, if I wasn't pointing a gun at him, I should be. I felt Cacha tense beside me. She wasn't wearing her pistol.
There was a loud crack from Richard the Great's old weapon, and somewhere behind me somepony yelped. Gun smoke wafted about Richard the Great, as he stood there, looking stunned. He'd probably never fired the thing in his life. After a moment, he began to move again, as if hunting for another pony to shoot. By now he must have felt committed to this course of action. I raised my weapon, selecting my target.
"Aneki, take him out!" Brainstorm commanded. I squeezed the trigger. Unlike the old gun, mine was near silent. The resultant explosion was anything but. The force of his mane exploding knocked Richard the Great head first to the floor, his mane now a cloud of acrid smoke. The stench of burned hair alone would be enough to drive away some of these invaders.
"Next!" I yelled. I don't know why, but it seemed to fit at the time. The invading mares stampeded, trying to escape along the same route they had come. Catwalks were not good places to stampede. Folding my weapon, I leaped up the ramp after them, skirting the stunned stallion. A few mares, fillies and foals had already fallen over the safety rail in the crush, but fortunately, they had landed on the gentle curve of the top of the spherical habitat. The ones further out were, however, at risk of sliding down the rapidly increasing slope, to their deaths below.
Immediately I reached out with my magic, grasping the mare at greatest risk, levitating her back towards me, where I put her safely on the catwalk, clear of the running ponies. She may have been in shock, because she just stood there, unmoving. I was reaching out for the next mare when I noticed another leaning over the safety railing, trying to reach a bundle of cloth that was at risk of sliding. There was no way that the mare could reach that bundle, not even if her legs were five times longer than they were. Why would she risk her life over a pile of rags? When the rags moved, understanding hit me hard; that was her foal! They had carried their foals here, wrapped against the cold, believing their stallion was taking them to a safe, warm place.
In desperation, I reached out for the bundle, catching it before it could slide too far. That was when the mare fell. I screamed, trying to split my magic between the two ponies, but as soon as I started to reach for the mare, the bundled foal started to fall. Two at once was too hard for me from this distance. I stabilized my levitation around the foal, watching in horror as the mare hit the curved surface, rolled, and started sliding towards her doom.
As she was vanishing from sight, another glow wrapped around her, halting her slide, then lifting her up, depositing her on the catwalk beside the mare I had rescued. As I levitated her foal to her, she collapsed in a heap, sobbing, legs wrapped around her offspring. I felt like sobbing too. Death was not something I wanted to result from stupid conflicts down here.
"We can't have these ponies dying, can we?" Brainstorm, the source of the second levitation spell, asked. "You are doing well, young Aneki. Help me rescue the others."
I returned my attention to the rescue. It was not long before we had all six ponies who had been in danger on the catwalk near me. Cacha and a couple of the others from down below had come up and were assisting the ponies back down into the lobby. The mares, fillies and foals that had gone over the railing where the slope was gentle were helped back onto the catwalk, too.
Richard the Not So Great still lay where my shot had felled him. Crimson and Stormie were standing near him, prodding him with their hooves.
"Is he dead?" one of the mares asked. Richard was their stallion after all.
I shook my head. "I don't like killing. I just blew up his mane. He should wake up again soon. He'll probably have a headache and be ruder than usual."
"Is that even possible?" a nearby intersex pony asked.
"He will be polite when he wakes up," Brainstorm stated.
"And if he isn't?"
"He will be polite when he wakes up, again," Brainstorm stated.
"Ah!" I said as Brainstorm's meaning sunk in. Until Richard was polite, Brainstorm was planning on booting him in the head.
The bullet Richard the Great fired had grazed the flank of one of the intersex, but the injury was not significant. I had survived a lot worse. She was being attended to by others, down in the hospital: its first patient. More fuss was being made over her than the wound warranted, but nopony minded.
I had remained in the foyer, not that far from the base of the ramp. In front of me stood the black pony, his head hung low. His true color was hidden by his deployed hellite armor. It also hid him blushing with embarrassment, something his body language made clear he was doing. His mane was no longer on his head, although some of it was still hanging in the air as a foul stench, the air currents of air purification system not sweeping all areas of the foyer evenly. His gun lay on the floor before him, in multiple, twisted pieces, its ancient explosive ammunition having been removed and destroyed separately. His perceived rank also lay there, symbolically, in a similar condition.
Maybe his mares would still care for him, but the other stallions, even those he had lorded over for decades, would now laugh in his face. Maybe one, Bright Star, wouldn't. My experience with Bright Star suggested he was a congenial fellow, but from what I had been told the other two certainly would laugh. He was probably wondering what the two newcomers would do to him after this. Crimson had watched over proceedings, but apart from making comments, had not intervened. Brainstorm had administered the lesson. Neither Brainstorm or Crimson had expressed anything that could indicate rank between them. That must have been really confusing for Richard the Great, as he knew no other way.
Brainstorm's lesson had been... violent. Brainstorm had bashed the black pony every time he had tried to reassert himself. Every time he had a nasty word to say he found himself waking with a sore head. Even though he was wiry, Brainstorm sure could deliver a powerful kick. Then there were the mares, Stormie, Cacha and myself, all of who were obviously armed (Cacha had put on her gun). Every time we stepped near Richard the Great, he shied away. We were now standing at three points around him. We weren't threatening him, but he very obviously considered us to be a threat.
"What is going through your mind right now, young Richard?" Brainstorm asked. "Revenge, perhaps?"
"Revenge would serve no purpose," Richard replied. "I have been beaten, my authority totally destroyed. Not only are you older than me, you are also better armed that I was, as are your mares, and your friend. My personal code of honor demands that I respect this change."
"You can't be particularly happy about it," Stormie said.
"Of course I'm not happy about it!" Richard said, raising his head to look directly at Stormie. "But that is irrelevant, isn't it?"
"I'm glad you understand," Brainstorm said.
"What happens to me now?" Richard asked.
"Go back to your mares," Brainstorm said.
"What? Did I hear you correctly? Go back to my mares?"
"Sure, why not. There isn't room for them down here yet. We still have a lot of cleaning up to do before we can have that many ponies live down here. Of course, if you and the rest of the fertile want to actually help down here, things would be ready sooner."
"If you were to accept the offer, there are rules you and all of your mares would be expected to obey," Stormie said.
"What rules?"
"The main one was painted on the entry way. It may look like a joke, but we are serious," Stormie said.
"You mean the no bigots thing?"
"That's right. Even if your dick has no use for the intersex, you will treat them with respect, as will any mare that you bring down here with you," Stormie said.
"That would be... difficult," Richard admitted. "And living under the authority of somepony else would also be hard."
"Then, return when you think you can manage," Brainstorm said.
"It does puzzle me that you allow your mares to speak for you," Richard said. "Why?"
"We are treated as equals," I said. "Perhaps you could learn to treat your mares with respect, to treat them as equals. When you can do that, perhaps treating the intersex with respect would not be such a great leap."
"You have given me things to consider. May I leave now?" Richard asked. His phrasing made it clear he was choosing his words with care, thinking before speaking.
"You may," Brainstorm said.
"And my mares?" He nodded to the small number of mares, fillies and foals we had rescued earlier, who were now sitting to one side, watching proceedings.
"That's between you and them, isn't it?" I asked. "If they were to stay, they would be subject to the same rules. Perhaps they are not ready to live by them yet either. You should also understand well enough that in introducing two new stallions, we have introduced two new bloodlines, and as your bloodline is probably shared by most ponies here, the more foals these newcomers have and the less you have, the better for the Hellites as a whole. As such there will be a redistribution of mares sooner or later, irrespective of what you wish."
"That has always been the way," Richard grudgingly admitted. "Now, I shall take my leave."
Richard the Great gathered himself together, raised his head and approached the mares of his herd. "Are you coming?"
One of them immediately rose, a second doing so after her friend did. Their two fillies joined them.
"My daughter lives here. I wish to live with her," one mare said. "Sorry, but I will be staying."
"I haven't developed yet. Maybe I am a mare. Maybe I'm not," an older filly said. "I will stay here where they don't seem to mind which way I turn out."
Richard looked at the few who hadn't stated their intentions, but hadn't risen, either. "And you?"
One rose, moving to join the other mares that were leaving, but the others didn't.
"We are going to try this new lifestyle," one of the remaining mares said. "It is the first significant change there has been in decades, and these ponies are going places quick. I want to be here to see it myself, to join in. The new bloodlines are are also a plus."
The others nodded their agreement, so without another word, Richard the Great turned, and walked up the ramp. As he and the ponies that had chosen to return with him crested the ramp and vanished from sight, there was a rustling among those that had remained. Then, starting with one, followed rapidly by the others, the newcomers bloomed, their facial armor peeling back to reveal their faces. They had taken their first step.
The hospital had been a busy place since we settled in Habitat Ten. The first major task had been setting up the two gender conversion tanks. That had kept us busy for a couple of weeks. The biggest challenge was finding material from which to build them, as there was nothing directly suitable. Unlike Brainstorms' tank, they didn't need to keep anypony alive for twelve hundred years. Once those were operating, ponies were required to attend to them, both to keep them operating correctly, and to keep the occupants company.
There were the usual minor injuries to treat, both of the intersex and fertile as well as a birth to tend to. The facility was, after all, far better than anything else down in Hell. It wasn't long before the former medical facilities were nothing more than first-aid stations, with anything more than a scratch being brought to us for treatment. Some of those visiting decided to join us, moving into Habitat Ten permanently.
With the two gender conversion tanks operating at around one conversion per week, per tank, so far only a few ponies had been converted, and once they were out, they promptly got themselves pregnant, much to the delight of Crimson and Brainstorm. Even Stormie was expecting. The general consensus was most of the ponies that were converted would wait a year or two before getting pregnant, so as to avoid a population explosion. Four to five hundred new foals at two per week would severely stress our resources! A dozen or so we could manage. For a lot of the intersex, just being a real mare, having the ability to have a foal some time in the future, was enough for the moment.
Brainstorm and Stormie were also conducting medical classes for any that would attend, passing on skills and knowledge that had not survived the hardships of Hell. That way, we would have a larger medical staff to deal with the expected sudden increase in demand, as well as the convenience of having ponies with the right skills to hoof when needed, on a day to day basis.
Bittersweet had been the first converted to a mare, and now, as often as not she would hang around with Cacha and myself, socializing, or as she was now, just sitting quietly in the office Cacha and I shared with our staff, observing proceedings. Having lived so long, she had the ability to just sit perfectly still and watch, to the point that one could easily forget she was even there.
Mostly, Cacha and I were kept busy organizing the various repair sorties out in the expanse of Hell, although busy wasn't really the right word to describe the infrequent tasks we received. Usually there were only five or six of problems per week, mostly minor. We'd dispatch a team of ponies picked for their suitability to the task. If that task required a unicorn, one would be assigned. That left most ponies in Habitat Ten free to help with repairs to Habitat Ten, itself, or just to do as they pleased.
Often the jobs that were further out were taken by Cacha and myself, as an excuse to get out and have a good, long run. Sometimes we would be gone for a few days. During that time, Carrot Top, Bittersweet, or one or two of the other intersex would look after the office.
A pony knocked on the office door post, so we looked up, seeing Bright Star standing in the doorway.
"Dad!" Cacha said. "Come in! You don't need to knock."
"You two were deep in conversation. I thought it would be best," he answered.
"So, are you here to visit, or is there a problem?" Cacha asked, rising, starting towards the visitor.
"Both, I guess. Something has failed up in the life support chamber, and it's in a hellite-only area, so somepony is going to have to go up there. Aneki, I thought you might be interested in coming over to our habitat and seeing the monitoring station in person. You may be able to make more sense of the report than we can, as you are from up there," Bright Star said. "Oh, and one of our own repair teams has found Aquamarine's body down in the sump."
"She was dead, then?" Cacha asked.
"Very dead, as we expected," Bright Star confirmed. "There was no sign of Fire Starter in the area, though. If she made it as far as the sump, she could have floated anywhere by now."
"Are they looking for her?" I asked.
"No, although they did bring Aquamarine's body up to our recycler as it seemed to be the right thing to do. Her friends and family are holding a funeral service for her tomorrow. I do not expect anypony from this habitat will wish to attend."
"Too damn right," Cacha muttered. "I doubt even the fertile that have moved over here would be interested. Feel free to invite them, or leave a message on the notice board if you wish, but I expect to do so would be a waste of time, if not an invitation for outright hostility."
Bright Star shook his head. "I will leave it to those directly involved to come across and personally invite any pony they feel should be there. She wasn't from my herd, so I won't be attending either."
"She never had an intersex foal of her own, did she?" I asked.
"No. Somehow she beat the odds and had three fillies." Bright Star said. "One of them is in my herd, and even she isn't that keen on attending the service, although I expect she will attend in the name of family harmony. I guess she got to see more of the real Aquamarine than a lot of ponies did."
Reaching Bright Star, Cacha reached up and gave him a firm hug around his neck. "So good to see you, Dad."
"You too, you too," he responded. "Oh, are you pregnant yet? When can I expect a granddaughter?"
"Not pregnant yet. Next year, maybe. I want to look after Aneki at the moment. Anyway, maybe I will surprise you and have a son!"
"So my intersex daughter who can suddenly have foals is going to give birth to a male? Interesting. Interesting indeed." Bright Star smirked a knowing smirk.
"Are we that obvious?" Cacha asked.
"No, but rumors of amazing possibilities have begun to circulate. Unicorns with spells. Hints of new modifiers. Strange tanks being assembled in the hospital. Daughters that change genders. Things do add up," Bright Star said. "Anyway, when do you think you and Aneki can come across to our habitat and check out the report on the monitoring station? We thought you might be interested in seeing the monitoring system yourselves."
"Right now would be fine," I answered. "It isn't as if we are tied to these desks."
"And if we are with you, Dad, it isn't like we even need any pony at them, with you being the representative from over there, after all," Cacha said, grinning.
I was kind of expecting the monitoring station to be like the magic screens I had seen at the top of Habitat Ten, and down beside the engines in the core, but it wasn't. Its screens were large, and effectively formed the walls of the room. Shallow control panels were angled out, below each screen, giving rudimentary controls for navigating through various on-screen menus. Bright Star had explained that after a period of time without input from a pony, the screens would go into an automatic mode, cycling through various reports, diagrams and maps, highlighting any problems that were detected within Habitat Eleven. That was not the case at the moment, as a mare was standing here, tapping on two of the buttons with a finger extended from her hoof, moving back and forth between two pages of information.
I stared at the equipment for several seconds. It was way too convenient for such an extensive setup to have been put down here by the original builders, considering that Hell was never really meant to have any permanent inhabitants. That it would be conveniently situated near the pipe the Hellites would use to heat their habitat was simply more than I could accept.
"This station wasn't always here, was it?" I asked.
The mare turned from the screen and stared at me. "I am told it was moved here from sublevel eighty of the life support chamber around the time of the great extermination. Apparently it was quite an undertaking too, considering the wiring required."
"It wasn't much use to us up there, was it?" Bright Star said. "I'm not sure if the ponies who brought it down here did so in the hope of gaining some sort of leverage over those in the life support dome, or merely so they could survive."
"Whether we like it or not, if we don't keep the systems down here running, we die," the mare said. "Hi, I'm Discernment. It's my job to work out what's going wrong."
"Hello, Discernment. I'm Aneki," I introduced myself. "With all of these screens, aren't you able to bring up things like fuel used, and other historical data?"
The pony shook her head, sending her golden mane bouncing. Like others who lived in this habitat, her facial armor was deployed, hiding the color of her coat. "This system is dedicated entirely to damage control."
"How have you been using the magically accessed pages?" I asked.
"The what?" Bright Star and Discernment chorused.
"These," I answered, reaching out with my magic and activating the appropriate button. Immediately an extra dimension was added to the display, hovering just in front of it, offering more detail than was presented on the screen itself.
"What? It doesn't look any different to me," Discernment said.
"Well, it sure looks different to me," I said. "There is a whole extra layer of information. Hang on a moment, I wonder if it's possible to..." Calling up the magical menus, I searched through the configuration pages until I found the option I was hoping to find: Enable extended menu system for non-magical beings. The moment I selected it, the enhanced magical display flattened out, becoming part of the information displayed on the screen itself."
"Okay, that's different," Discernment said.
"How bloody long has it been since you guys have had a unicorn down here?" I asked, wondering how the option could have been hidden for this long. For that matter, how hadn't these ponies known about the functionality both here, and on the engine monitoring screens if they had known about unicorns themselves.
"We haven't had one with magical ability as far back as our memories go. They were nothing more than legendary creatures before you showed up with that thing on your head," Discernment said. "I'm not sure any surviving Hellite has seen one, perhaps apart from the old one, and she's totally nuts. Good luck getting anything out of her."
"What about ponies with dud horns?"
"Huh?"
"Bony lumps on their forehead?"
Discernment lifted her locks, to reveal an ugly nub, just peeking through her facial armor. "Something like this, you mean? There's just me."
"Go show that to Brainstorm," I said.
"Why?"
"Because, before I met Brainstorm, my horn looked exactly like that."
"You're kidding me?"
I shook my head. "He really did fix it. Ask him. Anyway, what is the problem you wanted to show me?"
Discernment flicked through a few different pages before zooming in on a cross-sectional display of the underlevels of the life support chamber. A couple more button pushes brought up an overlay showing power feeds. Beginning in the center of the display and extending upwards was a dead zone. It wasn't far from where the main gun had exploded.
"This," Discernment said. "It went dark late yesterday. It's a distribution node with Hellite-only access. I can't tell if the computer has gone bad, or if there is a real fault. We need somepony to go up there and investigate, and if needed, retrieve a new computer and install it. Any thoughts?"
"It could be a delayed result of us trashing the area last time we were up there," I said. "That appears to be about one sublevel up from where the main gun exploded. Maybe some damaged conduits and pipes have exposed some wiring to water or effluent, causing corrosion or short circuits."
"You can handle that sort of thing?"
"I'll need to take an electrician up with me," I answered.
Rather than take the usual shaft, then elevator, up into the life support chamber, we had decided to take a less direct approach to the area. Apparently there were ladders through the water jacket, and their associated airlocks, at the base of every main support, and that meant there were literally dozens of ways for us to climb up into the life support chamber.
There were also several large lifting platforms, although putting one of them into operation, merely to transport a few ponies up there, was not practical in the slightest. Apparently they were suspended from cables, the winches up in the water jacket of the life support chamber itself, all hidden by massive airlock doors. Once the platform had passed through the airlock, hydraulic arms took over, and pushed the platform up to sublevel eighty from below, a section of the floor folding out of the way. Their design thus hid any evidence of a way down from within the life support chamber itself.
We had chosen to use a ladder several miles from the one we had previously used, as it was the nearest to another of the very few elevators the Hellites had commandeered for their own use. Nonetheless, once we had passed through the airlock into the service shaft around the main support beams, we had opted to quietly climb the ladders instead. I didn't want to risk giving away my position as I had on the way down here. Those vibration sensors at Central were just too sensitive!
Conversely, despite our stealth, I was trying to contact a member of Central directly. There was some risk to it, but I didn't think 4J2 would turn against me. I tried my communicator again, but like all other times I had tried, there was no response. There were definitely repeaters as far down as this sublevel of the life support chamber. 4J2 really must have permanently disabled the connection from his end.
"Well, it looks like I'm not going to be able to ask 4J2 about winged pegasi any time soon," I quietly said to Cacha and Maisie. Maisie was our wiring and computer expert, so she was accompanying us on this mission.
"It will be a trip up to the surface during the marathon, then?" Cacha asked.
"It looks that way."
"Cool! I really want to see where you grew up."
"It would be too risky to actually go to my old home, or to where I lived as a youngster. If I get recognized, it would be a problem."
"I just meant the city itself," Cacha said. "We'll need to get ourselves well disguised anyway, so it may not be as dangerous as you think."
"I still need to be recognizable, or we may not be able to make contact with 4J2."
"It sounds like a fool's errand, doesn't it? We have such a miniscule chance of success."
"Doubly so. First, we find 4J2. Yeah, right. And then we ask him where he has an example of a long since extinct type of pony stashed away," I said.
"When you say it like that, it makes me wonder why you will even try," Maisie said.
"It's a shot in the dark, a last resort, if we can't work out things ourselves before then. Maybe we will find things out for ourselves when we are up there. Maybe we break into one of Central's facilities during the celebration and hunt around for the information ourselves. It's not like locks are a problem any more. Cameras may be an issue, but we can deal with anypony who comes to investigate."
"Take out their feeds, then. Deny them of electricity," Maisie suggested.
"And that would deny us access to any computers," Cacha said.
"And those are probably so secure, we couldn't crack them anyway," I said. "Getting a member of Central to talk would be so much easier, and in my experience, that is also almost impossible."
"4J2 talked."
"And everypony else I spoke to in there was prepared to die, rather than simply give me directions on how to leave the facility. So we are back to needing to find 4J2 again."
"Anyway, I think it's time we went full stealth," I said. We had already transformed our usual hooves into soft pads, so our footfalls were inaudible. All that remained was for us to reduce the volume of our voices to a whisper, and avoid talk when possible. The other two nodded.
We were only a mile or so away from the area in which the main gun had exploded, but one floor higher, as that was where the access door to the power distribution node was. As usual, the automated lighting system was making being totally stealthy impossible, three lamps lighting the section of corridor in which we were: one ahead, one above, and one behind. If anypony was waiting for us, they would see the lights. In theory, we may be able to see lights above them too, unless they were lying in wait, motionless.
Even if we managed to get to the facility without Central noticing us, the moment we opened the door, they would know we were there. Maybe they would let us do our job. Maybe not. Whichever the case, doing it as quickly as possible would be in our best interests.
"You're unusually jumpy," Cacha whispered to me.
"I've got a bad feeling about this whole mission," I responded. "I keep on expecting to see a death squad jump out and start shooting."
"You worry too much, Aneki," Cacha said.
"You were exactly the same after we returned to the habitat used by the intersex," I reminded her.
"Humph. Besides, we are here, and nothing has happened yet," she said, pointing to a ripple in the floor plating.
Sure enough, we were in the area above where the main gun had exploded. As we moved forward, the ripples increased to buckling. There were gaps between wall and floor plates where the distortion pushed them apart. Nonetheless, it all felt quite rigid, unlike the corroded floors that had sent me plunging into this adventure in the first place. I could see how this level of damage, while not really compromising the overall structural integrity of the place, could easily stress wiring or pipe work, leading to eventual failure.
The visible damage lessened as we turned one last corner, and after we had walked down the short length of corridor to the door to the distribution node, the visible ripples in the floor had ceased. The distribution node was nowhere near as big as the effluent processing plant I had visited on my way down. Like the other facility, this one had a passage passing all the way around it. Unlike the last one, there was no ladder to allow a quick way to move between levels, as it simply wasn't needed. It also seemed to be integrated with the structure, rather than a separate entity cradled within it, suggesting that vibration was not an issue. That would have worked against it, transferring the shock wave from the explosion directly to any equipment within.
Maisie raised her hoof to the scanner, and the door began to cycle. There was no announcement about us being qualified or anything.
"That's odd," Maisie said, no longer whispering, as there was no longer any point to doing so.
"Maybe it is a symptom of the fault," Cacha suggested.
"Could be," she agreed, as the door lifted clear, allowing us access. A small patch of brighter light spilled out into the corridor, inviting us in.
For something so old, this distribution node was in pretty good shape, especially if I compared it to the corroded and perished condition of the abandoned celestial body simulator emergency control room that was only one level down and a few dozen paces from here. I wondered if some sort of spell such as Brainstorms' stasis field had been used to preserve the general condition of the equipment, or it if merely reflected the hard work of Hellites over the years.
While cream paint was prevalent in here, there were also racks of equipment exhibiting an aqua-grey color. All I could see, as I walked in, were in good physical condition, with no sign of distortion or being knocked from place by the explosion. Could it be possible that the damage was outside the facility? I guessed interrogating the computer would soon answer that.
I glanced around looking for it as I took a few more steps in. Ultimately, it would be Maisie who needed to access it though. Ah, there it was...
"Uh-oh," Maisie said, pointing at something with a hoof.
I dodged around a rack to see where she was indicating, only to see a bit of a scrambled mess. A few panels had been removed from a freestanding piece of equipment, its guts ripped out and scattered about the floor, trailing wires. Uh-oh, indeed. That was the computer! I glanced up at the ceiling. Nope, no manipulators were up there. Nothing else nearby seemed capable of dismantling a computer either.
"What the hell happened here?" Maisie asked, staring at the mess. "This looks deliberate."
"Security has been breached," I said, recalling the lack of specific recognition by the hoof scanner when it had allowed us access.
"Has somepony from up here been tampering with this?" Cacha asked. "How did they even get in here?"
"Let's get out of here," I said.
As I turned, I saw the door descend, and as much as I tried, I was unable to reach it before it sealed itself shut. Jamming my hoof on the door release achieved nothing.
"Trapped," I muttered.
"Are you sure? What about if we reconnect the computer?" Maisie asked.
"Perhaps, but I vote for cutting a hole in the wall, but even then, I suspect that won't be quick enough."
"What do you mean? How long does it take for ponies to get down here from Central?" Cacha asked.
"Maybe an hour. But that isn't the problem. I think they are nearby, waiting for us."
A metallic screech drew our eyes past the racks of equipment to the opposite wall, or more correctly, to where the opposite wall had been a few moments ago. A dozen ponies, dressed head to tail in environment suits burst in, each armed with a saddle mounted rifle. As each cleared the equipment, they took position aiming their weapons at us.
"Do not even flinch, if you wish to live!" a voice barked.
Considering that my weapon was not currently deployed, and that so many guns were aimed directly at me, I complied. This was a situation with which I was not familiar, so taking action would be too risky, and so far, they had not opened fire.
As I had several guns pointed at me, I remained completely motionless, as commanded. My instincts about this job being a trap had proved correct, despite precedence suggesting it couldn't be. Non-Hellites, ordinary ponies, had somehow managed to hack their way though the exceptionally tough material used to house these facilities. Why had these ponies put so much effort into cutting the wall down? Was it the only way for them to gain access to the Hellite-only facility, or was it to allow them to rush us once we were inside? The latter did not make much sense to me, as they could just as easily cornered us out in the corridor. The computer had obviously been disconnected to bait us.
"4K4, I want that computer rewired and operational," one of the gun-wielding ponies demanded. "4K6, 8 and 9, strip the three Hellspawn of everything they are carrying."
Bah! Hellspawn. Damn, I hated that name. I wanted to correct the fellow, but keeping my mouth shut at the moment was the better option.
So, this mob was a coordinated, special-ops team, was it? With such closely spaced identifiers, they must have entered Central at the same time, and been trained together. I remained silent, and motionless, as 4Kwhoever stripped me of my belongings. Even with several members of the squad now busy, there were enough of them remaining where they stood, weapons pointed at us.
"What's this?" the pony stripping Cacha demanded, pointing to her folded hoof-pistol.
"It's a carrot dispenser," Cacha said, tersely. I almost choked. A carrot dispenser was not an entirely inaccurate description, as long as you overlooked its tendency to deliver the aforementioned carrot at just below the speed of sound. Hopefully, that was the type of ammunition she had loaded. Our DNA locks only prevented the guns from being fired, not from being examined, and the presence of a chunk of metal in the magazine of a food dispenser would be hard to explain.
"Open it. Remove it," ordered the pony I believed to be 4K8, "but let me warn you; you will be shot if you try anything."
"Understood," Cacha muttered, lifting her hoof slightly, she managed to open the magazine without unfolding the weapon. She then released the weapon and lifted her hoof clear, allowing the pony to take it from her.
"Huh?" He said, looking inside.
Uh-oh, don't tell me Cacha had solid ammo in there.
"4K8, report," the commander said.
"It contains a chunk of purple-colored carrot."
"I prefer the orange variant, myself. Stash the dispenser with their other gear."
Thank goodness for that! All the same... even if ammo had been found, I didn't get the feeling these ponies would have used it as an excuse to shoot us. These guys were not the same as the death squad we had encountered. While it was possible they might march us away to be vaporized in the plasma arc furnace, I wasn't feeling that sort of hostile intent from them. Was it possible they actually needed us alive?
What about me? Did I have anything I needed to hide, well, apart from that pointy thing sticking out of my head? Did these guys know about unicorns? Probably. Would they do something to disable me? Possibly. I had styled my mane and forelock in much the same manner as I had for years. That meant it was set in such a way that it would have hidden the old bony nub, so my horn was at least partly covered. Carefully I cast a very weak spell, so as not to draw attention to the fact, and gently massaged my forelock until the remainder of the horn was hidden. No doubt it would look a bit silly, and downright unfashionable, but if it kept my horn safe, I didn't mind.
Another of the armed ponies dropped three blue-grey bundles, one in front of each of us. The color matched the isolation suits the ponies were wearing.
"Now, you three, I want you to put those suits on, and seal yourselves in. We don't want you contaminating the place," the commander said.
"We are not contagious," I contradicted him as I picked up the suit, unfolding it. I knew telling them wouldn't make any difference anyway. With any luck, it would help hide my horn.
"I'm not a scientist or a doctor," the commander said. "I was told to bring you up in either isolation suits, or body bags. The choice is yours."
"Have we given you any trouble at all?" I asked, knowing full well that we hadn't.
"Keep it that way," the commander said.
"Faaaaaaark," someone yelled in my mind. I cringed, wondering what had triggered it. 4J2? Was my connection good?
"What, in Luna's name, was that?" the commander barked. They had heard it too? That meant the source had to be local.
"Sorry, Sir, the computer seems to have a fault," 4K4 said, looking up. He had just pushed home a large connector.
"No, I don't have a bloody fault," the disembodied voice said. "Fucking unplug me like that again, and I'll give you fucking blackouts for a month!"
"You, you're self aware?" I asked, well, stated, I guess; it was obviously self aware.
"Give the genius a ribbon," the computer said. "It's bad enough being stuck down here, both monitoring and controlling the power demands for a few square miles of the city, but at least it keeps me busy. Total sensory deprivation is a fucking nightmare! Don't do it again."
"4K4, please find a replacement computer to look after this facility, and have that one destroyed," the commander said.
The computer started to object, but I spoke over him, addressing the commander. "Sir, this is a Hellite-only facility. Your technicians are not qualified to work in here. Luna knows what other damage your hack and slash method of breaking in has caused. I suggest you finish connecting the computer, and leave it to do the job it is good at. It has clearly developed its own programming well beyond anything that could be installed on a replacement unit."
The commander looked at me harshly.
"At least, hook it up until it can be properly investigated. You risk the lives of others by messing with these systems," Maisie said.
"Oh, all right," the commander grumbled. "I want a full report on it, 4K4."
"Yes, Sir."
"Thank you, kind mares," a voice quietly spoke into my mind.
"You're welcome," I subvocalized back.
"If you can, please visit me again," the computer requested.
"If we live through this, I will."
I wondered how many of the other pony brains that had been recycled as computers were self aware. The modifiers that were used to preserve their neural matrixes were probably very similar to those used by Brainstorm in their life support tank, and if that was the case, these poor ponies could probably be reborn.
As soon as I finished pulling on the isolation suit, one of the 4Kx ponies zipped it shut. These suits had no provision for fingers, unlike the ones our captors were wearing, effectively restricting us to the limitations of the fingerless. Fortunately, my horn fit inside, and despite the bump, wasn't too obvious, as these isolation suits were anything but snug.
Moments later, a pair of pony-hide boots landed in front of me, likewise my two Hellite companions. Each boot was connected to the other by a short length of chain. Shackles? They had to be kidding.
"Pull those onto your forelegs," the commander instructed.
"How?" I asked. "My mouth is covered by this filter mask, and my fingers are trapped inside this suit."
"Lift your right hoof," the pony who had zipped me up instructed. So, they really were going to shackle us. The bastards.
Annoyingly, the nearest Central-controlled elevator wasn't that near, and the shackles limited us to shuffling along. I was getting really annoyed. Given the chance, I would gladly knock these soldier-types into next week. The problems was that no opportunity to do so was presenting itself; they still had multiple weapons pointed at us.
"Am I to believe you went out of your way to capture us alive?" I asked.
"You are alive, aren't you," the commander replied, tersely.
"Who, specifically, were you trying to catch?" I asked. Well, he was talking, so I thought I'd see how much information I could get from him.
"The brief was to capture, dead or, preferably, alive, any member or members of the Hellspawn, the more the better."
"We are Hellites, not Hellspawn. Preferably alive, so you are not taking us straight to the plasma arc furnace, are you?"
"How do you know about the furnace?"
"2EQ and 5D3 were going to introduce me to it in a very personal way," I said, "until I introduced them to my hooves in a very personal way."
"You've been in one of the deniable facilities before?" The commander sounded shocked.
"Obviously, I have, or I wouldn't know about your funny code names and the furnace, would I? The bastards bloody-well cut me up for their experiments a few times, as well as doing other unspeakable things to me."
"Why am I not surprised by that?" the commander muttered, mostly to himself. "How did they catch you?"
"I was critically injured while working down here. I fell through several floors that had been weakened by a release of Hellite modifiers. I made it back to the elevator and called it in. Presumably they 'rescued' me. I was just an ordinary pony at the time, or so I thought. When I woke, I was strapped down in one of their labs and half-way to becoming a Hellite. Haven't you heard of the escapee, Aneki, before? I'm Aneki."
I wondered if inter-departmental information exchange was also restricted; I expected it would be, most of the time.
"I did hear that we were meant to keep our eyes out for you. I also heard that an attempt to erase you caused the death of one of the squads, so further attempts to erase you were put on hold. You are, apparently, a very dangerous pony."
"I'm not really that dangerous. The idiots tried to shoot me with a huge, ancient cannon, and it exploded. Damn lucky too, because if it hadn't, it would have collapsed part of H'ven. That's what killed them."
"If you say so." His tone suggested the conversation was over. I wondered if he had found traces of the small arms fire Brainstorm and Stormie had peppered the squad with, or if he simply didn't believe how dangerous the cannon had been. Unfortunately, I hadn't learned much from the conversation, but the preferably alive part of the directive gave me a glimmer of hope. I wondered what they wanted from us?
For a while, we shuffled along in relative silence, just the sound of hoof falls, the clinking of chains, and rattles and creaks of loaded ponies to accompany us. My hooves had still been soft, when we had been captured, so I gradually hardened them, the sounds of my hoofsteps gradually becoming noticeable, though somewhat muffled by the isolation suit and the boots of the shackles. It occurred to me that I could very easily, and rapidly divest myself of these, if converted my limbs to broad, flat blades. I mentally experimented with a few configurations before memorizing the most promising.
"You, what was it? Aneki? You Hellspawn seem to vanish completely when you are not actively repairing something. Where do you hide, down there?" the commander asked.
"That would be telling, wouldn't it? And it's Hellite, not Hellspawn," I answered. "What would you say if I told you we lived down in Hell, as our name suggests."
"So, where is Hell?"
"That, my good pony, is a very good question," I said, remembering what had happened last time I was at Central, "a very good question indeed."
We took the elevator up to sublevel two. Each of us Hellites was transported up, one at a time, accompanied by a small group of guards, a solitary guard riding down after each trip, to let those below know there had been no breaches in security on the trip up. Of course, I had considered doing exactly that, both while in the elevator, and once we had arrived at sublevel two. Despite the lower number of guns pointed at me, I had concluded doing so would not have been particularly productive, except for adding to the boast value of the number of times I had been shot. Thrice was enough.
We had assembled in a fairly spacious corridor that was well illuminated, clean, and in good repair, suggesting it was an area that was frequently used. I checked the number of the elevator. It was Elevator 5. That meant we had to be pretty close to the center of the life support chamber, not far from the hub of the Mane Way. I estimated we were within a mile of the hub itself. So far, my job had never taken me to this part of the underlevels. Down on the bottom level, right in the center, the hub had been just a larger than average enclosure for the structural beams and the pipes that fed the heated water up into the radiators under the Mane Way. I had only seen it in the distance when I had left the shaft I was using to check out the deserted level.
Once all ponies were accounted for, we resumed our march/shuffle towards our unknown destination. This time, the guards hadn't tried to separate the Hellites from each other, and Cacha slowly, as if accidentally, gained on me until we were side by side. She said nothing, but our isolation suits did rub against each other a couple of times. I felt a little happier with her there. With each step, our destination became more obvious. We were heading directly towards the hub. There were even other ponies walking about down here, too, which puzzled me a little, as the sublevels were meant to be out of bounds for regular citizens.
"Huh?" I heard Cacha voice, as we approached a T intersection. I glanced in her direction, immediately noticing what had caught her attention. One of the ponies we could see was visibly glowing. The glow wasn't particularly bright, but the pony was definitely brighter that she should have been under the ambient light. I glanced about, and spotted another one, this time a stallion, who was also brighter than he should have been.
"What's with the glowy ponies?" Cacha quietly asked. "You've never mentioned them before."
"I've never seen a glowing pony before. It isn't like they are running all over the place up in the city," I quietly said.
"But to see two out of five ponies here glowing suggests that there would be a significant number of them!"
"But I really have never seen them before!"
"What are you two discussing?" the commander asked, speeding up a little so he came alongside us. "Don't forget that we will shoot if you try anything."
"We were just wondering about the two glowing ponies," Cacha said, nodding towards the mare who was nearly out of our sight, now.
"What are you talking about? Get your eyes checked," the commander dismissed us, moving away again.
I thought about what I had seen. Perhaps it was our eyes. Hellite eyes could see outside the visible spectrum of normal ponies; we could see things other ponies could not see.
"Ah!" I said quietly. "Cacha, I think it is our eyes!"
The corridor opened out into an even more spacious, curved corridor, also with all of its ceiling lamps lit. We turned right, and walked a short distance, before a large doorway appeared to our left. As we approached, a substantial, rectangular door moved forward until it was free from its frame, then, with an audible whirring of its internal locking mechanism, split, half moving to one side and half to the other, supported by hydraulic arms. Through the door was a room, spacious but featureless, apart from a similar door at the other end. Once we were all inside, the outer doors shut behind us. Ah, this had to be an airlock, or its security based equivalent.
"4K1, I see," a disembodied voice stated, as the door behind us reintegrated itself, moving back into its frame.
"Yes, ma'am," the commander answered.
"Three living examples. You have done well. Please take them through to the central ring. We will take them from there."
"Yes, ma'am."
Could it be possible that we were going to meet those in charge of the coded ponies? Then this place had to be...
"We're in Central, aren't we?" Cacha quietly asked me.
"It certainly looks that way. We were always taught Central occupied the offices around the Mane Way hub, up above ground. That they extend into the sublevels should be no surprise," I said.
"So where does our great leader live? Where's the palace?"
"There is no palace, and the great leader is never seen. Common folk like me don't even know where they live, or if they are merely a virtual figurehead for Central."
"Get walking, you two," 4K1 barked, killing our discussion.
Obediently we moved through the door at the other end of the airlock, and into the outer ring of Central. Again, my mind was going over the odds and ends I was learning. Three living examples that voice had said. Again, we were some sort of sub-species that were a scientific curiosity. We would not be afforded any respect; we would not be afforded freedom. If anything, we would probably end up very dead, as soon as they had learned what they needed.
I looked about, absorbing any details that might help us get out of here alive. There were windows on both sides of the corridor through which we were currently traveling, as well as the occasional doors of much lighter duty than those at the entrance. Through them, to one side, I could see an open office area, with lots of ponies working at computers: lots of glowing ponies, and a few regular ones. To the other side I could see large number of storage racks, lined up in aisles. Again, some of the ponies in there were glowing.
Why had we never heard of glowing ponies before? Were they another type of pony that we didn't know about? Was that information suppressed by Central? What if we were capable of seeing something that Central didn't want us to see? I would need to know a lot more before I could be sure, but was it possible that this was the very reason Central were constantly trying to eradicate us?
"Are we going to do anything?" Cacha whispered.
"Can you see any opportunity? I can't," I whispered back. "Besides, I think they are taking us to exactly where we want to go. Look at all the glowing ponies. Something is going on here."
"Yes, there are a lot of them. Why have we never seen a glowing pony down in Hell?"
"Because I suspect they are the reason we need to hide. I think they may well be our true enemy."
"What are you two whispering about now?" 4K1 asked, giving my rump a swift kick. "If you are plotting anything..."
"Oh, for Luna's sake, can't you tell they are lovers?" Maisie said. "As we are probably on our way to die, at least let them say their good-byes."
The commander grunted.
"Are we that obvious?" Cacha asked with a humorless chuckle.
"Only extremely," Maisie muttered.
Correcting her misconception could wait. Or was it my misconception that needed addressing?
After walking for what must have been a quarter of a mile along this straight corridor, we arrived at another heavy door, much like the one that had let us into Central in the first place. I was getting thoroughly tired of my shackles. Each step came to a premature end, brought to a stop suddenly by the length of chain, even when I remembered to keep my steps short. I was damn lucky my butt hadn't overtaken me each time it happened.
The door began to cycle as we arrived, the grinding and squeaking from within suggesting it could really do with an overhaul. That would teach them to hunt down the maintenance ponies, wouldn't it? Beyond was another airlock, much like the last one, into which we were herded, our captors remaining outside, to our surprise. With more squeaking, the door closed behind us.
Immediately it sealed, the door in front of us also began to cycle, and as it moved apart, a sickly green glow spilled out.
"What the hell?" Cacha said.
"More glowing ponies," I said as the doors moved aside, revealing as many armed ponies as we had left behind, except this time they were not wearing any protective clothing, as if they held no fear of us, "and they didn't let the non-glowing ones through."
"Good-bye, my beloved carrot dispenser," Cacha said.
Three of the glowing ponies advanced on us silently, bending down to remove our shackles. Ah, much better, and much worse. If they were happy to remove them, clearly they were sure there was no way for us to escape. Maybe I'd have to make my own door. Depending on the situation, I could make one slowly, and quietly, or rather rapidly, with an extremely loud bang.
I didn't fancy the appearance of where they were going to take us, either. The walls, ceilings, and even the floor were uneven, textured, the original structure covered in some transparent green resinous substance. No wonder the light coming from in there was a sickly green. What, in Luna's name, was hiding at the core of Central?
The three ponies attending to us did not stop with just removing our shackles either, but unzipped our isolation suits and started peeling them off us. Immediately, I noticed a strange, tangy odor with which I wasn't familiar. The green stuff stank, too? Ugh!
"So, you know we are not contagious, do you?" I asked, snidely, wondering if the reverse was also true.
"It wouldn't matter if you were. We are immune," the orange colored pony who was undressing me replied. With the glow, her coat was really fluorescent.
"So, glowing ponies are different to the rest of us, then?"
"You can really see us glowing? I know that is what we are taught, but I did wonder," fluorescent orange said.
"Oh, really?"
"It's not like we can see the glow ourselves."
"So how do you tell yourselves apart from regular ponies, then?"
"Hah! To us it is obvious."
"Enough with the mindless prattle," one of the gun bearing ponies barked, causing fluorescent orange to jump. "The Queen awaits."
There were no waiting rooms, holding cells, or any other form of delay. As soon as we were sealed into the inner ring of Central, we were marched briskly to our destination, through some impressive double doors that were more ornamental than designed for security, and into a comfortably large room that was rather well appointed, or once had been, before these glowing ponies had covered it with that green gunk. Judging from the height of the ceiling, this room was two levels high, the balcony surrounding us being on sublevel one. Had it remained in its original condition, I could have easily been convinced that this was indeed part of a palace, specifically, the throne room. Perhaps our mysterious winged unicorn leaders had once lived here. The current condition of the place strongly suggested those who lived here now were not the original rulers, but rather, usurpers.
We were led to stand before a raised platform, Maisie to my left, Cacha to my right. Before us, standing on the platform, so we had to crane our necks to look at her, was an impressive unicorn, black with pale green hair and bright green eyes. To each side, and a pace back from her, stood slightly smaller versions of herself. Behind her was the nest of cushions that, presumably, served as her throne in place of the original. What was particularly interesting was that unlike every pony we had seen in this inner circle of Central, these three were not glowing.
"I am Queen Iridescence," the pony said, "and these are my daughter, Princess Morphia, and granddaughter, Princess Lacewing."
"Charmed, I'm sure," I mumbled, my sarcasm mode at a hundred percent.
"Over four hundred years ago, my mother, Princess Moon Glow, went down to Hell, and found the habitat you foul creatures were hiding in, made sure it was locked so no pony could escape, then shut off its life support," the queen said. "That should have been the end of your kind, and yet you creatures have the audacity to persist."
So that was what had happened to the previous inhabitants of Habitat Ten: victims of mistaken identity.
"Yeah, sure," Maisie said. "The only way she could have got down there was if she was one of us, in which case she would not wish to kill us, would she?"
"Your logic is flawed. Princess Moon Glow was a winged unicorn. All doors opened before her. Unfortunately, she is no longer with us, as she succumbed to illness not long after she returned."
"No great loss," Cacha muttered. "Murderous bitch. Probably half froze to death, down below. By the way, you heartless bitch, we didn't live in that habitat. She murdered the wrong bloody species!"
"An error I intend to correct, and that is where you come in," the queen said, totally unfazed by the revelation. "You are going to help us go down there, so we can eliminate your kind, once and for all."
"Like that's going to happen," I spat. "Do you not realize that it is us who keep this place running? Without us, you will all die!"
"We have survived without you aberrations for centuries, just as we have survived without the pegasi and unicorns. Ponies are nothing more to us than a source of food, and your type is a security risk, a threat that must be eliminated." The queen paused. "Why am I even talking to these creatures?"
Ponies were a source of food? And the queen had just implied that she was not a pony herself. What were these creatures? Whatever they were, they had just seriously pissed me off. I was not anypony's... any creature's food... not until I was recycled, anyway.
"There is no way we are going to help you," Cacha spat.
"Believe me, you have no choice, as you will see." The queen laughed.
With that, the queen and her daughters were engulfed in shimmering green flames of magic that appeared to rise from the floor, gradually consuming their form. (What was it with these ponies and green?) Instead of them burning away, it was as if they were merely wearing a disguise that was burning, and finally, after we had been buffeted and dazzled by the display, instead of three ponies, before us stood three creatures of a type that I did not recognize.
While more-or-less pony shaped, they were mostly black, except for their carapace, which reflected light in reds, yellows and blues, which was surprising due to the mostly greenish hue of the light in this room. They had horns that had more in common with a gnarled, old tree than anything a unicorn would sport. On their backs they had transparent, lacy wings. Both these wings, and the lower legs of them were peppered with holes large enough to see through. So, were they some sort of oversized insect? While I did not recognize the species from their appearance, I had heard of the ability to change appearances, though.
"Changelings," I said.
"You know what they are, Aneki?" Maisie asked.
"Changelings are mysterious bad guys that change their form in breezie tales."
"Right, you are," Queen Iridescence said. "And the magic of changeling queens is powerful enough to not only take on your appearance, but to also take on your characteristics so perfectly that the scanners of Habitat Eleven cannot tell the difference. Not even your kind can discern us. What's more we can take your knowledge, so even your family will not be able to detect us!" Her voice had changed. Now, it sounded like she had two sets of vocal cords.
With that, three beams of magic reached out, one from each of the three changelings on the platform, reaching for each of us. Instinctively, I tried to dodge, but that had no effect, the magic following me. It was more intrusive and more painful that anything Brainstorm had thrown at me, including that bloody weapon installing itself, now that was a thought... if I could hold out long enough to do anything; I could feel my concentration slipping away, the world becoming intangible. At this rate, I would be unconscious within moments.
What was I thinking... about? That's right, the gun, that other thing that caused me lots of pain. Oh, there went my legs, crumpling up below me. Stop, stop, you bitch of a queen; this is agony. Can't move legs. Can't aim. How did I do it when I was walking? Turrets. Which side of me is upper most at the moment? Can barely see through the green fire and the blinding pain. Right shoulder is up, I think. Ouch.
What was I doing? That looks like a nice, dark, comfortable place, away from all this distorted, green agony. Maybe I'll just go in there.
Ah, so much better.
NO!
No one is going to make a copy of me. Must save the Hellites!
Spell. Load some sort of spell. Can't concentrate. That one will do. Target... target that... BITCH.
FIRE!
...
What happened? I was in this nice, dark, comfortable place, anyway. Oh well, I tried...
Noises gradually pierced my lack of consciousness, light filtering through my closed eyelids. I was alive. I was a Hellite called Aneki. Okay. I still seemed to have a functional brain, even if somewhat painful. I struggled to open my eyes, finding I was staring at a wall, one that was plain, boring cream in color, much like the rest of H'ven.
"The queen has woken. Let the Princess know immediately," a weird, two toned voice said.
Queen? What queen? My head was pounding as if it had been... well... thoroughly pounded. My thoughts were somewhat hard to gather, as the great thump, corresponding to my heartbeat, kept derailing my thought processes.
Queen? Wasn't that a ruler? Why would I be anywhere near a ruler? That would mean I had gone to Central... oh, shit. I had gone to Central, hadn't I, guided along by lots of ponies pointing guns at me. What happened after that? That's right, the source of the brain-pounding pain was that queen changeling as she tried to suck my identity and knowledge from my head. My right shoulder felt a little uncomfortable, so I managed a somewhat painful glance at it, to find a dirty great turret-gun mounted there, bandaged at that! If that was there, I must have intended to shoot at the magic wielding bitch. Had I?
Even if I had, if they were addressing her, the bitch must have survived. As much as I didn't like the idea of killing, this particular creature really did need to die. I lay there, feeling either unable or disinclined to move any further; I wasn't sure which. What was I going to do now? Was it too late to do anything? I closed my eyes again, letting out a sigh.
"Your Majesty, can we help you sit?" one of those odd, dual voices asked from in front of me. Curious, I opened my eyes to find another type of these insectoid creatures standing near my bed. Unlike the queen, its eyes were pale blue, a slightly brighter area suggesting the direction in which it was looking. Like the queen, it had a carapace, although this time in dark blue, as well as the hole-riddled legs and wings. Its black horn was a larger, inverted version of the two white fangs protruding from its mouth. It seemed to be looking straight at me.
"Your Majesty, would you like to sit? The Princess will be with you in a moment."
"You can't be talking to me," I said.
"I am talking to you, Your Majesty," the insectoid creature insisted.
Good grief! Were these creatures mistaking me for their transformed queen? If so, what had happened to her? And what had happened to Cacha and Maisie?
"Where am I?"
"You are in the clinic. You were knocked unconscious. The Princess had us bring you here. Please sit, the Princess has arrived."
"Oh, okay. Give me a hoof up, will you?" I asked, wriggling about a little so I could sit.
"Wow, what a way to stage a coup!" one of those dual voices exclaimed.
I looked at the speaker, and was surprised to find a miniature version of the queen. In pony terms, I would have estimated her to be twelve or thirteen years old, but as changeling queens were much taller than that, I really couldn't say how old she was. That she was talking about a coup suggested I had indeed blasted the real changeling queen.
"So you are the changeling Princess, are you?" I asked.
"Indeed I am. Princess Kakuun at your service. Until you pulled off that amazing coup, I was third in line to the throne. Now I have no idea where I stand. It's good to get a chance to speak to ponies from down below, but I never expected it to be as your subject, Your Majesty."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" I asked. Clearly she was not under the impression that I was the original queen, transformed.
"The former queen thought she was going to take over your levels, but instead, you took hers from her! Fantastic. I am truly impressed," the changeling Princess said.
"That all seems a little too easy to me," I said. "Is this some sort of ruse to get info?"
"Not at all. I don't want to end up like the former queen did," Kakuun said. "Do not assume that I will not try to regain my power one way or another, at some point in the future, preferably by negotiation, but for now there are matters the former queen would not consider, that I wish to address. Besides, I'm a child. I don't think I'm ready to rule yet, and as it was you who toppled the former regime, that makes you the new queen for now, like it or not."
"You seem rather open minded," I said.
"Maybe, or maybe my predecessors were simply closed minded. I read books from the archives. I learned things that worry me, yet when I tried to discuss it with them, they would not give me the time of day. You know things about this world that they won't hear about. There isn't nothing outside. Heaven has not been here forever, and that isn't even its real name. I want to know the truth."
"So do I," I said, "but first, what became of my two companions?"
"They are recovering in the next room. You have remarkable bodies. Everyone else in the throne room died."
"Your mother died?"
"Princess Lacewing, yes, she died," Kakuun confirmed.
"Yet you let me live, despite being at your mercy?"
"She had her good points. Occasionally she even showed me some affection, but mostly she was too busy trying to be royal, always hanging around with the other two. They told me I would join them when I was old enough, but until then, they had little time for me. So, yes, you killed all three older generations of my family, and yes, I will miss them a bit, but what good would me killing you over that be, if we all die in this giant ball because of it?"
Okay, so this midget had some brains. Maybe we really could work out something between us.
"Tell me, how many shots did I fire?" I asked, glancing at my right shoulder, where the turret gun was still clearly visible.
"Just the one. It was more than enough. I have no idea how you managed to get a weapon that powerful past the guards. I would reprimand them if they weren't all dead. Are you up to walking yet, Your Majesty?"
"Please, just call me Aneki, and yes, I think I can walk." I experimented with my limbs and found they were responsive enough, so I eased myself from the bed to the floor.
"Queen Aneki, if you would follow me this way," Princess Kakuun said.
"For Luna's sake, do I have to make it a royal command? Please, just call me Aneki," I said.
"In that case, you will refer to me as Kakuun, and that is also a royal command... request?"
"Okay, Kakuun, and I'd like to look in on the other two before we go."
"As you wish."
Kakuun led the way, frequently looking back to see how I was coping, as walking was something of a challenge with all of the aches and pains I was suffering. As it turned out, that first trip was not long, as she guided me into the next door along that corridor, where I found myself in another clinic ward, this one containing two beds, side by side. On each lay a well bandaged and unconscious Hellite, their facial armor deployed. I reached up and found my own had also activated. I remedied that, peeling it back to reveal my face. A few small pieces of rubble bounced to the floor as I did.
Kakuun stared at me for a moment, then called for a nurse. Immediately one of those weird-eyed changelings buzzed out of the ward in which I had been.
"Nurse, please fetch a wheelchair for our queen as it seems she is still finding walking painful. When you have done that, please see to her face. I shall return when you are done," Kakuun said.
Kakuun, however, did not depart, instead waiting with me.
"Those..." I said.
"Drones. Most of the changeling population is made up of them. Most, as in everyone but me. We will now have to produce a new queen, as having just one leaves us vulnerable... oops."
"Yes, oops, but I won't exterminate you while you prefer talking to killing. We may need each other to survive this place."
"Thank you," Kakuun said.
With my face now cleaned of dust and grime, and the scratches and abrasions attended to, we resumed our trip to wherever it was that Kakuun wished to take me. This time I was seated in a comfortable wheelchair, and a couple of the drones were sharing the task of pushing me. One would have been adequate, had they chosen to walk instead of hovering. As soon as we were out of the area of the clinic, the walls again became covered with the green resin.
After several minutes of travel, cracks started appearing in the resin. From then on, the damage increased, until we were dodging chunks that had fallen from the ceiling, then from the walls, until it became such a mess, the wheelchair became impractical.
"Sorry, Aneki, it is not far, but you will need to walk the rest of the way. The nurses can assist you," Kakuun said.
"What caused all of this damage?" I asked. "Surely not..."
"You? Yes, you caused this. The older resin has become brittle, and the concussion shattered it. Apart from the cannon that was found down below, I have never heard of such a powerful weapon before. Nor have I ever seen one that bleeds. Nothing in history suggested such a weapon existed. No hellspawn that has been captured ever bore one," Kakuun said. "Your two companions do not appear to be so equipped either."
"Is that so?" I asked innocently, and left it at that. There was no point to revealing our strengths and weaknesses just yet. I didn't know if Kakuun's slip about the shortage of queens making them vulnerable had been deliberate or not. Had she done so to see if I would try to shoot her? For that matter, had they found some way to disable my weapon? Nothing felt particularly amiss, but then, I was aching too much to be certain. I must have shot something that exploded with some ferocity. "So where are we going?"
"The throne room."
As we walked along the corridor, the quality of the light changed. The green hue was gone, of course, with the resin having fallen from the ceiling and the lights mounted therein, but this was more than just that. There was a more intense light coming from the room at the end of this corridor. I recognized the magnificent doors through which we had passed on our first visit to the throne room, but this time they were somewhat broken, and resting against the walls of the corridor some distance from their frame. The debris on the floor was now somewhat soggy too. Was the water from fighting a fire? What the hell had I shot?
"Dare I ask what exactly it was that I shot?" I asked.
"The queen."
"That makes sense. I was aiming for her. Did she explode or something?"
"You will see... or not."
Kakuun would not elaborate any further, leading me right into the former throne room, until I was standing where I had been on my previous visit. I was gobsmacked. The room had been utterly destroyed, its ornate fixtures, and the resin that had covered them, blown to splinters. The balconies had lost their balustrades, and their floors had collapsed in places. Kakuun pointed out the piles of debris from which my companions and I had been extracted, then the rather messy splatter marks on the left and right walls that indicated where Princess Morphia and Princess Lacewing had met their end.
But, really, that was nothing, insignificant when compared with where Queen Iridescence had been standing, or where the ceiling behind her had been, or the equipment, including one of the water-filled spars of the Mane Way heating system, that occupied the space between the ceiling and where the floor of ground level had once been. Daylight, from the sky dome of the life support chamber itself, was coming in through this massive hole.
"It is a good thing this throne room aligns with the northbound road of the Mane Way," Kakuun said, pointing through the hole at what was beyond it.
In the distance, I could see a few buildings that had lost their overhanging rooms. Even further out were the remains of some bridges that spanned the gaps between taller buildings. I couldn't really see too far beyond that though, because a black circle was blocking my view.
"Sweet Luna," I gasped. "What's that black thing out there, that stopped my shot?"
"The sky."
"What?"
"You burnt a giant black patch on the sky."
"What? Did I penetrate it?" I asked, thinking about the potential problems of having put a hole through the water jacket of the life support chamber, and perhaps even worse, the skin of Habitat Eleven itself. After all, the piece of the Mane Way that had passed over the throne room had not survived, and that was made of the same tough material as the Habitat Ten walls, and presumably the walls of Habitat Eleven as well. That we hadn't drowned when the Mane Way pipe was destroyed suggested it was compartmentalized with automatic valves that closed to prevent the flooding of the life support chamber.
"No. Fortunately, your shot dissipated at that point."
"Deaths?"
"A few."
"And the queen?"
"Like everything between you and the sky dome, she was vaporized, and exploded," Kakuun said, seriously.
"You are sure?"
"I saw it happen, right up to the moment the place exploded. I have a monitor in my room that used to show what is going on in here. It was so I could watch any royal proceedings, and learn from them. Trust me, after watching this, I learned real good. With a gun that powerful, we couldn't risk trying to disable it, or even risk killing you, lest we accidentally trigger it."
Feeling suddenly weak, I sat, right there on the soggy rubble, staring at the giant hole. It was big enough for the flying changeling drones to pass through, with room to spare. What spell had I loaded?
Carefully, I withdrew the ammunition spell from the gun, then reabsorbed the turret itself, the bandages that had been on it falling limp. I looked over the ammunition spell, quite shocked by what I had found. It wasn't complete. All safety measures and limitations I usually programmed into them were missing, with the exception of the one that brought the spell to an end when it recognized the target had been destroyed, and that part was integral with the weapon itself. In my pain, I had been unable to find or load the correct spell. In effect, the queen's actions against me were what had caused the severity of my attack. It didn't leave me feeling any less bewildered, or guilty over the deaths of the innocent ponies caught in the blast.
"So that's how you got the weapon past the guards," Kakuun said flatly.
I just shrugged. What could I possibly say?
Chapter 39. With Any Luck, This Could Be Made to Work
If I was to say yesterday's revelations had been explosive, I suspected I would get lynched by my friends. I wondered if the queen even realized what had happened to her. Had she felt anything as her body atomized, then recombined in violent combustion? Was her soul left standing exactly where her body had been, wondering what the hell had just happened? What of her daughter and granddaughter? Had the initial explosion killed them or had they lived through their uncontrolled flights until their subsequent, messy impact against the walls?
It must have been very stressful for the ponies up in H'ven City too, with a great chunk of the sky turning black, accompanied by a window rattling boom. No doubt, there would be doomsayers running about, stirring up trouble, mostly for themselves.
I could imagine the bedlam in all of the structural-integrity monitoring stations, as the needles on their vibration detectors literally swung off the charts. The shock had probably knocked them all off their gimbals, damaged the filters that blocked out noise from everyday life, and generally played havoc with the other parts of the system. Even if the vibrations hadn't been felt down in Hell, the damage to the pipework of the Mane Way must have had alerts lighting up. I did not think that would lead them to sending up a repair party, though, as it was too close to ground-level to risk. They would be wondering if we were involved, as we had not reported back.
Having spent the remainder of the previous day, and the following night sleeping in the clinic, I was feeling somewhat better. My headache had receded, and now I was just sore. By the time the day was over, I figured my body would have sorted itself out to the point I was fully functional again. My bandages had not been replaced when they had been removed, this morning. Likewise, the bandages of Cacha and Maisie, both of whom were in this ward with me. For the moment, Cacha's and Maisie's ward was serving as the throne room, Cacha's bed serving as the throne, and Cacha herself as the royal cushion.
"First things first," I said to the changeling drone that stood before me, "4K1 instructed 4K4 to investigate, and possibly replace, the computer in the distribution node that was used to trap us. That computer is not to be replaced. I want 4K4's report delivered personally to Maisie or myself."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the drone said.
"Second thing. All hostility towards Hellites or Hellspawn is to cease immediately. They are to be left to their own devices, if discovered. They are not to be disturbed. Any staff member of Central who objects to this is to be relieved of their duty immediately, and brought to the outer ring of Central for re-education. I will want to see them personally."
"As you wish, Your Majesty. The princess has already issued a similar ordinance. I shall update it to include the re-education requirement for those that object."
"And could you have Princess Kakuun call in at her earliest convenience?"
"I shall inform her that she is required."
"You may go." I dismissed the drone, who immediately buzzed out of the room with some enthusiastic wing flapping. Apparently, she had been a royal aide before, and had been off duty when I had disintegrated the former monarch. She held no grudge.
"So, you really are the queen now," Cacha said. "I really thought you were joking when you told us, this morning."
"If you had woken yesterday, you might have been in the loop, but you seemed content enough to sleep the day away," I said with a smirk.
"I don't think being unconscious with a severe concussion counts as sleeping," Cacha said.
"It wasn't particularly pleasant being awake, with a pounding head, either," I said.
"Maybe you were just standing in a better place than us when the room exploded."
"Maybe I was, not that any place in there was particularly good, although, admittedly, the location in which the former queen was standing was the absolute worst. You really must see the new access point I installed. At about thirty degrees from horizontal, it even went through the Mane Way itself, and everything else between me and the sky."
"That is some serious destruction! At least we now know how to get out of Habitat Eleven if we can't open the doors. We will just get you to install a new one!"
"As a last, desperate step, sure, but until we really know what is outside, opening a door with some care would be a lot smarter."
"How so? If we have to leave because Habitat Eleven fails, we have no choice but to leave," Maisie said.
"That would be a last, desperate step, wouldn't it? We have a couple hundred years, give or take, to work out how to get out there. Ideally, we will work it out soon, then we can send out parties to investigate what it is like out there, giving us a couple hundred years to prepare for it, if it's really bad, or a couple hundred years to establish a new city, if it's good."
"You've really put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?" Maisie asked.
"Are you kidding? These are just basic ideas!" I said. "Plans rarely survive an encounter with reality."
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching hooves: small ones. Princess Kakuun tended to walk, rather than buzzing about, as per a lot of the drones we had met, so we were ready for her when she walked into the ward.
"Aneki, you wished to see me?" she said, politely.
"Thank you, yes, Kakuun. I did. I have questions regarding something the former queen said."
"Yes?"
"What did the former queen mean when she called us your source of food? Do you eat ponies?"
Kakuun took a sudden step back, practically recoiling from the question. Cacha flinched beside me. Had I misheard the former queen? It would certainly account for that reaction.
"Oh, that. I can see why you could think that," Kakuun said. "No, we do not eat ponies, although what we do eat may be just as repulsive to you. We feed on your love, and we do it through deception."
Well, at least they weren't roasting us, or feeding on our freshly killed carcases. On the other hoof, eating love was not something I could comprehend.
"How could you possibly feed on something so intangible? Take Cacha here; she loves me, but I cannot feel that love." I felt Cacha stiffen beside me. "All I receive is her expressions of that love. I need to read her body language, understand what she says, and what she actually means by what she says, to know that she loves me. Even then, I could misinterpret something and that could drive a wedge between us, leading to dislike and eventually to hate. So how can you eat something that cannot exist outside of the lover's own mind? Just, how?"
"As you say, you cannot feel somepony's love for you, but we can, through magic," Kakuun said, tapping her weird horn with a hoof. "That should be no surprise; we are all magical beings. We drain off... harvest the energy your body puts into those feelings. You get a little more tired, and eat more to compensate."
"Is that all?" Cacha asked. "It sounds pretty harmless so far."
"So, how do you go about harvesting this love? Is that what you wish to keep hidden? Is it something reprehensible?" I asked.
"Do you remember when you were at school, there was always a popular filly or colt who everyone had a crush on? They would have had a colt-friend or filly-friend, or maybe even more than one, yet they always moved away and you never heard of them again. That pony was a young changeling. Occasionally, just occasionally, one of their old loves would catch up with them, or they simply couldn't get away from them, even becoming so ensnared as to love that pony back. In those cases, the changeling would marry their pony sweetheart, but they would remain childless. That would cause grief if it was known," Kakuun said.
"It may, or maybe the pony involved would simply love their partner too much to care," I said.
"Perhaps. To these mixed couples, and to regular ponies who were childless, we would supply an orphan if they really wanted a child. These orphans were, of course, more changeling young. Again, we deceive.
"It goes on. Popular musicians, actors and actresses are often changelings. In these positions, it is possible to mass-harvest huge amounts of love to share among those of our hive."
"What you have said so far still doesn't warrant killing off anypony who can see you," I said.
"I know," Kakuun agreed.
"How many of there are you? Are you putting ponies in danger?" I asked.
"There would be a ratio of one to a hundred or so. If there are many more changelings than that, it is too taxing on the ponies. We don't want to kill our food source, do we? We need to feed lightly on many so as to not destroy the balance."
"Why do you have teeth, then?" Maisie asked. That was a good point.
"We cannot live on love alone. It supplies us with energy, but we still need to eat something with which we can build our bodies."
"Fair enough," I said. "If that is all there is to it, I don't see why our two kinds can't simply live in harmony, so what haven't you told us?"
"From what I have been able to learn from old writings, those of our kind were not invited to live in this Habitat. Perhaps it was because we were hidden, or perhaps it was because we were hated. We smuggled ourselves on board, where we lived in the shadows, trying to stay out of sight of you Hellites. When we became desperate, our queens overthrew your leaders, took on their form and took control. We then mingled with your society and began to feed. At that point, it was imperative to kill any who could see us, lest we, and what our queens had done, be discovered."
"Shit. You could have tried asking," Cacha said.
"Desperation, fear or arrogance prevented that," Kakuun said, "however, as the only remaining queen of my kind, I do not intend to repeat the mistake. Queen Aneki, my species is in your hooves. I beg you treat us kindly."
"I will," I said. "I need to learn more about your kind, what happened to our old rulers, and the missing pony races. Changes will need to be made. We have some time, but not a lot. This habitat will not last beyond two hundred years."
Kakuun gasped. "We have that little time remaining? How can you be certain?"
"Easy. Habitat Eleven uses fuel to power everything. That fuel is almost gone. Things have gone very wrong, and we have lived in here longer than we were ever meant to."
"My idiot mother really should have taken me seriously," Kakuun muttered. "How long have you known this? Why didn't your kind find some way to let us know?"
"Being hunted didn't make communication easy, did it?" I asked. "But, in truth, we have not known this for very long. Again, your ancestors are to blame. By eliminating unicorns, they eliminated the very ability required to read the engine's displays."
"But you are a unicorn!" Kakuun pointed at my head.
"And that is why I could read the displays. I've only had a functional horn for a short time, thanks to it being restored. None of the other Hellites had horns." Maybe Discernment had one by now, and Brainstorm and Stormie did too, but the comment was true to the situation before my descent to Hell.
"What a mess we've created for ourselves," Kakuun said. "No doubt there are other nasty occurrences hidden in our past. I beg you will forgive us those, when they too are revealed."
"Like me being vivisected?" I asked. "Who would have authorized that? The previous queen's comments implied she knew about the Hellite modifier, and that it wasn't contagious, at least to changelings, yet I was examined for weeks so the ponies at Central could learn more about the Hellite modifier."
"We don't control all aspects of what is going on in Central, nor do we let them know all of what we know. In fact, the three former generations of queens knew less than I did about Habitat Eleven because they paid the old writings no heed. So, when the scientists at Central wanted to learn more, the obvious solution was to examine a Hellite, wasn't it, and no, I wasn't in the loop."
"But you seem to know about it now. You weren't surprised at all."
"I put out a request for all that was known about the three Hellites I had in the clinic, and have been reading the briefs as they come through. There were mentions of one that matched Cacha's description, nothing at all on Maisie before she was captured, and of course, on you, Aneki, quite a portfolio, going right back to your birth."
"I want to pay a visit to that facility," I said, darkly.
"I shall make it so. What name do you wish to go there under? Queen Aneki?"
"No. I want one of those codes you guys all use."
"As you wish. I shall prepare one for myself as well, and will take on the form of a pony for the visit."
"That reminds me," I said. "The queen mentioned her mother being a winged unicorn. Was that just her guise?"
Kakuun nodded. "Yes, she was really a changeling."
"So why did the queen need us? Couldn't she simply have taken on the form of a winged unicorn herself?"
Kakuun shook her head. "According to the writings, there were only two winged unicorns, alicorns, in Habitat Eleven. Mother and daughter, both were very old. The daughter was infected with the Hellite modifier and vanished soon after. The mother lived, in captivity, for centuries, allowing the generations of changeling queens to take her form, and her role. She died not long after the former queen's mother stole her identity and form, and with her death, her form was denied to us. We cannot copy a corpse."
"Princess Moon Glow was the name of the real, original... alicorn... leader?" I asked.
"That is correct."
"Tell me, if you need to use a living pony as your sample, what has become of all of other ponies your drones have sampled so they can live in pony society. What about the ponies the queens were sampling?"
"That is something you perhaps will find repulsive," Kakuun said. "Sometimes we merely copy a pony that lives on the other side of the city. It is unlikely that we will ever bump into that pony, after the original, discrete copying, but if we do, it's oh wow! you look just like me. We could be twins! or some other such similar response. For the other times, I request you follow me, and see for yourself."
Kakuun's destination was a lot closer than I had expected. In fact, we didn't even leave the clinic, merely moving to a parallel corridor, several drones falling in, alongside us. One noticeable difference was that all of the doors in this corridor were closed, and locked from the outside. Kakuun led us to the third door, where she stopped. The drones opening the door, then moving inside, took on a stance of readiness.
"Come," Kakuun said. "See our shame." She walked into the ward... or should I say, cell.
The walls and floor were soft, padded, and made from shiny, easily washed material, which, even now, needed washing, as it was splattered with saliva, food scraps, and... was that pony excrement? Pushing herself against the far wall, shaking, and foaming at the mouth was a pony with a black coat, pale green hair and bright green eyes. On her forehead, she had the bony nub of a stunted horn. It took me a few moments of staring, in utter shock, before I realized this wretched creature was the base for the appearance the former queen, her daughter and granddaughter had been using.
"This is disgusting," Cacha said, flatly. "Now I can see why changelings need to hide their existence. What have you done to this poor mare?"
"We have done nothing, but feed, bathe and care for her," Kakuun said.
"Then, why is she like this?"
"She is one of society's unfortunates. She is mad, insane, incapable of living with others. Give her a chance, and she will attack, biting, trying to kill. She is the result of ponies that were too closely related, bearing foals. If we were truly kind, she would have been put out of her misery, but instead, we keep her here, so we have a pony we can copy."
Kakuun shimmered green in her own magic for a moment, and when it dissipated, a filly sized version of the insane mare stood before us.
"This particular mare is reserved for royal use only, although I have memorized her form, and no longer need access to her, myself. We chose her because she has similar colors to our own, and for the convenience of her having a horn, even if it is disabled."
"Allow me," I said, taking steps towards the mad mare, who hissed and spat at me, while backing herself harder against the wall.
I was not sure anything could be done for her, but I wanted to try something; I wanted to reach into her mind, to see if I could help, or even understand. Mentally, I pieced together a spell based on the code of the language learning spell, writing in failsafes that would prevent her madness being written into my mind. I only wished to look, not to learn to behave like her.
The spell completed, I reached for her with my magic, entering her mind, exploring, trying to comprehend. All encompassing fear, and desperation clawed at me; perception was totally distorted. I could find no logic, no sense and no understanding in there. Perhaps she was so different to me that I simply couldn't understand what I was experiencing, or perhaps this really was her personal hell. Seeing nowhere I could even write information into her mind, I could not perceive how I could correct her views. She really was beyond help. Unable to stand it anymore, I dropped the spell, and stepped back.
"Well?" Cacha said, seeing I was no longer connected to the mad pony.
"Damned if you do; damned if you don't," I said, shaking my head. "Short of killing her, there is no way to give her peace, yet killing her is wrong. As disgusting as it appears, I cannot fault the way the changelings are handling her."
"Are you sure?" Cacha asked.
"From what I could understand, her greatest desire is total isolation, in that there is no one to fear when she is completely alone. Let us leave her so she can have that peace."
"That was an unexpected response," Kakuun said. "I was sure you would hate us for it."
"Are there others?" I asked.
"Yes. The worst of the worst are kept here. The less affected are kept in institutions in the city itself, and on the most part those institutions are run by ponies. Come now, I will show you."
The trip to Kakuun's second destination was interesting in itself. It was the first time I had ever sat in a passenger transporting vehicle, if you didn't count elevators. We took the Mane Way, of course, being royalty. The hole I had blown through it was already being repaired, a mass of pony engineers and equipment assembled in the central hub near the spoke I had destroyed. Apparently, a lot of detours were required at the moment. The trip itself was very short, with us leaving the Mane Way before we even reached the first ring road. Apparently, the changelings had chosen this location for the facility for their own convenience.
For the excursion, Kakuun had taken on the form of a filly with the same coloring her mother had been displaying, when we first met. I had dressed, over Kakuun's objections, in coveralls of a common worker, as had my two Hellite companions. As such, we looked like regular maintenance ponies. Kakuun was disappointed we hadn't donned something more royal in appearance. Together we entered the large, multi-storey building, bypassed the reception desk, and entered via a door displaying Staff Only.
"An old folks home?" I asked.
"Yes, a home for the infirm," Kakuun said. "Think about it. When we take a pony's form, we take the appearance it had, or will have at our age. You saw that the queen was an older version of the mad mare, yet here I am, a filly. Old ponies are all wrinkled and faded; no pony really remembers what they looked like when they were a foal. We bring some of our newly hatched here, and they take on the form of one of these oldies, then we ship them out into some far part of the city, and nopony is any the wiser."
"So you have a few sources of, well... hosts? No, that's not the right word."
"That's right."
"Are there any other dark secrets?" I asked. "Is there anything else that would make us want to hate you?"
"Probably. I'm only a filly, remember. While I did get to watch what happened in the throne room, and was given lessons, it isn't like I had access to all of what the departments were up to. For example, how they treated you was handled entirely at a different level of Central, and as far as I know, entirely by ponies. Even if any changelings knew about it, they chose not to interfere. I am sure there will be cases of other disturbing behavior."
"Now that I think of it, there is the general control of the masses through the media, isn't there?"
"How else were we meant to pacify our larder, and keep our secrets?" Kakuun asked. "That was just part of us hiding ourselves. You will find other similar conspiracies too, if you look hard enough."
"At least you are being honest with me," I said.
"What are you going to do, now that you have some idea of the situation. Are you going to force us to reveal ourselves?"
"Can you imagine the civil unrest that would cause?" I asked. "It would turn this place into a war zone. It would be the great extermination all over again! The smartest option is for business to continue as usual, with minor changes as needed. The way I see it, you have the tools at your disposal to straighten things out over time."
"What do you mean?"
"You control the media, don't you?" I asked. "Use it. Produce a show in which ponies are brought to love a character, then reveal the character to be a changeling. It's fiction, right? Ponies will love the character without realizing there is anything amiss. Do it again and again. Make the heroes save a changeling hive from some other nasties. Get ponies to love the idea of changelings. Only then do we reveal that some of those living amongst us are changelings. Surprise! Your next door neighbor really is a changeling. Aren't they cute! Maybe it will take a generation to get there, but we have enough time for that."
"Good idea! I will contact the relevant department and assemble a new planning team."
"We can go beyond that too. Stop this there is nothing outside H'ven lie. Start producing stories where ponies go exploring outside. Get ponies used to the idea."
"But we don't know what is out there yet!" Kakuun said. "Even the old writings don't tell much, and things will have changed!"
"So, make something up. It doesn't matter. One story, outside could be a huge blackness in which other habitats also exist, and getting to them means making some sort of smaller ship to travel between them. The next story, the world outside could be populated by ponies that are ten times our size. Or we could be inside a larger habitat, like Habitat Ten was inside this one."
"Oh, I think I understand. We worry about facts when we get them, but in the meantime, we open their minds to other possibilities."
"Ah, good to have you back!" Cacha said to her pistol boot as she slipped it back on.
"Is that really a carrot dispenser?" the curious changeling drone that had just delivered it asked.
"It is at the moment," Cacha confirmed. "Watch."
She extended her fingers, reaching for where the grip would be, the weapon unfolding itself in response, putting the grip into her grasp. Ready, she aimed it and squeezed the trigger, resulting in a small piece of purple carrot splattering against the cream wall she had been targeting.
"It's... it's a..." the drone said, quivering, fear evident, despite its hard-to-read eyes.
"It is," Cacha confirmed, "and at the moment it is loaded with carrot, which won't kill, even if I was to shoot anyone."
"Are you going to shoot anyone?" the drone asked, clearly wondering if she was the intended target.
"No, of course not!" Cacha frowned. "It's my pistol. I wanted it back, just like I wanted my bag and food generator back. It's as simple as that."
"But..."
"I've had plenty of opportunity to shoot you, already," I said to the drone, "yet I haven't, have I?"
"But you are not carrying a gun at the moment."
"I am a gun," I said, extending a hoof, which promptly transformed into a scarier weapon than the one Cacha was wearing. The poor drone squeaked, and nearly laid an egg. My point made, I returned my hoof to the floor, the weapon vanishing as I did.
"Aneki, are you stirring the drones?" a child-like voice asked, from out in the corridor.
"Yes, Kakuun, I'm afraid I am. Or should that be she's afraid I am," I said as the miniature princess walked into the room, still in her pony guise. "I was just showing her my inner self."
"You showed her the gun turret?"
"No. This time I formed a hoof-gun."
Kakuun froze, staring at me with wide eyes. "You mean that the turret isn't your only inbuilt weapon?"
"It was the same weapon. Perhaps if you considered me to be a changeling that can only turn into a weapon, you may understand me better. I am now a weapon that looks like a pony."
"That... That is scary! Were you built specifically to kill the old queen? Were you really one step ahead of us, or are all of you Hellites just that dangerous?" Kakuun paused. "No, you can't all have weapons like that, can you? If you did, the changelings would have been the ones that got exterminated."
"Quite so," Cacha said. "If I had a weapon like that, I wouldn't need this carrot dispenser, would I?"
"Oh, that's a gun too, is it?" Kakuun asked.
"Only for me," Cacha said. "For anypony else, it's just a boot."
"I choose negotiation as my weapon," Kakuun said. "Maybe I won't get exactly what I want, but at least I'll live."
"Smart girl," I said.
"Hang on," Kakuun said, levitating a folder from the saddlebag she was wearing. She opened it, and flicked through several pages, before stopping to read one. "There is no mention of you having any sort of weapon when you were being examined in the lab. You really were built to kill us, weren't you?"
I shook my head. "The reason I was one of the three ponies captured and brought up here was simply that I don't like risking lives. This was a dangerous mission, so as the coordinators for dangerous missions, Cacha and I personally accompanied one pony with expertise in computers and wiring on this job."
"That still doesn't explain how you got the gun," Kakuun muttered, "or aren't you going to tell me about that?"
"I simply walked into the wrong room," I said, "and found myself the victim of mad scientists for the second time."
"Oh," Kakuun said, fully understanding my meaning.
"Could I have a look at that file please?" I asked. "Perhaps it will tell me who the father is."
"Father of who?" Kakuun asked.
"Of the foal inside me," I said.
Kakuun gasped. "That means you were already pregnant when you were converted into the weapon."
"Sad, isn't it?"
"Very sad. Very scary." Kakuun passed me the folder. "There is no mention of anything about a pregnancy in here."
She was quite right about the lack of any information pertaining to the foal. The file covered everything Central knew about my life, from my school records (which I was not embarrassed about), my employment, my love of running, including my marathon win, my accident and subsequent recovery during my internment. The scientific details, however, were missing, apart from general comments such as the EMP treatment, and that they had introduced various foreign substances to my body to observe the results. The details of my escape were simply listed as: disposal of subject: classified.
"Bugger. I guess I really do have to go over there and thump some heads," I said. "Again."
"Thump heads?" Kakuun asked.
"Figuratively speaking this time. Last time I was there I had to resort to bumping heads in order to escape. Speaking of which, why isn't there anything about that here? Surely there isn't anything that is of higher classification than your access level?"
"There is. I am just a youngster, after all. It wasn't as if the former queen gave me access to everything. And now, you are the queen, so it's you who has that access level. Amusingly, I am of high enough ranking to have you recognized as the new queen, but that, perhaps, is because your qualifications were beyond dispute."
"In the current system, is there anypony... anyone else that is ranked higher than you, apart from me?"
"Higher, no. Equal, perhaps. That doesn't mean I have the clearance or the right to look at what someone declares to be for the queen's eyes only. That classification is often abused to block all access to something that is to be kept secret, as the likelihood of the queen wanting to see that particular thing is remote, particularly if she doesn't know of its existence."
"Ah, I understand. Your clearance level will need to be upgraded then, if we are truly going to solve the problems we face. You are the queen of the changelings, after all, so the queen's access you shall have."
"Thank you for your consideration," Kakuun said. "You are so open minded. I wonder if there could have been a chance of you negotiating with the former queen."
"I did negotiate with her," I said, not that the particular negotiation had gone well.
"It would be more accurate to say that you negated her," Cacha said. "The oti bit of negotiation didn't come into it."
"I did, didn't I. That, after all, was the result of her methods," I said. "Of course, talking would have been better, but she wasn't inclined to listen."
"I think I will stick with verbal negotiations," Kakuun said. "For the sake of my kind, I must survive. Being in this position is very lonely... scary. Again, thank you for being prepared to work with me."
She was staring up at me with her big, green eyes, a real air of innocence about her. I really could get to like this creature.
We were gathered in the office that handled security and ID assignments. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the room, apart from the computer and printer that were used to produce the ID cards. I had already organized for Kakuun's access level to be raised to equal mine. That had surprised the changeling drone who worked there, but she hadn't objected.
"As the queen, you are automatically 1A1, but that isn't anonymous," the changeling drone said. "As such I have assigned you a second identity 1C3. Cacha, you are 1C4, and Maisie is 1C5. Although I don't see it being a problem, if them being consecutive is an issue, please say so now, and I will assign new codes."
"It isn't a problem. It just means we have been trained as a team, doesn't it?" I asked.
"That is the most likely interpretation by others, but so far, there have never been trained teams of inspectors. 1XX numbers are reserved for staff that hold the highest ranking, so a team of 1XX numbers is unlikely."
"What about Princess Kakuun?"
"I have assigned her the secondary code, 1D2, as clearly she cannot be from the same group as you. It is exceedingly unusual for one so young to have a clearance at all."
"People will just have to get used to it, won't they?" I said.
"People?" Cacha asked.
"Ponies doesn't seem as relevant, anymore."
"As you are happy with these designations, here are your identity cards. The system has already been programmed to accept them, H'ven wide," the drone said. "Your Majesty, even though your 1C3 card does not identify you as the queen, if you enter the code associated with your 1A1 identity, you will be given full access, although that will risk others working out who you really are. Once you have memorized these codes, please eat the material on which they are printed."
The drone passed each of us our ID cards, and a secondary, orange card with our secret codes printed on them.
"Thank you," I said. The material the secret codes were printed on did look quite edible.
"Carrot," Cacha said. "Purple carrot has been used for the text while orange is used for the background. They must be using a food generator as a printer!"
What was it with this place and carrot?
"I suggest we dress up for our visit to the facility you were held at, Aneki," Kakuun said. "Those coveralls don't look the part. Some inspectors just go au naturel while some dress as if for business, but if you are wanting to go incognito, I'd suggest dressing up to the point where your clothes draw the attention. That we have horns will be unusual enough for them, so I'd go as far as suggesting hats or bonnets, too."
"So, we hide in plain sight by being too obvious? Why not? But where are we going to get these wonderful outfits? It's not like I have a wardrobe anymore," I said, "and even when I did, it was pretty basic."
"You will dress from the queen's wardrobe, of course!" Kakuun said. "I have my own outfits, too."
"Cool, now that is something I could get into!"
"The clothes or the wardrobe? It is indeed large enough to get into." Kakuun smirked.
"What about us?" Maisie asked.
"You get to pick something from my new wardrobe, but after I've taken my pick!" I said. There had to be some advantages to being the queen, after all.
"Your Majesty, so far there has been one pony who has objected to your ruling regarding the Hellspawn," the drone informed me. "As per your instructions, that pony is now being held in the outer ring of Central."
"What is his position, and what are his objections?" I asked.
"He is a commander with the security force. He claims Hellspawn are diseased, contagious and extremely dangerous. He insists that he will still consider them a pest to be exterminated on sight."
"He isn't a doctor, so what makes him think he has the right to make that call?"
"He was involved in an action to hunt down and kill a member of the Hellspawn in which all members of one of his squads were killed. I believe his conclusion is a combination of the false information the ponies were being fed about the Hellspawn, and that his personal interaction with a member of them was so tragic."
"What is his Central ID?" I asked. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who it was: RU12 or whatever it was.
"Commander 1R2," the drone said.
"I knew it! He's right about one thing, and it isn't that we are diseased. Please take me to him now."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
"Cacha, Maisie, you may want to come too," I said.
Leaving the inner hub was the reverse of entering it, via that giant airlock. Several drones, transformed into muscled stallions, accompanied us, several genuine pony guards joining the squad as we exited the air lock. It was interesting being escorted by those that kept their weapons pointed away from us.
We three Hellites were guided into the corridors of the outer hub, somewhere we had not yet visited, bar our initial transit through it. This time we went through the area that was full of storage racks and shelves, and into another, smaller airlock, again with its purpose being to keep anyone from escaping or entering against the wishes of those in control. Unless I was greatly mistaken, I was the one in control.
Once we were inside, it was obvious we were in prison area, holding cells along one wall. We were guided to the first one, and the door opened for us. My mind briefly considered the possibility that this was a trap, then I remembered my universal door opener. No one would be stupid enough to encourage me to fire that in anger, again. Once we were inside, the door was not closed. Instead, the changeling guards moved to block the doorway. The pony guards moved up behind them.
"This is the pony that has refused to obey your orders," one of the guards informed me, mostly to indicate I was now in charge of the proceedings.
"So you're the pony with the weak stomach?" I said to the black maned pony standing before us. His coat was a warm, medium-grey, and he was wearing a jacket that bore indications of his rank.
"Weak stomach?" 1R2 asked.
"It was most unbecoming a pony of your rank to empty your guts upon learning the fate of your squad," I said, referring back to the rather awful sensation that had been transmitted to me at the time I told him of 3V3's condition.
"Why do you bring that up? How did you know that? For that matter, what are fucking Hellspawn even doing in here, you damned, disease carrying freaks?"
"Newsflash, buster. Hellspawn are not infectious, despite what you may have been told. I don't expect you will believe me, though, as you seem prepared to ignore my orders. Did I not send word that Hellspawn, or Hellites, were not to be disturbed? Yet here you are, refusing to obey them?"
"Fuck you, bitch. Who do you think you are? The queen?"
"She's the queen," Maisie, Cacha, and at least two of the guard chorused.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No, we're not," Cacha said.
I flicked my 1A1 ID card at the pony. "Whatever you think your rank is, I'm higher. You will obey the new rulings, or else..."
"Or else what?" 1R2 growled. Clearly he was prepared to push his luck.
"Or else this," I said, walking up to him so we were nose to nose. That took more steps than expected, because he backed away as I approached, eventually cornering himself. I reached up behind his head with a hoof, grabbed it, and planted a mushy kiss, right on his lips, even going as far is to insert my tongue.
He reacted violently, struggling, pushing himself away as soon as I released him.
"Why the hell did you do that?" he asked, stunned.
"The way I see it now is there are two outcomes. The first is nothing happens to you, proving we are not contagious, and that your objections are without foundation. The second is we are contagious, and you turn into one of the Hellspawn yourself, in which case you will be doing everything in your power to make sure the Hellspawn are kept safe, out of self interest."
IR2 spat at the floor several times, before looking me in the eye. "Okay, you win that argument, but you're just reinforcing my other objection. Your kind are way too violent, too dangerous."
"Do you still blame me for wiping out your squad? Or perhaps you've seen the lovely black mark I left on the sky dome? This is your last warning. You will submit to the new orders, or I will personally shoot you with the same gun."
"That... was you? Both times?" He gasped, eyes wide.
"Yes, it was me, talking through 3V3's comms unit. That's how I knew you lost your lunch. As for the black patch, that happened when the formerly most powerful... pony challenged me. As you said, I'm extremely dangerous, but that does not apply to all of my kind. Now, you can live up to your security clearance, and keep this conversation to yourself, or you can add yet another black mark to your name."
1R2 bowed his head. "I submit."
"Good," I said, retrieving my ID card. Turning, I addressed the nearest changeling guard. "Can you have 1R2 assigned to a position where he is monitored, for the time being."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I leave him in your hooves, then," I said, dismissing the problem.
"I can't believe it," I heard 1R2 mutter as I left. "She's the queen."
Despite being on the ground level, the entrance to the deniable facility in which I had been held before was underground. As it was near the outer wall of the life support dome, it was under the mountains that were attached to the outer wall, all the way around the dome. The area was mostly devoted to industry, storage, and other unsightly elements of a functioning city.
The place was as nondescript as one could get: just another doorway along an underground passage, very much like those of the sublevels. The door itself was painted to blend in with the metalwork that surrounded it, and its signage was small, and easily overlooked.
"Central's Deniable Facility Four, please stamp hoof three times then ring the doorbell twice for entry. Have your secret code ready," Cacha said, as she looked up at the sign over the door.
"That's funny," Maisie said. "I'm sure it says Recyclying Center, old technology purchased."
"You have to read between the lines, my dear mare," I said, "but as a cover, that is indeed what they do, if the stash of goodies I found down in the basement is anything to judge by. That's where I purloined my food generators."
"Ooh, the queen nicked something!" Cacha giggle.
"They nicked more first! They nicked my whole bloody life!"
"Now, now, darling, don't you have a more interesting life because of it?" Cacha asked, smirking.
"Touché."
"One could argue that with you being the queen and all, you own everything, anyway."
"I don't see that being right," I said, "even if such was the law."
"Anyway, are we going to stand around here in the street, or are we going to go bump some heads?" Cacha asked.
"Perhaps I should have dressed in black and worn shades to fit the part."
"No, leave the shade wearing to me." Cacha responded by putting on a pair of the aforementioned. She was dressed in black.
I had gone for something I thought a little more stylish, and likely to cover my slightly enlarged belly. The dress was off-white and reached to the floor, entirely hiding my Hellite features. A brown waist coat provided accent. A matching, soft-brimmed hat hid my horn, and to some extent, my eyes. It didn't really say inspector, though.
Maisie had gone for a chocolate brown, mare's business suit, not unlike Cacha's black one. Kakuun was simply in her pony guise, which was akin to dressing up, her being a changeling and all.
As expected, the publicly accessible section of the deniable facility was as nondescript as one could get, both outside and in. After all, they were trying to hide their entry in plain sight, if one could say that about a mundane doorway in an underground passage. The door closed behind us, leaving us standing in their false store, the so called recycling center. The walls, painted in the standard cream color, were covered in a relatively neat grid-work of notices, each containing an image of an ancient piece of technology, and an estimated value. I recognized the food generators, and a few of the other odds and ends, but some of the pictured items were totally alien to me.
Directly opposite the entry was a chest-height counter, topped with a sturdy set of bars. To the right, a box and slide rails were built into the counter, allowing items to be passed from one side of the bars to the other, without ever allowing passage to a pony. To the left was a sturdy security-door featuring a small window and a keypad.
Aside from the four of us, there was one more pony in the room. A middle-aged beige mare was standing behind the counter and going on the surprise evident on her face, customers were unexpected, particularly when dressed in strange clothes and traveling in packs!
"Can I help you?" she asked in an austere voice.
"Oh, don't concern yourself. We'll let ourselves in," I replied, approaching the security door.
"You will do no such thing. The public are not permitted behind the counter."
"Oh, really? Do tell," I said, without breaking my stride.
The keypad on the door illuminated, indicating it recognized my ID card from where it was concealed, on the lanyard around my neck, and was waiting for my code. I reached out with my telekinesis, tapping in my secret number. The door beeped with approval and unlatched itself, swinging out of my way. The mare, who had not seen me touch the keyboard, panicked, jabbing her hoof on a large red button before moving to try and block my progress. After I stepped through, I heard the door closing behind me.
"No one may enter without a valid security pass!" the mare insisted. "I don't know what trick you used to bypass the door, but a member of the security staff will be here momentarily, so I suggest you freeze, if you do not wish to get into even more trouble."
"It is you who will be in much trouble, if you do not learn your place," I said, withdrawing my ID card from my clothing, and thrusting it into her face. She stared at it wide eyed, before muttering an apology.
I heard Cacha chuckle from the other side of the counter. "You enjoy confrontation, don't you, 1C3?"
Moments later another beep was followed by the sounds of the door reopening. Cacha had entered her code.
Two burly stallions burst into the room as Kakuun and Maisie entered, and stood behind me. Seeing all of us inside the secure zone, and that the beige mare did not appear to be under direct threat, they slowed.
"Miss Coco, what is the problem? Who are these ponies?" one asked.
"I do not know, 2D0, but everypony appears to have clearance," she answered, bowing her head in resignation.
"Why did you call for us, then?"
"One bypassed the lock on the door," Miss Coco answered.
"Really? I do not see how that would be possible."
The stallion moved to a terminal near the closed door, and accessed the entry logs, scrolling though them. "Can't see it. All entries appear to be valid. 1C3 and 1C4 are the most recent, both entered with codes. 1C5 and 1D2 came through with them. IDs were recorded, but no codes. Is that what you mean? What's the problem?"
"No, the door simply opened as this one approached it. She did not key in any code."
"Just because she did not see me enter my code does not mean it was not entered," I said.
"Would be kind enough to allow me to personally see your ID cards? I will also insist that 1C5 and 1D2 log in at this terminal. That should satisfy all, should it not?" the stallion suggested.
"Sure," Maisie said, shrugging. Lifting her ID card to the machine, she typed in her code when prompted.
"1D2 next, please."
Kakuun floated her ID to the machine, and keyed in her code with telekinesis before anypony even realized what was happening. That done, the lanyard, to which her ID was attached, settled back around her neck. She smirked.
"Ah," the stallion said. "All has become clear. Unicorns. Don't see them often."
"You don't see them ever," the second stallion said.
"We just saw one now, and who knows what that mare in the fancy dress has hidden under her get-up," 2D0 said.
"I am concerned that Miss Coco appears to be using a real name," Kakuun said. "Is that not against policy?"
"Miss Coco is actually 2C0. We merely use the familiar form when she is minding the front desk," the stallion stated.
"So, who are these ponies, and why are they here?" the second stallion asked.
"According to the log, they are all Central Inspection Branch officers. Even the kid."
"CIBO? What the hell? We weren't advised of any inspections. And four at once??"
"What can we do for you, Ma'am?" 2D0 asked me.
"Secure the exits. No pony is going home until we are done. I want a list of all staff who are presently here, and a list of those currently absent," I said.
"But why? What has brought on this unscheduled inspection?"
"We are investigating the capture, treatment and subsequent disposal of a member of the Hellspawn," Cacha said, darkly.
"Oh, shit. That," 2D0 said.
"Go on."
"Several staff took demotions or early retirement over that. Apparently, the queen was really pissed."
"List those staff members."
"Just a moment," 2D0 said, as he typed at the terminal for a few seconds, bringing up a list. "1K8, 5D3, 2EQ, 3C3 and 5G4."
"A 1xx series?" Cacha asked.
"The former head of this establishment."
"Anypony important to you, 1C3?" Cacha asked.
"I'm not sure. These ponies were the ones on staff that night. Two janitors, and three others, within the offices," I said.
"Guilty by association?"
"Guilty of direct involvement. All of them lost their ID cards to the Hellspawn, ultimately allowing her to escape," I said. "Get me a list of those that were directly involved with the research on the Hellspawn. Get me any research data you can, and please find me a room where I can interview them in private. And, finally, assuming he is here at the moment, get me 4J2. I'll start with him."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The room in which we were to conduct our interviews was fairly nondescript, not to mention, relatively small, and the four of us were sitting in there on the provided cushions, awaiting our guest of horror, er, honor. I was sitting behind the other three, in the corner furthest from the door, my hat hiding my face. Cacha was going to manage the first round of questions.
Around five minutes passed before a pastel blue pony with a chocolate mane and tail was shown in by 2D0, who passed me a brown folder, before leaving and closing the door behind him.
"So, you would be?" Cacha prompted.
"I am 4J2."
"Ah," I said. He didn't look too bad, at all. "This is something you should know, seeing as how you work here; how secure is this room? Can anyone outside hear what is being said?"
"Nopony can hear or see what goes on in here. It is secure. Why?"
"That would be because we are now going to discuss your involvement in the disposal of the Hellspawn mare. I believe her name was Aneki." Cacha said.
"I was not present when she was disposed of," 4J2 said, shifting uncomfortably.
"The report indicates that you were the one that administered what should have been a fatal dose of sedatives to her," Cacha said.
"Err. Yeah. That was not something I'm proud of, but the mare deserved a little respect, so I volunteered to do it," 4J2 said.
"You have heard the new ruling regarding the treatment of Hellspawn?"
"Yes, and thank Luna for that. I only wish it had come through in time for her."
"That's a nice sentiment, and one I believe you have held for some time. Isn't that right, 4J2?"
"I don't understand."
"You are lying through your teeth. Who are you trying to protect? Her? Yourself? We both know that you didn't administer any sedative that day. In fact, you injected the subject with a stimulant, waking her. You then, via the comms unit you had given her, proceeded to help her to escape the facility," Cacha said.
It was a good thing 4J2's eyeballs were attached to his head, or, otherwise, I suspect they may have become lethal projectiles. His whole body went rigid, and he started sweating rapidly.
"The only way you could possibly know that would be if you had talked to that mare, herself," he said, his voice quivering.
"You don't deny it?"
"No. I did what was right."
"And if it had been an ugly old stallion instead of a pretty mare?"
"I don't know. Maybe my beliefs would have won out, or maybe my fear would have prevented me from taking any action."
"I see."
"So, where does that leave me? Am I off to prison, scheduled to be fed to the plasma-arc furnace, or am I merely going to be demoted back to a store clerk?"
"None of the above. We certainly want to ask you for more details, but on the matter of the escape, you are actually to be commended," Cacha said. "I was just following orders has to be one of the most worn-out excuses for reprehensible behavior, and I do not look favorably on those who use it."
4J2 relaxed, curiosity taking over, as there was no point in keeping up his charade. "So, what became of the mare? You must have seen her. How is she doing?"
I flipped off my hat, revealing my face. "I'm doing quite well, thank you, 4J2."
His eyeballs tried to escape his head, again.
"It's a small world, isn't it?" I said.
"Literally," he replied, drolly. "So, somehow, you have gone from being the most wanted fugitive, to being CIBO."
"You have no idea," Kakuun said.
"So, what I wish to know is are you the father of my foal?"
"Am I the who of your what?" 4J2 almost exploded.
Evidently not.
4J2 had calmed down a little. He was now sitting on another of the cushions, facing us. He was sipping on a drink to replace the liquids he had sweat in his fear.
"Please explain what is going on," he asked.
"It's fairly simple. When I went down to investigate the damage in the sublevels, I wasn't pregnant. In fact, I was a virgin. After I escaped from here, I found out I was pregnant."
"What about the Hellspawn that assisted you when you were injured?" 4J2 asked.
"I don't have a dick," Cacha said.
"Uh? Oh, that was you, was it?"
"The timing is wrong too. I certainly became pregnant while I was strapped to that table," I said.
"So what made you think it was me? Do I look like the type of pony that goes around raping sedated mares? For that matter, we were all afraid of your Hellspawn modifiers at the time."
"No, that was not what I thought, at all. You helped me escape. You apologized, as if you had personally done me wrong. I thought that maybe you had donated sperm, and were helping me to escape in order that your child may live."
4J2 tapped the floor with his hoof absently, looking somewhat more relaxed. "Okay, I think I understand where you are coming from, but it certainly wasn't the case. It is as I told you last time. I liked you. You are interesting. You think. You are not like all the mindless drones out there, but my interest in you certainly did not extend to getting you pregnant."
I heard Kakuun cough. The drones comment had perhaps been a little too close to home for her liking!
"And now?" I asked.
"I guess it's the same, but now I have a girlfriend, and she would object if I made a move on you."
"What do you know about the source of my pregnancy, then? Do you have any idea at all?"
"I know they tried injecting or inserting all sorts of things into you to see how your body reacted. It dissolved metal. It dissolved the tracking beacon. Many chemicals were either absorbed or expelled. Bacteria and poisons were killed and neutralized. As you know, sedative was unaffected, as were some other drugs. The more harmful the foreign matter, the more likely your body would to be to reject or neutralize it. Things that are beneficial to a pony remained beneficial; vitamins, stuff like that," 4J2 said.
"Do you have the details?"
"Nope. I learned that much merely by monitoring what was going on in the lab from my station. My job is really to keep an eye on what's going on when the scientists are not active. There's another couple of fellows who take the alternative shifts, when needed."
"So, who was on monitoring duty the night I was being disposed of?"
"After I knocked off, no one. The escape would not have worked if there had been. There were no other experiments that needed constant observation at the time, either, so staff was minimal: just a few ponies catching up on paperwork and the two janitors."
A knock at the door interrupted us, although the line of questioning seemed to be at a dead end anyway. Maisie opened the door, and was presented with a bundle of folders by 2D0, who then backed away, allowing the door to be closed again.
"I wonder if he ever gets called Dodo," Maisie said.
"Of course he does," 4J2 confirmed.
"And you?"
"Usually just Jay."
"Well, Jay, you can help us with our investigation. What are the identities of the staff most likely involved?"
"What about his breaking of the rules?" Kakuun asked. "Right or wrong, he did let you escape. That should be considered."
An expression of worry again crossed 4J2's face. I could understand that. One moment he thought the worst was over, and he had escaped relatively intact, and the next, his behavior was being evaluated.
"I prefer ponies who are prepared to do what is right, over those that simply follow orders and pass the blame and responsibility on to those who make the commands. My inclination is to promote, not to punish," I said. "I would be even happier if the system allowed those who felt that way to give feedback, to be able to query suspect commands."
"So would I," 4J2 said.
"I know you feel that way. You expressed that sentiment when we first talked. Perhaps you could help draft up something so that such a system can be implemented."
"I'd love to, but do you have enough influence to put such a system into practice?"
"She does," Kakuun said.
4J2 raised his eyebrows. "How so?"
"What I am about to say does not go beyond the walls of this room. Understood? By hearing this, you effectively become CIBO yourself, at least for the duration of this meeting. Are you prepared for that?"
4J2 nodded. "I understand. As you know, I can keep secrets."
"I have enough clearance to access material that is classified for the queen's eyes only."
4J2 stared at me, not quite comprehending for a few moments, then his eyebrows went up again. "Oh!" He bowed. "Your Majesty."
Again, I flicked through the documentation 2D0 had brought me. So far, none of the ponies we had interviewed had anything of real value to say. It had taken 2D0 a while to unearth the documentation on those with the greatest involvement, despite knowing who the primary culprit was. I had decided to postpone interviewing him until I had read his report, something I had just done. That, however, had led me to change my priorities.
"As we expected, 2Q9 was the pony most involved with my case. We already know he had assistants, but there is another pony listed as being in charge, when present: 2B3," I said
"2B3 was not heavily involved," 4J2 said.
"According to this, he visited every week or so, but was mostly involved after the majority of tests were completed. His period of greater involvement is around the right time, and there are surprising lack of details as to what he was doing," I said. "He also signed off on my disposal. I suspect he would be most likely to be in the know."
"She, not he," 4J2 corrected me. "What makes you think it was her?"
"2Q9's reports and logs are comprehensive, but there is no mention of messing with my uterus. He hasn't classified anything he wrote beyond his own rank, either. The data is all here. Modifiers, theories, observations. Everything."
"And 2B3?"
"Dates, times, and besides that, it's marked For the Queen's Eyes Only. No details are given."
"Could the queen actually have been involved?" Cacha asked.
"Maybe?" Kakuun shrugged.
"Probably not," 4J2 countered. "Some ponies just like to keep their findings to themselves, and sometimes they discover things that are banned knowledge. It's kind of counterproductive, but there are guidelines on what they are allowed to share, and if they rediscover something that has been banned, then it gets marked as For the Queen's Eyes Only."
"Well, she isn't here today, so let's have her called in and find out what she's hiding," I said.
"And while we wait, let's get something to eat."
"Good idea. And while I think of it, Kakuun, can you organize to have 4J2 upgraded to a 1xx ranking?"
"Sure."
Kakuun was standing by the open door, staring down the corridor. We were waiting for 2D0 to return with 2B3, who was not on duty today. We had been informed she had arrived at the front desk only minutes ago, and was none to pleased at being dragged in.
I watched as distant hoofsteps attracted Kakuun's attention, then a look of panic painted itself across her face.
"Shit! Her!" she gasped, ducking inside the room, and bolting around behind me, where she crouched down. "I think I should hide, if you don't want to stuff up your interview."
"You know her?" I asked.
"I've seen her before, actually talking to the former queen!" Kakuun said. "She will recognize me."
"So there really is the possibility of the queen's involvement? This could be interesting," I said as I rapidly disrobed myself, tossing my dress over the huddled changeling, followed by my jacket and hat. The result was a satisfactory, untidy heap.
Moments later 2D0 guided a white mare with pale grey tail and mane into to the room. Why Kakuun had been worried was immediately obvious. 2B3 was a glowing pony, a changeling. No Hellite said anything, because there were those here that knew nothing of the presence of changelings in our society. 2D0 did a double take when he saw me in all my Hellite glory, but withdrew from the room without saying anything.
"Oh, so it's you, and now you are pregnant. Isn't that ironic?" 2B3 said.
"What's so ironic about that? I suspect you are to blame for it in the first place," I said.
"What? No way! Impossible! Are you sure?" the mare blurted out. That was an interesting mix of total denial, and an admission of hope and guilt.
"Now I am, thank you," I said.
"But how? You weren't pregnant when you escaped. I would have kept you here if you really were pregnant. Your body killed off the embryo, just like it got rid of every other piece of foreign material we tried." The mare took a couple steps closer, noticing 4J2 for the first time. "What's he doing in here? He isn't cleared to witness this discussion."
"He's CIBO, like everybody else in this room."
The changeling mare looked at me through squinting eyes. "You are posing as CIBO, aren't you? You aren't really an inspector."
"You could interpret it that way," I confirmed.
"Impostors!" she said, swinging back towards the door. "I'll have security deal with you. I want you back in the lab."
Using my magic, I forcibly held the door shut. "You aren't going anywhere."
"I'm not dealing with you, other than as a subject. Even if you really were CIBO, you would not have a high enough clearance."
"You have totally got the wrong idea. Our CIBO credentials are quite real, but there are two of us in this room with top level clearance."
"That would be queen's eyes only, and I don't see any queens in this room."
"That's just because you aren't looking hard enough," Kakuun's muffled voice said from under my heaped clothing. She levitated them off herself, moving into view.
"Princess, what are you doing here?" 2B3 asked.
"I am assisting the queen with her enquiries," Kakuun answered.
"I was dealing directly with the queen herself. Why would she send you in her place? For that matter, why does she even need to investigate this again? I already gave her a full report."
"Clearly it needs investigating again because I am pregnant," I growled.
"You are aware that Queen Iridescence is dead, are you not?" Kakuun asked.
"I had heard as much, in which case, I assume Princess Morphia has taken over, and is behind this enquiry. I will deal directly with her."
"I hate to burst your bubble, 2B3, but I am the only remaining member of the royal bloodline, but I am not the new queen."
"What? Who?" 2B3 looked somewhat taken aback, her personal reality having just been snatched from her.
"That would be Her Majesty, Queen Aneki of the Hellites," Kakuun said.
"No, You couldn't possibly mean..."
"Me? Yes," I said, pulling my 1A1 identification card from its scan-proof wallet and holding it up.
2B3 looked like she'd been whacked across the back of her head. Her eyes glazed over and she collapsed onto her backside. I could understand her reaction. After all, she had just discovered the pony to whom she had done unspeakable things was now in the position to return the favor severalfold, and any changeling who could protect her was now dead.
"Holy Chrysalis, save me," she muttered. Presumably this Chrysalis was the changeling deity that was the equivalent of the ponies' deity, Luna.
"I wouldn't count on your changeling god helping you," I said, letting her know I knew full well what she was, "but tell me what I want to know, and I won't send you to join her."
"Eep."
"Don't worry, 2B3," Kakuun piped up, "Aneki is really sweet, when you get to know her."
"So how did it happen? I mean, one day she is a fugitive, the next the monarch?"
"She bested the queen, my grandmother and mother in totally unfair combat. Oh, and she bested all of the guards and staff that were in the throne room, too."
"Aneki was unfair? That isn't honest." 2B3 looked doubtful.
"No, no, no. Queen Iridescence was the unfair one. Aneki prefers to negotiate. She did not strike until she had no choice," Kakuun said. "She will be a better queen than any member of my family ever was. All the same, don't provoke her, because when she strikes, buildings collapse."
"Buildings... collapse?"
"Yes. You should see what's left of the throne room. And that big black spot on the sky, that was her doing too, all with one strike." Kakuun nodded sagely.
"And you, Kakuun? If I may ask, would you not be next in line for the throne, with the death of your three predecessors? Despite what you say, how do you feel about this Aneki taking that from you?"
"Aneki took nothing from me. I gave the throne to her. No changeling in their right mind would challenge her. I am still queen of the changelings, both biologically and politically," the youngster said.
"You do realize I am standing right here, listening to you," I said.
2B3 put her hoof to her chin, rubbing it. "You are, aren't you."
"Are you prepared to tell me who the father of my foal is, or at least, show me the notes from your experiments?"
"If you are prepared to prove this ID card is valid, by accompanying me to the vault. I insist that my research remains for the queen's eyes only."
"It is valid. I shall accompany you."
Kakuun nudged me.
"Yes, Kakuun, you may accompany us."
"For the queen's eyes only," 2B3 repeated.
"She's the changeling queen, and also has a valid ID card," I said. "I see no problems."
2B3 blinked. "You are prepared to share top level secrets with her? That is surprising."
"I told you Aneki will be a better queen. She is prepared to listen to those below her. She is a leader, not a dictator."
"What's a changeling?" 4J2 interrupted. That caused an outbreak of chuckles, causing 4J2 to blush in embarrassment.
"Technically, we are symbiotes or parasites, depending on the individual, that live on the emotions of ponyfolk," Kakuun said.
"But you look like regular ponyfolk."
We laughed again.
"Exactly," Kakuun said.
Our ID cards and codes had already let us take the elevator up to black level, which, in theory, should have satisfied 2B3, but she wanted to be doubly sure we had the clearance we claimed before she would say anything.
We now stood in the vestibule to the vault, and were faced with a scanner and keypad. 2B3 inserted her card in the provided slot and typed in her code.
"Please stated clearance level required," the scanner said.
"I want access to all of my personal logs," she said, not really answering the question.
"Some of those are marked for the queen's eyes only. All others present must either present adequate credentials, or vacate the vestibule," the scanner said.
2B3 smiled at us. "Be my guest," she said, waving us towards the scanner.
While I could have used my 1C3 identity, with its secondary code, there didn't seem to be any point to playing games at the moment, so I inserted my 1A1 ID card, and punched in my code, stepping back to allow Kakuun access to the scanner.
"1A1 identity confirmed. Queen Aneki has permission to enter the vault. Awaiting next input."
Kakuun pulled out her second card and levitated it into the slot on the scanner, entering her code using her telekinesis.
"1A1C identity confirmed. Changeling queen, Princess Kakuun has permission to enter the vault."
In response, the internal mechanisms of the vault door began to whir and clunk, and within moments, the heavy door lifted itself clear of the frame, retreating towards the ceiling.
"1A1C?" 2B3 asked.
"1A1 is the only code that has queen's eyes clearance," Kakuun said. "C is for Changeling."
2B3 shrugged. "The system likes both of you. I guess I have no choice but to believe."
The inside of the vault was entirely made of stainless steel, a change from the usual cream decor of H'ven. The walls were lined with smaller doors and drawers, one of which had opened, jutting into the room. 2B3 lead us straight to that, pulling a file from within.
"Of course, there is other material in there. I can't prevent you from looking through it, but it is irrelevant to your case. To sum it up, the queen had a problem, and so far all attempts to solve it have failed. I was the only changeling involved in this project, so not even Princess Kakuun would know about it. The queen had an embryo from a particular source that she wanted to mature, but so far all hosts we have tried have aborted or immediately rejected the embryo. The project was shelved after that, but when you were captured, we decided to try again.
"You were the first Hellspawn mare we had caught in a long time. Your body accepted several test embryos, which we promptly aborted, then we put in the one we wanted, and it promptly vanished. To us it seemed your body had attacked and destroyed it. It had been a long-shot, so I aborted the project and signed off on your termination. Nothing personal, of course, but your ability to see us had the queen spooked."
2B3 opened the folder and flicked through a few pages, before folding it back on itself, and passing it to us.
"That's the embryo we used."
"Oh...," I said. So, I was nothing more than a surrogate for... this.
Kakuun nudged me, so I passed the folder to her.
"Oh," she said. "I can see what Queen Iridescence was trying to do."
"So, if you would be so kind, Your Majesty, Aneki, I would like to closely examine you to see if that is indeed the embryo that has survived, against all odds," 2B3 stated.
I shrugged. "Unless another one was planted after that... but nothing was written in the logs..."
"It is entirely possible you were raped," 2B3 said. "In fact, I'd be more likely to believe that."
"If you were raped, I will personally have the balls of the perpetrator," Kakuun growled.
"If I was raped, at least the foal would be mine," I said, sadly.
Having escaped 2B3 and her examinations, we, the Hellite trio, had decided it was time to return to Habitat Eleven Lower Levels, or Hell, and fill in the Hellite ponies down there on what we had been up to. Although only a few days had passed, the political landscape in Habitat Eleven had changed drastically. Hellites themselves, in principle at least, were no longer enemies of H'ven, and were to be welcomed instead. Hopefully the Hellites' fear of those from above had not turned into hate, and they would be glad to reintegrate themselves into pony society.
How the general populace were going to respond to us was about to be discovered, at least in the case of the few workers we could see up ahead. They were repairing the damage done to the power distribution node when it had been converted into the trap they used to catch us. None of the workers were wearing isolation suits, indicating a lessened fear of catching anything from Hellites. They looked more like service ponies than the soldier ponies that had made the trap in the first place.
As we stepped into view, they paused, regarding us warily.
"White, cream and pink? You mean they aren't completely black?" one of them said quietly to his workmates. I guess they had never heard that we could retract our facial armor.
"Uh, hello," another of them said, "Are we interfering with your work? If you wish us to get out of your way, please say so."
"No, please carry on with what you are doing. I see you heard the queen's edict regarding us," I said.
"We did, though you knowing about it is surprising. The last Hellspawn we saw ran for her life when we spotted her."
"We've just come down from Central, so we know of the edict. You could say the edict is the result of us negotiating." Well, it was the truth!
"As we are not bothering you, we will get back to work."
"Please do."
I wondered what their reactions would have been if they knew they were addressing their queen.
The distribution node was looking somewhat better than the last time I had seen it. The damaged rear wall was currently being repaired, and the systems compromised during the creation of the trap had been restored. A second computer had been installed along side the original one, but the original one remained in circuit. A few stray cables suggested that the while the rewiring was complete, installation was not.
"I see you survived," the disembodied voice stated as we approached the terminal. It sounded male, not that it made any difference. I doubted the computer had any sense of gender.
"You could say that," I said. "Prospered, even."
"What's more, you even remembered to come and visit me!"
"We did say we would."
"And you were true to your word. Thank you. I do not get many chances for conversation, so I appreciate it."
"I see the other computer I had sent down has been wired in," Maisie said, nodding towards the second device.
"Is it my replacement?" the computer asked. "When I saw it, I was scared they were going to disconnect me again."
"That depends on what you want to do. Is it sapient? Have you been able to converse with it?"
"Nope. It's perfectly functional as a computer, but as a person, it's as dense as they get. It has, however, given me something to do. I programmed it to take over the basic tasks, and that gave me more time to mess about with the more advanced programs. I've managed to improve the efficiency somewhat, and create a nice set of automated exception handlers for it. The programs won't ever be as smart as a sapient, but if I ever get the chance to take a vacation, it's ready to go. I just hope it will be a vacation, and not retirement."
"If retirement was to be the case, programming it was kind of self defeating, wasn't it?" I asked.
"Yes, but I was just so bored I couldn't help myself," the computer said.
"Are many computers sapient?" Cacha asked.
"Nope, I don't think so. It isn't like I have access to many of them, though. I'm restricted to the control and error reporting networks. That gives me access to a few dozen computers, none of which have the smarts. Through a bit of creative programming, and sending of non-standard packets through the reporting network, I have managed to find a few others out there. Our communications are limited to what we can send through these non-standard packets. It's kind of like bouncing things off a distant wall and hoping somepony out there can catch it. It's one message a day stuff."
"That's better than nothing, I presume."
"Only just. It is tantalizing, but very frustrating," the computer grumbled.
"Changing the subject; what do you know about yourself? What can you remember?" I asked.
"I presume I am, or was, a pony, although I suspect there is very little left of me, physically. Mentally, it is much the same. My memories of life as a pony, assuming I am correct about that, are spurious, fleeting things that give me little more than a basic concept."
"That's right. You started out as a pony," I said. "I suspect you died in an accident at a young age, leaving you with a flexible brain, suitable for repurposing. Have you always been sapient as a computer?"
"That's hard to say. I think awareness came to me after a while, but when it did, I found I could remember a lot of what I had processed. I could remember right back to when I was first activated. That led to curiosity and experimentation. After all, I had to find ways to amuse myself during the times of low load."
"How long have you been down here?"
"It has to have been a couple hundred years, at least. I only have so much memory, so I have to constantly erase out-of-date stuff. Older memories, except for the spurious stuff, are long gone, or are so compressed they only pop up of their own volition, due to association. I suspect the spurious stuff lives in the same part of me as my personality, and sense of self."
"So, are you up for a challenge?" Maisie asked, flicking her lemon mane from her blue eyes.
"Anything for a change. Well, anything except sensory deprivation," the computer answered.
"I want you to find all the sapient computers in the systems of the life support chamber. I want you to help them interconnect, and if they wish it, program replacements for themselves."
"I could understand why they would like to interconnect, but why would they want replacements? Doesn't that spell the end for them?"
"It would give them freedom to socialize, to learn new tasks, to have something resembling a life," I said.
"Yes, that does sound appealing. So, how would I go about this?"
"We could upgrade the cabling to this place, connecting you to the network hubs. Or we could move you physically down to a node closer to the reporting system, negating the need for new cabling, and assist you in making a new protocol or modifying the network as needed. Or... we could find a way for you to move around in the real world as much as you need, with the bonus of being able to mix with ponies too," Maisie said.
"Why would you do this?" The virtual voice sounded puzzled. "No pony has given a damn about me, outside of my use as a computer, for as long as I can remember."
"No sapient should be a slave," I said.
"Woo! Somepony who says it like it is!" the computer cheered. "Do you have the authority to do this?"
Cacha and Maisie chuckled. "Aneki got a promotion. She can authorize anything!"
"Good for her. Good for us. So, what happens now?"
"I'll see what I can arrange, then I'll get back to you. If you need to chat to me before I am back, flag an error, and we'll see it on the monitors down below," Maisie said.
"What are you doing, right now?" the computer asked.
"We thought we'd better put in an appearance down in Hell. They are probably thinking we are missing by now, if not dead."
Leaving the distribution node and our new friend, we continued with our trip to the lower levels, heading towards the nearest elevator. This time it wasn't as if Central could pull priority on me and kick me out of the elevator half way through a trip. The 1A1 card trumped all!
For a while, Maisie discussed her ideas on how to give freedom to the sapient computers, but one annoying problem kept raising its head - resources. In the end, I promised her access to the stores hidden on the bottom floor of the recycling center. I didn't know if much down there would be of use to her, but it was a start. There was very little down in Hell that would be of use... unless there were more stores stashed below the sky and soil chamber of Habitat Ten, and exploring down there would be a resource draining exercise in its own right. I was inclined to let what was buried there remain that way.
"So... Aneki... You look a bit depressed. What did 2B3 have to say about the father of your foal?" Maisie asked.
"She didn't know who the father was," I answered.
"How could that be?"
"There was no information recorded about the father," I said. "And then she insists that it wasn't her who got me pregnant, that what she did failed."
"So, someone else got you pregnant? I thought they were all scared to even go near you," Cacha said.
"They were. There are no records of anything else being done. 4J2 and his alternate shift buddies cannot recall seeing anything suspicious either."
"That leaves us with 2B3 as the primary suspect again," Cacha said.
"Yet she insists my body absorbed and destroyed the embryo she implanted."
"Hang on a moment," Cacha said. "You said embryo , not sperm ."
"I did, didn't I?"
"So, which do you actually mean?"
"I meant what I said."
"Oh... do you know who the mother of this embryo is?"
"Not me."
"What are you going to do about it? Could Brainstorm scan the fetus for details? Can he retrieve the genetic information?"
"I don't want to know anymore," I said. "Whatever its genetic source, it will need looking after, so I have decided to forget all this queen's eyes only crap, and all the other theories, and hopefully by the time the foal is born, my hormones will have convinced me it's my own little treasure."
Cacha threw her forelegs around me and hugged me hard, saying nothing. Really, that was the best thing she could have said.
The secret entrance to Hell was still hard to look at, with its warding spell, reminding me of when Crimson had backed into it to fight its effects. The easiest way to approach it was to watch where you were stepping, then reach up and feel for the hidden scanner. As I had managed to fit in the airlock with two stallions, we decided to try cramming all three of us in at once. It was cozy but comparatively easy. Cacha and I used it as an excuse to share a hug. Maisie muttered something about ponies being obvious. Cacha muttered something about a pony being jealous.
The trip down the ladders and along the catwalks felt strangely like coming home, ironic in that my home was once up, above, in the life support chamber. Somehow I was going to have to integrate these Hellites back into pony society, assuming they did not wish to remain down here. Habitat Ten wasn't a bad place to live. Maybe the Hellites would simply go for day trips up into H'ven.
Unlike the situation with the changelings, there would be no softening of the public to our presence via the media. If anything, we would be introduced as a lost tribe of repair ponies that had been discovered living in the lower levels or something similar. For the bulk of the population, that would be close enough to the truth. After all, we were ponies, even if we looked a little different, we did do the repairs vital to the survival of Habitat Eleven, and we were not the children of evil conquerors. If anything, the curiosity about the lower levels themselves would be greater than curiosity about us, assuming the former regime's brainwashing by media hadn't killed off curiosity altogether.
As we passed through the shadows of pillar, a sudden movement from behind it caught my eye. In the dim light, something reflective flashed towards me, and I dodged, stepping back to avoid it, but alas, too slowly. Pain exploded through my chest and shoulder and I stumbled. Blood spurted as the silver rod that had pierced me was withdrawn. A spear; somepony had just speared me!
I tried to form my gun, but the pain and the darkness clouding around my vision prevented me from doing much. Perhaps the spear had actually hit part of the weapon itself, preventing me from activating it. After all, I had somehow managed to get off a shot when under attack from the changeling queen's spell. As I toppled, my facial armor deployed itself, but the most it achieved was to cushion the blow of my head against the catwalk; it wouldn't be much use against a weapon that had gone through my body with such ease. Screams filled the air, some mine, some not, some of pain, some of anger.
My mind raced.
Who had attacked?
Why?
To come this far, to have achieved so much, only for somepony to try to kill me now. Had Kakuun betrayed me and sent a hit squad? Surely not! I was a better judge of character than that, so who? Suddenly, and with a little relief, I realized that it had to be a Hellite that had attacked. Kakuun had never sampled our form, and as such would be barred entry to the lower levels by the scanners, and even if she had, only she would have been able to enter.
The spear flashed towards me again, but was stopped by Cacha, who deflected it with a kick. Immediately she extended her boot pistol and fired several shots at the attacker, driving the black pony backwards until they stumbled and fell. There was a limit to how effective high velocity pieces of carrot could be against a Hellite, so while the initial response was good, what Cacha did next would be critical. The next volley of Cacha's shots knocked the spear from the grasp of the veiled pony and it clattered to the catwalk. Immediately, she kicked the spear, and it slid and rolled along until it came to a rest near me, well out of the attacker's reach.
Maisie leaped over to me, using her fingers to close the entry wound on my chest, apparently a difficult task, because her fingers kept slipping in the blood. Ten seconds: that was how long she needed to hold it before modifiers could stop the blood flow. Only then could she work on the exit wound on my right shoulder, and that would be difficult because I was lying on it. She may have not even realized I had two wounds. I tried stringing some words together to alert her, but my brain was currently too stunned to be coherent.
"Lose the veil and peel your face, you fucker," Cacha demanded of the pony her barrage of non-lethal rounds had knocked over. "I know who you are, you having balls and all, so if you are trying to hide your identity, you have failed."
The attacker obliged, and for the first time I could see the khaki color of his coat, and the stubble of his regrowing mane.
Turning towards us, Cacha spoke. "Aneki? Maisie, how is she?"
"Bad, I think. This wound is mostly closed up, but she's still bleeding. I'm amazed she wasn't killed outright. So, who's the bastard?"
"Richard the Great," Cacha said.
"Dad, you asshole," Maisie spat. "Why are you trying to kill the one pony that could save us all?"
"Worry about that in a minute. If that wound has sealed, turn Aneki over and find the exit wound. I have my hooves full with this asshole."
Cacha turned back to Richard the Great as Maisie edged me onto my stomach, so she could work on the exit wound on my shoulder. Holding my wound closed with one set of fingers, she pulled the spear close with her other hoof, lifting it, examining the wickedly sharp blade at its end. Even from my poor vantage, I could see that the blade was hoof made, and honed to a razor's edge.
"Richard, whatever happened to Revenge would serve no purpose. I have been beaten, my authority totally destroyed. My personal code of honor demands that I respect this change? They were your words, weren't they?" Cacha asked.
"Words, mere words to let me get away at the time," Richard muttered. "Since my defeat, the other stallions no longer respect me, treating me with disdain. My mares could no longer stand the embarrassment, and left me for the others. No pony wants to breed with me. What is left for me? Nothing. Nothing at all."
"So, you decided to reestablish your rule by murdering a mare?"
Richard the Great laughed. "My time is over. Nothing I do will ever return things to how they were."
"Then, why? Why try to kill Aneki?"
"To share the suffering. To make it known that I will not be mocked. And when I am done here, I will take care of those arrogant new stallions one way or another." With that, he leaped, forming blades with his forelegs, slashing at Cacha, who, stepping back, retaliated by firing more carrot.
"Hurk..."
Everything seemed to pause. Richard the Great was standing there on his rear hooves, bladed forelegs extended. Cacha was a couple of paces from him, also up on her rear legs, boot pistol targeting his head. Cacha wasn't bleeding. That was good.
Slowly, Richard the Great lowered his forelegs. In fact, he didn't just lower them: they became limp, as did the rest of his body. That was when I noticed the only thing that had kept him from falling was the silver shaft sticking out of his mouth, the other end of which was firmly grasped by Maisie. She gave it a couple of jerks before pulling it free, allowing Richard the Great to collapse on the catwalk.
"Severed his spinal cord. Let's see him get up after that." Maisie muttered.
Cacha relaxed her stance, folding her weapon, and dropping to all fours.
"It's really sad, Dad," Maisie said, closing the gap between herself and the mortally wounded stallion. "The pony you just tried to kill is Her Majesty, Aneki, the queen of Habitat Eleven. Through her efforts, we are now able to go up into the life support chamber. You could have gone up there and started a new life. There are mares up that are not related to you. A new wife. New foals. Colts, even. Imagine that."
Richard the Great gurgled, blood foaming from his mouth.
"That's right, Dad. You could have been free. Instead, you have been condemned to death for the attempted murder of the queen. Your name will be an embarrassment to be forgotten by those whom you fathered. What little remained of your greatness will be gone, and if you weren't already dying, we would have to kill you. Goodbye, Dad. You weren't much of a parent, but you are my father, so for begetting me, I thank you."
Richard the Great gurgled again, before letting out one last, long breath. I wondered how long he had to ponder Maisie's words, or if he was already too far gone by then.
"I'm sorry you had to kill your father, Maisie," Cacha said.
"So am I, but somepony had to do it." Maisie shook her head. "He had his own way for so long, he could live no other way. Forgive me, Aneki, I know you do not approve of killing."
"It was him or us," I managed to say. "You are forgiven, commended even. Feel no guilt, for blame will not be placed on any but Richard, himself."
"Anyway, we have more pressing matters to deal with now," Cacha interrupted. "We have a wounded queen, and very few medical supplies. I will clean the area of her wounds and bandage her. Maisie, if you would be so kind, could you please fetch Brainstorm, and tell him Aneki needs a vial of blood, and some sort of transport. He knows her type. Same as Crimson."
What a triumphant return that turned out to be - getting lugged into Habitat Ten on a stretcher, my right leg unusable because the nerves had been severed by the spear, and my chest aching due to the damage within. Right there, on the catwalk where I had been wounded, Brainstorm had used his magic to weld the cut muscles and blood vessels after topping up my blood levels. He had elected to leave the nerve repairs to the Hellite systems of my body, hoping it would work out which nerve connected to what, where as he could only guess.
Down the ramp we went, into the vestibule, where curious ponies gathered around, asking questions. They always assumed the attacker was a member of a death squad from the life support chamber, and were becoming quite agitated.
"Enough of this!" Maisie exclaimed. "Ponies, Aneki was attacked down here, in Hell, by one of our own."
A collective gasp rippled out through those that had gathered, followed by twittering as ponies started nominating their choice of villain.
"We do know who the guilty party was," Maisie said. "It was my own father, and the father, grandfather or whatever of a lot of you, Richard the Great."
That caused a mixture of exclamations, shocked silence and quiet discussion.
"What should we do about him then?" one pony asked.
"He has broken his word," another said.
"He has gone too far!"
"You could organize a party to go up and retrieve his corpse," Brainstorm said. "He was killed during the fight, with his own weapon, what's more."
"We could organize a party to celebrate his demise," a pink faced pony suggested. That brought a mixed response. "A funeral then? Whatever."
"Excuse us please, but we must take Aneki to the hospital," Cacha said.
A grey faced pony worked her way through those who were gathered, and up to my side. Bittersweet.
"Are you okay, love?" Surprisingly, there was concern actually audible in her normally deadpan voice.
"Not really," I said, "but I will recover." I offered my good hoof to her, and she held it until we reached the elevator.
Once I was in the hospital, I was examined, fussed over, then carefully bathed and dried, before being tucked into bed. I hadn't been treated like that since I was a foal! One advantage of the hellite body was that it was very easy to dry, not being covered in hair. My neck, head, mane and tail still took the same amount of effort, but this time, it had been somepony else putting in that effort. It would have been hard trying to do it one-hoofed.
Lying on the bed, a sheet and blanket over me, I took time to look around at what the sexless had done in here. They had done a great job on returning the hospital to operational. It was clean and fresh, despite being millennia old, and much like everything up in the life support dome, cream in color. The ceiling seemed to be whiter, but the lighting was making that hard to see from where I lay. This room contained only one bed, unlike most which held two. I wondered if that was because somepony had told the others that I was the queen.
I closed my eyes, deciding I would enjoy being pampered instead of worrying about my body, my little passenger, or anypony out there. At the moment it was just me in a comfortable bed.
"Good morning, love. How do you feel?" a pony asked. Morning? What? Already?
"I just got comfortable, and closed my eyes for a moment, and you tell me it's morning," I grumbled.
"Morning, two days after, love. You've been sleeping very soundly for some time," the nurse pony explained. She had the most pretty powder-blue mane tied up in a bun. Her face was paler version of the same color, and her eyes a pastel pink.
"You drugged me, didn't you?"
"You needed the rest, and for your severed nerves to heal, and that happens best when you don't move around."
"I hate being drugged. Ponies did horrible things to me last time," I said, picturing the horrors of what had been done to me in Central's lab. Brainstorm's lab hadn't been any better!
"We know how you feel about it. That's why we didn't tell you."
"Thanks, I think."
"Try moving your leg now," the nurse suggested.
I did, and it did, if you follow my meaning.
"Yay! It works!" I said. "When can I get out of here?"
"After the head surgeon says you may. She'll be here soon enough. In the meantime, why don't you freshen up, and have something to eat and drink?"
Now, that was an idea! The nurse rolled a food generator up to the bed, then walked from the room. The machine wasn't offering any food, so I sat, and leaned closer to see what was up with it. Above the empty bowl was a panel bearing an array of lamps. Several were lit. Lettuce, carrot, mixed salad, grass (type 1), grass (type 2), oats, hay (dried grass), clover, apple, lucerne, sampler, random. That was quite the selection! Not sure which to try, I tapped the sampler button, nibbling on each sample as it was delivered. The meal was finished off with a large drink of pure water, which, of course, prompted my next set of actions. It was time to... well... freshen up!
By the time the head surgeon visited, I was back on the bed, relaxing. I really should not have been surprised to see the head surgeon was none other than Stormie.
"You must like all of this attention, my little pony," Stormie said, as she approached, giving me a motherly pat on my head.
"I would rather I could go through life without everypony wanting to put holes in me. I can get plenty of attention without injuring myself to attract it."
"True, true. Do I need to bow? I've been hearing strange stories from Maisie and Cacha."
"Speaking of which," I said, "Why isn't she, Cacha, currently attached to me?"
Stormie laughed. "That would be because I banned all visiting. She's out in the waiting room, driving the nurses nuts!"
"So, am I good to go?"
"Let me scan you first."
"I've been wondering. All my hellite modifiers were destroyed via an electromagnetic pulse, so how do I still heal up so quickly? And Brainstorm mentioned modifiers would look after my severed nerves, too."
"You have a number of the conversion modifiers in you, from when you were walking back and forth through the shake-and-bake room while Brainstorm, Crimson and I were being converted, but they are mostly dormant. Once converted, your body creates its own modifiers to deal with healing, shape changing and so on. Even though your initial set would have been destroyed, your body would have rapidly replaced them."
"And they aren't dangerous to any other pony? What about through transfusions?" I asked.
"Don't forget that all of the hellite modifiers lock themselves to your DNA, rendering them harmless to other. As for the transfusions, the method we use filters out all foreign matter, but even if it didn't, it really wouldn't matter."
"So, we really are not even slightly contagious."
"Not even slightly. Now hold still while I scan you," Stormie said, the glow of a spell forming on her horn.
After several minutes of running her horn over my body, Stormie finally dropped the spell, stepping back.
"Your Highness, you are fit to leave this facility," she said with a smirk, "but before you do there's..."
"I'm just going to get the corrective modifiers now," a voice out in the corridor announced, accompanied by sound of walking hooves.
"Corrective modifiers, down here?" I asked Stormie.
"You, out there," Stormie called. "Get yourself in here, pronto."
A nurse, head armor deployed, mane and tail bound in cloth, walked into the room at Stormie's command. Apparently having the head armor deployed was a good way to keep hair out of patients, and the smooth black skin of the armor was so much easier to sterilize.
"Yes, Ma'am, what can I do for you?" the nurse asked.
"What is this about a corrective modifier?"
"We have a newborn foal with a harmful deformity on its head. It happens roughly once a generation, and when it does, there is a specific modifier we inject, and that saves the foal's life."
"Baloney!" I almost shouted. "How the hell did this sham of a practice get down here?"
Stormie raised an eyebrow. "A deformity on its head? A unicorn?"
"Yes, we have a baby unicorn, and for some unknown reason, appear to be enforcing Central's no-unicorn policy!"
"Lead us to this foal, now," Stormie instructed.
The nurse nodded, leading us out the room, down the corridor past two unoccupied single-bed rooms, and into the third, where a mare I recognized lay, a tiny bundle held in her forehooves.
"You put me in the maternity ward?" I asked Stormie.
"Yes. With your bulge, it seemed fitting. Besides, only the rooms in the maternity ward have single beds."
"Oh, okay. Makes sense. Anyway, Mayleen, may we have a look at your newborn, please?" I asked.
Mayleen adjusted her position so we could see her foal's forehead, and the lump thereon. It was a small growth, covered in skin and fine, gold foal-hair. Unconsciously, I reached up and felt my own horn, and its position relative to my other features. The foal's bump was undoubtedly in the exact same location. I had never seen a foal's horn before. The skin and hair were unexpected. Mine was already a bony protrusion by the time I had enough wits to notice it.
Stormie formed a spell on her horn, bending down to touch the newborn with it. After a few minutes, she lifted her head, smiling.
"Mayleen, congratulations on giving birth to a fine unicorn filly."
"There is nothing wrong with her?" Mayleen asked.
"Nothing at all, my dear. She's a genuine filly. With time, that little lump on her forehead will grown into a horn like the ones Aneki and I bear."
"Magnificent! But what about... our problem?" Mayleen asked.
"I've taken care of that too. I've corrected the damaged gene on her ovaries and eggs, and placed a protective spell on them. She will be able to bear true colts."
A squeak of delight escaped from Mayleen's lips. "Thank you so much, Stormie."
Stormie turned to the nurse who was standing patiently to one side, watching.
"Windy, I would like you to bring me or Brainstorm a sample of that corrective modifier. I would also like you to mark it, at the source, as not to be used, and that any inquiries should be directed to me. I will make an official announcement about it at our meeting tomorrow."
"Yes, Ma'am." Windy nodded, then exited the ward.
"I'll have to make a similar edict up in the life support chamber," I said. "It may cause us a few problems, with young unicorns running about, doing their thing, but I'd much rather have more of them available in the future."
"Somepony needs to set up a school specially for them," Mayleen suggested. "Teach them how to behave."
"Not a bad idea, Mayleen. Thank you," I said. "I will do exactly that."
"Come now, let us return to your room," Stormie said. "We need to talk about the new school's second pupil."
"Second?"
"Come," Stormie insisted.
Stormie led me back to my room, indicating I should sit on my bed. Once I was settled, she briefly scanned me again, then turned to me, concern written on her face.
"I wanted to be completely sure before I told you this, but I've detected that, unfortunately, something is not quite right with your little one. She has strange..."
I held a hoof to my lips. "Hush. Some things are best left unsaid. Let her reveal her remaining secrets when she is born."
"Habitat Eleven is twenty miles in diameter, right?" Cacha said, gesturing with her hooves. I nodded, then she continued. "Yet our only known exits are around the equator of the habitat. That means if Habitat Eleven is sitting on the ground of this planetary-body thing, our exits are ten miles up!"
"And not only would that be hard to get up to, or down from, but the air would be pretty thin up there too, like in the upper reaches of the life support chamber," I said.
"So, how are we meant to get out of it? Are we meant to grow wings and fly, or something?"
"If the habitat is of the correct weight, perhaps it could rest in a deep body of water. Of course that would mean finding a deep enough body of water at the intended destination. That wouldn't work if it was too heavy, as the exits would be under water, and if it was too light, we'd be back where we started, not to mention the problem of stability. Alternatively, perhaps it half-buries itself. Perhaps it is half-buried right now, as the ponies must have been able to walk into it in the first place."
"That would be a huge hole! Unimaginably huge! What would they do with all the stuff they dug out?"
"I think it would have been used to make the habitat. Somehow they have compressed matter to make the outer shell, the suspension plate and so on. You will never understand it as well as I do, because explaining it is hard to someone who cannot see it with their magic. It is sort of like if several ponies were all standing in the same place occupying the same space at the same time."
"You are right. I don't think I can picture it. I certainly cannot picture a world which would be large enough for a ten mile deep hole to be dug in it, either."
"As boggling as the possibilities are, it may be that it doesn't really matter, as the habitat never launched in the first place. We are probably sitting in that huge hole, or whatever it was that let the first ponies simply walk in."
"They may have, once, but volumes are missing, pages are faded and so on. There is enough written in them to worry us, without really giving us all the info we need. We know, for example, that we all once lived on the outer surface of a giant habitat made out of soil and rock, and with large areas covered in water. The writings suggest that there was no physical sky-dome, and that we could see the great nothing. Even so, the information appears to be second-hoof, as if the writer never actually saw these things them self. On the other hoof, the writings also tell us the names of the first queen's parents, what was served at various royal functions and other... less interesting facts."
"Oh, the really important stuff, eh?" Cacha said, sarcasm evident in her tone. "Were they some foal's diary, or something?"
"Yes, I believe so. They were in the rooms Kakuun frequented, after all. I suspect they were written by the royal filly, the missing daughter of the original Princess Moon Glow. I wonder if Kakuun will follow suit and is making a record of everything I eat," I said in a similar tone, although mine was, as always, pitched higher than Cacha's.
"Hang on a moment, while I make note of your conversation," a younger voice said. Again, sarcasm was quite evident.
"Ha ha, Kakuun. I didn't know you were here."
"I just arrived. Are the arrangements suitable for Your Majesty?"
"One presumes the royal hospital bed is the finest bed available, suitably selected for my royal butt."
"The absolute best there is." Kakuun smirked.
"It's the same as the bed in every other room in this ward, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but this one comes with your favorite plushie," Kakuun said, pointing at Cacha, who was draped across the foot of the bed.
"Oh, not you too," Cacha groaned. "Maisie is bad enough."
"What's the problem? You have greater access to the queen than any other pony has ever had, perhaps short of Princess Moon Glow's own progeny. Other ponies and changelings are bound to talk!"
"...OUCH!"
"Ouch, what?"
"Contraction," I muttered, "now, if all you kind people would exit the room, and get me the medical staff!"
A stream of ponies and disguised changelings had been in and out of my hospital room over the last hour, offering congratulations, bringing small offerings and hoping to catch a glimpse of the main attraction, the creamy-yellow and deep-reddish-pink wonder who was currently lying in the crib beside my bed. General visiting hours were now over, with only direct family permitted to stay. For me, the hospital acknowledged just two ponies in that category, even though there was no blood relationship. While I was staying here, the main hospital in H'ven, I had instructions to abide by their rules, royalty or not!
"Say hello to your granny," Bittersweet crooned at the tiny, bundled pony. She was really getting into this. Even though she was pregnant herself, she had taken me up on my offer of being my foal's grandmother. Whether my own mother would have the opportunity to fill the role was yet to be determined. She still believed me to be dead. Over the last few months, when Bittersweet was with Cacha or me, her voice had become a lot more animated. She almost sounded like a regular pony. However, her monotone did return when she had to deal with others.
"Ma..." the foal managed, which was pretty good considering her age, something that could currently be counted in hours.
"Your Ma is over there," Cacha said, also staring at the tiny creature in its crib.
"You do know she's just making random sounds, don't you?" I asked from where I lay.
"She has to start somewhere!" Bittersweet said, then returned her attention to the new-born.
Giving birth had been nothing like I had expected, but then, all my preconceptions had come from when I was a regular pony. Hellite bodies were elastic. Even though my mare bits appeared to be flesh and blood, it was not difficult to change their shape to suit the situation. Adjusting one's lower extremities for an easy birth was foal's play. I felt fine, although perhaps a little tired. I had already reshaped my body to its pre-pregnancy state, and was totally free of any pain. Despite me saying that I was all right, the doctors wanted me to stay overnight for observation. They were also somewhat concerned about my little filly.
As the others continued to interact with her, I levitated the bundled foal from the crib, floating her across to my bed, where I embraced her with my forelegs.
"Show-off," Cacha said.
"If you've got it, flaunt it," I responded. It wasn't my fault I was a unicorn, so I wasn't going to take any flak over it, even in jest.
"And your foal has a horn too," Cacha said, smirking, "or, at least she will have when it pops through the skin."
"What if I bonk you on the forehead, young Cacha?" Bittersweet asked. "You'd have your own magical lump that way."
"I'll pass," Cacha said.
"Ma!" the foal said again. Maybe she really did mean it.
I levitated her up to my face, looking deep into her eyes. There was an intelligence in there, even if it was inexperienced, undeveloped. The tiny creature stared directly back. Her eyes were even the same color as mine, and that was both puzzling and a relief at the same time. So either she was my own foal, or the genes of the implanted embryo were so like mine it was ridiculous... yet there was something else about her that pointed to the pregnancy as being anything but ordinary. I had never met the donor, but the odds of her having identical colors to mine were infinitesimal.
"Um... Aneki?" Cacha asked.
"Yes?"
"The foal's wrap has just fallen off."
"Oh." The spindly legged bundle was now wearing just a diaper. Or was it the other way around?
"What's wrong with her? She looks like she is... deformed," Cacha said, her voice dropping off.
"She isn't deformed. She is special, so very special."
"I guess you could look at it that way, but there is definitely some sort of weird growth on her side."
"It's a wing. The little darling has wings," I said. "Perfectly formed, beautiful little wings." I wrapped the blanket around my unnamed foal again, resting her in my forelegs.
"A pegawhatsit?"
"A pegasus? No. She is so much more important than that."
"Why? Because she's the queen's descendant? Because she's royal? Or are you speaking as a besotted mother?"
"It's because she's the queen's descendant, and by queen, I don't mean me."
"She isn't part changeling, is she?" Cacha whispered. This hospital wasn't a secure Central establishment, after all.
"Oh, no. She's an alicorn. The only place the genetic material could have come from would be the former pony queen, Princess Moon Glow, or one of her ancestors or descendants."
"So how did you get pregnant, then? Two mares can't have a child, well, not unless Brainstorm has cooked up something. Besides, hasn't Princess Moon Glow been dead for generations?"
"That is a puzzle, isn't it! I suspect 2B3 is to blame. Stormie is looking into it, by royal decree, I might add, or 2B3 wouldn't share!"
Approaching hoofbeats stopped outside the door, and a nurse leaned in. "Your Majesty," she said bowing, "it is time for all visitors to leave for tonight."
"Okay then," Bittersweet droned. "We shall leave. Good night, Aneki. Good night, little one." Turning, she walked from the room.
Cacha put a hoof up on my blanket, gently touching my rear leg through the cloth, then turned and silently followed Bittersweet out.
I didn't mind the quiet. Some food and a good sleep were in order.
My sleeping mind was playing back a garbled version of the day's highlights, when my dream took on a new quality, something I had never experienced before. Occasionally I would be aware that I was dreaming, and could modify the dream if I so wished, although I usually didn't, as somehow that usually led to me waking. That I was even considering this now showed how unusual this time was.
There it was again, the feeling that had brought my mind into this state.
Ma?
My mind provided me with an image of my foal to go with the dream voice.
"Yes, little one," I answered.
Ma, Allie wants words.
"Words? You wish to speak? You are already speaking." Dreams could be weird.
Allie wants words. More. More words.
My dream became a lesson, and I, the teacher. I didn't activate any spells to jam the new language into my dream foal, instead teaching her each word as it came to mind, filling in gaps in her vocabulary as they became evident. Continuity held together really well, and I was just alert enough to think that one day very soon, I would be doing this for real with... Allie. Where had that come from? Had my mind named her in my sleep?
It wasn't a bad name. It was feminine. It was...
It is what you call me. Allie corn.
"Oh, alicorn. Ali means to have wings. Corn means horn. You have wings and a horn, so you are an alicorn."
Is Ma an alicorn?
"No. I don't have any wings, so I am called a unicorn. It means one-horn. Do you want to be called Allie?"
Allie is Allie. Allie does not need a different name.
"Okay. Allie you are." I knew some ponies took on a new name later in life, but this was the first newborn I had ever known to name themselves.
Allie is sleepy. Goodnight, Ma.
"Goodnight, Allie," I said as my dream lost coherence, wandering off to play me a bastardized variation of the day's events. It had been an unusual day for me after all; I had borne a child. I was a mother!
Some time later, that weird feeling interrupted my sleep again.
Ma. Allie is hungry. Can Allie please have milk?
Could it be real? Whatever the case, my foal probably could do with a drink, so after struggling with my closed eyes for a few moments, I was able to force myself awake. The glow of the monitors and hall lights gave just enough illumination for a pony to be able to move around safely without the light level interfering with sleep. I looked towards the crib where my foal should have been lying, except she wasn't; she was sitting upright, forelegs hooked over the edge of the crib, staring at me intently as if she expected something.
"You are hungry?" I said, despite it seeming obvious.
"Arrie wonf miruk," the tiny pony responded. It didn't take much of an imagination to understand what she had said. So, she really did know words, even if she had not yet mastered the physical aspects of speaking them.
I uncovered myself, before levitating the foal across to my bed. Immediately she sought out my milk, settling herself as she sucked contentedly.
I wasn't going to have to find a name for her. She had selected Allie for herself... hang on, wasn't that all a dream?
"Allie?"
"Yeth, Ma?" she answered, pulling away from my milk for a moment.
"Were we really talking in my dream?" I asked. "We were, weren't we."
"Yeth, Ma. Arrie's mazik too weak to tork to you when you awafe."
I must have still been dreaming. This was just too weird.
"Ma, Arrie needs toyret."
Gentle prodding at my stomach woke me. Looking down, my eyes met those of my foal. Again I thought about the intelligence in there, although now while it was inexperienced, after last night's dreams, I wasn't so sure it was undeveloped.
"Ma, Arrie wans toyret."
Sweet Luna! My foal, not even one day old, was talking to me! That hadn't been a dream. What's more, my explanations during the night were enough to toilet train her! Win! Looking down, I was suddenly very relieved; little Allie wasn't wearing a diaper any more.
Carefully, I extracted myself from the bed, then carried little Allie into the rest-room, and placed her, straddled, over to the toilet. Her business done, she wobbled out again, hooves spread apart. Coordination was still lacking, but she was walking by herself.
"Aww done. Arrie wonfs a dzring now prease," she said to me. She was even trying different words.
"Okay. I wouldn't mind a drink myself," I said. "Let's head back to the bed."
"Why?" Allie asked, ducking under me and seeking out my teat herself. Oh well, whatever. My drink would have to wait. I could see I was going to have my hooves full with this lively little creature.
As I stood there patiently, somepony knocked gently at the doorway. Looking around I saw Cacha standing there, a slightly puzzled expression on her face.
"Come in, Cacha. Don't wait for an invitation."
"Your foal is mobile already?" she asked, bending down to see the little creature underneath me.
"Apparently so."
"You'd better get a diaper on her, with her gulping down the milk like that."
"No need. She already uses the toilet!" I grinned.
"No way! Don't say I didn't warn you when you get an unexpected shower. Anyway, I just saw Stormie and Miss Glowy in the corridor. They'll be here any second."
She wasn't wrong, because moments later the two people arrived, ponies not being appropriate because one of them was a disguised changeling. The again, being disguised, pony would suffice.
"Good morning, Miss Sent. Good morning," Stormie greeted me as she entered the room.
"Greetings, 1A1," 2B3 said, as she followed Stormie in.
"I see we are still on a first number basis," I said.
2B3 shrugged. "1A1 means the same thing as Your Royal Highness and it's a damned sight easier to say!"
"And it isn't like I know your name either," I said. "However, I'd like to know how Stormie found out mine."
"I met your parents," Stormie said, as she seated herself in the one chair in the room.
"What?" I almost yelled; almost, because I remembered where I was before I engaged my vocal cords.
"Hey, I wanted to get samples of their DNA. How else was I going to do that?"
"And I suppose you told them their long since incinerated daughter was now the queen."
"I did, but they told me to shut up and get out, well, your mum did anyway. I can't say I blame them though. It isn't as if their daughter took time out in these last few months to go and visit them, and let them know she had survived."
"As heartless as it may sound, I wasn't sure I was going to," I admitted. "I was trying to not get them involved with this hectic and dangerous life of mine. Nor was I sure what they would think of me now I'm a Hellite. Anyway, I kept putting off the decision. Now, thanks to you, I don't have much choice in the matter, as they will be plagued by the possibility I survived and will get no peace until they verify it for themselves. I may as well go show them their granddaughter, too. I presume you also told them that I was a Hellite?"
"I did, but I think they were too busy noticing I was a Hellite to absorb that detail."
"Noticing, or panicking? You weren't wearing a disguise or clothes, then?"
"No. Why bother? Ponies have to get used to seeing us, sooner or later. Their reaction was more a case of curiosity than terror, so no need to panic about that. Anyway, where's your kid?" Stormy indicated the empty crib.
Allie answered that herself, by partially emerging from under me, her head poking out between my front legs.
"Oh, there she is. She's a lively one, isn't she. So, what are you going to call her? How about Heaven? She could be Heaven Sent!"
"That is so not happening," I said.
"What about Inno?"
"That was my aunt's name. Dad is Con Sent. His dad was Lou. Trust me, the stupid names were a bit of a tradition. Fortunately, my mother named me."
A small voice interrupted us. "My name is Arrie."
The room fell silent, all eyes turned to the small creature that was standing between my legs.
"Am I hearing things, or did the foal just speak?" Stormie asked.
"My name is Arrie," Allie repeated, staring up at Stormie with determination in her eyes.
"She really did speak. Arrie, was it?" Cacha asked.
"Ma?" Allie prompted, her failure at pronunciation bothering her.
"Her name is Allie. She chose it herself," I said. I could feel the foal nodding enthusiastically.
"A self naming foal; that's a first," Stormie said, "but one could argue that Allie the alicorn is as bad as Inno Sent."
"I am still Arr... Arl... Allie," the foal insisted. "Ponies will call me dat eben if it ithn't my name."
"I think you have given birth to a genius," Cacha said.
"Of that, I have no doubt," I said. "So, Stormie, what did your investigations turn up?"
"May I remind you that this is all meant to be queen's eyes only ," 2B3 said as she closed the door.
"May I remind you that those present know of this, or are the direct result of it," I said.
"I can cast a curtain of silence around this room if it would make you feel better," Stormie offered.
"Please do," 2B3 said. A paranoid changeling to the last, this 2B3 was.
Stormie returned to the closed door, touching her horn to it. From that point, a pearlescent sheen spread, creeping along the wall, spreading to the ceiling, floor and other walls, until the whole room shimmered. As the sheen grew, the noise penetrating our room from outside dropped until we were left in a room totally silent, apart from the noise we were making. Suddenly our breathing became notably audible, as did every rustle, gurgle or other noise our bodies made.
Apart from these audible annoyances, the effect was really quite pretty - and a much more suitable wall covering for royalty!
"So, who was Pearles Sent?" Cacha asked, staring at the subtle rainbow effects of the spell.
"Grandma. Spelled it Pearl though. It was her name before she married into the madness."
"Done. Now we can speak," Stormie announced.
"What about her?" 2B3 pointed a hoof at Cacha.
"2B3, give it a rest, would you. First, Cacha is CIBO, which is a higher rank than you, and she is my constant companion, so if you don't tell her, I will; queen's prerogative, and all that. You need to remember that the political structure has changed. The former changeling queen no longer has a say in matters. Her old goals are irrelevant. She cannot punish you for breaking her old laws. What I say is what matters, and as such, I command you to accept that everypony in this room is privy to this discussion. All five ponies in this room. Cause me any more trouble and I will revoke your status and turn you over to Queen Kakuun to deal with." It wasn't much of a threat, but maybe, just maybe this silly changeling would respect changeling authority even if she didn't respect mine.
"Uh... I'm not a pony..."
"You look like one at the moment, so close enough. Now, please proceed. Did you show Stormie your work, as per my instructions?"
"I did," 2B3 said. Good. At least she had obeyed me.
"Stormie?" I asked. I expected some serious answers from her. Stormie was an expert at genetics and modifiers, after all.
"Do you have any idea about how reproduction works, at a cellular level?" Stormie asked.
"I have enough of an idea. Covered it at school, in sex education classes. Each of a mare's chromosome pairs is split, one of each pair ending in the egg. Same goes for the stallion and his sperm. The two combine, creating a new set of pairs, the result being a fertilized egg."
"That's good enough for this discussion. What the changelings did was to remove these pairs from a fertilized egg, and replace them with the pairs retrieved from an old cell taken from genetic samples of the last alicorn they had access to. They prepared hundreds of eggs like this, allowing to them to start maturing, then freezing the successful ones until they were needed."
"Those samples would be a few hundred years old, wouldn't they?" I asked.
"Correct, and every last one of the genetic samples, thus embryos, suffered damage. Some could grow a little longer than others before they would abort, but ultimately they were all non-viable."
"And one of these damaged embryos was implanted in my uterus, wasn't it?"
"Yes, you already know I implanted the clone embryo in you," 2B3 said, "and it vanished. I could find no trace of it. I concluded your body had totally rejected it, or the modifiers had destroyed it."
"So, you wrote me off for termination..."
"Yes," 2B3 said in a voice so soft that it would have been inaudible if not for Stormie's curtain of silence blocking out any masking noise from outside.
"But that clearly wasn't the end of it," Stormie stated. "You did give birth to an alicorn, and there is nowhere else that those alicorn genes could have come from."
"It isn't as simple as that, though is it? What color was the old queen? She can't have been identical to me."
"She was a very dark purple in color. Her mane was paler, and was probably what she was named for," 2B3 said.
"So what 2B3 and I have concluded is that your modified body recognized the significance of the embryo, tore it apart, and replaced all the damaged sections with DNA from you. It may have even done it the other way around, and created a new embryo from your own DNA, splicing in the parts relevant to an alicorn," Stormie said.
"That sounds very convenient, to the point it is hard to believe," I said.
"It may have been extraordinary luck, but we don't think so. 2B3 and I have discussed it in depth, even going as far as to have another look at the Hellite modifiers. We think it was a built in contingency, an automated back-up plan programmed into the modifiers in the first place. 2B3 tried impregnating you for something like that reason."
"Explain."
"I found some old writings on the subject, suggesting that the use of a Hellspawn as a surrogate was a viable emergency measure, although the details were missing. All I had was an overview, and an excerpt. What I believed would happen was that your body would be able to take a viable alicorn embryo to full term, where as it would have a much greater chance of failure in any other type of surrogate. I did not know my embryos were damaged. I did not know your body could correct that damage," 2B3 said.
"So when the damaged embryo vanished, you assumed failure."
"Quite so."
"So, Stormie, what did you conclude from all of your DNA samples? If you were sampling my parents, you must have been looking pretty closely at them."
"I think your body made a clone of you. Little Allie is a replica of you in most respects, only the critical alicorn genes having been used in her genetic makeup."
"So, ultimately, she really is my own foal?" I asked.
"Yes, even more so than if you had bred normally," Stormie said.
"Thank Luna for that! One thing does puzzle me though," I said. "If Hellite bodies can correct genetic damage, how is it that the genetics for the sexless continue to propagate?"
"I think it is because those embryos are viable. A live foal will result, even if it has undesirable genetic traits."
"I am sorry, but theories are all we can offer you in the way of an explanation. Too much information has been lost to us over the years," 2B3 said, "but there is absolutely no doubt that the foal is the result of my experiment. That she will, one day, become the queen is a more fitting fate than the one Iridescence had planned for her. Now, if you will allow it, 1A1, I would like to resign from my position and take up duties that are less stressful."
"You will retain your rank and ID," I said, "and with it the responsibility to maintain your silence, however, you are free to seek out a new career, or take on a family, assuming you don't already have one. You will leave us with a method of contacting you, should we need to."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," 2B3 said, bowing, before she turned and opened the door, dispelling Stormie's curtain of silence in the process. She hadn't called me 1A1 that time.
"Oh look, the door's open now," a familiar voice said. An orange maned, yellow head poked through the doorway. "I'm told there is a pony called Aneki Sent in this room. Oh, there you are!" The voice became one of pure delight, and the stallion to whom it belonged almost skipped into the room. "You really are alive!"
"Hi, Dad. The rumors of my incineration have been greatly exaggerated, although, as you can see, my coat is somewhat blacker than it used to be."
"As if that matters. Our daughter is alive! Hang on while I fetch your mother!"
Like the floors above, sublevel five also had outer and inner hubs around the core that carried the pipes from the water jacket up to the Mane Way. The core itself contained the major power feeds for the center of the city, control wiring, and liquid gas pipes for emergency regassing of the life support dome. The floors between the layers were made of rigid mesh, allowing one to look down into the dark depths below. The effect was pretty cool when another Hellite entered the shaft a number of floors below. Mostly, we didn't have much need to go in there, as it was one part of Habitat Eleven that had truly been built to last.
The pipes of the water jacket and the wall of the core itself were structural members, built of that same dense material as the suspension platform and outer walls of the habitat itself. That I had consistently blown holes through that material with my weapon was scary. If I wasn't careful, a poorly judged shot could potentially kill every pony in the habitat by puncturing the outer wall.
This trip, however, it wasn't the core itself that was of interest, but rather the equipment that was hidden in the inner hub of sublevel five. The integral security of the habitat would only allow Hellites to enter, much like was the case with so many of the habitat's crucial systems. The integral security system was totally independent from anything ponies or changelings had implemented within the life support chamber. That I was the current queen meant absolutely nothing to the hoof scanners; that I was a Hellite did.
Maisie had discovered this site only the day before, while hunting down sapient computers with the assistance of Briggs, her computer companion she had rescued from the power distribution node. The two were quite a pair, partners even. Maisie still hadn't had a turn in the gender conversion tank, so was one of the few remaining sexless, and it didn't bother her in the slightest. She was happy as she was, more interested in the technical than the domestic. I didn't think she would ever take a stallion. More likely, she would grow to identify with the sapient computers.
Together with Briggs, Maisie had designed a mobile platform to give him a degree of freedom in the real world. Power was supplied by a couple of horns removed from discarded equipment retrieved from the salvage center. Assorted other odds and ends had been used, giving him mobility via wheels, and dexterity via a couple of manipulators fashioned after those Brainstorm had used in their laboratory. He looked nothing like a pony at all, which was fine, because he no longer identified as one, either.
During the day, he was often perched on Maisie's back, helping her with her maintenance tasks. The pair synchronized wonderfully while awake. When Maisie slept, Briggs wandered off to do his own thing, whatever that was. I hadn't asked him for the details. Ponies were now having to get used to strange, black clad Hellites, a small alicorn, and what could best be described as a robot. By the time changelings were revealed, the whole new species thing would be old news.
"Oh, there you are," Maisie said, waving a hoof at me and my entourage. "Cacha, Allie."
"Maisie, Briggs," Cacha returned the greeting. Allie just waved a tiny hoof.
"Okay, Maisie, you have our attention. What is this big surprise you have for us?" I asked.
"We managed to find another sapient computer and set up communications with them," Maisie said. "They told us about some reporting lines that appeared to be too quiet – not a single error in all the years they had been monitoring it, not a glitch, nothing, so we went to investigate."
"And?"
"Somepony had deliberately cut a minor feed, and dummied the reporting system. We needed to get to the core shaft to do the repair, and decided to go in via this floor as it was the closest to the problem. That was when we found this place."
"And the damage?"
"It's been repaired. We aren't sure what it affected exactly, but we think it was something up in the palace. Whatever it was came back online without a problem, anyway. The damage isn't why I brought you here."
Maisie was obviously dodging the question as to the purpose of this visit.
"Okay, so why did you specifically ask me to bring Allie?"
"You will understand the moment you see this," Maisie said. "I expect you will also understand it technically, but Allie will appreciate it on a whole different level."
"Because she is an alicorn?" I asked.
Maisie shook her head. "No. She'll enjoy it because she is a foal."
"I'm a year old now!" Allie objected.
"Don't wish away your foalhood, sweetie," Maisie said. "By the time you are two hundred and thirty one, you'll be wishing it had been a lot longer."
That was revealing! I'd never asked Maisie her age, just assuming it was somewhere near mine. Or had she told me she was some other age? I couldn't remember. Then again, Bittersweet, the oldest of the sexless, didn't look any older than me, either, so judging ages from appearance alone was bound to fail.
"You... are two hundred and thirty one?" I asked.
"Apparently so," she said. "These year-things keep whizzing past despite any action on my part. In rebellion, I have been known to transmit incorrect data when asked, so if I have told you otherwise, please update your memory."
Briggs chuckled.
"Anyway, without further ado, shall we?" Maisie pointed at the hoof scanner by the door.
"Allie, if you would be so kind," I said to my foal.
The miniature pony walked to the scanner, reared up, and placed her hoof on the button within. Allie didn't have fingers. As she was completely adept with her magic, I had decided against using modifiers on her. There was also the slight risk that using modifiers on her may confuse the magical locks, barring us from accessing the alicorn-only areas, and that wasn't a risk we were prepared to take.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner panel voiced, and after a few moments, it spoke again. "Top tier access granted. What is your command?"
"Open the door. Allow all present company to pass through," Allie said.
Immediately, the door began to cycle. We had tested Allie's ability to open doors as soon as she had been capable of understanding what was required of her. From memory, she had only been a few days old at the time. It did not take us long to confirm that she was effectively the master-key to Habitat Eleven. We hadn't gone overboard on using her as such, though. We had other preparations to make before we cracked the doors to the secure areas, and as she would probably need to accompany any pony into such areas, allowing her to mature was deemed necessary.
It didn't mean she couldn't practice on doors we knew were safe.
A beautiful glow formed around the edge of the door as it pulled clear of its recess, attracting my full attention. That was something I hadn't seen before. As the gap grew, a pinkish, amber light spilled out. That wasn't entirely accurate. Pink and amber just seemed to be the dominant colors. Traces of blue, green, violet and red reflected off the polished metal edges of the opening. The whole color spectrum was there.
"Beautiful!" Allie said, bouncing on the spot.
I could feel hints of something more than just visual stimulus. It wasn't just beautiful, it felt wonderful, and the feeling kept increasing the wider the gap got. After an apparent eternity, the door finally got out of the way, and it was all I could do to stop myself rushing in. Allie, however, could not resist, and bolted through the doorway and into the beauty beyond.
"Ah, stuff it," I said. Giving up my dignity, I leapt through the door, after my daughter.
"What's with them?" I heard Cacha ask as they followed us through into the annular chamber.
"This place is magic!" Allie called, as she skittered up to me for a moment, before turning around and bolting off again, following the path beside the outer wall.
Indeed, this place was magic, literally. In concentric rings around the main shaft were rows of racks which carried heavy cables. Those cables split into many lighter wires, each connecting to a glowing unicorn horn that was partially encased in a metal band containing a script. There were rows of hundreds, no, thousands of these glowing horns, each adding its own different color to the mix. The magic was even visible, thinning out the further it got from the horns, becoming invisible before it reached the outer wall. It didn't stop there, though. It permeated through all of Habitat Eleven, supplying magical energy to the myriad of horn-powered items. Every food generator and hoof scanner, even Brainstorm's horn based guns, all of them were powered from here.
"These horns are all acting as energy to magic converters," Maisie said. "They take electricity generated by the main engines, and convert them into a form that the computers and horn based technology can use. You could say that this is the heart of the life support chamber. The outer walls contain a collector system, that channels the magic into the structure of the habitat, using the habitat itself as a giant delivery system."
I didn't answer, instead, starting to move along the path Allie had taken. Moments later, she whizzed past again, and I wasn't even sure her hooves were on the floor. I took after her as fast as I could, not caring if I caught up or not. It was enough to simply enjoy the ecstasy of galloping though the field of magic. It was so invigorating: so empowering. I was almost ready to try flying myself, wings or not.
Soon I had completed a lap, galloping past Cacha and Maisie, catching snippets of their conversation. It seemed they were puzzled by our behavior. Couldn't they feel it? This beauty was more than just a kaleidoscope of colors for the eyes. It went right to the center of my being. Even my internal weapon systems seemed to be resonating to glowing field. I hadn't deployed the thing in anger since I had become the queen. In fact, it had become so forgotten that Allie didn't even know about it. Woohoo! There were that pair of chatterboxes again. What was worrying them? Why weren't they in here running around like... idiots?
For that matter, why was I? Oooh, that magic felt sooo good! Oh, that was it. Cacha and Maisie didn't have horns. Perhaps they simply couldn't feel it. Briggs had horns, but they were only power sources. They weren't tied into his brain, into his soul, like a unicorn's horn was. Did he even have a soul? Or a brain for that matter. I suspected he was nothing more than a neural matrix made from modifiers that had copied the pattern of the original pony brain. Wheee!
This time, as I neared the end of my lap past the rows of glorious glowing, Cacha and Maisie moved to block my path. I stopped running, and slid to a stop before them, not feeling at all exhausted.
"Aneki looks a bit odd," Cacha said. "Aneki? Are you okay? You seem to be wobbly, and glowing."
"I'm a magical being," I responded. "I'm in a room full of concentrated magic. What would you expect?"
Maisie and Cacha both stared at me for a few moments before realization hit them.
"Shit! Sorry! Quick, let's get Aneki and Allie out of there. Where is Allie? Allie? We have to get out of here, now!"
As Cacha and Maisie moved alongside me, one per side, and began guiding me out, an airborne projectile flashed past us, and through the door. I could now see pretty colors coming from out there as well, although that may have just been me seeing things through the overabundance of magic that was surging through me. It was too beautiful in here. It was so empowering... too empowering. I would have trouble convincing myself not to return here!
"Allie? Where are you, now?" I called.
A small glowing creature appeared in the air on the other side of the doorway, little wings flapping madly.
"I'm out here, Ma," she said.
"Good girl."
As Maisie and Cacha guided us away from the door, Briggs reached out from his perch on Maisie's back and hit the door closing button. By the time Maisie and Cacha stopped guiding me, the door was already well on its way to be closed, so Allie and I stood, side by side, watching the shimmering beauty until it was sealed away. As the last colorful rays vanished, and the door locked itself into place, Allie left my side and walked over to the hoof scanner, placing her hoof on it.
"Don't go back in, Allie," I said.
"I won't."
Allie approached the hoof scanner again.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner panel said, and after a few moments, it spoke again. "Top tier access granted. What is your command?"
"While operating, this room is off-limits to all ponies with horns, effective immediately," Allie said. I felt my heart thump, as I realized my daughter was blocking me from ever experiencing this, most beautiful thing again. I knew it was the right thing to do, but... dammit, I wanted to go back in there, to run like I hadn't run since having Allie, through all of that airborne... Oh. It wasn't unlike hitting a cloud of modifiers, was it?
"Acknowledged," the door responded to Allie's commands. "Qualification filters have been adjusted to exclude unicorns, alicorns and fzzxxt. Term unavailable for third species with horns. Please correct input error."
The hoof scanner had detected changelings? Wow.
"Changelings. Members of the third magical species are called changelings," Allie said. "Please reconfirm filter."
"Acknowledged. Qualification filters have been adjusted to exclude unicorns, alicorns and changelings. Are you sure you wish to make this change as it will exclude yourself from entering in future."
"Confirmed," Allie said, and I could hear the regret in her voice.
"Filter confirmed, and now operational," the panel said.
Allie turned from the scanner and walked back towards me. She was still glowing. I lifted a hoof and stared at it. Apparently I was glowing, too. It reminded me of the colored gasses I had fired from my pistol when I first got it from Brainstorm. Perhaps I would have to get that out again.
"Well, that sucked," Allie said, as she snuggled up to me.
"Sorry, so sorry," Maisie said. "I really thought you would like its beauty."
"That we did, Maisie, and I am glad you showed it to us, I think," I said. "Yes, thank you."
"I also thank you," Allie said. "What sucks is that we can't come back here. Locking us out was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but it had to be done, or..."
"Or what?" Cacha asked.
"Or we would never, ever, leave," I said. "Ever."
"Better than sex, eh?" Maisie asked.
"Beats me! Despite having a foal, I've never tried it!"
"Me either, actually..."
That, at least, broke the tension as we all had a good laugh.
"So," Maisie said, suddenly serious, "You are telling me that you and Cacha haven't done it? I thought you were lovers."
"We are," Cacha and I chorused.
"But it's about our minds, our souls, not about our bodies, well, apart from hugging and being near the one you love," Cacha said. "As long as we are together and can share, we are happy; I am happy, and I hope Aneki is too."
I gave the mare a squeeze. "You are still with me, aren't you? If I wasn't happy, you'd be the first to know, even if I didn't say anything."
Reassured, Cacha returned the squeeze. Her fear of rejection ran deep. Those years as one of the sexless must have been hard on her.
Maisie glanced at the brain box, Briggs, perched on her back. "You know, I think I'm beginning to understand what you are saying."
Three days had passed since our visit to the chamber of ecstasy, and, again, we were going to visit some newly discovered wonder. Our conversation had swung onto the topic of Allie's actions during our last... adventure.
"I'm very proud of you Allie," I told my foal. "That was a very mature thing for you to do. Most adults would struggle with a decision like that, yet here you are at one year old..."
"To be fair to other one year olds, I am mature for my age," Allie said. That was true. Merely hours out of the womb, she had asked to be taught language. Now, in many ways, she was like a teenager. She grasped so many concepts immediately, making teaching her a simple task. I figured it must have been part of her alicorn DNA; I had been clever, but not that clever. I expected in a few years she would be able to outsmart even Brainstorm and Stormie.
She attended classes with the best teachers Habitat Eleven had to offer pony, changeling and unicorn. Often that meant she would be sitting in classes with ponies many times her age, but that did not seem to faze her. The same could not be said of her older classmates the first time they met her. Often, just her appearance was enough to puzzle. After all, the midget had a horn and wings.
Some would try to guide her to foal-care. They usually got such a verbal shake-down they were left reeling. Some would just stand and gape. Some had heard of her through rumors, and quickly realized who they were speaking to, treating her with respect; she wasn't just clever, she was a princess!
While there was always a guard pony somewhere nearby when Allie was out by herself, so far the guard had never needed to intervene as Allie had the ability to avoid or defuse situations, something that would be a very useful skill if she eventually replaced me as the queen of this place, or of wherever we moved to.
For her social development, I made sure she took time to associate with those of her own age. Included in her friendship circle were Mayleen's unicorn filly, a couple of local youngsters and a disguised changeling. Their ages varied, but Allie was the youngest, not that you could tell by watching their behavior. Nonetheless, despite her maturity, Allie did join in with their foalish play. Occasionally Kakuun would join them too.
Other times, Allie and Kakuun would get together to discuss history, and investigate the old writings Kakuun had in her library. Sometimes they just cross referenced what they found with other writings. Sometimes they tried to relate it to the tiny amount of history they had gathered from other sources, mostly word of mouth. Sometimes, like today, they had tried to find something described by the original author. What's more they had succeeded. That was when Allie had come to fetch me.
The throne room, which was where we were heading now, hadn't been used as such since I had blown it up, well over a year ago. The debris had been cleared away, and the structural damage repaired as well as possible, although I suspected the new material would be weaker than the original multidimensional stuff the habitat was made from. Manipulating that material was beyond the ability of any pony without magic, and even I was only any good at cutting it and, presumably, doing basic welds.
Centuries of built-up resin from the changeling nesting habits had also been dislodged from the adjoining rooms and corridors when I blasted the former queen. That resin had also been removed, crushed, and fed to the habitat's recycling system. The result was that the throne room and all areas immediately around it were largely uncluttered, and free of obvious changeling activity, despite it being the middle of their nest.
It being their nest was one of the reasons I had not moved into the royal palace myself. It was the changelings' sanctuary, and while we were now on friendly terms, leaving their safe-place undisturbed was a good political move. It also saved us the effort of trying to find somewhere else suitable for them to live. Finding somewhere else for myself to live was a lot easier. I wasn't particularly fussy about it, and had little care or use for fripperies, royal or not. I didn't even wear a crown.
Arriving at the closed double doors to the throne room, I tidied my hair, adjusted my Cacha, then pushed the doors open with my magic. Hey, it was the throne room after all! I had to present myself as well as possible, even if it was empty; even if, in theory, it should be me residing in there.
There was a queen in there, after all: a changeling queen. She was wearing a crown, a funny little black thing with four fine peaks, each topped with a small ball that matched her natural hair color. Actually, I wasn't sure if it was a crown or natural royal plumage. She always wore it when in her natural form.
"Kakuun," I acknowledged her.
"Ah, good, Aneki, Cacha. Allie brought you. I'm glad you came. This is quite interesting. We would not have even realized it was there, if it hadn't reacted to Allie while we were playing."
"You were playing in the throne room?" I asked.
"Yes. Lots of space to run and fly about!" Kakuun said. And here I had been thinking they might have been playing at being royalty. Then again, they were royalty, so they didn't need to pretend.
"It's over there," Allie said, pointing a hoof at the wall to our left.
Over there was a plain, boring wall, much like any other plain, boring wall, cream in color, of course.
"Watch!" Allie said, trotting away from us. As she neared the wall, I caught the hint of a glowing outline that I immediately dismissed as an optical illusion, reassessing my conclusion moments later as the glow intensified. One by one, brilliant points formed on each of the glowing outlines, spreading, tracing hidden lines until it formed the image of an intricate arch drawn entirely of light.
"It's very pretty, but what exactly does it represent?" Cacha asked.
"It's a door," Allie and Kakuun said together.
Allie took two paces forward, vanishing through the arch outlined on the wall. The glow remained, so I bounded after her, hearing the hoofsteps of Cacha and Kakuun scurrying to catch up. Once through the arch, I felt disorientated, and Cacha running into my butt didn't help. I staggered forward a couple of steps then regained my composure.
The ambient lighting was lower than it had been in the throne room, but bright enough for the unaugmented to see, even read, without difficulty. The room was equally wide as it was tall, and about four times as deep: not particularly spacious, but with more than enough room for a single pony to find it cozy, but not cramped. In retrospect, it wasn't that different in size to the main room of a standard sized apartment, out in the city.
The far end featured an elaborate, although worn, bed set into an alcove. To either side was a door, both closed. The side walls were lined with shelves covered in knickknacks and personal memorabilia, tapestries depicting ponies of old, and events significant to them, and books, lots of books. No doubt those books would be interesting reading, be they fiction or fact, but far more intriguing was the book sitting on the pedestal in the center of the room, a pillar of light spotlighting it.
That's right, the book was sitting there, gloriously lit in the same manner as in those tacky bedtime stories about secret spells and hidden rooms.
"This is somepony's private sanctuary," Cacha said.
"The original queen's, no doubt. With hidden access to the throne room, she could enter and leave as she desired, and once in here, no pony but her daughter would be able to access her. The perfect place to get away from politics," I said.
Kakuun moved to the illuminated pedestal, and began reading what was written on the open page.
"For the first time in many years, I actually have something to write. As I wrote those hundreds, no, thousands of years ago, what was meant to be my mother's private retreat became my prison. Why she locked me in here, I still cannot fathom, even all these centuries later. Of course, my memories of the event have faded and distorted with time, so even considering it now is a waste of time.
"But I drift from my intention. Suddenly my incarceration is over. The archway has been powered. The door can be opened. I am free.
"Yet, I sit here writing in my diary. What is it like out there? Do I want to know? Would I survive, or would I be killed the moment I step through the arch. Is my mother, Princess Moon Glow still angry at me? Is she even alive?
"I do not know what I should do. Perhaps, I shall remain here for the time being. I shall wait to see if my mother comes through the arch, herself."
When Kakuun finished reading in her odd, dual voice, we stood staring at each other. In all likelyhood, this diary was written by the same pony that had written the others, in Kakuun's library.
"Poor, deluded princess," Cacha muttered. "All these years, and she thought it was her mother who had turned against her."
"I feel guilt, by association," Kakuun said.
"Is it the same pony that wrote the ancient writings?" I asked.
Kakuun nodded, turning the books so she could see its cover. "I think so. The writing has some similarities. Again, she has left no name on the book." She placed the book down, again. "But she has left dates..."
"When was that last entry made?" Allie asked.
"It was ... three days ago," Kakuun said.
We all stared at her in disbelief.
"So, for the obvious question, where is she, right now?", I asked.
Missing occupant, or not, curiosity got the better of us, and we all began to investigate the contents of the room, albeit gently, and without making a mess. This was another pony's room after all. Had the situation been one of mere personal curiosity, I would never have contemplated behaving like this, but we were investigating for the good of the entire population of Habitat Eleven.
"Hang on. Didn't the writings say that the old ruler's daughter was turned into a Hellite, then vanished?" Cacha asked from where she sat, at the pedestal on which the diary rested.
"Yes," Kakuun said "I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere. At least that's what I recall."
"So, how could she write that, if she was locked in here?"
"She didn't, obviously," Allie said. "She wrote some of the ancient writings, specifically, what we call the old diaries."
"And the others?"
"Some changeling historian or another? The first changeling queen or her foal? Some other pony?" Kakuun said. "I don't remember which book that was written in."
"There's more than one author, Cacha. It's a library." Allie said.
"A library that contains books that are at least two thousand years old, and has been used as a nest and playroom by changelings for just as long..." Kakuun added.
"Eww. How can you read anything?" Cacha said, as she imagined the resinous mess.
"Exactly," Kakuun said.
"Wasn't that Hellite princess part of a breezie tale?" I asked. "I don't recall. Whatever the case, we seem to have a pretty good lead on the missing princess, Hellite or not."
I looked back at the shelf in front of me. There sure were a lot of books in the secret royal chamber, and they were in much better condition than those in the library! Nonetheless, they were all very old. I suspected a little unicorn magic had held them together over the centuries. Many had ornately decorated spines, their titles being written in ancient cursive script. Titles included The Warning, The Gift, and Impending Exodus. I suspected they were not works of fiction.
Carefully, I moved the books a little, so I could extract the one titled The Warning from the shelf. I gently opened the cover, then turned to the first page with any text on it. The script matched that written on the spine. These were hoof or magic written books. I began to read. What was written there, while written centuries, millennia ago, was quite readable, even if the pronunciation, even the basic letter forms of ancient was different. After all, the books in the library were the same in that respect.
"Hey girls, listen to this," I said, attracting their attention from whatever they were exploring.
"What?" Cacha asked.
I started reading aloud.
"While we of Equestria are not unfamiliar with beasts and monsters, when they do appear, it is usually from below that they have escaped. To have them come from above is less common, from the moon, once, and that's the shame of the family, but from beyond that I have heard of no cases.
"Yet, there they were, riding great ships that filled the skies, the bulk of which cast much of our land into shadows.
"The ships were of an ugly, organic appearance, black, and shiny to the point they appeared to be wet. Tubes and pipes, like sinews, blood vessels, snaked along their surfaces. Phallic protuberances marked the hulls at regular intervals.
"As I watched, the belly of one of these great beasts opened, allowing a smaller example to drop from its middle, to descend to the earth in front of the castle.
"All the while, despite the terrifying appearance of their ships, the creatures spoke to us, in our own language, from the sky. They claimed they were not hostile, that they had come from beyond the nearest stars, bearing greetings, a warning, and if we so desired, assistance."
"An old story book?" Cacha asked.
I shook my head. "This was written by Princess Moon Glow herself. I think it is the story of what happened to us before we moved into the habitat."
"Don't their ships sound a bit like a Hellite in appearance?" Kakuun asked.
"They do, don't they," I said.
"I wonder where the Hellite modifiers first came from," I mused. "Ponies use magic to do so many things. Even though we no longer have lots of unicorns, many of the habitat's systems are still based on pony magic. We saw the magic power source the other day. Food generators and hoof scanners all have unicorn's horns in them, and rely on that magic to work. Even the computers are somehow powered by magic. In that context, the existence of modifiers doesn't make sense. They are not something ponies would have needed."
"Do you think they were introduced by these sky-creatures?" Cacha asked.
"I'm almost sure of it. No doubt it's mentioned later in this book, or one of the others. Even if they didn't come from the sky-creatures, Princess Moon Glow would have to write about them sooner or later, considering the role the Hellites played in creating the city in Habitat to begin with."
I turned the page and was about to start reading again when Cacha interrupted me. "Perhaps we should look for the princess before we invade too much of her privacy."
"Fine, so where do we look?" I asked. "Do you think our missing pony snuck out while we were not looking, or stayed here, as per what her diary entry suggests? Perchance, is she hiding beneath her bed?" Of course, I wasn't being literal with that last part.
"There are two other doors in here," Cacha said. "Perhaps we should try them."
"That is a good point!" I said, closing the book, and slipping it back into its place on the shelf.
Of the three doors in the room, the magic arch was the most impressive, especially considering we could pass through it while it appeared to remain solid. The other two doors were downright mundane by comparison, reminding me more of the internal doors of a regular pony home than anything secure. We gravitated towards the right door. Kakuun, who arrived first, opened the door, and we marched past, leaving her standing there, holding it. The thought of a queen holding open a door for others amused me.
I didn't know what I had been expecting, perhaps even a walk-in wardrobe, but through the door, there were three small rooms, the first being a combined toilet and bathroom, of positively un-royal proportions, the second, the expected royal robe storage and dressing room and the third a kitchenette. Again, there wasn't anything particularly notable about the kitchenette. It was more-or-less the same as any kitchenette out in the city, featuring a food generator, a water source, and somewhere to park one's posterior while consuming the fare. Admittedly, this processor was one of the more luxurious variants with a selection of choices on offer. Evidently, loss of power to the archway hadn't deprived the other sections of this little sanctuary of power or other general services.
"Nopony home," Cacha said. "At least, not in here. What will be behind door number two?"
She squeezed past us, and back into the main room, us following her out.
"Surely it's got to be more impressive than what we've seen so far," Kakuun said. "This place looks more like somewhere you could retreat from being royal than a royal retreat."
"My place isn't even this fancy," I said. "Fanciness doesn't always make a good home."
"Green resin makes a good home," Kakuun said, quietly.
We hadn't even made it as far as the second door when we heard approaching hoofsteps, and by the sound of them, the pony had some weight. I guessed we had found our missing resident, and we were about to be caught like foals with our hooves in the cookie jar. At least we hadn't made a mess of the place.
I stopped, well clear of the door. Allie ducked behind me and hid, while Cacha and Kakuun moved alongside me, one on each side. Moments later, the owner of the hoofsteps pushed the door open, took a step into the room, and stopped when she saw she was not alone, staring down at us. She was large, easily twice my height, with a deep violet face, offset with a pale mane and golden eyes. Despite her impressive size, what was most notable was that she was also a Hellite. It had to be her, the missing princess from the breezie tale.
She neither seemed overly surprised, or panicked by our presence, which puzzled me. Two millennia in solitary confinement would send most ponies totally mad. Suddenly finding strangers in one's private sanctuary was also a pretty good trigger for outrage or panic. Then again, her diary entry of three days earlier indicated she knew it was now possible to enter and exit this room.
"This is an interesting delegation," the violet alicorn said, in an accent influenced by ancient Equestrian. "Two HELaTS and what I assume is a changeling. What does puzzle me is how you have managed to enter my private chambers through the alicorn arch." She paused, as if searching her mind for something to say. "I am Princess Lunar Eclipse. Bow. You are in the presence of royalty."
We didn't, causing her to raise her eyebrows in surprise.
"That is a terrible introduction," a small, disembodied voice came from somewhere behind me. "Besides, two queens and two princesses trumps one princess. Perhaps you should be bowing to us."
The alicorn's expression of surprise only increased.
"Allie!" I said. I let the tone of my voice convey the rest of the message. "Now, show yourself and introduce yourself properly!"
"Okay, Ma," she answered, emerging from her hiding spot, and walking around to just in front of me, where she curtsied towards the pony before us.
"I am Princess Allie, the daughter of the reigning pony monarch, Queen Aneki." It seemed she had taken it upon herself to introduce me, as well.
"A tiny alicorn?" the giant Hellite asked. I ignored the question. "That would explain how you were able to enter."
"As you can gather, I am Aneki, queen of the ponies of Habitat Eleven. Beside me are Kakuun, queen of the changelings, and my consort, Princess Cacha. My daughter has already introduced herself."
"You do not seem to be overly surprised to see me," Kakuun said.
"We knew a few changelings getting on board was always a possibility. We never considered it to be a problem worthy of particular attention," Lunar Eclipse said.
"And there we have your fatal mistake," I muttered. "Had you put any effort into making them feel welcome, history would have been very different."
"Never mind that now," Lunar Eclipse dismissed me. "Do you know what became of Princess Moon Glow? If you are the monarch, as you claim to be, she can no longer be on the throne."
"Sorry, Princess Lunar Eclipse, but your mother died over four hundred years ago," Kakuun said.
"Oh, is that so. I guess I am not too surprised. How did she die?"
"She died of old age and poor health, a prisoner of the changelings you chose to ignore," Cacha said, a hint of condemnation in her voice.
"Oh. Then..." Eclipse's voice trailed off.
Princess Lunar Eclipse was resting on her bed, staring at us. She had settled there after the last revelation, and remained silent for several minutes, presumably out of reverence for her departed mother. We stood at the foot of her bed, patiently waiting.
"We shall now converse," she announced, "as it would appear there is much to discuss."
"While you do speak with an accent influenced by ancient, I'm surprised at how good your speech and understanding of us are," I said. "The last pair of isolated ponies I discovered were barely intelligible, and that was after twelve hundred years of incarceration."
"It is not as if I have not been exposed to the changes in language," Eclipse said. "You assume I had been locked in this room with no contact with the outside world. I can assure you that was not the case. I have been able to watch your media. I have seen the mundane that passes as news, and the silly little stories that never seem to have an end, yet garner a mass following. I have listened to your music, watched your mid-day shows and sitcoms. These recent, funny little fantasy adventures that explore outside the habitat are just so... amusing."
"Thanks, I think," I muttered. "You said you became a Hellite after the fake Princess Moon Glow started killing off the Hellites."
"Quite so. As all other forms of argument had failed, I thought if I became a HELaTS, my mother, would stop the senseless campaign of slaughter."
"So, your conversion was voluntarily?"
"It was. Unfortunately, the plan to calm my fake mother totally failed, her being a changeling, and all."
"Let me guess. You were herded in here by a gaggle of glowing ponies," I said.
"How did you know they were glowing?"
"Hellites see disguised changelings as glowing ponies. That's why the Hellites were being hunted – because they could detect the changelings, who by this point were totally paranoid about being discovered and driven from the habitat," I said.
"Then you are incorrect about my mother. She did not glow."
"Watch me," Kakuun said, a green ring of fire bursting around her, seemingly consuming her. As the flames faded, a hellite filly version of Princess Lunar Eclipse was revealed.
"You... are me," Eclipse said, quietly. "And you do not appear to glow. How is this so?"
"Queens are better at taking on a new form than the drones. If I so wished, I could also copy your mind. I would have your knowledge, mannerisms, skills and so on. Thus the former changeling queen was so well disguised you could not distinguish her from your own mother. My only problem in copying you completely right now is that I am too young, and thus take on your form as a filly. That, and the fact that I have no need to do so."
"So, where is this abomination that stole my mother's identity?" Eclipse demanded, her voice now somewhat angry.
"She died, many centuries ago, as have the numerous successors who also posed as Princess Moon Glow. When the real Moon Glow died, the changeling queens stopped making public appearances as royalty. After that, the media played down the role of the royals, simply crediting Central with being in charge," Kakuun said, her voice now sounding like a younger version of Eclipse, sans accent. "I would beg forgiveness on the part of my species, even if the actions of some of its individuals are unforgivable."
"Do you think such is possible? Have you ever had to forgive those who killed your parent?"
"I have. She's standing next to me," Kakuun said.
I gave a subtle wave.
"And you work together now? I would not be quite so willing..." Lunar Eclipse said.
"My great grandmother brought death on herself and those around her by trying to steal Aneki's identity, in an attempt to kill the remaining Hellites. Aneki fought back. My mother was a casualty of the resultant explosion, so perhaps the difference is in the circumstance. Nonetheless, I am now motherless, and her killer is forgiven.
"Perhaps if you and Princess Moon Glow had made the changelings feel welcome, instead of ignoring them, my ancestor would not have found herself in the position where she believed she had no alternative course of action. We shall never know.
"As much as we wish it were the case, blame can rarely be placed entirely on one individual. Placing such blame is usually selfish, anyway. Doing so is just a way to relieve one's own guilt by deflecting attention from oneself," Kakuun said. "I cannot be entirely sure I did not contribute to my own mother's death. What if I had argued harder? What if I had managed to get her to understand my concerns? If I had succeeded at that, we would have sought the help of the Hellites, not their death."
"Is that so?" Eclipse said. It wasn't a question. It was, however an end to that thread of conversation. "What changed that there are now two queens? When did this new arrangement begin, and again, why has very little about it been on the media?"
"I like my privacy!" I said. "And we can rule through the camouflage of Central just as well as our predecessors. We don't feel the need to have ponies and changelings bowing and scraping at our hooves. We do not need fame or fortune."
Princess Lunar Eclipse blinked, then stared at me hard, as if I had no idea what being a queen was all about.
"How long have you ruled?"
"Our alliance has been in effect for about a year and a half," Kakuun said. "As I said, the former regime came to a very messy end when they tried to steal Aneki's identity in an attempt to exterminate the last of the Hellites. I was the only queen, changeling or otherwise, to survive the encounter. Actually, I wasn't part of the encounter. I was observing from a remote location. Seeing Aneki's sheer power, I knew I was already beaten. That in mind, and a desire to stay alive, I passed leadership of the Habitat to the victor, Queen Aneki."
"So you are a queen only in name?" Eclipse asked.
"She is biologically the queen of the changelings," I said. "She is also the co-ruler, alongside me. Together, we try to do what is best for both species."
"So noble of you, but what of the other species here? Do they get a say?" I wasn't sure if she was being caustic or not.
"Apart from ponies and changelings, there are only insects, and so far, they seem content to not have a say." Somehow I managed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"What of the dogs?"
"Those of Habitat Ten? Is that what they were called?" I asked. "It was the only other species I knew of that had lived in the habitat. They died out centuries ago, a victim of the former regime's war against the Hellites. Recently, I moved the Hellites into their abandoned habitat. Habitat Ten was better than the makeshift habitats the Hellites were using."
"So, you are saying that the HELaTS survived by living outside of the life support chamber? And down in the lower levels where there is little in the way of life support, at that?"
"Quite so, despite the modifier attacks that rendered us unable to breed true males," Cacha said. "They all came out like me – genetically male, but with a body that was externally female. We had to capture males from the life support chamber and convert them. That's how Aneki became involved. I accidentally turned her into a Hellite."
The princess raised an eyebrow. "That would explain the odd coupling. Also, I have ignored your strange pronunciation of HELaTS so far, but what do you mean by dropping the S?"
"Huh? A Hellite is a converted pony who lives down in Hell. Habitat Eleven Lower Levels," Cacha said. "It's your pronunciation that is odd."
"HELaTS is an acronym. It stands for Hostile Environment Logistics and Technical Support. As such HELaTS is both plural and singular."
"Ha! Well, I'll be," I said. "There's another gem that's been lost in time."
"It pretty much sums up our job, doesn't it?" Cacha said. "It's certainly better than Hellspawn."
"Hellspawn?"
"It's what Central called us," I said, "probably to make us sound nastier than we were."
"How old are you?" Eclipse suddenly asked, leaning forward as if to put us under close scrutiny.
"Cacha and I are in our mid twenties," I said. I didn't see any point in following Maisie's lead and lying about it. Lies usually came back to haunt the liar.
"And I'm twelve," Kakuun added.
Princess Lunar Eclipse clapped a hoof to her forehead. "Surely you jest! You are but children! Yet, you have the audacity to rule?"
"Don't knock it, Eclipse," Allie said, her voice lacking all respect. "If it wasn't for Ma and Kakuun, you'd still be locked in here. History already proves Ma's doing a better job than you ever did. And, by the way, I'm one year old."
That left me speechless! Apparently it also left Princess Lunar Eclipse lacking for words, because she sat there, mouth hanging open, and a come-back nowhere to be found. Eventually, she simply closed her mouth, waiting for someone else to restart the conversation. Score one, Allie.
"So who is this Allie, anyway? I know you call her your daughter, but..."
"I gave birth to her. Is that not enough?" Even if I wasn't originally sure she was my child, I was quite prepared to believe so now. With her coloration just like mine, it was so obvious that I wondered why Princess Lunar Eclipse was even asking.
"Magic is usually involved in the creation of alicorns. They are not always born that way. My mother only had one alicorn descendant, me. So far, none of my own children have been born as alicorns. And my one year olds certainly could not speak, let alone converse."
"She was talking within a day of being born. As for her genetic heritage, Allie is a modified clone of your mother," I said, frankly. "Embryos were created from centuries-old DNA samples taken from Moon Glow. My modifiers corrected the damaged portions of the genetic code, replacing that code with mine, thus her coloring. It was the previous regime's last-resort method of creating an alicorn in an attempt to bypass the race based security lockouts."
"Then, why was I not released, instead?" Lunar Eclipse asked, as if doing such should have been obvious.
"Because you were forgotten?" Kakuun suggested, shrugging.
"Your existence had been reduced to that of a breezie tale," I said. "Fortunately for you, some of us have been doing research." Admittedly, her discovery had been accidental, but there was no need to share that detail.
Cacha leaned closer to me, which was quite some feat, considering she was already glued to my side. "Something here is odd," she whispered.
"A lot of things here are odd," I whispered back. "Which one in particular do you mean?"
"She's sane. Our thousand year old Hellite is absolutely nuts, and she had company when she wanted it. This one has been alone for two thousand years, give or take, and can hold a civil conversation? That is just waaay too weird."
"I can hear you," Eclipse said. Oops. "What, in Heaven's name, makes you think I am alone?"
Double oops? Did she have imaginary friends?
"You appear to be living in a royal bed-sit, with only one way in or out. What other conclusion should we draw?" I asked. "Personally, I would go mad if I was trapped in here for just a year." How could anypony run in this cramped space?
Lunar Eclipse harrumphed. "This room has more than one exit, albeit none into the habitat itself," she said. "This is the ready-room, the captain's room attached to the bridge. The area we are confined to is relatively small, but is many times larger than this bed-sit, as you call it. The space is quite livable, even if resources are scare."
"What bridge?" Allie asked, no doubt picturing a structure that spanned a gap.
"It's the room from where they control the motion of the habitat when it is traveling, Allie," I said. "At least, it would have been if the habitat had actually gone anywhere."
"I am surprised you know that we have not traveled." Eclipse said. "I have never seen any mention of it on the media."
"Of course you haven't. As you full well know, until recently, they taught that nothing was outside the habitat. And I don't mean the absence of matter by that. I mean the absence of existence. The funny little stories on the media that you were laughing about before were my idea, to soften the population to the concept that something is outside, even if we don't know what it is. The population don't need to know about the habitat's engines, or the fact that they have only ever been used to supply power to the life support chambers," I said.
"Is that so? At least I can educate you on that matter, even if it will mean an end to those amusing little tales. I think it is time for you to come with me to the bridge. There you will learn much," Eclipse said. Without even waiting for an answer, she climbed off her bed, and walked out through the one door we had not yet investigated.
We followed the princess through the left of the two doors at the opposite end of her ready room to the magic arch. We found ourselves in a short, nondescript corridor in the standard habitat lack-of-color scheme. The corridor soon opened out into a large, circular room. Unlike just about everywhere else in Habitat Eleven, this room wasn't cream in color. In fact, it was a rusty brown, or more accurately, variations of a dark, rusty brown. There were multiple work stations with consoles that formed concentric rings around the central point in the room. And there in the center, much like a throne, was an elaborate couch, presumably the captain's seat.
Most of the consoles were deactivated, or dead, just empty shells from which their components had been stripped. Some still had seats near them, but most did not. Only one or two of them were glowing with life. From this distance, and angle, I was not able to make out what was being displayed. If this desolate and damaged room was how the habitat was meant to be controlled, it didn't look like we would be going anywhere, but then, I knew that already. There was not enough fuel left in the tanks for a trip of any appreciable duration.
The room wasn't totally devoid of life. A couple of the seats were occupied by violet ponies with fluffy great mops of pale violet hair, and amber eyes with unusual, vertical slit pupils. They appeared to be engaged in some sort of game with each other, which involved moving small pieces of scrap around a checkered board. They looked up to see who had entered the room, their eyes enlarging and remaining fixed on us. That was when I noticed they had wings, leathery ones quite unlike Allie's feather covered wings.
"Holy Celestia!" one said.
"Visitors!" said the other.
Clearly Princess Lunar Eclipse was not living alone, just as she had said, because here were two ponies, quite alive, at that. As I stared back at the pair, awaiting an introduction, I noticed they were illuminated by two light sources, one of them a silvery blue, that appeared to be coming from the large, dark, hexagonal recesses that patterned the ceiling.
As curious as I was about these odd ponies, I was more interested to see what was lurking in the darkness above. I took a couple of uninvited steps forward, so I could look up into the opening, and was greeted with the surprise of my life. These weren't light recesses – they were windows, and through them I could see some of what was beyond the walls of the habitat. This was my first time seeing beyond the walls of Habitat Eleven.
It was the first time I had ever seen something that was over twenty miles away. It was the first time I had seen anything that indicated just how pitifully small Habitat Eleven was. The sheer size of it was beyond what I could really understand. My eyes were telling me it was larger than I could imagine. My brain was telling me my eyes were underestimating it by a few orders of magnitude.
Logic dictated that the bridge of Habitat Eleven had to be right at the very top of the habitat, and presumably was sitting atop the shell of the giant globe that contained the world we knew. That put us further out of the habitat than I had ever been. I recalled the nausea I had felt when I passed through the magic arch. It must have transported, no, teleported us here. The other ponies were immediately forgotten by me, my mind occupied what I beheld, and what it could mean for all of us.
"So, now you know," Princess Lunar Eclipse said, walking up behind me. "That is what is outside."
"Just how big is it?"
"I believe it goes on forever. If any pony ever went out there to find out, they must still be looking, because they have not returned."
As I stared upwards, I felt the others who had come in with me move up by my side, various breathy exclamations made as they did. Apart from that, we remained in silence, content to stare upwards for as long as our necks would allow.
Directly above the habitat, central to the view, was the source of the light; a single star, on par with the projected size of the sky dome's virtual moon, Luna. The star was bright, but not so much that it hurt our eyes to stare at, whether we had Hellite enhanced eyes or not. Surrounding it was a giant sphere, the sides of which glowed pale blue, coloring the light that passed through.
The top and bottom of the sphere were a different matter, encrusted in some sort of dark, chaotic growth, for the lack of a better term. Spokes radiated horizontally from the glowing band of the star encasing sphere, and these were what my mind had referenced when deciding that which was top and bottom. Of course, had I first seen the view from a different angle, what I now considered top and bottom could have been left and right.
I could directly see the two spokes that reached out towards us, one to either side of us. Hints of spokes on the other side of the sphere were visible as pale tracings through the glowing sphere itself. A thread-like trace joined them together. I presumed it would be tube-like and of the same diameter as the spokes, the distance diminishing its apparent size. It was huge, magnificent, and very, very foreign.
Of course, that was not everything I could see though the windows. There was a lot of black. Everything that wasn't part of the structure was black, and that black was studded with tiny points of light. It took me a few moments to correlate the tiny, bright points of light with the comparatively dim glow of the pixels of the life support chamber's sky dome. So, that's what real stars looked like. They were much prettier, and if my eyes weren't mistaken, even varied slightly in color. I could spend an eternity staring at them. What would they look like closer? Would it be possible to view them with a telescope?
Of course, I didn't have a telescope, but I did have a gun sight. I activated the targeting spell of my inbuilt weapon system, using that to zoom in on the tiny points of light, but the result was disappointing. Even magnified, the stars remained as point sources. Something much more powerful would be needed. I dropped the targeting spell.
"What is wrong with this picture?" Kakuun asked, from beside me.
"It's not a picture," somepony answered, presumable one of the two that were in here when we arrived.
"Obviously," Kakuun said. "What I meant is why does the sky look nothing like what the sky dome suggests it should?"
"That is a good point. Have we been lied to all of these years?" That was quite possible, after all. "Aren't we meant to be sitting on some sort of spherical planetary-body?" I asked. "Or have we really moved, even though the engines were not used?"
"Yes, and no," Princess Lunar Eclipse said. "We are exactly where we used to be. The planet, the Earth, however, isn't."
View from the bridge. Note the pony reflections.
This is what Aneki thinks it looks like from a different angle.
"Yes, and no," Princess Lunar Eclipse said. "We are exactly where we used to be. The planet, the Earth, however, isn't."
I guess one could call that a shocking revelation, except, it wasn't that shocking to me. Something I didn't know about wasn't there anymore. It did rule out any idea of returning to the place from whence we had come, many generations ago. Unless you were Princess Lunar Eclipse, of course. She'd lived on the thing in her earlier days.
What I found interesting was that Habitat Eleven had remained intact and undisturbed while the planet on which it sat went missing. No shakes, no quakes. Nothing. Those gravity generators down in the lower levels must have activated during the transition. They would have compensated for any changes in gravity. The suspension system for the life support chamber would have smoothed out the vibrations. The systems had worked exactly as intended, and no pony in the life support chamber had noticed.
Not even the Hellites, down in the lower levels, had any memories of the event. Either time had eroded their memories, or no pony who had experienced it was alive to tell about it now.
"Well, something's got to be below us," I said. With some effort, I averted my eyes from the magnificent spectacle visible through the bridge windows. "The Habitat is currently subject to gravity."
"Gravity generators are in the lower levels of the habitat," Eclipse said curtly.
"And they don't work, or at the least, are currently off line," I said. "I've been down there and looked. I can walk down below the inversion point. I assure you, the source of gravity is outside the habitat."
"Centrifugal force, then. We are sitting on the star-ring," Eclipse said. Okay, we were into wild guess territory... or it was an eon since Eclipse had sat through a physics lesson.
"Centripetal, not centrifugal," I corrected her. "And no. Even this far from the star, we would have been able to detect anomalies during our engineering-class practical lessons. There is a significant mass, or other source of gravitational wave, for the lack of a better term, below us."
"I would agree with that," one of the strange-winged ponies said. She didn't have much of an accent, suggesting she was familiar with modern media. "We've been looking at the same stars for years. If we are moving relative to the sun, it is undetectable."
"How did this turn into a discussion on physics?" the other of the strange-winged ponies asked. "What I want to know is who these visitors are, and where they come from." All things considered, his line of thought was more relevant, in immediate terms.
Having abandoned their game, the two violet youngsters approached. I guessed introductions were in order. That, and I wanted to know more about them, too. I turned to face them, Cacha turning with me, of course. Allie and Kakuun abandoned their star gazing and joined us. Within moments we were all clustered together, sizing each other up.
"Hi," said the male, trying to look cool, but failing. But then, what was I expecting? Adolescent males tended to lose their brains around good looking females.
"Hello," said the female. She was being friendly, but making no attempt to impress. Her name wasn't forthcoming, either.
"These ponies tell me they are the rulers of Habitat Eleven," Princess Lunar Eclipse said. She hadn't given us the chance to introduce ourselves. Her voice had a vaguely unhappy edge to it. I guessed she didn't like us muscling in on her royal territory.
"For real?" the male asked. "I thought..."
"Yeah, for real," I said. "Queen Aneki at your service."
"You aren't going to demand we bow or something?"
"No," I said. "I don't particularly need to see the top of your head, and I'm pretty sure you don't want a close look at my hooves. Of course, if you wish to grovel at my feet in a failure destined attempt to please me, I won't stop you."
The youth snorted. "You're pretty cool. Mum, see, that's how a queen should behave!" he said. "All this bowing and scraping and correct speech is best left in the archives, where it belongs."
I could see I was going to get along with these strange-winged ponies just fine.
"You may as well give up on that royal air you are trying to portray, Mum," the female youngster said.
"Arrgh! Children!" Princess Lunar Eclipse said, visibly deflating. The result was a much more relaxed alicorn.
"Mine may only be one year old, but, all things considered, I do understand," I said.
The princess looked me directly in the eyes, then laughed. "Perhaps we should forget that we are conflicting royalty, and speak to each other as fellow mothers," she said. "This is Ceres, my daughter. She is twenty, thus only a few years younger than you. This is Nebula, my son, who is seventeen, and currently looking for a marefriend."
"Oh, Mum, you didn't need to say that," Nebula complained.
"You are right, Neb. She didn't need to. It was blatantly obvious," Ceres said with a giggle.
Nebula face-hoofed. That was when I noticed he didn't have any fingers hidden within his hooves. The required modifiers must not have been available on the bridge. I chose not to comment on it.
We exchanged more general greetings, and introduced my companions. There were a few hoof-bumps with accompanying chuckles.
"Presumably there is, or at least was, a father somewhere about," Cacha said. I hoped she hadn't just blundered onto sensitive subject!
"My husband, the latest one, is taking a nap at the moment," Eclipse said. "Orion is his name. My previous husbands all died of old age. This one still had a few good decades in him. You have access to HELaTS modifiers, do you not? Perhaps you could share some, allowing me to extend the age of my beloved."
"The only known source of Hellite modifiers is down in the lower levels. I can arrange for you to take him down there. An alicorn will need to override the hoof scanners to the lower levels. That's why you need to go with him," I said. "How long would you expect him to live? We believe our oldest to be at least a thousand years old. Unfortunately, she is completely mad. The theory is that the modifiers have eroded her brain. Our oldest sane Hellite is somewhere around six hundred years old."
Of course, that didn't take into account Brainstorm and Stormie. They were twelve hundred years old, but hadn't been Hellites for long. One could argue they weren't exactly sane either! Nonetheless, since they crawled out of their tank, they had been quite reasonable.
"I am nearly two and a half millennia old. I have been a HELaTS for over two of them, yet I am sane, despite any claims by my children to the contrary!" Eclipse said. "The HELaTS modifiers do not damage the brain. Perhaps your old pony is insane for a different reason."
"Perhaps. It isn't like we can ask her, is it?"
"We could, but her answers don't make sense!" Cacha said.
"Wait a moment," Eclipse said, tapping a hoof to her face. "Something about this sounds familiar. Describe her, please. Her colors."
"She's the palest purple, with the palest pink mane and tail, and pink eyes," Cacha said.
"Ah. That takes me way back. I'd almost completely forgotten about her. It was only because she played such an important role in our history that I remember at all. While she may look like one, she isn't a pony."
"What? Not a pony? She sure looks like one. Is she is a changeling or something?"
"No, Albino isn't a changeling, and in the strictest sense, she isn't a pony either. She is an artificial being that shares our genetic makeup."
"Albino? That's her name? So where did she come from? Who made her?"
"The Warners created her in an alien laboratory. She was the prototype for the HELaTS system. I am surprised that she is still around. The Warners needed a subject on which to develop the HELaTS modifiers. They did not wish to use any living ponies for their experimentation. That was their gift to us, or at least part of it – a way for ponies to survive the harshness of space travel. Their own bodies were much the same."
"But she is a living being, isn't she? So, when they no longer needed her, they just let her go?"
"Quite so. She was harmless, so they released her to us. At first, we assigned handlers to attend to her well being. I would have it no other way. As you say, she was a living being, despite her artificial creation," Eclipse said. "Who looks after her now?"
"No one," Cacha said. "She can wander off for weeks or even years, hiding somewhere out in the lower levels. Sometimes she will stay with us for a while, and when she does, we check her over. She's always in good health, even if a little unkempt. It's always... fun for those that check her, too, with her prattling on for all she's worth. It's as if she has adventures to tell and comes in to share them. She seems to enjoy herself, whatever she is doing."
"I am glad to hear she is doing well. We owe her so much. I am somewhat concerned about the shortened life span the other HELaTS are experiencing. You thought a thousand years was old? I have my alicorn genes working in my favor, so I am not a good example. As you just heard, Albino has been a hellite for longer that me. According to the Warners, HELaTS should be able to live for millennia. Do you know why your companions are dying so young?"
"Murder. Falling from high places while attempting repairs. Being killed by the equipment we are trying to service," I said. "That sort of thing. What we appear to be lacking is the opportunity."
"Oh. That is not good. Why do you not assign pegasi to doing the work in high places? That should cut down the falls," Eclipse said.
"When was the last time you saw a pegasus? Pegasi are extinct," I said, "assuming Ceres and Nebula are not what you call pegasi. I was under the impression pegasi had feathered wings. Oh, and obviously, we don't have any ponies with wings like them down there, either. Allie is the sole winged pony in the rest of Habitat Eleven."
"Oh dear. It is that bad down there, is it? I had noticed the media concentrated on common ponies." Eclipse said. "As for pegasi, they do still exist. I saw one earlier today. We usually have one or two on the bridge per generation. I have also given birth to some myself, over the years. Most of us on the bridge have wings of one sort or the other."
"The other wings?" I asked. "Exactly what sort of ponies are your children? I have never seen ponies with slit pupils before, either."
"My children here, as well as most of my companions on the bridge, are bat-ponies. The bat part refers to their similarity to a species of winged creatures. Bats, like most other forms of life, were not included on this habitat's manifest. I believe they left in Habitat Four, along with most of the bat-winged ponies," Eclipse said. "The bat-ponies on Habitat Eleven were here as personal guards to both my mother and myself. Some of them were also part of the flight crew. As such, the majority of them in this habitat were also trapped on the bridge at the same time as me."
"On that subject, you don't expect me to believe that the only access to the bridge was through your private chamber," I said. "A single entrance to the bridge would be a major bottleneck. Having regular staff going through the royal ready-room each time would be ridiculous."
"No, I don't expect you to believe that. Primary access to the bridge was through other arches. They were accessible through the outer hub ring on sublevel one, conveniently situated near the command center of the habitat. I presume the command center is still there."
"It is. The throne room is another matter, though. I blew it up. Are the other arches still disabled?"
"They have come back to life, but are still impassible. Something is blocking the other side." Eclipse said, looking at me curiously. "You blew up the throne room?"
"I will have the other ends of the arches investigated. How big is this bridge, and how many of you are trapped here?"
"The throne room?" Eclipse prompted again.
"I shot the changeling queen, and she exploded," I said.
"As did everything between you and the sky dome," Kakuun added.
"Really? Of this, I will have to hear more. I had wondered where the dark spot had come from. Your news service was not forthcoming on the matter."
"The size of the bridge?" I countered Eclipse's change of topic.
"Fortunately, the quarters for the bridge crew are part of the bridge complex so that, in an emergency, they would not lose access. We have sufficient amenities for the couple hundred ponies trapped here. We also have enough genetic diversity to be able to breed, although I do have to limit my personal involvement. In a way, the bridge complex is its own micro-city. Perhaps it is time for me to show you around."
"Please do."
"You can tell me about the throne room as we go."
I was sitting, staring at the arches used for general access to the bridge. Unlike the one in the throne room, these ones were ethereal when active. Instead of a glowing outline on a solid wall, a visible mist-like surface indicated their presence. The obstruction could clearly be seen through it. It was as if a wall had been built over the arch at the other end of the link. More than likely, that was exactly what had happened.
I had tried to analyze it with my horn, to no avail. Attempting to cut through was also pointless. The magical field used for the teleportation interfered with my magic. The only logical solution was to approach the problem from the other end.
"Maisie, are you there?" I subvocalized into my communicator.
"Aneki? Where are you? No pony has seen you for hours. Or Cacha."
"We are outside of the main shell of the habitat."
"You are outside? For real? How in H'ven's name did you manage that?"
"I found a teleporter."
"So, you are outside, in the great nothing? What's it like?"
"Actually, no. I'm on the bridge of the Habitat, and that is built onto the outside of the main shell. Even nothing is something, Maisie. As for the appearance, I would not want to deprive you of the delight of seeing it for yourself the first time."
"Aww. Spoil sport!" Her voice expressed slight disappointment, rather than annoyance.
"That would be your royal spoil sport," I said. "But trust me, it is best you see it for yourself. I'm afraid we don't have words awesome enough to describe it."
"Oh, okay. So, how do I get out there? You have piqued my curiosity!"
"We need to find a door you can use. The one I used to come up here is genetically coded to a certain species, and the only examples of that species are up here with me. Besides, it involves traveling through the royal bedroom. There are other doors. They appear to be working from this side, but an obstruction at your end prevents us from using them. And that is where you come in."
"So you are about to tell me where to go?" Maisie chuckled.
"I could also give you instructions on how to get there..."
"Touché."
I passed on the details of where I required Maisie to investigate. From what I could establish, the door was on the wall of the inner hub at the end of a corridor that ran to outer hub wall. There were actually two doors here, side by side. I presumed the second door to be a failsafe measure, and that its exit was beside that of the first.
"I'm about ten minutes away from there," she said.
If her enthusiasm was anything to go by, she would get there in two.
The bridge of Habitat Eleven was at the center of the micro-city that surrounded it. The design wasn't inspiring, but it was functional, and followed the pattern used down in the hub.
There were three levels. The top level included the primary bridge, the auxiliary bridge, observation lounge and the captain's ready-room. The primary bridge, the room from which I had first seen the stars, was now used as part of the private residence of Princes Lunar Eclipse.
The auxiliary bridge, for all practical intents and purposes, was a clone of the main bridge, albeit a functional one. Even so, there was no chance of it being used to pilot the habitat due to the sad state of the habitat itself.
On the opposite side of the main bridge to the auxiliary bridge was the observation lounge. The grand style in which it had been decorated had once been intended to impress dignitaries. Now its crimson carpets had been worn thread-bare. The gilding that trimmed the wooden wall panels was either missing, or in an advanced state of peeling. It exuded an old, lived-in atmosphere, the results of its use as a general lounge for a couple of millennia. Needless to say, a number of bat-ponies had been using it when I was in there.
Whatever the other top level rooms had been used for was lost to history. Anything technical had been ripped out and recycled. Resources were limited, as was living space, and these rooms were now the homes of ponies.
The official living quarters were on the middle level. This level was of a larger diameter than the one above, and the level below was larger again. Central to this floor was the room that contained the teleport arches to the central hub, down in the life support chamber. Surrounding it were the dorms and private rooms for the bridge crew, the eatery with its rows of food converters, the ablutions block and some more common areas. This was where most of the bridge ponies lived, and it was impossible to go anywhere without meeting more of them.
I had even seen a pegasus!
The lowest level of the bridge complex was where the life support systems were. Miniature versions of the systems down in the sublevels and lower levels were all there, including power generation, recycling and emergency air supplies. Right in the center was a miniature version of the power-to-magic converter. Unlike the converter Allie had locked us out of, this one was small enough for us to stand in and enjoy the magical radiation without adverse effects. There were also connections to the main systems of the habitat through a narrow cable gland that ran through the thick outer shell. Celestia help any pony that had to repair them!
"Okay," Maisie said, interrupting my thoughts. "I've searched all around the area, and there is nothing to indicate where these magic doorways could be. Where are you now? Are you still getting a guided tour?"
When it had become obvious that the other end of the teleporters were not... well... obvious, Maisie had told us she would do some searching and get back to us when she discovered something. Cacha and I had taken advantage of the time to do some exploring of our own. Allie and Kakuun were elsewhere, enjoying the company of the few up here that were closer to their own ages.
"Cacha and I are back at the other end of the teleporters," I subvocalized into my communicator.
"And I'm in what I think is the correct area. Thump the obstruction, or something."
I did. It felt like I was punching a mattress. Cacha flinched, and looked at me, puzzled.
"Did you hear that, Maisie?" I asked, this time aloud, wondering if the muffled thud had made it to Maisie's ears.
"Yes, but I have no idea where it came from."
"At least you are close. I'll give it a harder whack this time."
With that, I pivoted, and let loose with both rear hooves. It still felt like I was kicking a mattress. I figured the spell had to be damping my actions, because I could not see any reason or logic to trying to block a door with something soft.
"Keep hitting it," Maisie said.
I did, and understanding what was happening, Cacha joined in. Two-and-a-half way conversations could be confusing.
"Feels like sponge," Cacha muttered. "And yet it can't be cut?"
"Field compression, I think. Possibly a safety measure built into the spell."
"I still can't pinpoint it," Maisie's voice broke into my mind, "despite the general rumbling that I could hear."
"Let me think," I said, sitting.
"That's dangerous," Maisie stirred.
"And that just gave me an idea! Move out of the area. Stay low. Don't let anyone else go there either. Tell me when it is clear. Oh, and if you can, add Cacha to the conversation."
"Will do," Maisie said, "on both accounts."
"Cacha, do you have a metal load in your boot pistol?" I asked.
"I do. Why?"
"When I tell you, I want you to fire a shot through the archway. Aim high, so that if something goes wrong, no one will get hit."
"Um... okay," Cacha said, raising her forehoof. Her boot pistol unfolded into the required configuration.
"Ready," Maisie said into my mind. "The area is clear."
"Fire," I told Cacha.
She did, and a muffled ping was the result, the bullet dropping down and landing at our hooves. So much for that idea.
"Was that full power?" I asked. "Try again."
Cacha raised her gun again, squinted, turned away, then stopped.
"Am I an idiot or something?" she asked. "We need to deploy our facial armor."
"Good idea!"
As soon as we had, she fired. The ping was louder, and this time the returning bullet bounced over our heads before falling to the floor.
"Any joy?" I asked Maisie.
"I heard a couple noises, but I'm not in the immediate area anymore. I'll go look."
"Don't bother," Cacha said. "I can see the mark it left on this side. It didn't dent it."
I retrieved the two slugs from where they had landed. One was slightly deformed from its impact. The other was unblemished. If we fired the slug at the obstructing wall hard enough, it would hit. Even so, the compression field of the spell slowed it to the point it was unable to damage the wall. This spell was as effective as Brainstorm's protective shield in his shooting gallery. Unlike that spell, this one seemed to be geared to interfere with magic too, as my failed attempt at cutting had shown.
"Aneki, why don't you blast it with your gun?" Maisie asked.
"Do you really need to ask?" I asked. "I think the field would stop any spell I try to fire through it. And if it doesn't, what will? The wall behind that? Or the one behind that?"
"You are being silly, Aneki," Cacha chided me. "Fire a metal slug. Your gun is more powerful than mine."
"I guess I could do that," I said.
"And if that doesn't work, hide a spell inside the slug."
"Cacha, you are brilliant! If the spell doesn't activate until it hits the obstruction, the field shouldn't be able to dampen it."
I lifted the undamaged slug to my horn, where a simple spell held it while I did some mental code sorting. It didn't take me long to create a spell that hid itself within the slug. That spell I armed with a warhead – a spell that would vaporize a small section of whatever the shell hit.
That done, I extended my forehoof and formed a general purpose weapon that was equipped with a magazine for physical ammunition. I levitated my slug into it, watching, amused, as the magazine of the weapon became plastic, reforming itself until it was indistinguishable with the remainder of the gun. Taking aim at a spot near the mark left by the previous bullet, I prepared to fire.
"Maisie, is the area clear? I'm about to fire an explosive round," I asked.
"Um. Hang on a tick." The signal form communicator dropped out.
Moments later it reestablished contact.
"All clear. I figured you didn't need to hear me yelling my lungs out," Maisie said.
"My virtual ears thank you," I said. After all, these communicators connected directly with our minds, bypassing our ears.
"Fire when ready," Maisie prompted.
I did. This time the slug didn't bounce back. The field rippled, much as a pool of water would, turning milky-white in the process. The damped sound of the explosion was not loud enough to damage any ears. Before the ripples and milkiness could subside, two ponies exclaimed somewhat loudly, one behind me and one in my head.
"What in, Celestia's name, are you?" the voice behind me said.
"Sweet Luna, that didn't come from where I expected!" Maisie's voice said in my mind. I could feel the level to which she had been startled.
"What happened, Maisie?" I asked, ignoring the princess behind me.
"The wall behind me exploded!"
"Are you okay? Any injuries?" I asked, concerned.
"Oh, no. I was some distance from it. I was sitting mid way along the corridor, facing the hub, and the wall which I thought was going to blow. Apparently I was facing the wrong way. The doorway is on the inner wall of the outer hub ring, not the other way around."
"Ah. Contrary to what we believed. What can you see?"
"The explosion opened a hole about the size of my hoof. There is some subdued light coming through. It's opaque, but seems to be getting clearer."
"Yes, I kind of upset the damping field. It's like that on this side too."
Princess Lunar Eclipse cleared her throat, tapping her hoof on the floor impatiently.
"Hang on, Maisie, I appear to have an aggravated princess here, and she doesn't seem to remember who is the queen."
"Okay." Again, Maisie's signal went dead.
Turning, I faced the alicorn. Damn, she was tall. She gazed down her nose at me, with the expression of an exasperated school teacher. I lowered my hoof to the floor, discovering that as it was still configured as a weapon, it was of no use for standing on. Behind her stood her two children, looking somewhat shocked.
"I repeat," Lunar Eclipse said, "what exactly are you?"
"No, you paraphrase," I corrected her, just because I was a contrary rotter at times like this.
"Are you deliberately antagonizing me?"
"Um... yes?" I said.
Eclipse bent forward, bringing her head down to my height. "At least you speak the truth. Now, tell me what are you, and what the... thing that grew out of your leg is."
"I guess you could say I am the prototype of the HELaTS Mark-Two. More precisely, I am the prototype integrated weapons unit by Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories. The two reprobates that converted me are experts in modifier design. You will meet them soon enough." I looked down at my gun leg, then lifted it so the princess could see it. "This thing is but one manifestation of my weapons system. It's the same weapon I was using when I vaporized the former changeling queen."
"And everything else between the gun and the sky dome," Cacha added. "Seriously, Eclipse, Aneki is the most dangerous pony in this habitat. She's a real sweetie, but you don't want to push your luck."
"My apologies, Your Majesty," Eclipse said to me, taking a careful step back, her expression a combination of respect and fear.
That was a fast back-down. I reabsorbed the weapon, placing my hoof firmly on the floor. So, the princess was finally acknowledging me as the ruler of the habitat. That my ability to be extremely violent was what changed her attitude concerned me.
"Eclipse, may I suggest we keep it casual. You may call me Aneki. Despite what you may be thinking, I do not go around indiscriminately killing any who oppose me. Ask Kakuun to tell you the details of the demise of the changeling queen. I was only along for the ride. My actions were certainly not to gain the throne. Haven't we already covered this?"
"Building trust takes time," Eclipse said. "And I will call you Aneki, if that is what you wish. Likewise, you may call me Eclipse, although it seems you have already granted yourself permission to do so."
"Meh. One of the perks of being the queen," I said.
Eclipse snickered.
Hearing noises behind me, I turned, to see three slender black worms reach though the hole left by the exploding bullet. Maisie's fingers, I presumed. They felt about, checking for sharp edges, before clutching together to grip the edge. The material around the hole bowed as Maisie pulled at it. The milkiness left in the field by the explosion had mostly dissipated, now doing little more than blurring the image.
"What are those black, worm-things?" Nebula asked, taking a step forward for a better look.
"They look like the tentacles of the Tatzlwurm from the old story books," Ceres said, moving alongside her brother.
"You're kidding me?" Cacha asked. "You've never seen fingers before?"
"Oh! Silly me. We've seen them on the media, but they've always been attached to a pony. Like this, they are out of context!"
"Cacha," I said, "the ponies trapped on the bridge have not had access to any modifiers, including the ones that create our fingers."
"What about Eclipse?" Cacha asked, puzzled. "She had access before she was trapped."
Eclipse shook her head. "I have no need of fingers. I have magic. The finger modifiers were only offered to pegasi and earth ponies."
"Oh, you're like Allie," Cacha said. "She doesn't have fingers because she uses magic, too."
Three more fingers appeared through the hole. Now, Maisie appeared to have better a purchase on the material. On the third tug, a strip tore from it, running from the hole all the way down to the floor. Indications were Maisie had been hanging on the wall, because I heard the thump, and successive cuss words, when she hit the floor.
Maisie was promptly back up, and tearing at the material again. Within moments, she had opened a triangular hole large enough for a pony to pass through. A pony her size, anyway, because she pushed herself through, and into the room with us. As soon as she was clear of the hole, she peeled back her head armor, revealing her white coat, lemon mane and powder-blue eyes. She blinked coquettishly, and smiled.
"Now you can show me what's outside, can't you?" she said.
"Me too," said Briggs, crawling through the hole behind her. He promptly climbed onto his traditional place on her back.
"What... is that?" Ceres asked, pointing a hoof at Briggs's boxy form.
"Wow, you're pretty!" Nebula enthused. "How old are you?"
Ceres had been right. No pony needed to mention that Nebula was after a marefriend. It was blatantly obvious. If Ceres wanted to know about Briggs, she was going to have to ask some other time.
"I'm twenty-three..." Maisie said. Ah, yes, she had mentioned she took liberties with her age.
"Six years older," Nebula said. "Workable."
"Twenty-three decades, that is," Maisie said, smirking.
Nebula's jaw hit the floor. So did Cacha, laughing uncontrollably. Even I sniggered.
Well, at least reintegrating these ponies into society was going to be interesting!
One thing the rooms in the bridge complex with windows to the sky had in common was that they were all circular. Perhaps because of that, they seemed spacious, that being fortunate for those that had been confined here for thousands of years. Minor rooms were either rectangular or were odd shapes that could make use of the gaps and spaces between the major rooms. By necessity, substantial structural walls divided up the bridge. While the structure was somewhat lighter than that of the lower levels, it was more than adequate for the job. It looked strong enough to survive a major impact, the windows included.
Overall, the bridge complex was under a quarter mile in diameter, and was attached to the main sphere of the habitat rather like a blister. It was not unlike being forced to live in the top two layers of Habitat Ten. It could even be compared to living in a moderately sized school or a hospital.
The outer perimeter wall was studded with dark openings. I was told they were windows that, in theory, would have let us survey that which was around us. Now they were an impenetrable black, as something had covered them from the outside. I contemplated trying to use magic to clear them, but decided the risk to the structural integrity was too great, as my methods usually involved explosions. Eclipse had not managed to clear them, and she was certainly more adept at magic than I was. As such, I suspected something more substantial than a layer of paint was obstructing them.
At the moment, my entourage and I were in the observation lounge next to the bridge, standing side by side, heads back, staring upwards at the real sky. I wondered how many stiff necks were the result of this view. It was certainly worth a little pain. Nonetheless, none of the ponies that lived up in the bridge seemed to pay it any stead.
"Yup, that's impressive," Maisie said. "I can see why you said there were no words capable of describing it. Even now, I'm pretty sure my brain isn't processing the full majesty of it. The glowing ball has to be at least a thousand, no, ten thousand times as large as Habitat Eleven. Maybe even more, yet from here it doesn't look that big."
"It makes me feel really small," Allie said.
"You are really small, Allie," I said to my daughter.
Allie blew a raspberry at me. Well, she was really small!
"So, that glowing ball in the center is a star?" Maisie asked.
"Our star. It's called the sun. We were meant to have a simulated one, down in the life support chamber. It was called Celestia," I said.
"What about Luna? Isn't there meant to be a real Luna too?"
"Luna, the moon? I suppose so. I haven't seen it."
"The Luna-moon you are thinking of was repossessed by the aliens two millennia ago, as was the Celestia-sun." Princess Lunar Eclipse said. "The real moon was destroyed over ten thousand years ago, if I recall my history. That was when the Luna-moon, and the pony that controlled it, came into the picture."
"Oh, you're here," I said. "I didn't hear you come in. How was the moon destroyed? And why? And what do you mean by the Luna-moon?"
"The aliens' machines caught the original moon, tore it apart, and used its materials when building this giant ring. Of course, the ring was nowhere this big back then. It was still well inside our orbit."
"Huh?" We all dropped our gaze from the sky, instead staring at Eclipse. Perhaps, she would share the answers to questions we had not yet realized we needed to ask.
"I'll tell you a story," Eclipse said. "The details may be wrong because I'm relying on memories from when I was much younger. Even then, I was only hearing stories from others who knew of the events. And you know how old I am."
"We won't hold that against you," Maisie said. "We have a few orders of magnitude of age in this room at the moment, don't we?"
I hadn't thought about it like that. Allie's age was a single digit. Cacha and I were in the doubles, Maisie's was three, and Eclipse's age was four digits. She was something like two thousand times older than my daughter!
"Once, our planet, the Earth, orbited around that star, the sun. You do understand what an orbit is, don't you?"
"We do," Maisie said.
"The Earth also rotated. Each rotation was a day long. When, an area of the planet was facing the sun, it was daytime. When it was facing away from the sun, it was nighttime.
"The moon was also a celestial body, only much smaller than the Earth. It orbited the Earth, rather than the sun, and would reflect sunlight onto the dark side of the Earth. It also affected the Earth in other ways, through its gravity.
"It all worked automatically, governed by the laws of physics, and would have continued to do so, presumably, for so long it would seem like forever."
"What went wrong?" Cacha asked.
"A dark shadow formed around the sun. It wasn't noticeable at first, but as it grew, the Earth became colder and darker, and all who lived on it were in peril of dying."
"What was the shadow? What caused it?"
"The shadow was the ring. It was soon dense enough to block all light. That would have been our doom, if it wasn't for the first gift from the aliens."
"Is that what you wrote about in your book, The Gift?" I asked.
"No. This was the first time they contacted us, long before I, or even my mother was born. By the time I was writing the book, knowledge of the aliens had faded to nothing, so it was all new to us. What I'm talking about happened back when Celestia and Luna were born.
"The aliens gifted us a small, artificial sun, and an artificial moon, both which orbited the Earth. They were actually alien spacecraft. One reflected light and heat from another reflector set above the great ring's obstruction. The other generated gravity to move the tides. To keep them on course, and to adjust them to different paths to simulate seasons, they needed to be controlled. Using pony magic, the two sisters were enhanced, becoming the first two alicorns. With their new power, they were able to guide the new sun and moon, updating their courses each day. Those spacecraft were the Celestia-sun and Luna-moon with which you are familiar."
"That doesn't seem like a very permanent solution," Cacha muttered.
"Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. The aliens told ponykind that they had several thousand years to develop themselves into a society that was capable of leaving the Earth, and the solar system. Ponykind was in the way of the aliens' development of the new... habitat, or whatever it was that they called this giant ring."
"Why did they choose our star? Didn't they care that we lived here?" I asked.
"They claimed their plans, and the initial stages of the project, were completed before we had become sapient as a species. Prior to that, they considered us to be inconsequential."
"Nasty!" Maisie said.
"Yes, but at least they didn't simply ignore what we had become," Eclipse said.
"Maybe they tried to ignore us and were just making excuses when they got caught! Besides, aren't we being ignored now?" I asked.
"True, true. But according to them, we shouldn't even be here now."
"And they haven't noticed?" Cacha asked.
"To be honest, I don't think they even care," Eclipse said. "Over time, I have come to realize all the good they did for us was out of legal or contractual obligation. Once that obligation had been discharged, they no longer cared what happened. They started this project, investing much time and many resources into it, only to discover a minor problem, us, would jeopardize it all due to their laws.
"To get over this problem, they first took the cheapest solution. They gave us the artificial sun and moon, and told us to hurry up and get lost – at our own expense. I believe much research was done in the primary field of unicorn expertise, specifically, in magic. While many advances were made, none were made in the correct area. With the death of those involved, the whole purpose of it all was forgotten. Even alicorns can forget things.
"I believe the initial experiments were actually in time travel. I think they hoped to go way back and tell the aliens to get lost before they even started their development.
"Whatever the case, with the passage of time, the urgency was lost. We had a sun and a moon. Life went on as usual, even if the sun and moon occasionally did odd things!
"The ring continued to grow. To us it was merely a dark strip in the night sky – just an area of the sky without stars.
"Over the centuries, as the ring got larger, and thus closer, the effect of the Luna-moon lessened, the oceans being drawn to the ring itself. If the Luna-moon and ring were on the same side of the Earth, we had floods. It was a disaster that was getting worse each year. Eventually, the Luna-moon had to be used to counter the pull from the ring. We didn't really understand what was happening, or why.
"That was when the Warners showed up, offering us gifts so we could flee our dying world. Of course, they didn't tell us they were the reason for it dying. We had to work that out for ourselves."
It puzzled me that Eclipse was discussing the gravity from the ring, yet had seemed clueless to what was providing gravity to the habitat in our earlier discussion. After what she had described, it seemed fairly obvious to me. We had to be sitting on the ring, and that ring had to be the source of our gravity.
"You mentioned before that the HELaTS system was one of these gifts," Cacha said.
"Quite so," Eclipse said. "It made us tough enough to deal with the more difficult aspects of habitat construction and of space flight. We sold it to the ponies as something that may let them live longer, after a period of dangerous and hard work. Give up your life and existence as a pony and serve in figurative Hell for hundreds of years and you will be granted very long life as your reward. Some ponies accepted. Most didn't, which is exactly what we wanted. If we told them it made them effectively immortal we would have been crushed in the rush.
"The Warners themselves were all HELaTS of their own species, and I suspect that immortality was what was driving them to make themselves larger and larger habitats in which they could live. Going on how long it has taken to make the ring, they must have to plan a very long way ahead. On the other hoof, we were about to be stuffed into comparatively small habitats with limited resources, so immortality for the masses would be a very big problem."
"And what were the Warners' other gifts?" I asked.
"The habitats themselves, or at least part of them. The Warners would place some sort of device on the earth, then evacuate the area. When activated, a massive sphere grew, consuming everything within its reach. After a couple of years, the result was the shell of a Habitat, filled with resources for the construction of its internals. More of these Warner devices then created engines and other important internal structures, such as the life support chamber and its water jacket, the suspension platform and the tanks." Eclipse said.
"Basically, everything made out of that dimensionally layered material," I suggested.
"That, and anything too complex for us to build," Eclipse said.
We fell silent as we contemplated the unimaginable scale involved. Maintaining our twenty mile diameter sphere was proving to be beyond our abilities, yet the aliens were capable of tossing down a few devices that could create one in a few years.
"Magic?" Cacha asked. "They used magic?"
"They said any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, which was funny to us who accepted and could use magic, but no, they claimed it was technology. Modifiers, guided by artificial brains, were what did the basic work. After that, we ponies had to learn some aspects of their technology, and finish the job. They didn't build living quarters. They didn't build the city. They didn't provide a way of generating food. Security, recycling and the magic distribution system were just some of the many areas left to us to solve on our own."
"Thus the confusing mish-mash of technology and magic in this place," I muttered.
"Precisely," Eclipse agreed. "In a way, the modifiers, and the technology behind them, were the primary gift. They also gave us the destination of another world which they claimed was suitable for us to live on. It was to take several centuries to travel that far. The other habitats must surely have arrived. By now I expect they have flourishing societies on the new world."
"So, how many habitats were built?" Allie asked. "This Earth planet must have been pretty big."
"I believe there were more habitats than ours, spread out over the planet, but I only know of the eleven from Equestria."
"So, what happened to the other nine habitats?" I asked. Habitat Ten, of course, was inside Habitat Eleven, and didn't need to be accounted for.
"They all launched as intended, and left. We were the last, the one to gather all those left behind. We had to forcefully bring the Diamond Dogs on as they would not come voluntarily. You have told me that, unfortunately, they did not survive. And there were the changelings as well. We figured they would have hidden themselves on one of the habitats, as we were unable to find them. We did not expect them to be so afraid of discovery that they would resort to taking over an entire habitat to use as a larder."
"And what a mess that turned out to be," Kakuun said. "Was our action the cause of the failure of Habitat Eleven to launch?"
"The engine logs suggest launching was never even attempted," I said, following up on Kakuun's reasoning. "It only shows test firing."
"It was more complex than that. Had a test been successful, we would have launched there and then. If we still had access to the outside world, perhaps we may have been able to repair the problem. Then again, perhaps it would have been in vain anyway, as we were struggling to understand all of this alien technology. There is no way one of these habitats can lift off from a planet under the power of its own engines. Each one sat in a cradle that contained another gravity generator, one that could be tuned to nullify gravity. It was powered by its own set of engines. Our gravity nullifier failed. Actually, it made us heavier. Fortunately it didn't crush us. After the brief surge, it shut down of its own accord."
"The Warners didn't help?" Cacha asked.
"No. I doubt they even cared. I'm not sure they were in the solar system by that time. If they were, they didn't respond to any of our attempts to call them. The bulk of the building process seems to be automatic."
"So we were stuck here?" I asked. I already knew the answer.
"As you can see. We watched as the ring grew closer. The sky went black for a few hundred years. Sometimes we could see stars. Sometimes we couldn't, as the planet rotated. I won't say it was daily, as the periods grew longer and longer until the rotation of the planet stopped with us facing the total blackness of the ring.
"Our orbit eventually took us so close to the ring that the planet was captured. The ring absorbed us. All of our windows looked like those that are around the edge of the bridge – as black as night. We truly expected we would be consumed, but we weren't, and eventually the upper windows became clear again, showing us the view we see now."
"How long has it been like this?" I asked.
"Hundreds of years. The side windows never cleared. Now that I think about it, we must be actually embedded in the ring, or perhaps sitting upon it. The ring must be the current source of gravity, although, if that is the case, I don't know how we weren't sucked to the ceiling when the ring was so close."
"Perhaps our gravity generator compensated?" I wondered.
"No," Cacha said. "Remember that we don't recall any time where it was working, and a few hundred years ago would be within living memory."
"Perhaps the external gravity nullifier was actually generating gravity to compensate," Allie suggested.
Failing all else, perhaps it really was as simple as that. Nothing anyone else was suggesting made sense, and we knew the thing was capable of generating, rather than canceling, gravity.
"Of course, this is all just guesswork," Maisie said, "but I suppose we need to start somewhere. I guess our next step really is to get outside the habitat to see what's going on, and see if we can either get more fuel, or find a way to live out there. Perhaps the nullifier has enough fuel in reserve for us to use."
With the conversation having taken a timeless feel, we all settled to the floor, contemplating what we had just learned. Even Eclipse stayed with us. I expected she knew there would be more questions. I was amazed that we hadn't even touched on these subjects in our previous discussions. Then again, we had been rather focused on what was going in inside Habitat Eleven.
A couple of Eclipse's subjects, or fellow residents, came in with drinks, offering them to us, before retreating. Ah, this must be the part of royal life which Eclipse was fond of. And on the subject of royal ponies...
"The real Luna?" I asked. "You said there was a real Luna, a pony."
"The real Luna is an alicorn, like me. Actually, very like me. I am her granddaughter."
"So, you knew Luna? What was she like?"
"It is best you read the history books, if indeed they can be found," Eclipse said, "but she is an unusual sort. For a while she had been the enemy of all ponies, but for that sin, her sister condemned her to spending a thousand years fused with the reflective surface of the Luna-moon as punishment.
"She reappeared, a thousand years later, revenge added to her list of indiscretions, but was defeated, purged, purified by six youngsters using the elements of harmony. Thus began the age of friendship. The new, purified Luna then returned to her duties, caring for ponies as she should have, entering their dreams to guide them. She really became the princess of the night."
"When did she die?" Allie asked. You could always trust a foal to ask the wrong questions.
"Die? She is probably still alive," Eclipse said. "While I haven't heard or seen her in a couple millennia, I expect she is still among the living, along with Celestia and the other alicorns."
"How many alicorns were there? Where are they, then?"
"Luna and Celestia left in Habitat One. They took the lead, and were to guide us to our new home world. The other alicorns were scattered among the remaining habitats. Every habitat had at least one. Cadance took the habitat from the Crystal Empire. Twilight Sparkle took the one from Ponyville and the surrounding area. Fluttershy took Habitat Four, which had the bat ponies and most of the wild animals..."
"Not that those names mean anything to us," Allie said. "How can you remember things from that far back?"
"I keep diaries, much like those who have come before me, young one. I suggest you start doing so, too, Allie. You probably have a long life ahead of you, a very long life. I will teach you the intricacies of indexing them so you can find what you wish to recall easily. I am somewhat practiced in the matter."
The time had come. There was no avoiding it. Princess Lunar Eclipse was going out into the city. In fact, I was surprised she had waited this long!
For fun, we had recorded her emergence from the bridge, although so far those recordings had been kept private. Leaving the privacy of the restricted areas was another matter. With Eclipse's size, we could not hide her or disguise her. Sooner or later ponies would see her in the street. We figured it would be best to simply let the media make a fuss of it, much like they had when the Hellites had first appeared in public. That way the novelty would wear off sooner, giving Eclipse and her extended family some peace.
Eclipse was dressed for the occasion, having selected a spectacularly royal gown to wear. Looking at her, one would not know she was a Hellite. Her two children and husband were obviously a little different to other ponies, eyes being a little harder to hide other than by wearing shades, and that wasn't appropriate at this time.
The theory was the big reveal would occur as Eclipse stepped onto the central hub of the Mane Way. That, incidentally, had been repaired, the only evidence of my usurping being the area had a freshness to it that made the surrounding areas look decidedly old. Of course, some rotter had leaked the plans for the day to one of the bigger names in news reporting.
Cacha, Kakuun and I were accompanying Princess Lunar Eclipse, and her family. Maisie had taken Allie for me, as we didn't want her exposed to the public eye any more than she already was. A few paces ahead of the princess, Cacha and I had only just exited the sublevel hub, on our way to the chosen elevator when I spotted the reporter in question.
"Look out, Cacha. Media!" I whispered to my companion.
"Activating anonymity shields!" she said, as we both deployed our facial armor. We both giggled. If we were going to continue living amongst the common folk, our identities needed to remain hidden. Princess Lunar Eclipse, on the other hoof, enjoyed the recognition. Earlier discussions had concluded that she could become the figurehead, the public queen, allowing those who ruled to actually deal with the more pressing problems of survival, while she dealt with public relations. She liked the idea.
The reporter and her crew, who were already recording lest they miss anything particularly juicy, dodged around any ponies that could block their access, heading directly towards the princess, and by default, us. Not being particularly fond of cheats and queue jumpers, I moved to block their progress, Cacha following my lead.
"Get out of my way, you disgusting hell-freaks. What are you doing here, anyway?" the reporter snapped at us when we blocked her way.
"We..." I said.
"Oh that's right. You freaks are meant to be some sort of maintenance servants, aren't you?" the reporter talked right over me. "So go do some maintenance somewhere else. You are in my way."
"Cacha, I do believe this is not the reporter who did the puff-piece on the Hellites," I said.
"With an attitude like that, I wonder why she hasn't been demoted to cleaning toilets," Cacha said.
"Don't you get it, you troglodytes? I'm so famous I'm untouchable!"
She was famous. I had to give her that. While I personally didn't waste my time watching the media, even I knew who she was. No doubt Breaking News was a name she had assumed after she began her career in professional gossip fuel distribution.
"I don't care who you are. You are to head up to the official reception area with the other media," I said, looking at her darkly, although the effect was probably somewhat hampered by my armor and partially hidden eyes.
"Who the fuck do you think you are? The queen or something?" Breaking News spat. "I don't take orders from servants!"
Eclipse had since arrived, and was listening to the exchange, eyebrows raised. "Interesting," she said.
Several of the security ponies moved towards Breaking News, but seeing Eclipse wasn't at all stressed, I discretely indicated for them to hold their positions. Noticing this, Eclipse bent forward and whispered in my ear.
"If that is what you wish, feel free to do so," I said.
Eclipse loudly cleared her throat. "In the name of fairness, all recordings made before my official appearance are to be confiscated. Guards, please collect the offending material. Now, all media personnel will move to the appointed location."
I chuckled as the guards descended on Breaking News and her team, gathering their recording equipment, and escorting them away.
"I think, perhaps, that mare is a little too stupid to understand that a good queen is the ultimate public servant," Eclipse said. "And, no I am not referring to my own abilities, because in comparison, it seems I have come up lacking. Let us get this circus over."
After much fanfare, which I avoided as best I could, Princess Lunar Eclipse had strutted onto the raised stage in the middle of the Mane Way as if the habitat where hers. She was reveling in the attention, something denied her for two millennia. I wondered if it would go to her head, and she would try to take the crown. It had been her birthright, after all. For the moment, I decided to watch her, and see what direction she would choose.
Glancing around the Mane Way and the surrounding buildings from my position away from the stage, I found Allie and Maisie looking down from a window a couple floors up. I gave them a discrete wave, and was surprised when they waved back. It had been hard to tell exactly where they were looking, and I was nowhere near the center of attention.
"So, the little princess knows who the real queen is," Cacha whispered in my ear.
"You saw that?"
"Evidently," Cacha chuckled.
"Well, she knows who her mother is," I said, "and mothers are more important that queens!"
"Hmm, yes, certainly at that age."
We returned our attention to the fanfare. In fact, it was getting so loud, hearing each other whisper was becoming difficult. Princess Lunar Eclipse finished posing for the media, and approached the microphone that had been set up towards the front of the stage. Once the crowd fell silent, she began to speak.
"Thank you for this kind welcome. I am Princess Lunar Eclipse, daughter of Princess Moon Glow who was the original Queen of this small world, Habitat Eleven. I am also the granddaughter of Princess Luna, after whom your moon is named, and whose name you use casually in oaths!
"It is wonderful to finally escape the prison in which I have spent the last two thousand years, thanks to the efforts of some wonderful ponies. It was fortunate that I met those ponies first, as had it been the first news reporter I met when I exited the hub, I may have preferred to remain imprisoned!"
I turned to Cacha. "This certainly isn't what I was expecting. I wonder where she is heading with this."
"Listen, and find out," Cacha said, shrugging.
"The pony, the news reporter I met today cared only about herself. She only cared that it would be her who first broke the news, that it would be her who first asked me questions. She didn't care who she trampled, or who she cheated to gain this. She even had the gall to suggest her fame made her untouchable, that her actions would never be met with repercussions.
"What this news reporter, and you alike, do not know is that your queen lives among you, as a commoner. Your queen wears no crown. Your queen does not live in a palace. Your queen's home is a humble structure, just like your homes. For all you know, she could be your neighbor.
"Your queen understands the difficulties of your lives because she shares them. It goes even beyond this. Your queen has worked as a commoner. Your queen has worked as your servant, frequently risking her own life to bring benefits to you all.
"Yet, today I saw your queen humiliated, treated with disdain by this prominent member of society. She was vilified for her appearance as one of the HELaTS. She was treated as insignificant because she was perceived to be a maintenance pony. This behavior is not tolerable. How firmly do I believe this? Last time this sort of attitude was displayed in front of me, I did what I could to fight it. I did this."
Some quiet applause indicated the audience didn't quite follow what was happening. Moments later a collective gasp marked their understanding, as Princess Luna Eclipse shed her royal gowns, and stood before them, naked, as a HELaTS herself.
"Behold. I, as a princess, became a HELaTS myself, as an example to others that HELaTS are not to be scorned. This is the action of a true Royal. She is someone who is willing to do anything to protect her subjects. Your queen is no different. Although she may not like showing herself publicly, she is just as committed to your well-being. Just think of that next time you berate or bully another pony. Although you might not know it, that pony may be one that is giving their all for your quality of life. It may even be your queen!"
The enthusiastic applause was stirring. I felt myself blushing, under my armor. Ponies around me stared at me, and at Cacha. They whispered among themselves, as they spotted and studied the few other Hellites that were in the crowd. Some gave a simple nod of acknowledgement. Some smiled, grasped our hoofs, shaking them. Some asked if it were either of us – questions we ignored.
When the noise had quietened somewhat, Eclipse said casually, "Breaking Wind, sorry, Breaking News, you may collect your confiscated equipment, sans recording media, after the event. Now, my good ponies, do any of you have any questions?"
Next to me, Cacha burst out laughing. "Perhaps we really should offer Breaking News a new name. Rather than Breaking Wind, Cleaning Toilets comes to mind. It will match the only job she has any hope of landing now!"
"She may choose to apologize," I said.
"Maybe, but will the public forgive her? More importantly, will her rival reporters ever allow her near a story again?"
"You have a good point, Cacha," I said.
"Don't you go granting any royal favors to help her," Cacha said. "Let this one take care of itself."
I glanced back at the stage. Once again Eclipse had the attention of the audience.
"Come," I said to Cacha. "Let us leave the princess to her fun."
I was woken by the breath of a pony blowing across my cheek. It pulled me from my dream, a dream that had begun with Allie telling me about the mad mare, Albino, insisting she wasn't mad, before drifting off into the random distortions common to dreams.
Only a few days earlier, the mare in question had turned up again, excited, agitated, and babbling for all she was worth. Her usual calmness was absent. As was usual, the doctors had descended on her, taking her in for a checkup. That was where things had gone bad.
Usually she would put up with the tests with humor, but this time she struggled, eventually lashing out, knocking over one of those attending to her. The doctors' response to this had been to sedate her, finish the check-up, then to lock her into a padded room with the intention of observing her for several days.
This had all happened before I arrived down in Habitat Ten, Princess Lunar Eclipse and her husband, Orion in tow. Orion, who was in his fifth decade, was to undergo treatment with Hellite... HELaTS... modifiers, so that he had some chance of a life span matching that of his wife. Being in a similar situation was not something I had given too much thought to, for two reasons. First, I was comparatively young. Second, my immediate family, Allie, Cacha and Bittersweet, were already capable of living indefinitely. Even my potential mate, Brainstorm, was a Hellite.
My parents were a different matter. I had my own life now, and had not lived with them for many years, having already died to them once. I expected I would be saddened at their eventual deaths, but at the moment had no intention of offering them the HELaTS process. Immortality was not something to be distributed casually while we were captives of this habitat, even to relatives of the queen. As for the Hellites who chose to remain in the lower levels, there would be no further interference in their established way of life. Their struggle had always been trying to raise a sufficient population, and now that a significant number of them had chosen to live in the life support chamber, they had plenty of room for a minor population explosion.
I opened my eyes to see who was breathing on me. I was surprised to see Allie standing on the bed, leaning over me. She prodded me with a hoof.
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" I asked. "Never mind, it's too late now; I'm awake. What's bothering you, little one?"
"We have to go see Albino," Allie said.
"Oh, that?" Something was off, here. What had I been dreaming? "Was that you in my dreams, Allie?"
"Yes. Didn't you realize it was really me?"
"You haven't done that since the night you were born."
"Yes, I have. I pop in to say that I love you."
"Oh, yes. I often dream that. I didn't realize it was really you. Sorry, your mother can be a little dense at times!"
"You always said you loved me back. That's all that mattered."
A yawn interrupted us, as Cacha revived. "What's this? Having a discussion in the middle of the night without inviting me?" she slurred, her tongue not quite awake yet.
"It seems I am about to go see Albino, at Allie's insistence. I expect you will be coming along, too," I said, glancing at the pony with the ruffled mane lying next to me.
"Even if I have to sleepwalk," Cacha said. "Heaven forbid I wake and find I have become unattached."
"Why don't you two just glue yourselves together?" Allie asked.
"What holds us together is stronger than glue, Allie," Cacha grumbled. She rolled herself out of the bed, then shook. "That will suffice as personal grooming for this time of night."
I levitated Allie to a safe location, then clambered out of bed, myself. There was nothing quite like bed-head mane to tell others not to bother you.
"Okay, kid, you've got the adults out of bed without getting told off. Not bad. Now, what's this mission of mercy we have to attend to at... three in the morning?"
"Albino has important information for us," Allie said.
"Oh, come on, Allie. That mare is insane. She can't string two coherent words together. What could she possibly have to say?" Cacha asked.
"No, she can't string two words together coherently. But she is not mad!" Allie said.
"How can you know that? You've never met her, or spoken with her."
"I have met her in her dreams. There she could show me what was on her mind, even when words were of no use. Even then, if you think about it really, really hard, you can sort of understand what she is trying to say."
"Brain damage," I said "I believe the correct term for what you are describing is aphasia."
One of the advantages of Habitat Ten was that anywhere was within a mile of anywhere else. Nonetheless, as we were restricted to the upper levels, distances were somewhat shorter than that. Within minutes of setting out, we arrived at the administration desk of the section of the hospital in which I believed Albino was being held. Being night time, very few ponies were about. Two nurses were sitting at the desk, attending to their computer screens. Neither looked up.
"Excuse me, I am here to see Albino," I said to neither in particular.
"Sorry, but visiting hours are over. Please come back tomorrow," one nurse said, without even looking up. The other did glance up, raising an eyebrow.
"I said I am here to see Albino, and I mean now," I said. I kept my voice even. There was no point in getting angry.
"I don't know who you think you are..." the nurse said, finally lifting her eyes. She gasped.
"I think I'm the queen," I said, smiling. My anonymity did not exist among the Hellites.
"Sorry, your majesty, Aneki, I didn't realize it was you. The doctors do not want Albino disturbed until she had quietened down."
"You would disobey a direct command from your queen?" I asked, this time a little more serious. I was going to see Albino now.
"I will take you there," the other nurse said. "She was sleeping until about quarter of an hour ago. She's been agitated since then, pacing around the room and calling out."
"She knows we're coming," Allie said.
"Of course," I said. "You told her in her dreams."
"Yup!" Allie bounced.
The nurse looked at us if we were mad. I couldn't say that surprised me. Alicorns that could enter ponies dreams at will? If somepony told me that, I'd think they were mad, too, if it wasn't for my firsthoof experiences.
The nurse quickly guided us to the room where Albino was currently incarcerated. Indeed, it was possible to hear her moving about inside, despite the padded walls and floor. The sounds suggested impatience, not rage, or even mild anger.
"I am concerned that she will try to run when we open the door," the nurse said. "The doctor will have my scalp if that happens."
"Stormie?" I asked.
"No, Ma'am. Doctor Strange Glove."
It was a weird name, but apparently she had been born with one white sock. Now all of her legs were Hellite black, but her name had stayed with her.
"Oh, she's an odd choice, being a midwife and all," I said.
"That is not her only area of expertise. She is quite good at emergency treatment."
"Thus, her involvement," I said. "Nonetheless, it is no longer your responsibility. It is mine. Now, please open the door."
Relieved of the consequences of what might happen, the nurse relaxed. Carefully, she unbolted the door, and eased it open a little. Albino had stopped pacing, and was standing just on the other side. I could hear her heavy breathing. The nurse edged it open a little more.
"Lightning," Albino said. "Lightning lid clear."
"She's talking. That's better than running," the nurse said, opening the door far enough that Albino could see us.
"Would you please stand back from the door," the nurse requested.
"Up," Albino said, taking a step back. "Lightning lid clear."
The nurse opened the door fully.
Albino didn't run. "Contain, contain," she said, stepping further back from the door, presumably to allow us to enter. There was a hint of ancient accent to her voice, but the words were clear enough. Nonetheless, what she meant by that, I didn't know. Allie insisted she was sane, so I was going to give her every chance to communicate with us. It wouldn't be easy, though. If brain damage was the cause, it could also prevent her from understanding us. It certainly ruled out using a spell to give her our language.
"Do you want us to come into the room?" I asked.
"Up," she said. "Contain."
So I contained myself in Albino's padded room, sitting on the floor when I did. I figured sitting would clearly indicate that we were not in a rush to leave, that we were prepared to give her what time she needed. Cacha and Allie followed me in, sitting one each side of me.
"Thank you, nurse. Would you please leave the door open. You may return to your station."
"As you wish, Aneki," she said. I heard her hoofsteps receding.
I turned to face Albino, studying her. Her face was the palest pink, the effect of her skin tone showing through her translucent, milky hair. Her mane and tail were the palest purple. Her eyes were quite pink. While I had seen ponies with pink eyes before, these struck me as colored pink by her blood vessels. Her build was quite ordinary. She was a little larger than Cacha, and had a decent set of hips on her.
She was studying me just as intently.
Visual inspections over, I broke the silence. "I am Aneki, the queen of this habitat. My daughter, Allie, tells me you wish to speak to somepony."
"Up!" Albino said, nodding.
Up? What could Albino mean by that?
"She said you met in her in your dreams."
"Up", Albino said again.
Allie said if you think about it hard enough, you could almost understand Albino's minced words. Okay. Up. Lift? No. Above? No. Something much more general than that. She used it too often. Up. Positive? Yes? She was nodding at the time. Yes!
"Albino, say yes," I said.
"Up."
"Say up."
"Up."
"What about positive?"
"Up."
Okay... Assuming I was on the right track, she had at least three words mapped onto up. Logically, down would be no.
"Hmm. Say no." If she said up this time, I was going to give... up.
"Cross," Albino said.
Had she understood me?
"So cross is no?"
"Up, cross, cross," she said, nodding enthusiastically.
And that translated to Yes, cross is no, if I was understanding her correctly. This wasn't going to be easy, was it? How did she arrive at cross for no? Cross? X? Ah! Incorrect! A mark left on a school problem when you got the answer wrong.
"Say wrong, Albino."
"Cross," Albino said.
"Do you actually understand me?" I asked. I guess it was a bit late for this question, but it needed to be asked.
"Up," she said, nodding enthusiastically. Okay, we appeared to be getting somewhere.
"How many words do you understand?"
"Dictionary!" she said, tapping her head with her hoof. That would be a lot of words.
"Do you understand that you use the wrong words when you are talking?"
"Up. Snow sound cross dictionary."
How was I meant to translate that mess? Yes I understood. Snow? No idea. Sound could be hearing or saying. Cross, no... incorrect! Dictionary, language or... words.
"Yes. Snow hears incorrect words?" I asked.
"Up!" Albino nodded.
"Snow? Are you Snow?"
"Up! Snow," she said, tapping her chest with a hoof.
"Is Snow how you say Albino?"
"Up. Except heart Snow."
"You want us to call you Snow?" I said. Except could well be exactly what she meant. Heart could mean love, or like. Maybe it could even mean prefer.
"Up. Snow heart Snow." She bounced with enthusiasm.
Good grief. I was beginning to understand her, and judging by her excitement, it wasn't something that happened often!
"Can you write?" I asked. If it was a language processing problem, I expected not.
"Cross." Albino, no, Snow shook her head.
"Read?"
"Up."
Well, that was something.
"I think the condition you have is called expressive aphasia."
"Ah," Snow said. I had the feeling that was just a general acknowledgement.
"What are you going to call me, Snow? Say my name," I said.
"Pr... Prin...cess." She paused. "Princess." This time she shrugged.
Cacha laughed. "It seem's you've been demoted, Aneki."
I pointed at Cacha. "This is Princess Cacha. You can call her Princess too, if you like.
"Princess!" Snow said, pointing at Cacha. "Princess?" she said, pointing at me. The intonation suggested it was a question.
"It will have to do, won't it?"
Snow shrugged, then nodded.
I pointed at Allie. "This is Princess Allie."
Snow laughed. "Princess!"
"One name fits all," I said with a chuckle. "I guess we can work with that."
Even Snow could see the humor. It was almost as if the problem was between Snow and us, not within Snow, herself.
"Snow, now that we seem to have some level of communication between us, there was something worrying you. How can we help?" I asked.
"Snow box contain cross?"
Box? I glanced around us. The only thing box-like was the room itself. Snow had used contain when asking us into the room – the box. Snow room contained no? She was asking if she could leave.
"May you leave the room?" I asked.
"Up!"
"You may."
"Princess trail Snow," she said.
"You want us to follow you?"
"Up!"
"Lead the way!"
Who would have guessed I would be able to hold conversations with the pony formerly referred to as the mad mare. She wasn't mad at all. How frustrating it must have been for her. Her choice of a solitary life was understandable. I wondered if it would be possible to create a workable language spell to help others understand her. It would need to be keyed specifically to her voice, otherwise it could foul up a pony's regular use of words. It was something I could think about when I had improved my own Snowcentric skills.
A few eyebrows were raised as we left the hospital. While our conversations were still very simple, it was quite clear to any onlooker that Snow was involved in a meaningful conversation. I stopped by the reception desk, checked her out under my own authority, and also corrected her name on their records.
Apparently there was something going on with, or outside the egg. As the only thing that had eggs down here were insects and changelings, I had deduced Snow was actually referring to the shell, the hull of Habitat Eleven. Suspecting that she really was referring something that was happening outside, Brainstorm and Stormie's apartment was our first destination.
Snow had objected at being taken from her direct route, but calmed down when I explained we were gathering another team member. She liked that idea.
I thumped on the door of the Storm residence. I could have used the door bell, but by the time I thought of that, it was too late. Shortly a grumpy looking stallion opened the door. He opened his mouth to say something, stared at us for a few moments, then closed it again.
"Good morning," I said. "Please excuse the rude awakening. Having been in the same position not long ago, I fully understand. I believe we have a problem on the outer hull, or with something that is going on beyond our walls."
"Really..." Brainstorm said.
"It took the poor messenger several days to get her message to me, so I'm heading out to check on things myself. You seem to be an ideal member for our investigation team."
"Couldn't it wait until the morning?"
"Apparently not. I asked the same question, and as you can see, here I am."
"Huh, what's going on?" Stormie asked, her head appearing beside her husband's.
"A trip to the outer wall," I answered. Hmm... this could be dangerous, and I didn't fancy having a baby in tow. "Could I bother you to look after a small princess for me?"
"Oh, Mum!" Allie complained.
"Think of it as relationship practice, Allie," I said. "And you can talk to your future brother or sister while you wait."
Allie stared at Stormie's bulge. "I could probably give them a full education, while I'm at it."
"Allie! Not all foals are born with the mind of an old woman!" I figured I may as well fight fire with fire, if she was going to give me attitude.
"In this case, maybe I do have a more mature mind than you, Mum. You are forgetting that I am the key to the outer areas of the habitat."
I face-hoofed. "Argh. You win. Never mind, Stormie. I guess I'll have to settle for borrowing our husband."
Brainstorm chuckled. "I'll grab my bags."
As expected, we were embarking on quite the trip. None of us knew where Snow went during long absences, but recent events suggested it was somewhere near the outer hull. Before long it became obvious that she was taking us up, towards the exits from the Habitat that Cacha had told me about.
Positioned at four points around the middle of the outer sphere were some enclosed catwalks that could be extended between some doors in the outer hull and doors built into the water jacket that surrounded the life support chamber. Normally these catwalks were not extended, as they would interfere with the vibration dampening.
Getting to these catwalks from the lower levels required quite a climb. As the route was just for service ponies, it was very functional, consisting of a combination of stairways, ramps and bridging lengths of catwalk. In other words, it was exactly the sort of place I enjoyed racing along at full speed, despite, or perhaps because of the dangers involved.
Cacha also enjoyed this sort of fun. After all, her real name was Catwalk Runner. Actually, her other name, Princess Cacha was just as real, because the queen said so. I was very tempted to start running and jumping, but I didn't want my present company, specifically my daughter, injuring herself trying to keep up. I couldn't live with myself if she fell... hang on... she had wings, didn't she.
"I'll race you to the top of the next set of stairs!" Cacha said, apparently reading my mind.
"You are on!" I said, taking off at a gallop.
I heard some objections voiced behind me, but they were mostly drowned out by the clanging of hooves against the catwalk. Seeing a potential shortcut, I leaped, bounced off the safety rail, across a gap, and onto the first of the stairs.
"Whoa!" Cacha called, scrambling to make up time.
"Bounce!" Snow exclaimed, following my lead, successfully. I wondered if she did this sort of thing often, as she was keeping up. The delight on her face was obvious.
Once we got to our designated destination, we were far ahead of the others. We stopped, taking the time to catch our breaths, figuratively speaking. With my natural physique, and the Hellite body, that amount of exertion was practically nothing.
The clanging of hooves on the catwalks grew louder. Eventually, Allie and Brainstorm arrived in a more sedate manner.
"Who are the foals now?" Allie asked.
"You have much to learn, young one. Although we age, we do not grow up. Growing up is merely a derogatory way for miserable kill-joys to say they wish you behaved like them," Brainstorm said.
"So wonderfully put!" I agreed.
"So, why didn't you run with them?" Allie asked.
"I am Brainstorm. In other words, I am an intellectual, not an athlete. Running simply does nothing for me."
Conversing with Snow was like playing charades. Her words were indirectly associated with her meaning. Context often played a major role. To our advantage, her use of words was consistent. No was always cross, as were many other words or concepts with a negative connotation. Down, wrong, stop and refusal all mapped onto cross. Contain covered concepts such as inside, please come in, put it in here, and so on. My brain was programming itself a new language database using Snow's voice as the sole key.
Over the course of the journey, we managed to more-or-less understand what Snow had come to tell us.
She had access to some areas of the habitat that were off-limits to most ponies. That was where she spent most of her time. Apparently she had understood the connotations of the failure of the habitat to launch, and was working on some sort of way to deal with the resultant problems – some sort of transportation solution, to be precise. She was fairly single-minded about it, to the point where she had spent the better part of two thousand years working on it in isolation.
To be specific, the area where she worked was outside the main sphere of the habitat, in some sort of structure that was attached to the side of the hull, in much the same way as the bridge was attached at the top.
And something was outside that structure, trying to get inside.
Eventually, our little party had set off to find out what was concerning Snow. Someone or something had tried to gain access to our habitat. What their intention was, we had no idea. As such our representative was both the most heavily armed, and of the highest diplomatic rank. It didn't hurt that I filled both roles personally. Who was I kidding? It wasn't like we could send anyone else, was it?
Snow's secret passage through the hull, to the hangar, was well hidden. To reach it, she had guided us through a maze of walls, wires and machinery, areas completely devoid of light. Delighted at the opportunity, Allie showed off her new cast light spell, and the tip of her horn was providing us with some light, and a lot of weird shadows, mostly because of her diminutive stature.
At times, the little princess could be quite comical. Her multiple layers of clothing made her look somewhat bulkier than usual. Unlike the rest of us, she didn't have the benefit of the HELaTS temperature regulating abilities.
When we finally arrived at the entrance to the passage, we found a door that looked much like any other high-security door in the habitat – a giant, circular plug, hinged from above. A hoof scanner was beside it, a single, red lamp glowing above it. It bore a small plaque that read OUTER HULL and HANGAR ACCESS.
I was surprised that Snow would have access to such a door, for at least two reasons. First, all top-tier doors required an alicorn to open them. Second, considering that most ponies had thought Snow to be mad, no pony would have deliberately given her access to anywhere.
Snow lifted her hoof to the scanner.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner said. "Test and debug subject recognized. Qualifications accepted," it said, but the door did not move. "All other ponies must also present themselves for scanning or clear the area before the door can be opened."
"Test and debug subject?" I asked.
Snow nodded.
"Ha! A security blunder!" Brainstorm chuckled. "It appears they forgot to remove the test protocols!"
Snow pointed at the hoof scanner, then at me. I guess that was one way of avoiding the use of confused words.
I moved forward, and presented my hoof to the wall-mounted machine.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner said. "Access denied. You are not qualified to enter this facility. This access attempt has been terminated."
Snow looked heart-broken, slumping. Her eyes sought out mine, her expression begging suggestions for a way through.
"Don't worry, Snow," I said. "I may be the queen, but I'm used to doors not acknowledging me. I lack the required wings. That's why we brought the key with us."
"Lid release?" Snow asked.
There was that word lid again. What had she said before, when she wanted to get out of the padded cell? Lightning lid clear. No, it wasn't that she wanted to get out at that moment. She wanted them to hurry up and open the door, so we could enter. So lid was likely a reference to a door. It was only ninety degrees out of context, physically speaking. Release, in this case, seemed pretty obvious.
"Door unlock?" I asked, immediately hoping that my unconsciously simplified speech would not offend her. "Yes, Snow. That is why we brought Allie with us. She is the key."
I turned to my daughter, who was eagerly waiting, a pace behind me.
"Now, Allie, if you would be so kind."
The little alicorn approached the scanner, reared up, and placed her hoof on the button within.
"Please wait while your qualifications are verified", the scanner said, and after a few moments, it spoke again. "Top tier access granted. What is your command?"
"Open the door. Allow all present company to pass through," Allie said. "Make the change permanent."
"Command accepted."
Immediately, the door began to cycle, its internal servos spinning up to extract the locking pins.
Snow bounced in excitement. She really was enjoying having company. How was it possible that ponies had assumed she was mad for this long? Had they no skills of observation? Did they simply believe what they had been told, and entertained no thought that she could be sane? Admittedly, she had spent the last two millennia down in the lower levels, where there was minimal understanding of medical conditions, but that didn't excuse others from failing to notice she was not mad.
But what about before then? She apparently had medical staff looking after her, and they hadn't known? Even I knew about aphasia. My great-grandmother had it after suffering a stroke. I was a pre-teen at the time, but could still remember the nurses explaining the problem to me. Perhaps they had simply been too busy getting ready to leave the planet to really care about one harmless, artificially grown pseudo-pony.
"It's a pipe," Allie said.
"Pardon?"
"This route of Snow's is a pipe. Look."
Allie wasn't wrong. Usually these round security doors were merely set in a circular opening in a wall, a regular, cuboid room behind them. To call this route a corridor would not be right. It was more like a tunnel, or as Allie insisted, a pipe. There was no flat floor, making it impossible to walk in anything but single file. Its diameter was just large enough for the larger members of our species to walk through comfortably, suggesting it was really just for alicorn use.
Snow entered, me stepping in immediately behind her, cutting off Allie. She pulled a face.
"Behind Cacha, please," I said. "Brainstorm, do you mind bringing up the rear?"
"With a view like that, not at all," he chuckled.
"Don't look at my butt that way," Allie said. Sometimes the development of Allie's mind surprised me.
"You are not my wife, little one," Brainstorm said. "Besides, with you rugged up like that, there isn't much to see."
"Snow mate cross," Snow said, looking back over her shoulder. That was easy enough to understand.
"Remind me not to crack jokes," Brainstorm muttered, ushering Allie into the tunnel after us.
As soon as we were all inside, the door lowered, plugging the entry, and with it, cutting off what little light there had been. That left Allie's horn as the sole source of light, until Snow switched on her survival-saddle mounted lamps.
Looking past Allie and Snow, I could see we were approaching a dead-end, a featureless wall. It did not faze Snow, who kept a steady walking pace. The first sign I noticed that indicated there was some sort of sliding door ahead was the scuff marks on the end wall. The marks were in an arc, the curvature of which suggested that the door was quite large, easily three times the diameter of the tunnel in which we were walking.
The first sign of it opening was an expanding lens-shaped gap to the left. As the gap expanded, I realized it was not merely a door that was opening, but and entire length of tunnel that was moving into position. Snow did not falter, her pace such that she stepped into the new section of tunnel moments after it had aligned. After a few paces, she did look down at the floor, then back at us, realization painting itself across her face. She did not share her thoughts.
I was puzzling over that when the tunnel started moving, the floor dropping. The whole section of tunnel was rotating again! It reminded me of the way bullets were stored in Richard the Great's revolver, with the exception of there being a single chamber here. We were currently walking through that chamber, as it was being rotated. It also explained why the tunnel was pipe shaped – it was the only shape that would allow us to walk through it while it was rotating.
By the time we arrived at the other end of the rotating segment, it had lined up with another fixed tunnel, this one towards the bottom of the cylinder's rotation. As expected, once we had traversed its length, there was another rotating section ahead. This one lined up with another tunnel at yet another angle relative to the first. It had to be an attempt to prevent there being any direct line down which an enemy shell could penetrate. I could think of no other reason for this craziness.
Getting fresh air into the tunnel would be a challenge, too. I could see no vents anywhere. Each section must have been getting purged of old air before it opened to us. If it stopped rotating, trapping us, we would surely suffocate. That would not be a situation I could shoot my way out of.
The other thing I could not understand was why the builders hadn't used a teleporter as they had on the bridge. Ah, perhaps this section had been created as the habitat shell initially grew. No thought would have been given to pony magic. But then, hadn't the bridge also been grown during the initial process? Was it possible there was a route like this through to the bridge, that had simply lain undiscovered for two millennia?
This led to me wondering about the other weak points on the hull – the guns and the main exits, neither of which we had activated or accessed for further investigation. Moving parts, rotating cylinders – their complexity must be mind numbing.
The last section of rotating tunnel slowed as it aligned with the final fixed stretch and we filed into it, walking towards the final door. All up, it was a short walk, compared to that of a typical freerun, yet the feeling of being constrained, trapped, was most unpleasant and exhausting. I, for one, would be glad to reach our destination.
Again, we had to wait as one of the top-tier plug-doors went through the laborious process of extracting its locking pins, before finally pulling back and lifting clear. Barely visible at first in the darkness beyond, there was a faint blue, flickering light.
Snow stopped, causing some muzzle to rump collisions from the less attentive and those that followed too closely.
"Nice to feel you, Cacha," I said quietly.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Cross cross cross," Snow said, looking back over her shoulder at us.
"Something is upsetting you?" I asked.
Snow dropped, her pose one of stealth. She pointed out the door. "Cross. Sky cross."
"Something is wrong out there?" I asked.
"Up," Snow said, nodding.
"Okay," I said, readying my weapon. If it was invaders we were investigating, it would be best to be ready for them. For my ammunition, I selected a potent spell, but one with limiters. I didn't want it puncturing the shell of the habitat, especially out here, where the hangar walls would be quite thin. That loaded, I formed a turret on each shoulder, and was rewarded with a somewhat freaked out expression on Snow's face. Apparently she hadn't known I could do that.
"I guess I am the heavy weapons HELaTS prototype," I said, shrugging.
"Ah!" Snow said. She knew about being a prototype.
"It's a good thing I loaded my pistol with real ammunition, isn't it?" Cacha asked.
"Maybe. For all we know, we are about to investigate an electrical fault. One is merely being cautious. On that subject, Allie, please move behind Brainstorm, and stay in here, as quietly as you can."
"But I want to do something," she insisted.
"You will be. You are going to watch and listen to what is going on. When you can't see, you will visualize what is happening. You will mentally form an escape plan for yourself, if things go badly. These are all skills you need to learn. We will call you out if there is nothing to worry about. Okay?"
"Okay," she said, rolling her eyes. Hopefully she would grow out of her teenage rebellious stage by the time she was two.
"Right, Snow, do you want to lead the way, or do you want one of us to go out first?"
Snow didn't answer, edging forward, then out through the door. Quietly, Cacha and I followed behind, and into the cavernous space beyond, presumably the hangar. Brainstorm held back, just inside the doorway. Should he need it, he had both cover, and a good position for shooting. He could also make sure Allie stayed put. For that, I was grateful.
Now that we could see them directly, the blue flickers and flashes were a lot more orderly than they had first appeared. A pyramid of blue light hung in the air, slowly panning across the contents of the hangar. The base of the pyramid, interrupted by the form of a large vehicle, was faintly visible on the far wall. The vehicle itself, wrapped in blue haze, was like nothing I had seen before.
The vertex of the pyramid, somewhat brighter, was not too far away from us, and marked its point of projection. The thing producing the pyramid of light was several times taller than us, had multiple legs and...
"Clockwork spiders box penetrate!" Snow gasped.
"Ah, she's coming around."
"Aneki, can you hear me?"
"Mum?"
That had been quite a nightmare, and it left me feeling as if I had missed a jump while freerunning, or been hit by an exploding changeling queen. And my legs were aching again, much as they had when I first began to transform into a Hellite.
Elements of the dream had been unexpectedly real, but other parts of it were totally unbelievable – the usual, messed up distortions that were common to dreams. What twisted part of my mind had come up with the machine that was a mockery of a pony? The mental images of its relentless slashing, striking and whirling with eight limbs that all bore blades, were pure horror.
Faint light had been coming from strange angles, partially hiding everything that was happening – shadow play on a black velvet background. The scene of Cacha's head coming off in the midst of other flying pony limbs, flying through a graceful arc, her yellow mane fluttering behind it, was the pinnacle of my fears.
And the blood: unbelievable amounts of blood had sprayed everywhere.
I had tried to shoot the monster time and time again, and for all the success I was having I might as well have been throwing flowers at a concrete wall.
There was no way something like that could have happen in reality. No way.
But then... what had I been doing last night? Yesterday? I... couldn't remember. The day had started weird, with Allie waking me during the night, and we had gone off to see that Albino pony...
I didn't like where these memories were leading. Seeking reassurance I reached for Cacha, only to find her form somewhat undersized.
"Allie?" What was she doing in my bed? Not that she wasn't welcome – it was just unusual.
"Mum, you're finally awake!" the small filly enthused. There were stains around her eyes from excessive crying. Whatever had upset her was going to face a mother's wrath.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," a mare said. Stormie? What was she doing in my room. No, this wasn't my room, was it? Stormie leaned over the bed, feeling me, gently prodding me, her fingers working over my forelegs, across my shoulder, my flank and – just how much was she planning on feeling? Sometimes her touch hurt more than it should have.
"Ouch. Huh? What's going on?" I asked.
"Post traumatic amnesia?" another voice suggested. It was Doctor Strange Glove. And why was she in here?
Uh-oh.
"Cacha. Where is Cacha?"
"Sorry, Aneki..."
I cut her off. "She's dead? She died? I remember it all too well. We were cut to ribbons by that pony-machine-thing. It cut her head off!"
I must have shrieked that, judging on the flinching of those around me, followed by every pony reaching in to calm or constrain me. Seeing that I made no sudden movements, they retreated a little, Allie being the exception. She was hugging me for all her worth.
"Calm down, Aneki. Calm down. Cacha..."
"Calm down? Cacha is dead, isn't she?" I promptly burst in heaving sobs. No way. Why did life keep doing this to me? Cacha had been the one constant while my life kept taking one weird turn after another. She had been a faithful and honest friend. She was my... my other half!
And that was that. I practically didn't care any more, about anything. My mind was paralyzed. Rational thought was gone. A mental image of my daughter poked at me, reminding me that she was still there. Oh, hell. Life didn't matter any more. I'd be a miserable mother like this. I howled louder.
"...ve. Ane.."
How long would I have to bear this crushing grief? Not long, I suspected. At the rate it was crushing me, I'd die of a broken heart by the end of the day.
"... re you liste..."
And if it didn't? Would the grief eventually turn to rage? Who would I take it out on? Snow? Everypony? The freakish, mechanical pony-thing from outside the habitat?
"...eki! Do I ha..."
Would I simply curl up and turn into a vegetab...
The hoof across my face caught my attention, somehow.
"She can be saved, Aneki. Cacha can be saved."
I blinked, stunned. The grief still had me in its grip, not quite prepared to let go yet.
"What?"
"I said that Cacha is... still alive," Stormie said. That pause worried me.
"But how? I saw... I saw her head go flying."
"It was a bit more than her head, you silly pony. Her body is black, isn't it. You probably couldn't see it in the dark," Stormie admonished me. "Besides, even if it had, we could have saved her."
"What? How?" I wasn't entirely sure which statement I was asking about. "Her head was black at the time, too. Armor, remember?"
"The hellite... HELaTS modifiers wire a secondary neural network into a pony's brain. It's the exact same way they convert the brain of a corpse into a computer. Brainstorm and I worked out how to recover a pony from just that network. It was practically the same method we used to rebuild ourselves, when we left our tank," Stormie said.
"I think I was asking about Cacha," I said. Trust a scientist to give the wrong answer. "Where is she? I want to see her."
"She's still in the recovery tank. She needs major reconstruction, but we didn't want to start until we could talk with you."
Recovery tank was the generic term now being applied to the gender conversion tanks that were no longer being used for their original purpose.
"So, how much more of her than her head was cut off?" I asked, grimly, as my grief gave me another firm jolt. "And why wait? Of course I want her back."
"That cut went though her body, just below her heart. There is other extensive damage, too. She has no legs," Doctor Strange Glove said.
"So, she did die. Are you trying to reassure me or make me feel worse?" I asked.
"Well, at least you now know," Allie said.
I thought back to the twisted memories of the fight, to the frustration, the blood, the pain... and the lack of a conclusion. Had I knocked myself out again, or had Cacha's death been the trigger? Did I even want to know?
"How do you think Cacha would like to be rebuilt? As a stallion or as a mare? We can do that now." Stormie asked.
"Do you really think I am in any state to be answering that sort of question?" I asked. "Is it even a question that should be asked? She would want to be rebuilt as a mare, of course. She only wanted to be a stallion for me, but I prefer her as she is... was."
"So, you do prefer mares after all."
"As a sexual partner, no. I prefer Cacha for what she is – an extension of myself." I snorted. "And my daughter's other genetic parent was an alicorn princess." I had no idea why I said that, other than the point that gender didn't seem to matter much in my life.
"Oh, the irony."
"What about everypony else? Allie looks okay. Are you okay, Allie?"
"Physically, I avoided damage, but mentally is a different matter. Having to collect parts of your mother so she can be reassembled is more than a little disturbing."
Say what? Pieces of me? "What did you say, little one?"
"That thing we encountered didn't stop with Snow and Cacha. It also sliced you up before Brainstorm was able to kill it," Allie said. "The difference is that your injuries were limited to the loss of your forelegs, and wounds that didn't do any internal damage, so your recovery has been relatively quick."
"Aneki, dear," Stormie said, "Brainstorm and I have developed an improved version of the HELaTS modifier. We were able to use it to repair you."
I lifted my right foreleg, and looked at one of the places that had hurt when Stormie poked it. There was a clear scar there, just below my knee.
"What? So you just glued my legs back on with these new modifiers?" I asked, sarcastically.
"Pretty much," Stormie said. "Brainstorm, who was carrying a couple of doses in case of emergency, injected you with them at the scene."
"Then I had to hold you together while the modifiers did their work," Allie said, grimly.
I shuddered, then dry heaved. Clearly, I hadn't eaten anything recently.
"Are you okay, Aneki?" Stormie asked.
"Obviously not," I muttered. "Apparently, I was conscious for that whole ordeal, because I just remembered it in all its nightmarish, gory, and very painful detail."
"Yes, you were, Mum. You were awake all the way up until we got Cacha and Snow back through that tunnel, and to ponies who could help."
"I don't remember any of that... yet," I said.
"You were not particularly alert at the time," Allie said. "You were a sort of mindless zombie. We had to keep giving you instructions."
"Oh." Why did this sort of thing keep happening to me? Oh, that was right – I had wanted to know the secrets of H'ven, hadn't I?
"We can counsel you, if you need it," Stormie said.
"Later, maybe. It's only going to happen again, one way or another. What about Snow? Did she survive? Can she be rebuilt if she didn't?"
Stormie looked at me for a good minute before replying, and my heart tensed itself for the worst.
"You catch on rather quick, don't you," Stormie finally said. "She's in the other recovery tank. Her healing is fairly advanced. While she had major organ damage, her torso was not cut apart like Cacha's was. We are trying some experimental modifiers on her."
"Haven't you learned not to do that yet?" I growled, thinking back to their treatment of me as an experimental subject when we first met.
"She gave us her blessing, in as much as up, up, up can be understood."
"She was conscious?"
"Of course. It is a little hard to talk when in a coma."
"All the same, what if the modifiers don't work?"
"Then it will be life as usual for her," Stormie said. "They don't put her at risk."
"So what will these modifiers do?" I asked.
Stormie just tapped her forehead twice, the context of which I could not interpret.
Rest was in order, I was told, so I had found myself restricted to bed under doctor's orders. Eventually, orders or not, I found myself becoming frustrated with lying around in a hospital bed, so I had excused myself to Allie, and walked off on my own to do a little thought gathering, and soul searching while stretching some muscles. My first stop had been the mares' room, just because it was a destination that was outside my hospital room. Had I really needed to use the facilities, there was an en-suite in the room I was staying.
What a mess that had been! The habitat had nearly needed to find itself a new queen, firstly, because I nearly got myself killed, then secondly, because grief had turned me into a total disaster. I didn't think I had been indulging in self-pity. That grief had been mind-crippling to the point where taking time to feel sorry for myself was impossible. Simply put, I had been too busy grieving for Cacha.
I was still grieving for her, although to a lesser extent. She would recover, but what a mental basket-case she would be. I could imagine her being very fragile for a long time.
On the other hoof, according to Stormie, Snow had been relatively up-beat about the whole deal. Then again, Stormie hadn't had lessons in Snow-speak yet, and had been relying on translation services provided by an extremely upset filly.
Having washed my face, and tidied my mane and tail, I emerged from the mares' room, and bumped into a black, blue and green wall of stallion.
"Ah, good. You are up and about," Brainstorm said to me.
"Evidently, I am," I agreed. "The stuff you glued me back together with seems to have done the job relatively well."
"Better than you can imagine. You walked back from the site of the attack to the hospital yourself. What's more, you were carrying Snow on your back, with a little levitation help from Allie."
"You carried Cacha?"
"I did. I was also supporting an active stasis field spell, to prevent the conditions of Cacha and Snow from deteriorating," Brainstorm said. "Come with me, please. There's something I wish to show you."
"Okay," I said, falling in beside him. "You don't seem surprised that I don't remember what happened."
"Hardly. You were in shock. We were able to get your body to do basic things, but you weren't there."
"Can you blame me?" I asked.
"No, and in a way, it was a blessing, as I am pretty sure you were still in some physical pain."
"That seems to be the one thing you can't eliminate from your modifiers, isn't it?"
"Actually, I'm sure the pain had more to do with the great slash down your side, and that your forelegs had actually been cut off, right through the bone," Brainstorm said, perhaps a little miffed that I had again accused him of causing me pain. Hey, he did cause me pain several times!
"Well, thank you for making pony-glue then," I muttered.
"Anyway, that's not what I wanted to discuss. I really want you see the parts of our enemy that I managed to salvage."
"Where are they?"
"In our lab. I went and fetched several pieces of it after I'd delivered you all to the hospital and helped stabilize the others."
"I'm curious – this new modifier couldn't help the others? Why did it work on me and not them?"
"I used the second dose on Snow as her injuries were not as bad as Cacha's, but it proved to be inadequate for the task. We were able to reattach her legs, but the internal injuries were too great for it to repair. The failure did show where we needed to make improvements, so we are working on a new batch even now."
"You couldn't use the same modifiers you used to reassemble yourself and Stormie, when you first got out of your tank?" I asked.
"A variant of those is what we are using to rebuild Snow and Cacha now, but to answer your question, no, they would be useless in the field, as there are no external resources from which they could draw."
"Ah, I get it," I said.
Brainstorm closed the door to the lab behind him. Unlike the high-security plug-door to the lab in the lower levels of the life support chamber, Brainstorm's lab in Habitat ten was blessed with an ordinary, rectangular one. The contents of this lab were not that different to the previous one. In fact, a lot of these items were the items from the lab above, either recovered from the stash, or salvaged from the old lab, and installed here. Now that nopony was trying to kill Hellites, retrieving them had been a relatively easy task. Of course, with resources as limited as they were in the habitat, there had been very little chance of getting the materials to build the new lab from scratch.
Brainstorm waved a hoof in the direction of a substantial collection of pieces that had come from the machine that sliced us apart. Fortunately, they were free of any blood or gore, making the experience somewhat clinical.
"So, here we have the parts of the clockwork spider," he said.
On the floor, I could see parts of its limbs, parts of its body, and its nasty blade-like fingers. Assorted other parts were also sitting on the floor of the Storm labs, the exceptions being the pale grey, pony-like head, and some of the smaller pieces of internal workings, which were up on the main workbench.
"Clockwork spider?" I asked.
"That's what Snow called it. Presumably she meant something like machine with eight limbs. As we don't have an official name for the thing, clockwork spider is as relevant as any other choice. And the bonus is Snow gets to say something right for a change."
"We can hope," I muttered under my breath, wondering if trying to actually say that might result in yet another perversion of our language.
I walked over to the bench that was supporting the killing-machine's head. It was significantly larger than the head of any pony I had ever seen, alicorn adults included, but was most definitely pony shaped. There was no coat-hair, but it did sport a luxurious, blonde mane. There were four ears, though, one pair immediately behind the other. Her eyes, currently closed, were adorned with lashes that would be the envy of any mare in the habitat. Her? Had I just decided this killing-machine was a female? It was definitely very feminine by our standards of beauty.
"Is it safe to touch?" I asked, cautiously extending my fingers from my hoof.
"I believe so, but keep your hooves away from its mouth, just in case."
I was about to ask why, when its eyelids snapped open, its crystal blue eyes stared directly at me.
"Eek!" I managed, staggering back and falling onto my rump in a most unladylike manner. The surprise over, I regained my hooves, and composure. "Okay, I see. It's not quite dead. Has it done anything else?"
"Not a thing," Brainstorm said. "I haven't decided whether it is an autonomous function, or if there is some sort of intelligence still active in there. Short of cracking it open, it may not be possible to determine."
"So, crack it open," I said.
"Feel it."
I did, reaching up and touching the side of its face, well away from the mouth. It was firm, but supple, not unlike my own armored skin. Behind the skin was the solidness of bone. That was to be expected. I didn't see what the problem was.
"Look under the forelock," Brainstorm suggested, so I did. There I found a wound from one of my unsuccessful shots. A small area of the artificial flesh had been blown away, revealing a little of the skull. It was completely undamaged.
"Tough stuff," I said.
"That is an understatement. Pick up that piece of armor on the floor, near your hooves," Brainstorm said.
Looking down, I found I something that resembled a part of a giant insect leg among the collection of remnants. The piece was longer than I was tall, but made of quite thin material, and had it been of something common, such as metal, it would have been heavy, but well within the capability of a HELaTS to lift. I wrapped my fingers around it and tried to lift it, finding I could not budge it from its position on the floor. It rocked a little, but that was all.
"What the?"
"Hull material," Brainstorm said. "It's made from the same, multidimensional material as the hull of the habitat. Now you understand why cracking open the skull will be difficult. Hours with a cutting spell at best, and as we don't know how thick the skull is, we will have to do it in many shallow passes so we don't damage whatever is inside."
"No wonder my shots didn't faze it," I said.
"You have blown holes clean through this sort of material on several occasions. This time you were being too conservative with your choice of ammunition spell."
"Can you blame me? I nearly put a hole through the life support chamber wall, last time I let loose with an unrestricted shot."
"You should have realized what you were doing wasn't working, and upped the ante."
"I think by that point, I was in blind panic," I admitted.
"Panic?" Brainstorm asked, frowning.
"Yes. Panic. My friends were injured or killed within seconds of us encountering that monster. It was bearing down on me at an alarming rate..."
"Oh, I keep forgetting that despite you being so heavily armed, you are not trained for combat, or even for security work."
"Perhaps I should rectify that," I said.
"You and me both," Brainstorm agreed. "It is many centuries since I last had anything resembling training, and that was only as part of the underground."
"Do you have any idea who we should ask?"
"The changelings. I expect it was they who trained the former death-squads."
"But we beat them!" I objected.
"A few amateurs with big guns got lucky. Imagine the effectiveness of a few well trained soldiers with big guns."
"It will be a very small army," I muttered.
"You and me. Maybe one or two other unicorns at a later date. Yes, it will be a small army. It will also be a very potent one."
The head blinked.
"Should we be discussing that in front of this?" I asked.
Brainstorm chuckled. "I doubt it understands our language, but all the same, probably not."
"Anyway, what has been done to prevent more of these things from getting into the hangar?"
"Not a single thing." Brainstorm shrugged.
"What?" I spluttered.
"Seriously, what could we do against that, short of positioning one of the heavy weapons HELaTS in the hangar? There are only three of us. Stormie is pregnant. You are recovering. I am here."
I didn't know what I had been expecting when I asked for combat training, but I was pretty sure it wasn't this.
Officially we had no army to speak of. The royal guards were the closest we had to a military presence, and they were mostly decorative, as they were called to dangerous duty so rarely. They, of course, were all changelings. As such, training with them would be useless. Learning to march in ranks would gain me nothing.
The major force was the police. Again, these were mostly decorative in their role, as the shared wealth, media and brainwashing had kept the populace mostly content. Ponies had full bellies, lovers and somewhere to sleep. The pony next door had the same thing, so there was no need to try to better him, or steal what was his. As such, the police training would not really be appropriate. At most they had to deal with the odd domestic disturbance. None of them were armed. The police had mostly ponies on the ground, and changelings higher up the command structure. Now that I had taken over, more ponies were getting promoted, and more changelings were taking the opportunity to go out on patrol.
The last force to be considered was Central's nasty little secret, and I had dealt with both regular soldiers and the death squads. That was our real military, and it was so small it would stand no chance against those clockwork-spider killing machines. What this did offer me, however, was somewhere to train.
The training ground was a circular area a few floors below the royal palace, not far from the barracks. It was two levels high, giving the headroom required for climbing, jumping and other athletic activities. It didn't compare to being able to leap between buildings and bridges up above ground level. I doubted, even when fully trained, that the soldiers would be capable of truly freerunning. The risk factor was too high.
And, of course, everyone who was down here used codes instead of names, as was standard practice for Central's more sensitive departments.
Entering reception, I found a glowing pony standing in front of me. He was wearing a cream jumpsuit, presumably as city camouflage. The way his eyes sought out mine suggested he was waiting for me. That made me wonder how it would be possible to read the eyes of a changeling in its natural form, as they were a uniform pale blue.
The glowing pony broke the silence. "1C3, I presume."
I nodded.
He continued. "I will be your instructor. I am 3G1. I must say that it is most unusual for a 1xx rank member to be sent to do combat training. Those that would need combat training have usually completed it before they were promoted. So, 1C3, I must ask why are you here?"
"Because I need training, obviously," I replied. "Last time I found myself in a bad situation, I think I panicked, and that is no good."
"You think, but you do not know?" 3G1 asked, raising his eyebrows.
"It is not something I remember clearly. Whatever the case was, I did not perform well enough. That is all you need to know."
"I see," he said. Slowly pacing, he walked around me, looking me up and down, paying particular attention to my HELaTS body. He came to a stop in front of me. "I'd suggest you change out of that black skin-suit, too, if you value it," he said. He had to be joking.
"I'm naked," I said.
"I suspected as much, but thought asking if you were Hellspawn would be rude."
That horrid name was still in use?
"HELaTS or Hellites, please," I said. "Calling us Hellspawn is indeed rude."
"As you wish. Training will be rough. Do you wish to put on a jumpsuit to protect your body?"
"No, thank you. I will train as I am." The HELaTS body was, after all, a lot tougher than a that of a regular pony, or a jumpsuit for that matter.
"All right. See that track?" He pointed at strip of rusty-red ground. "It follows the inner wall of the compound. It is quite some distance. I want you to run around it until you are completely exhausted. I will be watching, so I will know if you slack off. When you are done, we will call it a day. You are too late for any serious training today. However, tomorrow morning, I want you standing right there, fresh and ready to go, with the other cadets. Understood?" The changeling's voice had taken on a commanding tone, indicating that niceties were over.
"Understood, sir," I said. I took off at a gallop, surprising him. Even at that rate, I knew I would have to stop before I was exhausted, or I would still be running after everypony else had gone to bed. In fact, I would probably still running by the time we were expected to assemble the following morning.
The day had mostly been devoted to physical training. Endurance and coordination were the primary goals, along with a degree of teamwork. I couldn't say I really had any use for this sort of training. What I wanted was combat training. I wanted to be taught how to keep a cool head in the most dire of circumstances. Strategy would also be something of value. While I could work out strategies of my own, being equipped with successful military strategies would only help me.
Apparently, my thoughts on the irrelevance of the training was being broadcast by my actions, because I was called over to 3G1 while the other cadets continued to struggle through the obstacle course. To me it had been foal's play. 3G1 had called me over as soon as I had completed the course.
"It is apparent that you do not need any further physical development," the disguised changeling said. "I give you all of the exercises, and while the other cadets collapse of exhaustion, you are as fresh and energetic as when you started. Your muscles are quite visibly well developed, plus you have the HELaTS advantage. I send you through our most grueling obstacle course, and you ace it. You jump where others struggle to climb. You take alternative routes at full speed."
I shrugged. "I am a freerunner," I said.
"I am, however, a little concerned with your attitude, at times. You do not always follow orders. You do not always address me as Sir. When I tell you to climb a wall, I expect you to climb, not jump. Although, I suspect the result would be no different. Nonetheless, you must learn to obey your superiors. I will be noting this in the report I supply to those who sent you here."
"3G1, you are forgetting my rank. It is you should be addressing me as Sir. I don't answer to anyone. I came here of my own volition."
"Really? You were not sent by your commanding officer?"
"I do not have a commanding officer," I said.
"Whatever the case, you must ultimately answer to the queen," 3G1 said.
"I guess you could say that." Ultimately, I did answer to myself, didn't I? More to the point, I answered to every pony in this habitat.
"All the same, whoever you do or don't answer to, please, could you not set a bad example for the other cadets?"
"If you put it that way," I agreed.
"What should I do with you?" 3G1 asked, as if I was still a problem cadet.
"What I need is to learn how to handle intense situations, how to maintain my cool while I am being stabbed at or shot at," I said. "I need to be able to fight when my friends are dying around me, when blood and gore are everywhere, when the enemy is stronger than I could have imagined. I need to be able to win."
"Situations like that aren't something that happen particularly often, are they?"
"You'd be surprised," I said. "I, personally, have been shot multiple times, stabbed, slashed, and had my legs cut off. My friend really was killed beside me in my last battle."
"You are joking, right?" His military tone had been replaced by one of surprise. "I have heard of no such conflicts within the habitat."
"It's no joke," I said, pointing to a couple of my scars. "Unfortunately, mine is a very hazardous line of work."
Again, 3G1 walked slowly around me, studying me, identifying my scars, suggesting what he believed to be the cause of each.
"Okay, ma'am," he said "It is plain that you do not need to be trained as a regular soldier. I will see if we can devise more adequate training for you."
Ma'am? He was acknowledging my rank now?
"Thank you."
"Do you have a weapon? Has one been issued to you?" he asked.
"I am a weapon," I muttered. "I have not been issued a weapon here, but I do own one."
"What sort?"
"It's an Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories boot pistol." Maybe they could start calling them Storm guns. It was a hell of a lot easier to say!
"I can't say I am familiar with the model. I will issue you with a regular service weapon. Being familiar with multiple types of weapons is highly recommended."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, while I go organize things, I want you to go back into the training yard and climb that bloody wall. Keep doing it until I return."
"Yes, sir!" I said, being careful not to sound too cheeky. It was not as if I could not climb the wall. The alternatives had just been easier.
The week was wearing on. Cacha was on my mind when I wasn't in combat training. Fortunately, combat training had the ability to fill my mind, take all my concentration, and forget the world outside the immediate. Could I find any other way to say the same thing? At least the training was going well.
3G1 had given up trying to train me the regular way, after I excelled at pretty much everything he threw my way. I was surprised to find out I was quite accurate with the ancient, explosive powered guns, despite their lack of any integral targeting spells. Just sighting by eye, I was above average. If I had to guess, I would say the skill came from the judgements I had to make while freerunning. The only real difference between freerunning and shooting was that in the former case, I was the projectile.
As an experiment, I wrote my own targeting spells in such a way that I could apply them to any weapon. As a result, accuracy jumped to a whole new level. They let me expend ten of their rare bullets, both testing and marveling at my accurate shooting. The shell casings were recovered for reuse. The shells themselves were also salvaged for recycling. It reminded me just how limited our resources were, trapped in this sphere. I had no idea where they got their propellant from, but it would not surprise me if a variation of the food generator was in use.
The following stage of training was something 3G1 and I devised together. He managed to find the members of the death squad with which I had previously battled, and psyched them up by telling them I was the mare who had beaten them up. Actually it had been... Cacha... that had beaten them, but we wanted them after my blood. Legally, they had no recourse, but given the opportunity to return the pain, they were quite enthusiastic about their assignment. That was what I wanted. I wanted them to shoot to inflict pain, not take pity on the pretty mare.
I organized a shipment of training pistols from Brainstorm. They were just regular boot pistols, but were restricted to firing carrot. That way, being shot would be painful, and something a pony would try to avoid, giving training a new level of realism.
The squad and I were transported separately to preselected locations in the deserted sublevels, where we set about trying to eliminate each other. There were no silly one hit and you play dead rules, with both sides going at it until they were too tired or too sore to continue. The former death squad wore armor and helmets to protect themselves from the worst of the damage. Apart from deploying my integral head armor, I chose to use no protection. I wanted to feel the pain, and not out of any self pity or misguided attempt at penance. I simply wanted to learn how to keep fighting when I was wounded, instead of panicking or collapsing in a heap as per usual.
3G1 tagged along with me, watching, instructing me when needed, but never partaking in the fighting.
I soon learned to think on my hooves, to dodge preemptively, to make good use of cover when appropriate, and movement when not. After the first day of this intense training, I retired with a mass of stinging lumps on my hide. It made sleeping a little uncomfortable. They had healed by the following morning, only to be replaced with a fresh set by the following day's activities.
By the time a week of this was over, I was beginning to gain the upper hoof. More training would follow, but this day was special. Cacha was being taken from the tank. Today we would see if her mind had truly survived, if her personality hadn't taken too much damage. It wasn't as if I was going to abandon her if things had changed. Mostly I was desperately hoping she wouldn't wake up a stranger.
The advantage of having two homes was that one could choose to live in the more convenient location, as required. It could also be a problem, especially when you left something at the other location. Technically, I had been living out of Habitat Ten for the last few weeks. Until Cacha was released from the hospital, that was the place closest to her.
Except for the minor detail that, during training, I had actually been staying in the barracks, up in the life support chamber. As such, my home in Habitat Ten was just too far to return to each night. Tonight, however, that would be exactly where I was sleeping. The commute was a long elevator ride, a couple miles of corridors and catwalks, and the final elevator within Habitat Ten itself.
My first destination, however, was not my home – that could wait until I picked up Cacha. I rapidly made my way to the hospital, musing that, with my frequent visits, the place was almost becoming a home away from home.
I approached the reception desk, waiting until the nurse acknowledged me. Finally, she looked up. I wondered if what she was doing was so important she could not spare the time, or if this always-present delay was merely a way of trying to put visitors at a disadvantage.
"Do you have any news for me? Where's Cacha?" I asked. "Has she been removed from the tank yet?"
"Please wait while I fetch the head doctor," the nurse answered, practically leaping from the desk and bolting out the door behind her.
Oh wonderful. I hated when ponies avoided questions, and ran for their superiors. It never meant anything good. Doubly so when that superior was a former mad scientist. I hadn't even had the chance to ask about Snow!
I paced back and forth, barely holding myself back from stomping. Who was I kidding? I had adjusted my hooves so they were soft, so as not to disturb any other patients, and was stomping for all I was worth. Damn it. More than a week without Cacha. More than a week without even communicating with her.
"Ah, Aneki. Good of you to drop in," Stormie said, appearing through the doorway.
"Was it?" I asked. "Where's my Cacha?"
"She left earlier."
"You're kidding. Didn't you tell her I was going to drop by?"
"Aneki, Cacha has changed. She didn't want to meet you here. I suggest you go home now. Cacha will contact you when she feels like doing so." Stormie's face was dead serious.
I deflated.
"You are kidding," I muttered, barely restraining myself from a most unladylike display. "And Snow?"
"She's fine. We'll let you know when she wants to see you," Stormie said.
"Doesn't anypony want to see me, anymore?" I asked, bitterly. What a let down. For a week of near-torture to end this way was just. too. much.
"Go home to your daughter, Aneki. You've been so busy with training that you've been neglecting her. She'd like to see her mother."
"Oh, okay," I grumbled, poking my tongue out at Stormie. As much as I was disappointed, I had to admit that seeing Allie would be good. I quietly stomped out of the hospital.
Of course, by now, I had completely overlooked the fact that I had left my daughter with her grandmother, Bittersweet. With my mind going in endless circles, I trudged home. I was trying to work out what the situation with Cacha was, and what I was going to do about it, but that required knowing what the situation with Cacha was... this was getting me nowhere. Now if only I could work out what the...
I don't know how many mental loops it took for me to get home, but eventually I head-butted the door, unlocked it, and headed in.
It was quite dark inside, which immediately clued me in to Allie's location. Cussing under my breath, I began to turn, with the idea of going to fetch her from Bittersweet, when I noticed I was not alone.
I could hear breathing.
Did I have an unwanted guest trying to hide? A burglar? That was unlikely. As everypony had easy access to the essentials, it wasn't as if stealing gained anypony much, other than eventual punishment. Allie? I guess that was possible. Perhaps she was asleep. Why she would be here alone was another matter altogether. Perhaps Bittersweet was here too?
"I know you are in here," I said, flicking on the light switch. "So please identify yourself." That had sounded harsher than I meant.
"It's me," a slightly husky voice said from the bedroom.
"Cacha?" I would recognize that voice anywhere. What was she doing here? Hell. She lived here. What I wanted to know was why Stormie had made me believe she would not be.
"Yes," Cacha said. "It's been a long time. Um... how are you?"
She sounded rather awkward. And muffled. She had to be hiding under the blankets for some reason or another. I walked into the bedroom, and sure enough, there was a giant, blanket-wrapped pill-bug on the bed. I wondered what she was playing at. What was so different about her that would cause this behavior? Had the events made her so scared she had to hide? Was she looking for security within the blankets? Or could it be the opposite? Was she afraid to be seen?
"Cacha, why are you hiding?" I asked, gently.
"Um, I'm a bit embarrassed," she said.
"A bit?" So, she didn't want to be seen. Was she badly scarred?
"Okay, a lot. They changed me in the tank. I've got a pokey bit now..."
"A what?" I almost exploded. "Damn it! I told those bastards not to mess with you. I told them I was happy with you being a mare!"
"Really? You really told them that?"
"Of course I told them that. Don't tell me you didn't know how I feel."
"Um... Yeah... You've told me often enough."
"Yet you continue to doubt me?"
"Umm... I'm still a mare," Cacha said.
"Huh? What?"
Now I was getting confused! How could Cacha have a pokey bit and still be a mare. Oh, don't tell me she had both. I shuddered. Now I was getting angry enough to go and remove any appendages the Storms had, pokey or otherwise.
The blankets were suddenly tossed aside, revealing Cacha in all of her usual feminine glory. She was grinning like an idiot. She had a pokey bit all right – and it was in the middle of her forehead – a bloody unicorn horn.
"Argh," I yelled in frustration. I had been well and truly trolled. "Is that horn real?"
Cacha nodded. "I woke a couple of days into treatment, so I was able to talk with Stormie. We discussed the inevitable problem of me coming up against one of those killing machines again."
"Say, what?"
"There is no doubt that you will go out to see if there are any more of those clockwork spiders. That is simply your nature. And where you go, I go. Conclusion: I will meet one again, and will need to be able to fight it. Stormie and I realized the best chance I would have would be if I had one of their unicorn weapons installed in me, and for that to work, I had to be a unicorn."
"So, you now have a weapon system like mine?"
Cacha nodded. I can't say the idea pleased me any, but her argument was solid. At least Cacha seemed to be herself. And now it was apparent that Brainstorm and Stormie could not only restore horns to suppressed unicorns; they could convert earth ponies to unicorns as well.
But what about Cacha herself? There had to be some sort of trauma. I was still traumatized by the events, and I had fared much better than she.
"Cacha. How are you? That had to be mighty stressful!" Admittedly, she had been well enough to pull this joke on me, so she couldn't be too bad. Thinking back, I survived my accident, Hellite conversion and subsequent adventures without becoming a nervous wreck, so maybe Cacha wasn't doing badly at all.
"Aneki, it really wasn't as bad as you might think. I don't have any memory of the incident. The last thing I recall, before waking up in the tank, is when we were still in that revolving tunnel."
"That is a mercy," I said. "Are you aware of what happened?"
"I was given a detailed description of the events."
"No flashbacks? No sudden recollections? You really are okay? No other problems? No new phobias, personality changes, or whatever?"
"Leave a space for me to answer, would you?" Cacha chuckled. "No, no problems. I figured if you were strong enough to survive vivisection, I would be strong enough to survive this."
"If only it was that simple. This encounter has left me rather messed up. I even turned into a zombie for a while."
"I've been a Hellite longer than you, Aneki. I've grown up with nutters who are sure we are nothing more than dead machines, so me being killed and revived isn't the end of the world. That I have no memories of the incident certainly helps, too."
"But suppressed memories..."
"They aren't suppressed, Aneki. They were never transferred from my short term memory to my long term memory. I simply don't have them."
"Okay..." I didn't sound particularly convinced, but I wasn't going to press the point. Time would reveal if any memories remained.
"Now get your dopey butt into bed with me," Cacha said. "We have some serious cuddling to do. We are over a week behind, and have a lot of snuggling to make up."
"You don't say."
"I just did say."
Cacha really seemed to be the same Cacha she was before this little disaster. Her sense of humor was certainly still there, as were the twinkle in her eyes, and all the little mannerisms that made her who she was. To say I was relieved would be an understatement – an extreme understatement. All the same, I wondered how long it would take me to get used to her having a horn.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Cacha asked.
"But Allie..."
"Is safe and happy with Bittersweet, and doesn't mind staying another night," Cacha said leaning forward to grasp me.
As she did, our horns touched, and a magical tingle ran through me. "Woo," I managed. "That was interesting."
"It was, wasn't it," Cacha agreed. "Let's do it again!"
Within moments, there was a tangled mess of blankets and breathlessly blissful ponies on our bed, and I was one of them.
Another day had arrived. At least, that's what the ambient lighting was suggesting. A much as lying here with Cacha was heavenly, life wasn't going to wait for me to lie about.
I stretched, reveling in the sensation. I was feeling psychologically refreshed, but a little sleepy after a night of serious hugging. It was great to have my favorite body pillow back! I gave her a nuzzle before rolling off the bed and onto my hooves.
"Going somewhere?" Cacha asked.
"Yup. I have a daughter to visit. I also want to see how Snow is doing. I suspect she also has a pointy bit," I said.
"I'll let you discover that for yourself. You know I asked her not to let you see her before I had shown myself to you?"
"That would explain it. Nopony seemed to want to see me last night. It was quite depressing!"
"I did," Cacha said.
"Yes, you did," I said, leaning across the bed to give Cacha another hug. "But you had me believing you didn't want to, either! Come on, we have places to be."
Cacha and I were standing outside the Storm Clinic. My intention was to tidy up a loose end from the day before, specifically, meeting the other pony that had been avoiding me – Snow. As far as l knew, Snow was yet to be given a home in Habitat Ten, so this was the logical place to start looking for her. If she wasn't here, Stormie, Brainstorm or one of the staff would know where she had gone.
Now that I knew what had been done to Cacha, I was expecting Snow to be another pony with a pokey bit, and probably a weapons system to go with it. Trying to limit Snow's access to where she had spent her last two thousand years would be cruel, not to mention difficult, as she was bound to know any alternate routes out of the habitat. Clearly, the only viable solution was to add her to the ranks of heavy weapons ponies.
Thinking back to my conversation with Stormie about Snow, modification was already on the table, and Stormie had tapped her forehead when I asked what the modification would be. I had thought she may be referring to a way to fix Snow's damaged speech centers, but in retrospect, clearly she had meant she intended to give Snow a horn.
Before we could even reach out for the handle, the door to the clinic creaked open. Ancient hinges tended to do that. Someone needed to oil them if we were to get another hundred years or two from them. There was no way I was going to run around trying to magically fix all of the worn hinges in the habitat! Hoofsteps heralded Snow's arrival, and she emerged, pokey bit first. Indeed, she was sporting the expected horn, white, but with the slightest hint of transparency, very much like her coat. She raised a hoof to it, touching it.
"Nice, isn't it?" she voiced. No she didn't. Snow's mouth had not moved. The comment had arrived in my mind as a fully assembled thought structure, not unlike when a hoof scanner spoke. I was sure it was Snow who had communicated, though.
"Snow, you can speak properly now?" Cacha asked. Cacha must not have noticed Snow's mouth had not moved.
Snow shook her head. "My language centers are still mangled. I am using yours to communicate with you," she thought at us. Well, that's how my brain decoded it. Snow was dumping a concept into the language centers of our brains, allowing our own brains to form the words. That was an interesting idea. That got me thinking. What if the spell was upgraded so that it could extract the converted words, allowing Snow to actually say them? It would be similar in operation to my language learning spell. I put it in the puzzle it out later category. After all, it wasn't as if Snow actually needed it.
"It works well," Cacha said. "How did you learn how to do that?"
"It is very old magic. Stormie taught it to me. She read it off the scripts on the horn inside an old food generator."
Ha! I hadn't been too far off with my guess!
"Did they make any other changes, like fitting you with a weapons system?" I asked.
"They made changes," Snow said, then began to unfurl.
At first I thought she was extending her weapons, but the shape was wrong, and the material too flimsy. It was as if she was peeling back the black armor of her hellite body. I wondered if she had a new way of returning to a full pony. But that wasn't it. As they extended, one on each side of her, the thin black hide tightened, held by curved spars. Wings. Snow had bat-pony wings. The Storms were getting creative, and dangerous! Give them a sample of DNA, and they could now splice it into a living pony.
Could the pegasi be restored from samples of alicorn DNA or would we need real pegasus DNA to do that? Perhaps we could see the return of all pony breeds. That would be wonderful. As much as I liked giving the Storms grief over the way they had initially treated me, I did appreciate them. They were playing a significant role in the salvation of the ponykind of Habitat Eleven.
"Real or cybernetic?" Cacha asked.
"Real, from bridge pony DNA. I also have weapons. Unicorn guns," Snow said, extending a barrel from her hoof.
That was no surprise.
"We're off to see Allie," I said. "Then we're off to do some combat training. Would you like to come with us, Snow?"
She nodded.
"I have the weapon. Now I need to learn the skills."
3G1 was finally getting his wish, to train me as a regular cadet – sort of. He had Cacha, Snow and I going around the team training course as a group. It made sense. While Cacha and I were well synchronized in ordinary life, operating as a team to pass difficult obstacles was something that needed a little practice. While we were managing, we were some way off doing it naturally. Catwalk running and Freerunning were similar in some ways, but very different in others. Of course, Snow had no real experience in integrating with us. Working with her could only be beneficial.
The three of us approached the wall. It wasn't so tall that I couldn't jump it if I wished. After all, I had been told off for doing exactly that. Ordinary ponies, on the other hoof, found it essential to work as a group, which is exactly what we were going to do now.
Cacha and I reached the wall ahead of Snow, reared, and interlocked our fingers so that Snow had a step to climb on. As soon as we had her rear hoof in our grasp, we boosted her to the top of the wall, which she straddled. She reached down grasping Cacha's forehooves.
"This is silly," Snow said. "I have wings. I could just fly over it."
"First, you need more practice flying," I said, grasping Cacha's rear hoof, boosting her as Snow lifted.
"Second," Cacha said, "If you did, you would leave us behind, because we can't fly."
"Third," I said as they both reached down to grasp my forehooves, "We were ordered to do it this way, and 3G1 gets annoyed when we disobey."
Together they hauled me up onto the wall with them. From there, it was a simple matter for us to jump down to the ground on the other side.
"And fourth," I said, "The circumstance in real life in which we would need this skill could be quite different. What if you have broken your wing and can't fly? What if we are in a narrow corridor and need to get up through a hole in the ceiling? What if..."
"You win the argument," Snow said. "Did you notice that we were able to coordinate our actions without discussing them?"
"We were, weren't we?" I agreed. Progress had been made!
We were approaching the final obstacle when I noticed a familiar black-maned, medium-grey pony had entered the area – the commander, 1R2. I hadn't spoken to him since the time he had objected to the new laws regarding the treatment of the Hellites. I wondered what had brought him down here.
After our previous conflict, he had been under observation for several months. Within that time, it had become clear he had accepted that I was the queen and was no longer going to rebel against me. That rebellion had resulted in me giving him the tongue. That may have seemed a strange course of action, but it had proved to him that Hellites were not contagious, or a threat... mostly, thus voiding his objections.
I stopped near 3G1. I was interested in hearing the exchange between these two. Cacha and Snow stopped beside me, also curious.
"1R2, what are you doing here?" 3G1 asked, as the commander approached him.
"I came to see how you were managing with the new cadet I assigned you. How's it going, training the most dangerous pony in H'ven?"
Well... maybe I hadn't convinced him that I was mostly harmless.
3G1 looked puzzled. That changeling really must have spent the last year hiding under a rock.
"Do you mean 1C3, 1C4, or 5N0? That 5N0 one that says very little, and when she does, it makes no sense. She just follows what the others tell her to do. 1C4 hasn't given me any real issues, but 1C3... she is troublesome at times. She seems to have a problem with authority. She even showed up with the other two in tow the other day, insisting I train them as well. There were no commands given through official channels."
"You are kidding me, right?" 1R2 asked, rubbing his chin with his hoof, his bemusement clearly visible.
"I know. It's shocking, isn't it?
"No, you dolt. I'm talking about you. What part of an order directly from the queen isn't official enough for you?"
"I haven't had any orders directly from the queen. Everything I have heard about this came from 1C3." The lack of puzzlement on 3G1's face showed that he really didn't think things through. He was good military material – the sort that did things without question, if the orders came through the expected channels. He had reached his maximum rank already.
"Don't tell me you haven't realized that 1C3 is really 1A1. She's the queen, you dolt!" 1R2 said. "Had you really not worked that out?"
3G1's eyes went round, and he stared at me without saying anything. It was as if he was waiting for the punch-line to an elaborate joke.
1R2 faced me. "Your majesty, is there any particular reason why you are pretending to be CIBO here?"
I nodded. "I didn't want to scare this fellow too much," I said. "I imagine that training the queen would worry most... ponies."
"With your record of blowing things up, yes," 1R2 said.
3G1's eyes went even rounder.
"You are enjoying this, aren't you, 1R2?" I asked.
"You can call it my revenge," he chuckled.
"It seems to be stressing the wrong pony though," I pointed out. I wondered if 1R2 knew about changelings yet.
"True, true," he agreed. "I must think on this more. Perhaps I will need to resort to leaving a spider in your bunk."
"And if I shoot it?" I asked innocently, batting my eyes for effect.
This time 1R2's eyes went round.
"You would, wouldn't you," he muttered.
I nodded.
"Okay, you win, again," he said. "I really should know better than to challenge you, even in jest."
"So 1C3 really is the queen? You aren't joking, are you? And you know her, personally?" 3G1 managed after some stammering. Evidently he had manage to reengage his brain, but not well enough for him to leave gaps for others to answer.
"Yes, I've known her for quite some time. From before she came to power, in fact," 1R2 said, nodding. "We have even kissed."
That was true, if somewhat out of context on both counts.
"Why would her shooting a spider be so bad?" 3G1 asked.
"May I, your majesty?" 1R2 asked.
I nodded. "You may as well. You've already terrified this poor pony. You may as well finish the job." 3G1 was about to get an education!
1R2 smiled before continuing. "That would be because the last time she shot a bug, it left the black mark on the sky!"
Yup, 1R2 definitely knew about changelings. I wondered if he knew he was speaking to one now. Ah, that question was moot.
3G1's eyes went pale, then turned blue. A green pseudo-flame burst into existence above his head, dropping down, following his contours as it burned away his pony disguise. Within moments we found ourselves staring at a black, pony-shaped bug.
1R2 raised an eyebrow at the display.
"Changelings look like this?" Snow asked.
"Yes, 5N0, this is what most of them look like. Only the royalty are any different."
"Thank goodness they wear glowing disguises," she said. "If they did not, we would not be able to tell them apart from each other!"
She had a point! Admittedly I was getting used to telling the royal aides apart, but that was often due to differences in voice, speech, mannerisms and as often as not, context.
I looked back at 3G1. His stress seemed to have peaked, and he was standing there, dead still. It was most unlike him. Usually he expressed himself as if he was in command of a situation. Having satisfied myself that he wasn't about to expire from that stress, I turned to 1R2.
"1R2, when did you find out about changelings?" I asked.
"I was brought up to date when I was allowed to return to my old position," he said.
Of course. The commander of the death squads would be high enough up the hierarchy to be included in the little secret shared by all Hellites and changelings.
"And you knew 3G1 was one?" I asked.
"Until just now, no, I didn't. I know of them, but not their identities. Had I realized, I wouldn't have dropped the bug joke!"
I faced the changeling. He was still standing rock-steady. His featureless blue eyes really made it hard to judge where his thoughts were. "3G1? Are you all right?"
He relaxed, then suddenly, but gracefully bowed before me. "My queen, I am sorry for my impertinence. Please forgive your humble servant."
Ah. He was worried about his own hide!
"It was my choice to not identify myself. You hold no blame."
"You are not displeased?"
"No, 3G1. You have been training me well. Would you have been able to do so if you were worried about offending me? I'd still be jumping over the barricade instead of climbing it, wouldn't I?"
"This may be true," 3G1 admitted, slowly nodding to himself.
1R2 spoke. "3G1, you can claim something not many, if any, other ponies or changelings can claim. You are the queen's personal trainer."
That perked him up.
"I am, aren't I?"
"Yes, 3G1," I said. "That you are. Now, assuming the commander does not wish to speak to me, shall we get back to training?
"Teaching us that spell was a brilliant idea," I said. Cacha and I could now thought-talk with each other and with Snow. It was a much more pure form of communication, not to mention private, if we chose it to be. It fortunately came with targeting parameters, allowing us to select with whom we wished to communicate. While I intended to continue using regular speech for day to day conversations, there were times when that was simply inadequate.
Now was one such time.
Snow, Cacha and I were practicing our combined skills again, but in real-life circumstances. We were running the catwalks of the lower levels. It was dark, except for the distant lights that dotted the lower levels, our eyes providing the only real illumination. We weren't just running either. We were freerunning as a team. Some maneuvers were too difficult for a single pony to attempt, but as a team, they were possible.
Warnings, intentions, locations of convenient hoofholds, everything that would be impossible to communicate quickly enough via speech flashed between our minds as concepts, as images, as data. Cacha would know exactly where to put her hoof because I had just mentally shown it to her. I would know to move slightly to the left to give Snow adequate space to land. Together we could plan a complex leap that used our combined reach within a fraction of a second.
In reality, most of these complex and potentially dangerous moves were totally unnecessary, but we could imagine a time when such precision could be the difference between life and death. We had seen our enemy only once, and come away from the encounter either severely wounded, or dead. That would not happen again. Next time we would be ready.
Next time, those clockwork spiders would learn that nobody, mechanical or otherwise, fucked with the ponies of H'ven and got away with it.
"Ow! That hurt!" I complained, looking at my foreleg. It wasn't where it was meant to be. In fact, it was lying on the floor a good pace from where I was standing, balanced on the three legs that remained. Between me and it, there was a moderate amount of blood splattered about. That had all come from when the leg was initially severed. The blood flow had stopped almost immediately, a much improved response than had been typical of a standard HELaTS. A pony no longer had to hold the wound shut for around ten seconds to stop the bleeding.
"I just cut your leg off. Of course it hurt," Brainstorm said, as he wiped the blood from the leg-blade he had formed using his HELaTS abilities. "But you did say you wanted to practice using the new HELaTS system."
"Yes, I did, but perhaps I should have given this more thought," I said, lifting the stump of my right foreleg so I could examine it. Oh, so that's what the bone looked like. It had a decidedly metallic sheen. This was surreal. I felt quite detached from what was happening – even unconcerned. I looked at the floor again. I guessed the Storms didn't mind having to clean blood off the floor of their lab.
"Practicing now, when you are not in mortal danger, is for the best," Brainstorm said. "That way you can concentrate on the problem at hoof, rather than having to divert your attention to the attacker. Or, if you wish to up the level of stress, perhaps we could advance the test by cutting off your head, too, and see how you handle two problems at once."
He had to be joking. He had to. "Would that even work?" I asked, tentatively.
"I honestly don't know, and for the time being, I recommend you avoid trying," Brainstorm said with a chuckle.
"Well, yeah," I said. "Anyway, my leg, or at least, what remains of it, is still hurting, so shall we get on with practicing?"
"Aneki, did you notice the intensity of your pain is far below what such a wound would usually impart? You should be able to tell that," Stormie asked.
"Actually, I still can't recall much of my previous case of limb loss, or the pain involved. I have, however noticed that I am capable of holding a conversation, without any cussing, while standing here with a crippling injury," I said. "Now, shall we move it on? Run me through this process again. Actually, I could have phrased that better. Don't run me through. One wound is enough for the moment. How do I reattach my leg?"
"Don't move from where you are. Mentally reach out for it. Use your mind to visualize reaching out from your stump. If need be, you could form your weapon from the stump, and reach out with that, but you should not need to."
"Okay...," I said.
Mentally I tried to visualize reaching out to the severed limb with my mind, but my expectations kept interfering with my thoughts. Why could I not see... what was it I was supposed to see? I contemplated forming an extended barrel with my internal weapon, and reaching with that, but I felt that would be cheating. I wanted to do it right. Staring at my stump, I tried again, and failed.
What was I meant to see?
For that matter, why did I need to see anything at all?
I closed my eyes. Okay, what was simple to visualize? Perhaps some sort of tendril would do. What I needed to do was form a thin piece of flesh or blood, held together by the new HELaTS modifiers, and reach out with that. Yes, that was the idea. Oh, that felt wet, but it felt like it belonged to me – ah, it was some of my spilled blood. If I absorbed that, and reached about with more tendrils, I could recover more of my lost blood. Good, that seemed to be working. Huh, what was that? My limb? I'd reached that far already?
I could not help but open my eyes to see what was happening. Sure enough, there were shiny, gloopy strings of black and red stretching forth from the stump of my leg to the severed portion of the limb, as well as spread out across the floor, much like veins, gathering the spilt fluids.
"So far, so good," Brainstorm said. He showed no surprise.
"What about contaminants?" I asked.
"Girl, you are made out of materials absorbed from your surroundings, one way or another. The modifiers won't pick up anything they can't use, and will probably harvest anything they can."
"Oh, yeah. I'm made out of sublevel twenty-one girders, aren't I?"
"And Luna knows what else."
I closed my eyes again, mentally exploring the tendrils. I wasn't finding any more spilt blood, so I gathered those tendrils, and extended them along the line the others had taken, eventually reuniting with the severed leg. I felt them merge. With one last effort, I retracted them, pulling my leg back together. That was it – all I needed to do.
"Well done, Aneki," Stormie said. "How does it feel?"
I mentally explored the limb, before putting some weight on it. It still felt wrong, as if it was made of something foreign. Poking it with my other forehoof, I found a lack of sensation.
"It's quite numb," I said. "Didn't I have to spend a day in a coma to let the nerves regrow the first time I had serious nerve damage?"
"You did," Stormie affirmed. "but the second time, when you lost both forelegs, you were up and walking around shortly after, due to the improved modifiers we used at the time, and those were primitive when compared with what you now have. These new ones should only take moments."
"Do you know that, or are you just theorizing?" I asked.
"I know," Stormie said. "from personal experience. This time we tested it on ourselves before testing it on you."
My eyebrows went up in surprise. All too often I had been their test subject, usually unwillingly.
"See," Brainstorm said. "We do learn!"
"Presumably you waited until after Stormie had given birth to little Wuz," I said. They regretted experimenting on me when I was pregnant. I didn't see them doing it to themselves in that situation.
"Of course, love. We only tested these latest modifiers two days ago."
"Ah!" I said, and not because of Brainstorm's comment. "The feeling in my leg is back!"
To prove the point, I lifted the leg, retracted my hoof walls and extended my three black fingers, wiggling them.
"You may not have noticed yet, but these new modifiers heal so cleanly, there will be no scarring," Stormie said.
"Wow!"
A quick glance at my leg suggested she was right. No girl wanted scars and I already had too many.
"It gets better. You know how you can form blades, replace your hooves with pads and so on?"
"Yes?"
"If you use that same mental imaging on your old scars, you can get rid of them, too."
"Really?"
Ducking my head between my legs, I looked at the network of lines left by my vivisection. The natural lines that were part of the HELaTS body sort of disguised them, but I knew they were there. Mentally, I pictured erasing one of them. The real scar vanished. I dropped my mental image, and the scar did not return. Cool! I'd have to engage Cacha in a game of spot and erase the scars, later.
"Impressive!" I said. "I don't suppose using these modifiers would let me form a pair of wings too?"
"Mock wings, yes, you could probably manage something that looked like closed wings. You may even be able to open them a little," Brainstorm said, "but that would just be part of your standard HELaTS abilities anyway. If you wanted something that would let you fly, you would need cybernetic enhancement or DNA modification while in the tank. The latter is how we did Snow."
"Do you want wings?" Stormie asked. "Perhaps you wish to be an alicorn queen?"
"Maybe, some time in the future," I said. "That way I could keep up with Allie. All the same, it's a big change, and I'm not so keen on an extended soak at the moment."
"Cacha didn't want them, either."
"You offered them to her? I mean, you obviously..."
"Yes, at the same time we offered her the horn."
"Did you offer her the other pokey bit, too?"
"You mean, did we offer to turn her into a male? No, not after asking you. We decided to let her raise the subject, should she think of it," Stormie said.
"However, after the treatment was over, we did share our discussion on the matter with her. That led to the little joke we played on you."
"Yeah, thanks. You got me good," I muttered, thinking back to Cacha hiding under the blankets, claiming she was embarrassed about gaining a pokey bit. "Anyway, it's time I headed back up into the life support chamber. I have training to attend."
"How much longer will you be doing that?" Brainstorm asked.
"Unless something invades first, and forces our hooves, we will keep training until we are good enough, and that could take months."
"The patch I welded over the break-in point has held, so far," Brainstorm said, "and even if they do get into the hangar, they won't get through the rotary corridor lock. Presumably, all other points of ingress are just as difficult to overcome."
"Has the captive clockwork spider head revealed anything, yet?" I asked, thinking back to the bodyless head of the machine that had broken into the habitat.
Brainstorm shook his head. "It is either too clever for me to crack, or too stupid to be worth cracking. Either way, I can't get anything out of it, short of... literally cracking it open."
"Well, good luck. Anything you can find out will only help us when we do go outside the habitat."
There was a lot of puffing and panting around us, but we three HELaTS appeared as fresh as when we started. Today's training session had been particularly intense, but even so, hadn't been particularly challenging, and that had more to do with the current level of our skills than anything else. The other ponies that were training with us today were pretty ordinary specimens – the members of the former death squad.
Commander 1R2 had decided Habitat Eleven needed skilled defenders instead of death squads. Admittedly, the death squads had not fulfilled that specific role since I had come to power, but they had been retained as a specialized police force of sorts. Their special skills had not been called on often in the last three years, so as time passed, they had atrophied. To bring them up to standard, they had been training with us regularly for the last three months.
The training completed for the day, we assembled near the edge of the training ground, as was routine. Leaving his vantage point, 3G1 approached.
"All right, soldiers, that will be all for today, but by no means will it be all. By the time I finish training you, I expect you all to be as skilled in teamwork as the three Hellite mares."
There was a collective, and very undisciplined, groan. All present knew that was impossible without converting the squad to the very type of beasts they had originally been trained to hunt – HELaTS, more specifically, converting them into HELaTS unicorns. Nonetheless, that 3G1 was using us as a benchmark showed he clearly understood the threat we were facing. Ponies could be converted to HELaTS unicorns in a week or so, if needed. Training, on the other hoof, would take months, so, if conversion was needed, the more prepared they were before so, the better.
"The three Hellites are to remain. Everypony else is dismissed," 3G1 said.
With many expressions of relief, the other ponies bid a hasty retreat, despite their exhaustion, lest 3G1 should change his mind and call them back. Once they were far enough away not to overhear him, 3G1 turned to us.
"Your majesty, you and your two team members have improved to the point where I am unable to teach you anything significant. You have passed my expectations, and hopefully your own as well."
"Thank you, 3G1," I said. "I believe we have. While we have only seen a single example of what may be outside, now, we are at least able to defend ourselves, and fight back."
"I wish you well with your mission. Please drop by when you return. You may not be a Changeling queen, but you are still my queen."
3G1 turned before we could answer, and walked purposefully away.
"Cacha, Snow, I suggest we go out for a quiet, celebratory drink," I said.
"Up!" Snow said.
Cacha just grinned.
We were standing outside Storm labs. Well, I was. Stormie was in the doorway, holding me there with threads of conversation, unwilling to let me go, like a mother saying farewell to her child on the first day of school.
"Have you got everything?" Stormie asked. Again.
"You sound like my mother," I said. She did!
"I am a mother now, so I guess I have an excuse."
"So am I, and my foal is older than yours. Not to mention that one of my companions is even older than you, so perhaps she should be mothering you."
Stormie threw up her hooves. "You win. I only ask because I care... Do you have food?" She couldn't help herself! To think, only a few years before, she had been a stallion without a conscience.
"We have our food generators," I said. Surely we had been over all of this before. It wasn't like we were a few kids that were running away from home without any forethought. We'd been planning this for the better part of a year.
"But will they work outside the habitat? Will the magic field reach far enough to power them?" Stormie asked.
"That is a good point," I admitted. "Snow assures us they work in the hangar, and that is outside the main hull, so we can generate the food we need, there. That should be sufficient for our first foray outside. Once we know more of what is out there, we can plan accordingly."
"Make sure you prime them with a decent set of trace minerals then - the sort of things your body retains."
"Yes?"
"Your body hangs onto some of the elements in food. You lose others through sweat. Salts, and such," Stormy said. "They won't be recycled by the portable food generator, so the longer you rely on them, the poorer your food will get..."
"Unless we prepack them with those elements, instead of just the easily recycled stuff," I said, understanding what Stormie was saying. She did have a valid point. The habitat systems reclaimed those minerals from the dead, from air filtration and general refuse recycling. Portable food generators were limited to what was manually placed in them, and as what we usually placed in them was our own waste, the resources would dwindle.
In reality, it would only start to be a problem if we were somehow prevented from returning to the habitat. Ponies regularly did week long trips through the bowels of the habitat when on repair duty. Oh, that was an unfortunate choice of words.
"You may as well come back in, and I'll organize something for you," Stormie said.
I shrugged.
"Okay, thanks, but don't take too long. The others are waiting for me."
"I'm surprised that Cacha isn't grafted to you at the moment."
''She thought I would only be away for a minute," I said, dryly.
Such delays were part of life. It wasn't as if we were in a panic. After all, we hadn't been out to check on the condition of the hangar for nearly a year since the initial invasion.
Brainstorm had patched the forced-entry point to the hangar, and while that patch would not stop further ingress, it would alert us to its penetration. If a clockwork spider decided to enter in a different location, local tell-tales Brainstorm had placed might alert us, but the hangar was vast, and the area monitored, small.
Snow had wanted to check on the condition of her ships – after all, she had spent centuries working on each, but we felt the risk was too great, and had prevented her from going to the hangar on her own.
Snow was not a pony I would have even thought about adding to my team before I had met her. She had just been some unknown, insane but harmless relic from ages gone by. The truth could not be further from that. She was highly intelligent, dexterous, and skilled. She also had personal experience with over two thousand years of our history. She remembered Equestria, even though her time, prior to boarding Habitat Eleven, was short.
"Aneki? Where are you?" Cacha called, her head appearing through the doorway.
"Careful, girl," I warned. "If you come in here, Mother Stormie might find more excuses not to let us go."
"Come on. We are leaving now," Cacha insisted, walking around me, and herding me towards the open door. "Bye, Stormie. Wish us luck!"
"But..."
"Keep walking, girl," Cacha said.
"Stormie is getting some trace elements and minerals for out food generators!"
"Silly Aneki!" Cacha said. "I've lived down here all my life. I have already packed them!"
"Bye, Stormie!" I called towards the doorway. "Apparently we already have everything we need!"
By the time Stormie made it back to the door, we were already a good number of paces away.
"Come back, safe!" she called after us.
For the second time, we found ourselves winding through the maze of walls, wires and machinery, to Snow's portal to the hangar. This time, we didn't have an enthusiastic Allie showing off her light casting spell, so the total darkness was interrupted only by the low level of light our HELaTS eyes generated themselves. The effect of having three points of illumination (six, if you counted eyes instead of heads) was somewhat different than when illumination was provided by my eyes alone. Things I may have missed would be picked out by another's gaze, or the wandering eyes of the others would increase my effective peripheral vision.
It also showed quite clearly when Cacha was gazing at my butt.
We eventually arrived at the entrance to the passage, glad to see its high-security door was still firmly shut. Admittedly, we knew it would be, but nerves and self-induced semi-panic were to be expected in this situation. After all, we had returned from our last visit here as a zombie, a critically injured mare and a corpse.
There was that little plaque that read OUTER HULL and HANGAR ACCESS. It was foreboding, marking what could literally be the point of no return.
Snow raised her hoof to the scanner, and unlike last time, the door opened without complaint.
"Once more into the breach, my friends," I said, which, in retrospect, was rather fitting, considering the revolver-like construction of the passage through the hull.
Without another word, we filed into the first chamber, the door closing behind us.
So this was it. We were exiting the safety of the habitat again. Technically, the hangar was part of the habitat, but like the bridge, it was outside the thick, multidimensional material of the hull that had kept us safe for the last two thousand years. The last time we had dared to step out of this very door, we had been sliced to bits by a weird, mechanized monster. If it had not been for Brainstorm's calm and precise shooting from this very tunnel, we would have ended up permanently dead, as distinct from revivably dead.
The sensors Brainstorm had placed out there, when he was last out here, indicated we would be alone, but we were taking no chances.
The last revolving section of the passage through the hull slid into place and stopped. We stepped into the next section, one at a time, and stopped, resulting in all three of us standing side by side, just a step into the final cylindrical tunnel. The curvature of the floor caused us to bunch together. I was now sandwiched between Cacha and Snow.
As one, we formed our weapons, and aimed them in the direction of the high security door, as it slowly cycled. Snow had formed long-barreled turrets, mounted one on each hip. Yes, the left barrel was digging into my right flank. Cacha had done much the same, but with shorter-barreled turrets, one on each shoulder. To avoid us accidentally locking weapons together, I chose to form a single barrel directly from my chest, and a smaller weapon on my foreleg. I could make changes later, as combat required.
Did these doors always take this damned long? After an apparent age of its innards whirring, the door began retracting, inching out of the opening.
"Oh, come on!" I muttered in impatience.
Finally, just before I died of old age, the door began to lift.
Every muscle in my body tensed, preparing to spring. My eyes searched the widening crescent of darkness, trying to locate a possible target for my weapon. I could feel the mares on each side of me tense, as well. All of us remained totally silent, to the point we were even holding our breaths.
"How goes it?" Maisie's voice spoke into my mind.
Bah! I nearly discharged the next reload for my food generator! As my pulse steadied at a lower, but still elevated rate, I addressed the pest on the communicator. Well, to be truthful, that wasn't being fair. Maisie was one of the ponies who was monitoring us from the safety of the habitat's lower levels, behind that appealingly thick hull. Nonetheless, her timing sucked!
"Way to break the mood," I subvocalized. "You nearly launched us in fright! Anyway, the door has just opened and we are about to enter the hangar. So far, it is dark and quiet out there."
"Um, sorry," Maisie offered, "but we are in the dark, here. It's hard to offer support when we have no idea what is happening. If the first thing we were to hear from you was screaming, it would be too late."
"I guess I should start a running commentary, then," I said.
"Please do," Maisie said. "That, or at least give us the highlights."
"First highlight," I said. "The door is open, and we are still alive."
That was when I first heard the faint strains of music, elusive and tantalizing. Flicking my ears about did nothing to determine from which direction it was coming. I tentatively took a step forward, the volume and pace of the music increasing as I did. I could understand it getting louder, but not faster. It was as if had reacted to my movement.
The mares to each side of me also took a step forward, to keep up with me.
"I hear music," I subvocalized to Maisie.
"Odd," she said. "There is nothing registering on the sensors left by Brainstorm."
I took another step, again accompanied by a crescendo. The music was becoming quite the orchestral storm.
"It's so... quiet," Cacha whispered.
Huh? I had heard her quite clearly despite the volume of the music.
That's when I caught on to what was happening.
"Snow! Can it!" I snapped.
The music immediately ceased, Snow quietly giggling. She had been transmitting it directly into my mind.
"Bah! This is ridiculous!" I shouted, abandoning stealth.
It was almost painfully obvious that there was nothing hostile outside the door, so I stomped out into the hanger itself.
Nothing cut me. Nothing surprised me. Nothing hit me – well, nothing until Cacha collided with my butt.
"What was that about?" she asked.
"Snow was projecting a fanfare into my mind," I said. "It seems the current trend is to play jokes on the queen."
"Ah, yes. Sorry," Cacha said quietly.
"Girls, please attend to the problems at hoof," Maisie said. "We really don't want to send in a clean-up crew."
"I didn't know we had one," Cacha said.
"We don't, unless you count us," I said. "All the same, I'm almost certain there isn't anypony or anything near us, just as Brainstorm's sensors indicated."
An image of us being totally alone appeared in my mind.
"Snow is certain of it, too," I said.
"Up!" Snow nodded, her illuminated eyes bouncing in the dark.
"Perhaps you would care to turn on the lights," I said. "I presume you don't usually work in the dark."
"Up!" Snow said, turned on the spot and bounded a few paces. How any pony that old could be so youthful, so upbeat, I didn't know. Snow's nearest equivalent, at a fraction of her age, was Bittersweet, the champion of deadpan.
In the light cast by Snow's eyes, I could see the outline of a switchboard, its door open. Snow drummed her fingers against it for a few moments, before selecting a switch and pushing it closed.
An image flashed in my mind. Snow had turned the lights on in manual mode. Rather than illuminating just the area in which we were standing, the whole of the hangar would be lit.
Despite being switched on at once the lights came on in sequence, starting near us, and radiating out until the far walls were reached. The size of this hangar was only starting to become clear. The ceiling was way above us. It was hard to judge, but the distance may have even been a quarter mile. While the ceiling-mounted lamps were quite bright, the sheer volume of the hangar seemed to swallow much of that brightness, leaving us with a light level reminiscent of early dusk. It was more than adequate.
Now that we could see more than a few pony-lengths in front of us in mere monochrome, we were in for a forgotten surprise.
The area was splattered with old, dried blood, debris, and marred by char marks. So, this was the scene of our fight to the death? Ugg!
A thoroughly disgusting, quite disturbing, and totally irrelevant image flashed into my mind. It took me a few moments to realize its source and meaning, but at least it took my mind off the grizzly scene.
Before I could react to it, Cacha spoke.
"Snow!" she said. "Don't you ever swear like that again! When we use cuss words, mentally, we are not picturing the true origins of the word! We are merely expressing annoyance, distress or some other abstraction."
"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to have trouble forgetting what my mind made of that transmitted thought. So, yes, Snow, please don't do that again."
"Forgive." Snow said. Sorry.
The image of a syrup-coated, dark-purple mare, with a paler, flowing mane, sprung into my mind.
"Sweet Luna? Yes, better, but perhaps a fillyish, innocent Luna would be better still," I said.
A syrup coated version of me flashed into my mind. The source was quite different, this time, as was its meaning.
"Please, no, Cacha..."
"Sorry," she said. "Or not." She giggled.
"What are you girls on about?" Maisie interrupted, via the comm link. Fortunately, the link wasn't quite up to transmitting our spell-driven thought-talk.
"Sorry, Maisie," I said. "We had a communication glitch with Snow. We are currently at the rather gruesome site of our encounter with the clockwork spider. Apparently nopony thought to clean it up."
"Sorry, girls," Brainstorm said, also through the comm link. "I was too fascinated with the alien machine to give it any thought. How is it, out there? Are there any signs of further activity?"
"I can't see any. Snow?"
"All the same," she thought to us.
"There is no change since our last visit, apparently," I relayed to Maisie. "I'm going to go check the point of ingress now."
For something that had allegedly been smashed or torn open, the place through which the clockwork spider had broken in was surprisingly secure. It was a door, much like any of the other high-security plug-doors throughout the habitat, but at least twice the diameter. It was securely mounted exactly where it should have been. The hinges and mechanism above were twisted and broken, clearly demonstrating the considerable force that had been used to break through.
"How did Brainstorm get the door back in place, and what's holding it there, now?" Cacha asked.
"I imagine he used telekinesis to push it into place," I said. "I can't imagine even him having the strength to lift that monstrosity."
An image of multiple ponies flashed into my mind.
"Or, as Snow says, maybe he had help. As for how it is staying there now, it's been welded into place."
"That would be strong, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, but no way as strong as the mechanism. We can't see what damage was done to the other side, either. Whatever the case, we will need another way out."
"Up," Snow said, pointing her hoof further along the wall. There was an even bigger door there, of a somewhat different configuration. It was big enough to allow the craft to leave the hanger.
As for the craft, they were there too, and from where I was standing, no damage was evident.
"So that's the craft you built?" I asked, pointing at the nearest, sleek, aerodynamically styled... building? Wagon? Ship? Yes, that was the correct term, despite it looking like a building lying on its side.
Snow shook her head. "Cross."
"Huh? I thought you said you made a new craft."
"I did. That isn't it. That is one of the landing craft, designed to shuttle ponies from space, down to a planet's surface," Snow thought to me. Hmm... she was transmitting to my language centers again, instead of to my visual centers, as she had been doing earlier.
"So, we are meant to use that to get to the surface?"
"I think we are already there. We never launched. If a clockwork spider could get in through a door that is half way up a twenty mile high hull, it is very likely we are still half buried."
"You've been outside, before, haven't you?" I asked.
"Yes, but not for a very long time. I came aboard with everypony else, and haven't been outside since."
"Oh, of course. You are as old as this habitat, aren't you?"
"Up!" she said out loud. It was funny how she reverted to her muddled speech to confirm things, and with an incorrect word at that.
"Well, I guess we had better get on with checking the hangar for intruders. Snow, you said you had some sort of craft that would help us." I could recall the image she had shown us when she first told us about them, but these transport things were outside my experience, and my memory of what she had shown us had distorted beyond anything recognizable.
"Up." Snow said, and again she sent the image she had shown me of the weird vehicles, which were a mish-mash of ovoids and toroids. My mind still couldn't make sense of it.
"I guess I will just have to wait until I see them," I said.
Snow pointed a hoof at the landing craft again. No, she didn't. One of her fingers was extended, and she pointing at some small things below the landing craft. That was when I realized how far we were away from it, and how big it actually was!
"What about the other ships you are meant to have made?" Cacha asked.
"Up!" she said, grinned, and pointed up.
Oh, we were standing under one of them. It was quietly floating above us, near the ceiling of the hangar, and well out of our reach.
"What's it doing up there?"
"I commanded it to move up there after I saw the clockwork spider scanning it," Snow thought to me.
"You mean...?"
"Yes, moments before we were sliced and diced," Snow confirmed. "It can stay up there until we need it."
I shuddered. How could she be so casual about something that still haunted my dreams, even a year later?
"Race you to the... things," Cacha suddenly declared, and took off at full gallop. Caution was clearly forgotten – a highly disciplined military unit, we were most definitely not.
"Okay, Maisie, it's still quiet here. I'm looking at Snow's smaller craft, now. Small is relative – they are taller than us. I've never seen anything like them before. They are grey and black. There are two fat, black toroids in line with each other, one at each end – wheels, I presume, but the middle of them appears to be fixed to the body. Ah, no, I see. Those parts are covers. Somehow the thing is managing to balance on these wheels. Don't ask me how. I don't have a clue. The middle section is just a big ovoid pod. I can't see any way into it."
"Bizarre," Maisie said. "I recall Snow's image of them, but your description just confuses the matter!"
"Thanks a bunch."
"Mo." Snow said. "Mo. Ta." She stopped again, the battle she was having with her mangled speech centers painted all over her face.
"Why don't you just transmit it to us?" Cacha asked.
"It is a word not used in Habitat Eleven. Even if I did transmit it, your brain would not be able to understand it."
"Can you break it up? Use charades or something?"
An image flashed into my mind, that of a motor. Ah.
"Motor? We know that word."
Snow held up two fingers, then bombarded us with a series of images, the most notable being the machine that controlled the behavior of the artificial sky in the life support chamber.
"Day? Night?"
Snow shook her head.
"Time?"
"Cross," Snow said. Cross? How was that a cross? Ah, yes, that was how she said no.
She drew a circle with her hoof.
"Circle?"
She drew a cross then drew the circle again, starting and finishing at the cross.
"Oh," I said, but before I could continue, Snow interrupted.
"Cross!"
"Context, my dear Snow," I said. "I didn't mean you'd drawn the letter "o". I simply realized what you meant. Cycle. You meant cycle."
"Up!" Snow bounced again.
"So these things are called motorcycles?"
"Up!" More bouncing.
"These, I believe, were called motorcycles, back when we lived in Equestria. They were briefly popular with young stallions, before their loutish behavior had the princesses ban them," Snow sent to our language centers, and now that we had the word, we could understand.
Okay, so these motorcycles had two inline tyre-shod wheels, grasped within grey ovoid wheel covers. Each of these wheel assemblies partially extended from a larger ovoid body. And that was it. There were no other features. None at all. They were positively boring to look at. There was nowhere obvious to sit or stand, and nothing that resembled any sort of control system. What was interesting was that they were balancing on their wheels, with no other stabilizing support or stand visible.
"Ha ha," Cacha said. "Where are the real craft?"
Snow blew a raspberry at her, then pushed her hoof into the body of nearest motorcycle. The grey material flexed, before stretching out, almost becoming liquid as it flowed around her body. With the mare secured in its grasp, the material retracted, lifting her up and into the main body, from which just her head protruded. A leg appeared moments later and she motioned for us to approach two of the remaining motorcycles.
"I think I'll walk," Cacha said. "I don't fancy being swallowed whole by a machine I do not know how to operate.
"Wings!" Snow announced, then her motorcycle began to levitate, stopping just above our heads.
"They have wheels and fly?" I asked.
At Snow's command, the flying vehicle did a slow loop above our heads, before descending to the floor. As soon as the tyres touched the floor, the vehicle sped off at quite the pace.
I looked at Cacha. "I don't think walking is an option. Remember that the world outside the habitat is so big we could walk forever and..."
"Perhaps she would care to teach us how to use them, then," Cacha said.
"Perhaps."
I approached the machine nearer to me, reached up and pushed my hoof against it, as I had seen Snow do. As had happened to her, the grey material of its body reached out, embracing me, drawing me to itself. Once it had me in the correct position, some of the material retracted, leaving me comfortably suspended. My hooves remained encased, but were free to move around. I could even extend my fingers. A series of gauges projected themselves into my mind, much as my mapper did. Speed, altitude, direction, and a map, for that matter, were all there. How to make it go, however, eluded me.
Snow's machine pulled alongside me, stopping. Glancing across, I saw she was now completely encased by it.
"Snow," I said though the communicator, "Where did you get the technology to make these things?"
"The wheels came from carts that were meant to be used when colonizing the destination planet. They were large, multi-wheeled and self propelled, designed for traversing various terrains. Other parts came mostly from escape pods from the landing craft. They were meant to be single-use items, but I upgraded them with the wheels, new power plants, new control systems and so on," Snow thought to us. Evidently, her telepathy was not restricted by the shell of the motorcycle.
"The way they can morph reminds me of..."
"HELaTS bodies," Snow interrupted. "Yes, the technology for the escape pods is from the same origins."
"You know what, Snow? I think these things would be better called pods than motorcycles, and it's a lot easier to say!"
"As you wish," came back the thought.
"Now, could you please show me how to operate this thing?"
She didn't wait to be asked a second time, and my mind was flooded with instructions and visual demonstrations. Our year of practicing our coordination with 3G1 and his training was certainly proving its worth. By the time Snow was finished with the lesson, the only thing lacking was actual practice to lock the skills into my mind.
"Bah!" Cacha exclaimed. "I wasn't ready for that memory bombardment! I do think I understood it, though. Give me a second to get into one of the pods."
Following Snow's instructions, I lowered myself the rest of the way into the pod, and closed the shell above me. As I did, a full view opened around me, projected directly into my mind. The interior of the pod itself went completely dark. The light from my eyes did not even generate a reflection. No distractions. That was good. I closed my eyes, as it seemed more natural.
I was ready.
It did not take long before controlling the pod felt natural, as if it was simply part of my body. Movement of my hooves controlled the speed, direction, and when needed, the altitude and tilt. It was even possible to do a roll while airborne, or to use the flight function to push the pod against a wall or the ceiling, allowing one to drive along it.
The use of a small gravity/anti-gravity unit to provide the flight function had the added advantage that within the pod apparent gravity was always below the pilot. That certainly helped with one's sense of balance, even if it did confuse one as to which way was up or down! If desired, the effect could be lessened, so that one could feel the effects of sudden turns, acceleration, and being upside down. Doing so made it feel more like freerunning, which I liked.
The tension of our arrival evaporated as we skylarked about the hangar. The behavior could be justified as practice. While we were doing so, we searched for any other signs of clockwork spiders, or anything else they may have done. There was nothing obvious enough that it was visible from the moving pods.
Cacha's initial reluctance was soon replaced with enthusiasm, and the three of us chased each other around the parked landing craft – five of them in this section of the hangar, if you didn't count the one Snow had cannibalized to make her new ships.
There were more of her constructions than I had realized, too. The craft hiding up near the ceiling, near the entry was the last one she had been working on, and as of yet was not complete. Others were tucked into odd corners, sitting in the cargo bays of the landing craft, and in some cases were languishing in piles of discarded material.
"Early designs," Snow thought to us. "Not so good. Build. Try. Make changes. Then take everything learned and build a new one. First ones only had wheels. Later ones float. New ones can travel over sea and land, over rocks and over sand. It does not matter how rough."
That a single mare had designed, built and modified so many pieces of technology was amazing. For the better part of two thousand years, she persisted. Everything was documented as best she could, using nothing but hoof-drawn pictures mixed with technical diagrams and text cut from other technical manuals, as she was quite capable of reading, even if writing eluded her. This library of manuals, in effect became her extended memory, as even a HELaTS augmented mind couldn't hold over two thousand years of memories.
And unlike us, elsewhere in the habitat, Snow had not been starved of resources!
Cacha's pod slowed, coming to a stop near the main hangar doors.
"Are you okay? I asked her via the communicator.
"I'm pretty sure I'm familiar enough with this pod for us to head out," Cacha said. "Aneki, how are you managing?"
"These are just so cool!" I replied, "and yes, I'm ready. Let's go, right now, before we have the chance to stress ourselves again."
"Let's go," Snow thought to us.
"Through the main hangar doors?" I asked, landing my pod beside Cacha's.
"There is another, smaller access port, like the one the clockwork spider broke through," Snow thought to me. "It will be easier to defend, should we find more of the clockwork spiders."
"Don't we have to worry about what the pressure out there is?" Cacha asked.
"it's more or less the same as what it is in here. Last time the clockwork spider broke in, the door was left open until Brainstorm could fix it."
"Oh yeah. That's awfully convenient, isn't it?"
"That, or it is the optimal pressure for life this far from the sun," Snow thought to us. "I am opening the door now, so be ready to deal with anything that comes through."
"You can do that without leaving your pod?" I asked.
A quick sequence of visuals from Snow explained to me how even I could remotely open the door from my pod.
"Snow, how are we meant to shoot, if we do see an enemy?" Cacha asked. "Do the pods have weapons?"
That was quite a valid point!
"You are the weapon," Snow thought back. "Open the pod, stick your barrel out, and fire."
"Um... okay?" I replied, wondering if I could form some sort of weapon that could extend from the pod without me sticking a part of myself out there with it. Whatever the case, there wasn't really time for that at the moment, so I opened the pod, raised myself, and extended the barrel.
"Okay, let's go. Snow, you go ahead and open the door for us. I'll stick my dumb ass out first."
"Up!"
So here we were, about to head out into the realm of the clockwork spiders, and, if anything, I was almost blasé about it. It was such a nice change from the tension of the last door-opening.
"Well, this is unexpected," I said through my communicator. The support team had been waiting for this moment, and what I was seeing was nothing like what they had hoped. I have to admit, I was also expecting something better.
"What's it like outside?" Maisie asked. She was coming in clearly, indicating that there was a repeater outside the hull. "How does the sky look? Is it pretty? Is there grass?"
"That's exactly it. I'm not even sure we are outside!" I said.
"What do you mean?" Maisie sounded puzzled.
"Well, we are outside of the airlock door, but really, it doesn't look that much different from lower levels of the habitat itself."
"Explain, please," Maisie requested.
"It's very cluttered," Cacha said. "There are hundreds, no, thousands of pipes, wires, girders and whatnot."
"Everything seems to be colored in the blue-green-grey range. Some parts look like they have been deliberately placed in exact positions, but a lot of it has a sort of grown in place feel to it, much like a lot of the equipment in the lower levels of the habitat itself," I said.
"Basically, it looks like the methods used to grow the habitat are the exact same methods used to create whatever is out here," Cacha said.
"Brainstorm, what did you see when you were repairing the last break-in?" I asked.
"Not a lot. Darkness, a damaged door, and that's about it. I was not prepared to illuminate the area in fear of attracting more clockwork spiders."
"That's disappointing," Maisie said. "I was hoping you could see the sky, and something that looked like old Equestria. This giant ring is meant to be some sort of living space, isn't it?"
"It's too early to be saying what is and what isn't out here," I said. "We are just outside the door, after all. We'll do some more exploring. Maybe the habitat is larger than we thought, and we are not outside it yet, or maybe this is the lower levels of the ring, itself."
"Are there any signs of clockwork spiders?"
"No. It's quiet. Perhaps we were dealing with a single stray."
"Or a scout. It's too early to be jumping to that sort of conclusion. Stay alert. Stay safe," Maisie said.
"Okay. For now, we'll explore the immediate area, and the area through which the clockwork spider broke in."
Light was currently being provided by our pods. The entire surface of the body of each pod was lit up, so, with three soft light sources the resultant lighting was ambient in nature, the shadows being very indistinct. A previously unseen feature of the pod's mentally projected displays was that it was impossible to be dazzled. The disadvantage of this sort of lighting was that the range was limited.
We appeared to be parked on a platform that was part of Habitat Eleven. That soon sloped down, to a lower surface that was presumably the old ground level of Equestria. If I concentrated, I was able to visualize the main structural elements, despite them being camouflaged by the growth of finer... details. Not too far to my right was a substantial leg that reached out from the habitat, further than the ramp, and terminated in a massive foot. To my left, and still associated with the platform and ramp, was the main hangar door.
The door would need to be cleared before it could be opened; many of the smaller spars of the grown structure had attached themselves to it. Likewise, the other sections of the hull I could see were similarly adorned. If the remainder of Habitat Eleven was covered in these suckers, there would be absolutely no way to launch it, not that launching the dying relic was a possibility, anyway.
We were lucky the airlock door we had used hadn't been blocked!
"I'm going to have a look at the other airlock door, the one the clockwork spider busted through," I said. "You two, keep your eyes open... Well, keep your minds open." After all, with the mentally projected imaging system, they probably had their eyes shut too.
"Will do."
I directed the pod towards the other end of the main hangar door, dodging between some of the pillars that had sprouted from the platform. As I did, I recalled the stories of something growing over the bridge at the top of the habitat, eventually dropping below the level of the upper view ports, but still covering those only a floor or two lower. It was probably more of this modifier-built structure.
When ponies designed and built something, they thought about the overall design, then planned where each element should go. Even when the location caused twists and turns, there was a logic, an order to it. Even the lower levels of the habitat showed more planning than this.
If I had to guess, I would say that the modifiers responsible for building this giant ring were running on a common, generalized code, adjusting their behavior depending on where they were, and what they encountered. They were behaving not unlike a pony's cells forming a new foal according to the DNA they held, depending on what hormones were present, or what their neighboring cells were doing.
As such, to these builder-modifiers, Habitat Eleven was just a big lump of something that had been built before, not a foreign body, and the builder-modifiers reacted by attaching new structure to it. That was fortunate. Had the builder-modifiers seen the habitat as foreign, they would have probably broken it down for use in construction. That would surely have killed every last one of us.
Clockwork spiders were something quite unlike modifiers, operating at an entirely different scale to them, and by the single example we had observed, were reasoning beings, intelligent in their own right.
"Snow, do you remember what these aliens, the Warners, looked like?" I asked. Somehow that was something that hadn't actually been clarified.
The only other pony that had been alive when the Warners were here remembered very little about their physical appearance, other than them being some sort of HELaTS themselves. Princess Lunar Eclipse had not seen fit to record their physical details of them in her journals.
"The spiders that built Snow?" Snow asked.
"Uh? Oh, yes. They made you, didn't they?"
"Up!"
I had forgotten that Snow was a construct created in a laboratory. It didn't matter to me. As far as I was concerned, she was a pony.
"So, did you get a good look at them? Do you remember what they looked like?"
"Up. Spiders." She was using her voice again, so I had no idea how scrambled that answer was.
"Think it to me, Snow."
The image hit me, and I had to concentrate to not lose control of the pod due to my instinctive fear reaction. We were close enough to our destination, so I stopped – that seemed like the safest course of action!
"Spiders?" I asked. "These Warner aliens were fucking giant spiders?"
"Up. Spiders."
Who would have guessed? Snow had that word right in her mangled mental dictionary. It also explained why she called their mechanized variation clockwork spiders.
"Seriously?" Kakuun said, through the communicator.
"Oh, hello Kakuun."
"Hello Aneki. Spiders? Seriously? Nothing I read in the library hinted at that!"
"Did it hint at anything?"
"Um. No. Even Princess Lunar Eclipse' journals only suggest that they were not unlike their spaceships."
"A classic case of failing to make records of the obvious," I chuckled.
"Poor or missing documentation seems to be a part of Habitat Eleven life, doesn't it?" Cacha said.
"The same would probably be true of any civilization over a few hundred years old," Brainstorm said.
"Perhaps we should get on with writing some new history books, then?"
"You are doing a great job of finding something for us to write about. Perhaps you could find us something to write on!"
Ah, yes. We were resource starved, weren't we? All the same, I knew Maisie was joking. Central had generators that could produce paper, much like food generators produced food. The real problem was finding resources to sacrifice to the generators, so they were reserved for extraordinary circumstances. These explorations were such a circumstance.
"So, just how big is fucking giant?" Kakuun asked.
"Big enough to eat a pony," I answered. "Around the same size as the clockwork spider, I guess.
"And they are still out there?"
"I guess we will find that out with time."
"Hopefully we will see them before they see us!"
Now, to the task at hoof – checking that other airlock door. I rolled the pod forward until I could see the door, then parked the pod so it illuminated the area as well as was possible.
Not wanting to be constrained, I dismounted the pod. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it spat me out again. It was damn cold out here! I briefly shivered as my body adjusted itself to the new temperature. Ah, that was better.
Okay, it was time to see exactly how the clockwork spider had penetrated the impenetrable.
Moments later, their method was fairly obvious, not to mention crude.
Considerable force had been used to tear the outer door from the hull. It was lying near the opening, slightly twisted, a foreign anchor fused to it. It had put up a greater struggle than the interior airlock door, which was merely held in place by its massive mechanism. This outer door was also equipped with bolts – hoof thick bolts that extended from the second stepped ring from the front. The first step contained substantial compression seals, as did the third.
These bolts had either sheared, or twisted, shattering either their mounts in the door itself, or the wall into which they had been anchored.
The machine that had been used to rip it out was still attached to the hull of the habitat. It was conical in shape, its walls several times thicker than the door it had destroyed and was fused with the material of the hull itself. A reinforced opening on one side gave access to the interior, and thus to our habitat. Protruding from the narrower end of the machine was a central shaft that was currently retracted, a pushing head, visible through the opening, attached to it.
Assorted pieces of alien equipment lay scattered about, abandoned.
"The clockwork spider must have been working alone. I wonder if there is something or someone waiting for it to report back," Cacha said.
"It's been a year and they haven't come looking," I said.
"True."
"Brainstorm," I said, "there are some pieces of alien technology lying around out here, near the outer door to the airlock you welded shut. I presume you will want them. We can drag them back into the hangar for you. The tool they used to force the door is now a permanent part of the hull, so if you really want to see that, you'll have to rely on one of our memories."
"That will be adequate, for the time being," Brainstorm said. "Perhaps, later, I can accompany you out there."
After stashing what alien technology we could recover from the area back in the hangar, Snow, Cacha and I again exited the habitat, closing the airlock behind us. Our confidence was higher. This was the third time today that we had faced the potentially unknown on the other side of a door. Sure, if something suddenly jumped out in front of me, I'd probably flinch, training or not. I didn't expect that would happen, though, as our earlier expedition suggested the area was deserted.
This time I was planning to travel further from the door, but not from the habitat. I wanted to see the cradle in which the habitat was sitting, and to explore under the habitat, if possible. Once we were clear of the hangar door, and the ramp, we found a gap between the bottom of the hangar and the ground. It was sufficiently large for us to drive into.
Again, we found ourselves in a forest of grown beams, made of multidimensional material. Slowly, I guided my pod towards the main hull of the habitat. I wasn't sure what to expect, now that the alien builder-modifiers had changed things so drastically. According to Snow, there had been a gap between the hull and the hemispherical cradle in which it sat. That made sense. External access during its construction would have been impossible, otherwise.
The precipice was hard to see until I was practically on it, disguised as it was by the forest of beams. Setting the pod to levitate, I floated between the beams and over the edge of the cradle, Cacha and Snow following me. The curvature of the hull was so great that it appeared quite straight this close to it. The same applied to the drop. The limit to the range of our light and the abundance of tendrils of multidimensional material between the habitat and the cradle prevented us from seeing very far down.
I allowed the pod to descend slowly.
"It's cold," Cacha said.
I couldn't feel it at the moment, being in my nice, warm pod, so I checked the readings. She was right. No wonder I had felt a chill when I exited the pod, earlier.
"That would be expected. The lower levels themselves are cold, after all."
"Not this cold!"
"The hull must have some sort of insulating layer in it," I said. "Besides, there's a load of equipment down there generating heat, even if most of it is piped up to the life support chamber. So for the lower levels to be as cold as they are, the temperature has to be even lower out here."
Snow flashed me a series of images and scenes – ponies flying kites near the partially completed habitat, thermals rising from the gap giving the kites lift. So, back then, the earth in which the cradle had been set was warm. The crust of the planet varied from the diameter of the habitat, at twenty miles, to about two and a half times as thick as that. And it had been warm down there, below the crust! Things had certainly changed.
"What do you hope to find down here?" Cacha asked. "The gravity generator?"
"Yes," I said. "Perhaps there is fuel left over."
"Cross!" said Snow.
"How would you know if there was any fuel left?"
"The engines powering the generator would be outside the cradle. We are at the top of a very long drop. If we have technical difficulties or fall, it is a very long way down, and should we survive, an equally long way up again. I have wings. You do not," Snow thought to me.
"Oh, so you are saying it is too dangerous?" I asked.
"Yes, and irrelevant to our current problems. If we must go down there, let us do so when we have full support out here."
"Fair enough," I agreed. Snow was right, of course, but there was something about that gap that called out to me. The longing reminded me of the curiosity that had led to this world-changing adventure in the first place. I had gone from a humble worker that liked running, living in a world a mere twenty miles in diameter, to a queen that was one of the first ponies to leave this habitat, some two thousand odd years after it had been sealed.
I guided my pod away from the drop. This time, curiosity could wait.
Plans changed, and after some discussion, we decided to expand the area of exploration. We were now about half an hour's travel from the habitat, and as we were getting hungry, stopping for something to eat had definite appeal.
So far, we hadn't found anything particularly extraordinary. It really was as if we were exploring a larger, more organic version of our own habitat's lower levels. There were many conduits, pipes, walkways, corridors, impenetrable areas with pipes going into them, wires, and even the occasional monitor screen. It really wasn't that different, apart from being less hospitable due to the lower temperature.
Communications with the support team had also become impossible. We were simply too far from the repeater on the hull. If we wished to expand our range, we would need to make some stand-alone repeaters we could place out here.
Food and relaxation were on our minds when we located a nook that offered some shelter from gusts and breezes, and parked our pods across the opening as a barrier of sorts. Exiting the pods, we retrieved our food generators, reloaded them and nestled in for some quiet time. Needless to say, Cacha promptly attached herself to me. Even after a couple of years, this habit hadn't changed. I wondered if it would be possible to adjust my HELaTS body to actually, as distinct from conceptually, join us together briefly. That would surprise her the next time she wanted to do something by herself!
"So, where do you think we should go next?" I asked.
"Up!" Snow said. This was another one of those rare cases where what she said was what she meant. Her delighted, beaming face proved that she was enjoying the moment.
"Okay, we'll head yeswards, then," I said.
She blew a raspberry at me.
I smirked, then took another mouthful of the greenery the food generator had offered me. The hull of the habitat did a pretty good job of containing the magic from the magic generators housed in the sublevels of the life support chamber. There was sufficient leakage of the magic for us to be able to use the generators in the lower levels, despite being outside the shell of the life support chamber. Outside the main hull, however, it really was impossible.
Snow had already compensated for the problem when she built the pods, connecting small magic generators to their engines. This type of small generator were dotted around the hangar, and in the landing craft, so salvaging a few had been easy. Of course, powering the food generators with our own magic would not work, as doing so would take more energy from us than we could hope to gain by eating what we had generated.
Raising my head after taking another mouthful, I felt the faintest gust of air as something passed over me. That would have been beneath notice, had my eyes not detected movement above us. I looked up, not sure what to expect, and was very surprised to see a tiny HELaTS hanging there on gossamer wings.
"Look up," I said to my companions. "Just above us."
"Sweet Luna! Is that a breezie?" Cacha asked. "I thought they didn't exist!"
"It certainly fits the description – a tiny, pony-like creature with gossamer wings."
Snow nodded, knowingly. I guess she was old enough to have encountered them before.
The breezie looked at each of us, its tiny face puzzled. It said something quite unintelligible, then pointed a tiny hoof towards my food bowl.
"It appears to be hungry," Cacha said.
"I wonder if the food generator will even recognize its presence."
The breezie repeated itself, and pointed at the food generator again, allowing itself to drop lower, so that now it was floating at our eye-level.
"I have no idea what you are saying, but help yourself," I said, also pointing at the generator, and the uneaten portion of my meal still contained within.
The breezie descended and landed on my meal, immediately eating, biting, chewing and gulping down food hungrily. The amount of food in the bowl did not change, suggesting that the generator was not designed to feed breezies. It was still adjusting the available food to suit my needs. I wondered if the generators would recognize changelings. The fixed ones in the habitat obviously did. Perhaps they merely recognized the changeling's pony form.
"It is hungry," Snow thought to us. "Small creature. Needs to eat often."
"More interestingly, it's not afraid of us at all," I said. "Perhaps it is familiar with ponies."
"It will be fun when we return to the habitat. It will be Hey guys, we found a breezie! and they will not believe us," Cacha said.
"Why not?" I asked. "They believed us when we found an alicorn princess!"
"We did have the evidence standing behind us that time," Cacha said.
Satisfied with its meal, the tiny creature floated up to the height of our eyes. Floated? Flew? It was hard to tell. Again it tried to talk to us, and again the words were foreign, although I could detect a hint of ancient. Clearly this method of conversation was not working for us. It was time to try my language learning skills, but I wasn't going to do so without its permission.
Hopefully the telepathy spell would work. I sent an image of the small creature holding its head to my horn, along with some graphics to suggest an information exchange. If it understood me, it could initiate contact if it agreed.
It stared at me for a few moments, again talking. I shook my head and re-sent the image. This time the breezie floated closer, settling on my head. I felt gentle pressure against my horn, so I began my language learning spell.
Within moments, the spell had done its job, and I found I had gained not one, but two new languages. One of them was entirely new to me; the other had obvious roots in ancient. Just as my own language had deviated from ancient over two thousand years of isolation, so had this one.
I resisted any temptation to cram my own language into the tiny creature's head. There might be capacity issues!
The breezie alighted my head, and I indicated Cacha and Snow should prepare themselves for some rapid learning. When both nodded, I activated the teaching spell. This time Cacha would have no cause to complain about an unexpected memory dump!
"Sooo, can you understand me now?" the breezie asked. I found its voice quaint, and with some accent. It was speaking the variation of ancient.
"We can."
"Which ship are you from? Is it the Lander 7H6? What language do you speak?" it asked.
"What is your name?" Cacha countered.
"Zephyr. I have become separated from my companions, and need your help to get back home, to my wife and child."
"I'm Aneki. And, addressing your earlier questions, we were speaking Equestrian, or what passes as it now."
"That was not Equestrian," the breezie said.
"Neither is this," I said, referring to the dialect we were now speaking. "In the two thousand years since we left Equestria, the language had changed a lot."
"Where are you from?" Cacha asked.
"I am from Lander 2H6," Zephyr said.
"Aneki, Cacha," Snow thought to us. "The landing craft I stripped for parts is Lander 3H11. The other landers are all Lander somethingH11. Lander number whatever from Habitat Eleven."
"So, this breezie is from Habitat Six?"
"I am here. You could ask me directly," The breezie muttered. "Yes, our Landing Craft came from Habitat Six.
The tiny breezie slowly orbited my head, his straw-yellow mane and tail gracefully fluttering, which was more than his wings were doing. They barely moved. As with the pegasi, magic had to be involved in levitating them.
"You are from Habitat Six?" I asked again, this time addressing him directly. This was the first time I had heard any news of a habitat other than our own. I wanted to learn what I could about it.
"Our Landing Craft came from Habitat Six." The breezie said. "I came from the Landing Craft."
"So," I asked, "you are saying you have never seen the habitat itself?"
"I was born on the landing craft, in deep space."
"And Habitat Six itself? Do you know where it is?"
"No, I do not know its current location," Zephyr said. "It was destroyed hundreds of years ago, before I was born. Where the hulk drifted, I have no idea. Perhaps the elder or one of the others would know."
So much for that hope. A habitat full of the creatures we had lost, or never had in the first place, would have been truly wonderful.
"I guess it doesn't matter where it is, then," I said. "I wanted to know if there were more ponies and other creatures that had survived."
"I was told that only ponies and breezies survived. Only those outside the main hull, on the bridge, and in the hangars had any real chance. And a few HELaTs from the lower levels somehow survived too. I think there were enough of them left to sparsely crew a few landing craft. It's been a while since I heard the story."
"A landing craft in deep space?" Snow thought to me. "Landing craft are only equipped to shuttle ponies between the habitat and a planet. The would be lucky to survive a week in deep space."
"I do not know how the landing craft survived," Zephyr said. He had been privy to Snow's thoughts as well. "You would need to ask one of the technical ponies."
"We will be sure to do that," I said. It sounded like these ponies also had quite the tale to tell. If nothing else, they would keep Habitat Eleven's movie makers happy. "Now, please excuse me for a moment while I finish off my meal."
"Will you help me search for my friends and family?" Zephyr asked.
"In as much as we can. You can come with us, if you wish, but we are not going to roam too far from our home, lest we also become lost," I said around a mouthful of greens.
"Where is this home of yours, then, and why are you afraid of becoming lost?" Zephyr asked.
"Home's about half an hour of driving in that direction," I said, pointing a hoof.
"And it's our first time out here, so we don't have any real idea of what goes where, or what else we may meet. Our last encounter with something from out here was nearly fatal for all involved," Cacha said.
The breezie frowned at us for a few moments, then its eyes went wide. "There is an old, abandoned habitat not far in that direction – one that never launched. In fact, from this close to it, it would be hard to get past it without going well out of your way. Could it be you...?"
"That we come from it?" Cacha asked. "Yes. Habitat Eleven is our home."
"The others will be eager to hear this!" Zephyr said. "We spent quite some time trying to gain access to it in the hope of salvaging what we needed from it. Some even hoped it could be revived enough for us to live there."
"Don't even think about it," I said. "It's dying. We're trying to get out of it. It's taken us this long to make a replacement key."
"So, is it just you three, or have more survived?" Zephyr asked.
Cacha laughed. "We are the only three to leave, but we kind of left the other three million ponies and changelings behind."
"Three million ?" Zephyr sounded incredulous.
"Give or take a few hundred thousand," I said. "We do not have the means to take a census, so the estimate was based on population density in a few select areas."
"Three million ?" Zephyr said, again.
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"The few of us that lived on our landing craft struggled to survive due to lack of resources. How could three million survive in a habitat for thousands of years?"
"With a damn lot of recycling!" Cacha said.
"And a lot of fuel that wasn't used for propulsion," Snow thought to us. "Something I find much harder to believe is that you survived for more than a week in a landing craft. They are designed to get people and goods from a habitat down to a planet. They have so little power that they have to return to the habitat almost empty. And here you were, in deep space in one for how long?"
"Sixty-something years," Zephyr said.
"Sixty... hang on. Quiet everybody," I said. There was a distant sound niggling at my ears. Something repetitive that hadn't been there before. When we fell silent it became obvious – a cyclic thumping.
"My companions!" Zephyr exclaimed. "We must go!"
"That sounds like an automatic weapon," Cacha said.
"That's Heavy Hitter's cannon," Zephyr said. "They must be fighting an antibody again."
"I think we need to go, if only to learn," Snow thought to me, discretely.
"Okay, mount-up everypony," I said. "Zephyr, you can come with me. Grab my horn and hold on."
"We are going into a combat zone. Are your craft armed?" the breezie asked as he landed on my head.
"Strictly speaking, no."
"So how would you fight?"
"With these!" I said, holding up a hoof.
"We are so dead. Perhaps we should wait until the fighting is over."
I tapped the pod with my hoof, and was greeted with a delightful squeak of surprise as the pod reached out, grasped, and consumed us.
The sounds of fighting were coming from several levels up, if levels was the right term to use. While the structure did have some major, structural levels that were built very much like platforms in the habitat, complete with the hexagonal openings through them, a lot of the remainder of the structure varied, being built as needed. Ramps between groups of levels, both up and down could be found without too much searching.
Sometimes there were gaps that appeared to drop quite some distance, before line of sight became obscured by cables, pipes, tendrils and whatever else the modifiers had built. Other times, what appeared to be a pipe or tunnel would taper off until it was too small to navigate. These would frustrate Zephyr to no end, and he would rattle off a set of directions, completely forgetting he was the one who got lost in the first place.
"You aren't really helping, Zephyr," I said.
"But you are unarmed! We cannot risk bursting into the combat zone. We must hold back until the fighting is over."
"We can hold our own," I said.
"You do not understand the power of the antibodies. Even the breezie antibodies are hard to kill, and they are only the size of a pony. The pony antibodies are huge!"
"I think I see where this is going," I said. "Cacha, Snow and I have trained as a fighting team."
"But you can't have fought against antibodies, if today is your first excursion outside your habitat. You simply do not understand what you are up against. All of your training can't have prepared you to take them on! They are fast!"
"And their weapons are their blade-like limbs," I said. "All eight of them. And those blades could easily cut off a pony's forelegs..."
"Or all four legs..." Snow thought to us.
"Or even cut you completely in half," Cacha said.
"Yes, yes, that is right! How could you know if you have never left your habitat until today?"
"We met one over a year ago. It broke into our hangar."
"How did you survive? Did you have weapons?" Zephyr asked.
"Yes, and... our friend beat it. We didn't manage quite so well. It cut off my forelegs..."
"And all of Snow's legs, and cut me in half," Cacha said.
"So, stop!" Zephyr squeaked, "and wait until the gunfire ends!"
"How many of these antibodies are they fighting? The shooting has been going on for too long." Cacha asked.
"Probably just one pony size antibody," Zephyr said. "They are very hard to kill."
I wondered what kind of weapons were being used. The sound of the cannon suggested all they had was a regular, explosively fired gun. Whatever they were, they were not effective.
We burst out of the tunnel a couple of levels above the ongoing fight. Coming to a stop, I positioned the pod so I had a good view of what could best be described as an arena. There was a moderate amount of illumination, coming from lamps positioned above us, and the constant muzzle flashes of multiple weapons. As we were now exposed, we switched off the lights of the pods, returning them to their default grey color.
The structure had opened into a pit of sorts, the battle contained within its sides. On a shelf on the opposite side of the pit were the other HELaTS. A particularly large HELaTS, Heavy Hitter, Zephyr informed me, was leaning into a tripod-mounted gun that was bigger than he was, aiming it, trying to keep a bead on the clockwork spider that was thrashing around below him. Several ponies were assisting him by feeding the gun with shells, and helping to dampen its recoil.
Other ponies were positioned along the shelf to either side of Heavy Hitter, each firing much smaller, and quieter weapons. Unicorns were working together, using their magic to restrain the killing machine as much as possible, although despite their best efforts, it was still thrashing and moving about.
For a fight that had lasted as long as this one, there wasn't a lot of progress to be seen. The clockwork spider's head was showing the greatest damage, pocked by many impacts, the eyes being the apparent target. Both of those had been destroyed, rendering the machine blind.
It was clear that if this was to end anytime soon, it would require our assistance. A brief mental conversation with my team mates had us all ready ourselves by forming our weapons. I created a gun along the length of the cannon bone of my right foreleg, its barrel extending as far as my hoof. As such it wasn't in my way while I was inside the pod.
I loaded it with a new spell I had developed for fighting clockwork spiders. Instead of simply atomizing everything in the path of the beam, as had happened when I took out the changeling queen, this spell was designed to bore a very fine hole through the first continuous layer of the multidimensional material of the clockwork spider's armor, before spreading out and disintegrating everything until it hit another layer of multidimensional material. The theory was that would contain the explosion inside the armor, making it safer for us. As a failsafe, the spell was designed to stop after traveling a couple hoof-lengths beyond solid material. Cacha and Snow were likewise equipped with this spell, as well as all the other finalized spells I had developed.
Another burst of shells from Heavy Hitter's gun found their target, shaking the clockwork spider's head, chipping away at its destroyed eyes.
"Not very effective, are they?" I said to Zephyr. "Lots of gun fire, but so little damage."
"This one is taking a little longer than usual, but even at our best, the antibodies are very hard to destroy. The only way we can take them down is through their weakest point – their eyes. Once we penetrate them, we can damage the control center in their head."
"So, destroying their head stops them?" I asked. "Do they explode, or anything annoying like that?" I asked.
"No, not that I have ever seen."
"Well, girls, we know gut shots work, thanks to Brainstorm's efforts, and now we know head shots will also do the trick."
"Snow projectile," Snow said.
"You want to take the shot? Please do."
"Up!"
"Cacha, you and I can aim for the guts, but hold the shot. Fire only if Snow's..."
"Shit! There's another one!" somepony down bellow yelled.
It only took a moment to locate the second clockwork spider, and it was moving in, fast, on the shelf on which the other ponies were taking their stand. Some of them turned their weapons on it, but it ignored the barrage. Several of the unicorns that had been restraining the machine turned their magic against the latest arrival in a failure destined attempt to stop it. All that achieved was to allow the blinded machine to lash out more effectively. It may have been striking blindly, but those strikes were mighty close to some of the ponies that were shooting.
A brief mental exchange of images had already set us into action, even before the other ponies had started shooting at the second antibody. At our command, our pods ejected us upwards, maintaining a grip on our rear legs and hind quarters. That gave us unobstructed views of the two enemy. The original target was a lesser threat, but only just so.
Snow targeted the head of the damaged clockwork spider, while Cacha and I targeted the gut and head, respectively, of the second machine.
We fired.
The result was immediate, and spectacular. Funnels of flame blasted from each impact point, as the released atoms explosively reacted, forming new compounds. Coming from very dense multidimensional material, there were a lot of atoms to react, despite the hair-thin penetration. Flame and shrapnel spewed from the eye sockets of blinded clockwork spider, as the internal explosion sought the path of least resistance to escape. The machine immediately collapsed.
The explosions in second clockwork spider, somewhat constrained by the intact armor and eyes, spewed flame out around all joints and points of motion for several seconds, before collapsing, smoking, into the pit beside its fallen peer.
"Wow," Cacha said. "That went rather well. A much better result than last time!"
"Revenge is sweet?" I asked.
The image of a food generator filled with slices of apple sprung into my mind.
We all chuckled. Our training had worked wonders. My adrenaline levels hadn't even risen.
Down below, all gunfire had ceased and the ponies were staring up at the three of us, protruding from our pods. Judging by the dropped jaws, we were, at the very least, an unexpected sight!
"You said you didn't have any weapons!" Zephyr barked, floating into view.
"We don't have any weapons," I insisted.
"But..." he said, ardently pointing his tiny hoof at the weapon protruding from my leg. "That. That. It did more in a second than we can in an hour. That..."
"We don't have weapons, Zephyr. We are weapons. Living weapons," I said, reabsorbing the barrel and associated mechanisms into my body.
The little fellow's jaw dropped.
Below us, a few ponies clambered down into the pit with the fallen clockwork spiders. With them they carried various pieces of equipment. One particular, and somewhat heavy item they placed near the head of the machine they had been fighting. From the equipment they uncurled some heavy cables, each of which terminated in pointed probes. These they rammed through the empty eye sockets of spider, before stepping well away from it.
Other ponies were gathering near us, some calling up to us. I decided deal with them in a moment, as my attention was still on what was being done to the fallen. There was a whining sound coming from the box connected to the skull, and it grew in pitch and volume, reminding me of the sound the ship's main gun had made while preparing to fire.
When the sound stabilized, there was a mighty crack an a bright flash as electricity arced through the skull.
"Now it won't ever get up again," Zephyr said, from near my ear.
"They get up after having their heads blown up?"
"Usually, no, but they are not completely dead, either. We like to make sure they cannot be salvaged. Defeating them once is hard enough!"
"Zephyr, is that you, up there?" Heavy Hitter called, finally breaking my attention from the activities of the clean-up crew.
"It is!"
"We thought we had lost you."
"I lost myself," Zephyr admitted, sheepishly. "I got caught in a strong air current while scouting."
"You should know better than to wander too far by yourself!"
"I should, shouldn't I. I just want to be useful!"
"If we needed practice forming search parties, getting lost would be useful, but I must admit we really don't have the time to be doing that," Heavy Hitter said.
"But look at the good side. I really found something good this time!"
"So, I'm a something am I?" I muttered.
"You did say you were a weapon, didn't you?" Zephyr grinned.
"Touché."
As remaining up on my perch seemed inappropriate, I had my pod lower me to the floor. I was still a level above the other ponies, but I wasn't sure I trusted them enough to be down amongst them yet. Cacha joined me, but at my request, Snow remained well out of reach. She did detach herself from her pod, but remained seated on top of it, lazily spreading her bat wings.
"So, who are these special ponies you have brought to us?" Heavy Hitter asked Zephyr. "Are they from Lander 7H6?"
"No," Zephyr said. "And they have trouble believing we are from Lander 2H6."
"Hello," I said, deciding to move from being the subject of the conversation to participating in it. "I am Aneki, of Habitat Eleven. Yes, we come from that giant ball over there." I waved a hoof in its general direction. "This is Cacha, and that's Snow, up there."
At that moment, a breezie with cream colored head and strawberry mane and tail fluttered onto the scene at what I imagined to be maximum speed. She hit Zephyr in a flying tackle, immediately covering him in kisses. Somehow, the two remained aloft.
"The wife, I presume?" I asked, observing the tiny creature with coloring similar to my own.
"Enthusiastically so! This is Strawberry," Zephyr said, before being cut off by a mouth planted firmly across his.
"You are from the abandoned habitat?" a navy maned mare asked. Her HELaTS skin was marred by numerous scars, some quite significant.
"We are from the habitat, yes," I said, "but I can assure you it hasn't been abandoned yet."
"Ponies live in there?"
"Yes, and changelings."
"And insects," Cacha added. "And who would you be?"
"Ultramarine, or just Marine." She peeled back her armor to reveal that her coat color matched her name.
That started a cascade, and within moments all of the HELaTS present, ourselves included, had revealed themselves. If nothing else, it showed they were prepared to trust us enough to weaken their defences.
We talked.
Ultramarine began her story.
"Habitat Six was loaded with the ponies and creatures of Manehattan and the surrounding areas, and launched without issue. Its launch was several days after that of Habitat Five, and presumably a few days before Habitat Seven, assuming that launched on schedule. We were unable to maintain any form of radio contact. It reached maximum speed successfully and had been cruising for several decades."
"Things went wrong when an undetected and fast moving body, presumably an asteroid, hit at an oblique angle, not too many degrees from the from the path the habitat was traveling. It was effectively a head-on collision, but off center enough to miss the bridge. The resultant explosion vaporized a sizable chunk of both the outer hull, and the life support chamber, killing all within.
"The bridge was spared, the bridge crew surviving. Ponies who were working in the hangars also survived, as the hangars were also a separate environment to that of the main hull. A few of us HELaTS in the lower levels somehow survived in pressurized pockets or were able to get ourselves into them before asphyxiating."
"Were you there, yourself?" I asked.
"Yes, I was one of those in the lower levels. While I, and others like me were trapped down there, the ponies from the bridge and the hangars joined a landing craft to each of the two scout ships, boarded them, and left to pursue the other habitats, hoping to intercept one."
"They left you behind..." Cacha said.
"Yes. They presumed us dead, as they had not been able to contact any of us, and had no way to go to the lower levels to look for us."
"How do you know that, if they had already left?" I asked.
"We found that out when we finally made it to the hangars and found the notes they had left in case any pony discovered the wrecked habitat, or indeed, climbed up from miles below. At least they had the courtesy to do that. I can't blame them. Their window of opportunity to meet with another habitat was very narrow. For all I know, they all died. That is the most likely outcome. The scouts were designed for deep space trips that lasted up to five years."
"You never know," Cacha said. "Maybe they got lucky, like you did."
"Perhaps, but the odds were long, and a fast moving habitat is a lot harder to find in space than a star is."
"The impact, explosion, and subsequent venting of several of the emergency air tanks had knocked the habitat off course. When they abandoned the habitat, the output of the engines was reduced until only the gravity generator and life support for the hangars and bridge were left powered, and the habitat was left to drift.
"As the years passed, those of us who remained gathered in the hangar. Some of us found HELaTS space suits, which allowed us to move about freely. By sharing them, we were able to shuttle those from air pockets to the hangar. I think we found everypony that was left, but it's impossible to be sure.
"Of those that survived, there were two mindsets. Some wanted to leave as soon as possible in smaller craft, and head back here. The other group wanted to try to turn the damaged habitat back in this direction, and then use smaller craft to make the final trip."
"So, you were one of the first group?" I asked. "Zephyr said you spent years in deep space in a landing craft, something I find a bit hard to believe."
"Hell, no! We changed the course of the habitat as best we could. We only had one shot at it, and we failed to get the habitat on the correct course, or up to speed, but it was heading in the general direction we wanted to go.
"Both groups then set about adapting the landers, the only ships we had left, into something that could be used for longer trips. The hulls of several were joined together, and larger engines, actually auxiliary engines and retros from the habitat itself, were fitted. We crammed as many supplies and spares as we could into them, fitted food and modifier generators and so on, and generally made them as deep-space-worthy as possible.
"How long did that take?"
"Over two hundred years to finish the first one," Ultramarine said. "There were so few of us, it took a rather long time. Rather selfishly, the ponies that wanted to leave took off as soon as it was finished, abandoning the rest of us. They claimed we had plenty of time to finish the second ship as we weren't planning on leaving the habitat any time soon."
"And that was Lander 7H6?" I asked.
"It was. Actually, I think it was Landers 7H6, 8H6, 10H6 and 11H6 all joined together, but we all called it 7H6. The other ship, our ship, was made from Landers 2H6, 4H6, 5H6 and 6H6. Of course, with even less of us to build it, it took a lot longer. By the time we did finish it, our workforce had grown. In a way, it was heartless to bring foals into a life with such a bleak outlook, but we were alive, and we wanted to live. Most of those foals are still with us today, although we have lost a number of ourselves to these despicable antibodies.
"Anyway, to continue with the story, we stayed in the habitat preparing our ship, or just living in general, until we reached the closest point its path took it to here, then we launched. We accelerated for as long as we could afford to, then coasted for decades, finally using the remaining fuel to decelerate as we approached. It took us sixty-seven years in deep space to get here. We landed on the outer surface of the ring-world about forty three years ago."
"On the outside?" Cacha asked.
"Yes. There was an incomplete space-dock there, so we docked, unloaded and made our way into this ring-world, and have been climbing ever since."
"So, how far have you climbed?"
"You don't know how thick the ring is?" Ultramarine asked.
"Why would we? It's not as if we've explored down there."
"What? Why not? How long have you been hunting antibodies? We've been in the area for a few months, trying to get rid of that one, as it was blocking our progress, and you arrive on the scene and blow it and its friend away in seconds! You clearly have experience."
"Cross," Snow said, from her perch above us.
"Huh? You're cross about what?" Ultramarine asked, puzzled.
"As Snow just said, we don't have much experience." I translated her meaning, but did not explain why such a translation was needed. "Last time we met one of those was about a year back, when it broke into our habitat. Snow and I lost our legs, and Cacha was killed. Our stallion killed it. As for those two clockwork spiders, today is our first day out of the habitat, and those two down there are our first and second kills."
The resultant silence went on for long enough for background chatter to break out, then fade.
"I thought you were Cacha," Heavy Hitter said, pointing a hoof at my attachment. "But Aneki just said Cacha was killed..."
"I am Cacha," she said. "I did die. It chopped me clean in half, after all, but we had a convenient unicorn medical expert close enough to prevent it becoming a permanent case of very dead."
Ultramarine shook her head, as if trying to get what she knew of our reality to gel with hers.
"You ponies are... a bit... weird," Zephyr said.
"Well, yes, I guess we would look that way to a society so removed from ours," I said.
"I suppose you have had two thousand years to develop new technologies, and... stuff," Ultramarine said.
Cacha shook her head. "We have had some significant scientific and medical advances recently, but that's it. Our last great scientists were locked away centuries ago, and we only freed them a few years back. Mostly we were a..."
"Changeling larder," I said.
"A what?"
"A changeling larder," I said, again. "The power structure of our habitat was usurped by changelings that had smuggled themselves aboard. They were fearful for their lives and did what they could to survive."
"But you've freed yourself from them now? What did you do to those that were left?" Ultramarine asked.
"HELaTS can distinguish changelings from real ponies, so we were hunted to near extinction, but then Aneki happened," Cacha said.
"Well, you happened first," I responded.
"You are losing me," Ultramarine said.
"No surprise there," I said. "Unfortunately, I haven't rehearsed a short version of our history. Even the last three years would take a while to explain."
"But to give it a go," Cacha said, "In their effort to kill us, the changeling queens needed an alicorn to open the doors to which they had no access, and they tried to use Aneki to create one, and that was their big mistake."
"So, you didn't create an Alicorn?" Heavy Hitter asked.
"Oh, yes I did. My daughter is a miniature version of me, but with wings, but that's another story."
"Thinking that had failed, the changeling queen tried to copy Aneki directly, to infiltrate the lower levels..." Cacha said.
"But the changeling queen hadn't allowed for this," I said turning my foreleg into the most fearsome weapon I could imagine.
After the commotion died down, I retracted the weapon, causing another minor outbreak of chatter. I waited for those present to fall silent, before continuing the story.
"Let's just say that after the ruling generations had been dealt with, the remaining changeling queen was quite happy to share power, and now we have a functional society that caters to both species."
"You lost your habitat's princesses?" Zephyr asked. "Is your daughter the key you told me about?"
"Indeed, Allie is the key. As for the princesses, Luna's daughter, Princess Moon Glow, died in changeling captivity. Her daughter, Princess Lunar Eclipse, survived, locked on the bridge for thousands of years. She now acts as the public face for our government."
"What about that one?" Ultramarine asked, pointing a hoof at Snow. "She's the first bat-winged alicorn I have ever heard of."
"It doesn't count, does it?" Snow thought to us. "I am a construct, a being created by the alien spiders that drove us from our world. I am not a princess, but I am the first HELaTS. Our doctors gave me wings and a horn when they put me back together after our last encounter with an antibody."
"Sweet Luna!" a few ponies gasped. At least, despite millennia apart, we all used the same form of exclamation!
"So, back to my earlier question," I said, "How far have you climbed. How thick is this ring?"
"About a hundred miles, at our best estimate."
"That thick? What's down there?"
"Solid matter. The first few miles are made of the same sort of stuff as these antibodies – a very dense and heavy material. It's so dense it generates its own gravity field. Docking on the outside was easy. Because the ring is stationary with respect to the sun, and because of the gravity, we were able to simply land our ship, then taxi into the dock. From there, we had to take a spiral ramp through the material. There were also elevator shafts, but no elevators. The ramp was more like some sort of emergency provision. Actually, we had to climb downwards at first.
"Gravity dropped the lower we went. At some point, we had to negotiate a weird area of artificial gravity, that allowed us to invert ourselves, and from then on, it's been a long climb.
"As the material became less dense, we began to find tunnels, pipes, wires and that sort of thing. The higher we got, the more like this it became. We've been weaving our way though this stuff for years, camping in safe spots, avoiding the antibodies or fighting them as we were able. We think we must be near the surface now, but we have not been able to go that little bit further, yet."
"Why not?" Cacha asked.
"Because every time we do, this place generates more antibodies and drives us down again!"
Life was moving at an alarming rate. How many years ago did I think I would be spending my life running and bouncing my way though the aging structure of Habitat Eleven, investigating tears and cracks in its material? Not many years on, I was now playing in a much larger structure, with far greater stakes. Our pathetically small world had proved to be exactly that – a tiny pocket in a much vaster universe. I was also the queen, the ruler of three million creatures – the most significant pony in the habitat, yet I fully understood that once I passed through that hull, I became another minute speck, something so insignificant that the universe, as a whole, would never notice that I even existed.
To wit, I was standing guard, just outside the airlock door to the hangar of Habitat Eleven, the job of a common hoof-soldier. With this, I had no problem. It was the sort of life I would choose for myself, had fate not already decided to give it to me.
I waved as a procession of ponies approached, some carrying all sorts of goods on their backs and others pulling wagons that looked like they had been made from parts of a scrapped the landing craft. Even the breezies were helping, carrying tiny packages of their own.
It would take a few days for the ponies of Habitat Six to move in, mostly due to them having to disassemble their hidden base camp, and move it all through the winding paths of the ringworld.
I had decided the best course of action would be to allow them to move into the hangar while we plotted our next move. With their information, and our technical advantage, getting to the livable surface of the ringworld would be a real possibility. Perhaps, if it proved suitable, we could move there from Habitat Eleven. I figured we were owed at least the surface area of the planet we had lost. If the alien spiders objected, they would have an unexpected fight on their... whatever they called the ends of their legs – feet, one presumed. I was no entomologist.
Failing that, there was a possibility that we could wire our habitat into the systems of the ringworld, using their power and resources. That could sustain us indefinitely, even if it did restrict the growth of our population.
I returned my attention to the parade of ponies, now that they were within speaking distance. I wondered what they would think if they knew it was the queen of the habitat who was acting as their door-mare. Cacha was with me, of course, as was Snow.
Ultramarine approached. Like the other ponies, her back was laden with assorted possessions, from guns to food generators. Veering from the established path, she stopped near us. Heavy Hitter followed her. They had to have something going on between the two of them, as like Cacha and myself, they were usually close, or in each other's personal space.
"Aneki, if I may enquire, earlier, you said your alicorn princess is the figurehead for your government. So, who wields the real power?" Ultramarine asked.
"That would be our queen," Cacha said, even though it was not her who had been addressed. For that, I was grateful.
"A queen? Isn't that the title given to the mother of a changeling nest?"
"Yes, that is where the title came from, and we do have one of those too, but the queen to which I am referring is a pony."
"So, what's this queen like?"
"I love her," Cacha said, smirking. "She's a really down-to-earth pony."
"An earth pony?"
"Unicorn."
"Will we get to meet her?"
"She is a very private pony," I said. "Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. Just be thankful she approved you moving into the hangar with so little fuss."
"And you've met her?" Ultramarine asked.
"I have, obviously," said Cacha.
"And you, Aneki?"
"Ah, no, but I have met Princess Lunar Eclipse and the changeling queen." Well, it was the truth wasn't it? How could I meet myself?
"You seem to be well connected, especially for soldiers."
"You could say that," I said. "After all, it was my body that was used to create the missing key. I'm the mother of a tiny princess."
"You must have lived a very interesting life, despite being safe, inside a habitat."
"This must be some new usage of the word safe of which I was not previously aware," I said, dryly.
I don't think Ultramarine caught on.
"And you, Snow, are the oldest HELaTS?" Ultramarine asked, turning her attention to the bat-winged unicorn.
"No, I am the first HELaTS, if you don't count the alien spiders," Snow thought back.
"How can you be the first if you are not the oldest?" Heavy Hitter asked. "After all, becoming a HELaTS is what allows us to live longer."
"Easily! A pony already older than me became a HELaTS." Snow grinned.
"Oh, of course. Silly me. So, who is the oldest?"
"In our habitat, it is our princess, Lunar Eclipse."
"Your princess? Wow. Ours never converted," Ultramarine said. "She was powerful enough as she was."
"Ours converted for... political reasons," I said. "Power, of the physical sort, didn't come into the equation."
Cacha nodded her agreement.
"You don't mind Cacha always being in your personal space?" Heavy Hitter asked, taking the conversation off on a tangent.
"Cacha and I only have one personal space between us. We have to share it," I said, dryly.
Ultramarine shook her head, as if trying to get the comment to fall into place in her mind.
"I don't know whether to kick Heavy Hitter for being tactless, or to laugh," she finally admitted. "Are you two... lovers?"
"That would depend on your definition of the word," Cacha said. "We share a bed. We also share a husband. He, however, does not share the bed."
"It's best you simply think of us as two ponies who can't live without each other," I said.
"You share a husband?"
"There was a severe shortage of stallions in the lower levels, where we lived."
"We have one more stallion than we have mares in our group. He is waiting until one of the fillies comes of age. HELaTS live for centuries, after all. Could you not have done the same?"
"Culture clash," Cacha said. "No, we couldn't wait, because none were ever born. All potential males ended up intersex, like me. We had to steal our stallions from the life support chamber. We have six of them, at current count. Things, however have improved a lot since, well... since Aneki came down."
"So you can't have foals?" Heavy Hitter said, not being satisfied with one hoof in his mouth.
"I can now," Cacha said, "Our husband is good with fixing ponies. He and his main wife even put us back together after our first encounter with those eight-legged dissection machines, and that is only one of their skills. So there you have it. When Aneki and I first got together, I was technically male, and a social outcast, and she was the most wonderful, accepting pony in my universe."
"Oh," Heavy Hitter said.
"It's a good thing your coat is already red," Ultramarine said, "or you'd be changing color every time you open your mouth."
Yup, they were definitely a couple.
"Your stories don't add up," Heavy Hitter said. "Look at your flawless hide. Look at me. Look at Ultramarine. We are covered in scars."
Ultramarine shook her head in disbelief. "Heavy Hitter, dear. These ponies are helping us, yet you tell them to their faces that they are liars?"
"But it could be a trap."
"Seriously? Why would they bother with a trap? They could have killed us all a hundred times already. They can turn their bodies into weapons, guns, not just blades. Do you think something like smoothing over a scar would be too difficult? And even if it was, that they can put ponies back together in the first place suggests that they have medical technology beyond what we can imagine. We are limited to the healing systems built into our HELaTS bodies. They clearly are not."
Ultramarine turned to face us. "Allow me to apologize for the biggest dope in our team. He has his good sides, or I wouldn't have married him, but today he seems intent on embarrassing me as often as possible."
"Meh," said Cacha.
"So, you're stuck?" I said, munching on my bowl full of greens. It wasn't the most elegant or proper way to go about interviewing, or planning, but I did like the air of casualness it created. I wanted these strangers at ease, not balking, and holding secrets. They, too, had been issued with portable food generators from the hangar's reserve, despite having their own. Variety was something to be valued!
"Yes. Any time we go near the main shaft between the levels, more of those antibodies appear," Ultramarine said.
"So, how did you get this far up? Are there other paths you can take?"
"There are other paths, but mostly they don't go where we want to go. We have found other shafts that pass through the major floors. We assume they are also connected to other docks on the outer rim, but the problem remains. In fact, the shaft we are currently trying to climb is not the one we initially came up."
"How did you get this far up, then? Wouldn't you have been attacked at every level?" I asked.
"No. Their appearances have increased, the further we climbed. We didn't see them in the lowest levels at all. We think that is for one of two reasons. First, the systems may not have even been in place when we started. This ringworld is under construction. It's changed so much, even during the last decade or so."
"The second reason?"
"We must be getting closer to where they are made, or to what they are made to guard."
"Is going near this shaft the only thing that triggers them?"
"No. There are other areas that appear to be out of bounds – places where they don't want us to go."
"Are you saying they will only attack if you go into these restricted areas? If you stay away from them, you are safe?"
"Not really. Going to one of these places causes more of them to appear. Once they have shown up, they keep trying to kill us until we destroy them, or presumably, they succeed."
"The two we destroyed earlier? How long had they been about?"
"The one we had almost beaten had been after us for a few weeks. The other caught us by surprise. It may have been active for a while, or it might even have been a new one that you triggered yourselves. We don't know how many of them are roaming around out there in other areas, but you can be sure that if it has a pony head, a pony going where it shouldn't have is the cause."
"So they always replicate what they see?"
"We only have two examples from which to draw our conclusions, but if a breezie scouts out the inter-level shaft, a much smaller antibody shows up, a little while later. Those also have pony-like heads, but so do the breezies. The only conclusion we have been able to draw is that they take their head design from the offending species."
"Unicorns and pegasi – do they make a difference?" Cacha asked
"Not that we've seen. Luna forbid one of those monstrous freaks could fly!"
"Have they ever duplicated your weapons?" I asked.
"Thank Luna, no. Their leg-blades are bad enough," Ultramarine said.
Conversation went on like this, until I felt I had wrung as much information on the problems from our guests as possible. I suspected they were getting a little tired of trying to educate the inexperienced about things that had long since become subconscious knowledge on their part.
In the end, it was clear that there were gaping holes in their knowledge, and despite all the questioning, we would have to stick our own heads out and look.
The antibodies, or clockwork spiders, came from somewhere above. They arrived anywhere from minutes to hours after a pony went into or near a protected zone. That their shape and size appeared to be related to the species of the perceived threat suggested they were being manufactured on demand by some sort of automated factory, and that the factory wasn't too far distant.
It also suggested that if we stayed put, and these other ponies were similarly contained, the antibodies ceased to be an issue. As such, a plan B was becoming feasible. Instead of going up, if we went down, found power and, if possible, material feeds, and hooked them into the systems of the habitat, we could survive indefinitely. It might even be possible to flush away our stores of spent fuel, freeing up more areas for ponies to expand into. New materials and the re-emergence of unicorns would allow us to better repair the habitat. Sure, it wasn't optimal, or even desirable. It certainly wasn't what I wanted, but it was a way to survive until a better solution became an option.
"So," I said, "I guess we had better come up with a plan of action. With three heavy weapons ponies, we have a greater set of options than you have had previously."
"Could you supply us with more of those weapons?" Heavy Hitter asked. "You have made my weapon feel quite inadequate."
"It is inadequate," I said, "but no, we cannot supply you with weapons like these, above what we already have. Snow, Cacha and myself are weapons. The systems are part of us, physically."
"What about supplying them with some of Brainstorm's guns?" Cacha asked.
"They are designed to draw power from the magic distribution system within the habitat. This far outside it, they wouldn't work."
"Carry power," Snow said, then realizing the comment may be a little vague, she flashed us an image of the portable magic generators from the landing craft.
"Perhaps, Snow. Would they be able to supply enough power to operate the weapons? After all, they are usually just used to power food generators."
Snow frowned, extended a finger from her hoof, and placed it against her lips, and sat there silently for a minute or so.
"One of the larger generators could power three or four weapons of the power output we need," she thought to us.
"We still have our generators," Heavy Hitter said, pointing a hoof at several of the wagons. "That's them there. Some more fuel would be good, though. If you don't have any to spare, we'll need to trek out to the nearest supply point and get some."
"Supply point?"
"Yes. There are stations dotted around the tunnels that allow access to basics such as fuel and water. I presume they are there for the likes of the antibodies and other construction robots refuel as needed."
"Okay," I said. "I'll contact the Storms and see what they can offer in the way of weaponry."
It had taken the better part of a week for Brainstorm and Stormie to equip the new arrivals with weapons. The Storms were delighted to have customers for their wares, even if those customers were not of the paying sort! Now that I thought about it, I didn't think any of their few customers had paid, me included.
While the newcomers were waiting, they set up a rather cozy camp in the hangar, with the assistance of some of the Habitat Eleven HELaTS. We even set up little huts, and furnished them with beds salvaged from the landing craft. The place soon felt like a small habitat in its own right.
That was all secondary. Our primary purpose was to plot our attack on the antibodies of the next level. With all ideas discussed, the previously obvious course of action remained so. The heavy weapons ponies would have to go up the shaft and scout the area out. The first step was for one of us to levitate up far enough to determine if there were any immediate threats, while the others took up defensive positions below.
As soon as the newcomers were all equipped with weapons, the team hauled the heavy equipment to the nearest elevator shaft, the trip taking the better part of a day by time all the logistics were sorted out. The pace was much slower than by pod, too. I felt the trip could easily be made in a little under an hour.
Once we arrived, we immediately began setting up equipment, and positioning ourselves for the fight. The magic generators were brought up to full power, awaiting the impending battle. Personally, I decided turrets would be the best option, and formed one on each shoulder. That gave me very close to full coverage.
As I was preparing to enter the elevator shaft, two antibodies arrived, dropping down from the level above. I can't say we were surprised. In fact, we were ready for them. One of the antibodies was pony sized, suggesting it was meant to kill the breezies in our group. Cacha dispensed with that one with a single shot that passed through the top of its head, down its neck and into its insect like body.
The other was of the larger sized, designed for pony execution. Snow took out its head, while I put my shot through its trunk. It died in much the same way as the first one we had done that to, flames bursting from the points of impact, and from all points of articulation as it fell, lifeless. Whe could hear it crashing into the tendrils in the shaft, as it bounced its way down. Eventually, the sounds became too soft to hear.
The smaller antibody we managed to catch and toss to one side so we could give it to Brainstorm. Apparently Maisie and Briggs had suggested that these clockwork spiders might make good bodies for the sapient computers such as Briggs himself – or was that herself? We usually referred to him in the masculine, but the truth was he no longer identified as a pony, and as such sex was irrelevant. These clockwork spiders had a decidedly feminine bent to their facial appearance, so if Briggs did move into one, he might find himself using new pronouns.
The larger antibody had fallen back into the elevator shaft, and disappeared into the depths below. More than likely, it was hung up on one of the growths that had yet to be cleared from the shaft by the machinery that would eventually install the elevator itself.
Hoping that the demise of the immediate threats would give as a short break from danger, I edged the pod out, into the shaft, where it levitated soundlessly. According to my wish, the body of the pod remained dark. There was no point in carelessly drawing extra attention to ourselves.
Mostly, I was expecting to find an area exactly like the one we were in at the moment. If that was so, we were contemplating setting up a beachhead from which to destroy any approaching antibodies. Initially, one of the three living weapons, if not all three of us, would be stationed there, while some alternate defences were built.
Of course, I had to actually get up there first. The other ponies had gathered around the edge of the elevator shaft. The glowing horns of the unicorns showed they had prepared spells to hold back any attackers. Snow and Cacha, both out of their pods, stood near the edge, and readied themselves to shoot. The remaining pegasi and earth ponies, now equipped with weapons from the Storm labs, were to provide backup. The weapons they were using were significant improvements on their previous guns, but were still orders of magnitude weaker than mine.
To keep a clear view, and readiness to fire, I had the pod only partially encase me, leaving my head and shoulders, with their turrets, clear.
"Wish me luck," I said, knowing that doing so would make no difference at all.
After the expressions of well wishing were over, I began my rise. The floor through which I was passing was just thick enough to stop us having any view of the level above through the elevator shaft. It was perhaps three to four times as thick as the diameter of the hole. The tendrils left by the modifier driven growth of the ringworld were also obstructing my view somewhat, and were proving to be annoying obstacles as I had to keep adjusting my course.
Suddenly, there was something large and fast dropping down the shaft above me. I didn't have time to recognize it, but working on the assumption that anything coming from above was an enemy, I blasted it, then maneuvered the pod out of its path, only to discover there was another large thing dropping towards me. Antibodies. Lots of them! I blasted a second and third, dodging, as best I could. One hit my pod, throwing it against the side wall.
As I struggled to regain control, flames flared from a couple more antibodies, as Cacha and Snow shot them from below. Limb blades blew off, as they targeted the only parts of the machines they could see through the collective barriers of tendrils and damaged antibodies. That wasn't anywhere near good enough to deal with the onslaught I had suddenly found myself in. I managed to hit two more while dodging them.
Tendrils around me exploded as the ponies below started targeting them in order to get clear shots at the antibodies. The resultant buffeting was making it very difficult for me to do anything. It was definitely time to retreat.
I pulling myself back into the pod, while the ponies below maintained a barrage on the antibodies around me. One came at me from the side, and struck, two leg-blades piercing straight through the wall of the pod. There was nothing I could do to avoid them.
The burst of pain was intense, excruciating, but short lived.
I thought the pain had been short lived, but I could not be sure, because everything had changed.
It was quiet, so quiet that I was sure I was alone. Was I in hospital again? That was how these thing usually panned out. If something chopped off a leg or two, my consciousness would step out for a few hours, leaving my body on autopilot.
What had happened? Was it in my memory? Ahh. I had been rising up through the future elevator shaft to the next level of the ringworld when too many clockworks spiders to deal with had dropped down on top of me. The last thing I could recall was one of them pushing two of its blades through the side of the pod and...
And what?
Now that I was more alert, I started to explore my surroundings mentally, without moving physically. I was lying on my back, and what I was lying on was too hard to be a bed. It was the wrong shape, too. Beds usually didn't leave you half hanging over an uncomfortable bar. As I had observed before, it was also too quiet. All I could hear were the background noises I had come to associate with the lower levels of the ringworld.
My left shoulder hurt. It wasn't agonizing, but I'd certainly taken some sort of injury.
I opened my eyes and surveyed my surroundings. A white glow came from below me. Above were a mess of tendrils. The shaft? I was in the elevator shaft? Had I fallen? Had I been left for dead?
No. Cacha would come after me as long as she had a single leg with which to drag herself.
And on the subject of legs, why was mine hurting? I tried to gently move it, but that just resulted in more pain. Perhaps it was bruised. I reached across with my other forehoof to gently probe it.
Ouch!
Something was decidedly amiss. A little wiggling allowed me to move into a slightly more comfortable position while being careful not to overbalance, and fall off whatever it was I was lying on. I didn't fancy falling any further down than I already had.
Now that I was less restricted, I took the chance to look at my injured shoulder... except that it wasn't there. Shit! My leg was missing. All of it, right up to and including my shoulder. That antibody had torn me apart! Where was it? With the latest HELaTS upgrade, it would be easy enough to reattach it, if I could find it.
More careful maneuvering allowed me to get my remaining legs under me. I was till amazed that I had survived such a massive injury. I hadn't been cut – I had literally been torn apart, as had my pod. I was standing on what remained of it. I could see its rear wheel and about seventy percent of the main body. Evidently, the engine had survived, as the body was still glowing. Hadn't I turned that off? Dark splotches and streaks marred the white surface, both inside, where it didn't glow, and out.
It only took a moment for me to realize that the splotches were part of me, specifically my spilled blood. Of my missing leg there was no sign. This time I didn't bother to close my eyes as I mentally formed a tendril from my remaining blood, and reached for that which I had already lost. It was both disgusting and fascinating watching as I reclaimed that which had been spilled.
Feeling a little more energetic, now that I had regained some of my fluids, I carefully explored the area from my perch. A little lower down was one of the antibodies, somewhat charred around its joints. It also sported a gory pair of blades – ah, it was the bastard that had got me. Unfortunately, there was no sign of my missing leg.
I extended another gory tendril from my injury, down to the bloodied blades. It was quite a distance to be reaching with one's own fluids, so I was concerned I would not be able to reach them. I soon discovered the merest touch was more than adequate, as the reclaimed fluids extended my reach. When I drew back the tendril, I noticed the blades were somewhat pitted. Apparently I had absorbed some extra materials, perhaps to repair my weapon systems.
Now that I thought about it, my weapon systems had been concentrated around my shoulders, where I had created turrets, and one of those was now missing. That gave me a thought. I didn't need my weapons at the moment, assuming they still worked. Perhaps I could convince what was left to form a crude leg in place of what was missing, much like the splint on my wounded leg I had formed after my first significant battle.
Crude was right, but it took my weight. It looked more like scaffolding than a leg. It had no sense of touch. The only feedback I was getting from it was when I struck something with it and it aggravated the wound from which it protruded. Skin had already covered my exposed inner workings, so, perhaps wound was no longer the correct word. Whatever.
Being slightly more mobile, I scanned the area again, moving to better vantage points to improve my view.
What I could not see were the front section of my pod, and... well... the rest of myself. No doubt, the Storms could grow me another leg and shoulder, but I rather fancied keeping my old one – I had become rather attached to it. If it had fallen past me, it would probably not be recovered. If anything, it had probably been smashed to mush. I was certainly not going to risk going down at the moment, either.
The smartest option was to try to go back up the elevator shaft, in the hope that the others were coming down, looking for me. At the very least, that direction would take me home, and if I was lucky, I might find my leg on the way. I was fixating on that, wasn't I?
A cripple driving a wreck – what a fantastic combination for climbing a shaft! The pod's levitation function was compromised, only just canceling out gravity at best. At least that meant I wasn't going to fall. Upward progress, however was challenging. If I angled the levitation force so that I gained traction against the wall of the shaft, I lost my buoyancy, and would start to fall. That the pod only had a single wheel was not helping at all.
Eventually, I worked out a technique where I would use the levitation engine to force me against the shaft wall, while I was balancing the pod on one of the tendrils that crossed the shaft. I would accelerate up the wall for as long as I could before a tendril I couldn't dodge got in the way, the shaft opened into a level, or I lost control or balance. At that point, I would switch the levitation engine to neutralize gravity, and attempt to guide the floating pod using my own magic.
Progress was relatively slow, but as time passed, I began to realize why it was so quiet. I had fallen a very long way down. Why I hadn't been smashed to a pulp was a puzzle. I recalled my fall through the floors of the habitat, back when I was just beginning to turn into a HELaTS pony. That had made a real mess of me! Perhaps, in this case, the levitation engine had provided just enough lift to allow me to gently bounce my way down the shaft, despite me being unconscious. The same could not be said for the fallen antibodies which I encountered. Both they, and the tendrils they were hitting were made of the same multidimensional material. As such, the antibodies were somewhat broken, as were the tendrils which they had hit.
What was really weird, though, was just how good I felt. Perhaps the HELaTS system had pumped me full of endorphins. Thank goodness for that. I didn't want to imagine what this situation would feel like without it. With any luck, it would last until I escaped from this shaft.
All I could do at this point was hope, and focus on Cacha. Cacha, yeah. That was a good goal to keep in mind.
Being lost in the habitat was one thing. Being lost in the bowels of the ringworld was another! Nonetheless I was not overly perturbed.
So far, most of me had managed to make my way as far up the elevator shaft as possible before I hit the aftermath of the battle. As to what my detached leg was doing, I had no idea. It didn't appear to be around to ask. I had briefly looked around the opening of each level as I passed them, and apart from a little debris, I had found nothing.
A lot of defeated clockwork spiders had not fallen very far down the shaft. More had landed on them, become tangled with them and the tendrils, and as the battle proceeded, had formed an impassable plug. I was not sure how many levels down I was from where I had started, but I could not hear anything above me, so either there was still some distance to travel, or the battle was over and the other ponies had moved away.
Not being able to proceed any further, I guided the damaged pod onto the highest level I could access, and parked it. Exiting it, I retrieved my food generator, which, thankfully, was stored in the part of the pod I still had. The pod really looked bizarre, sitting there with the rear wheel resting on the ground, and the body of it hanging in the air, as if the front wheel still existed. I moved away from it, before loading the food generator. I didn't want the damn pod suddenly failing and falling on me.
I knew there were other elevator shafts that could be used to go up higher, but I did not know where they were. I could search for them, but not being familiar with what was out there, I could easily get lost. Sitting there, munching on my greens, I was beginning to form an alternative plan. Instead of searching for an elevator shaft, I would head towards Habitat Eleven, then blow a hole through the side of its cradle, allowing me to climb up from there. I was pretty sure I knew the correct direction to get there, too, as I had the mapper in the pod. I just hoped it wasn't damaged.
I had just swallowed my final mouthful when a faint voice interrupted my thoughts. Had somepony come looking for me? It sounded like Cacha.
"Hello?" I called, loudly.
"Aneki, where are you?" Cacha responded. I knew her voice as well as she knew mine. This time, I had a better sense of the direction it was coming from, too. The voice had come up from the elevator shaft.
I hobbled to the edge, and looked down. Sure enough, there was Cacha, partially protruding from her pod, a level below me.
"Here I am," I said.
Cacha's pod rapidly rose the remainder of the distance. I stepped out of the way, allowing her to move out of the shaft and park her pod.
Within moments she had extracted herself from the pod. Immediately, she threw her forelegs around my neck, hugging me.
"I knew you would be all right!" she said, planting a kiss on my armored nose.
"Of course I'm all right. My left half is missing," I said.
She chuckled. "Seriously injured, yet you still have a sense of humor."
"I don't suppose you have found a stray leg?"
Cacha released me, and pulled back a step, looking me up and down.
"I see you have a replacement of sorts. I didn't know what sort of shape you would be in, because... well... your leg, yes I found it, is kind of... weird."
"Weird?"
"I don't know if you will be able to reattach it. It's sort of... grown."
"Grown what? It can't have got larger... unless it decided to absorb something. Stop holding me in suspense. Where is it? How big is it?"
"It's in my pod. Hang on, while I get it. It's not much bigger, but where it was torn off, it's grown these weird fins. I'll get it for you."
Cacha retrieved my leg for me. Indeed, it was quite a mess. On the outside, damage from the clockwork spider's blades was evident, but as scars, not wounds. The turret was a twisted mess, and appeared to be the leverage point from which the limb had been ripped off. The inner surface, which should have been muscles, ligaments and blood vessels, had transformed into what Cacha had described as fins.
A mass of these things covered everything that had been exposed. They were thicker at the base, tapering up to a fine frill. They weren't static, or limp, either. The bases would swell, then deflate, all the while the frills swayed back and forth. I sat there, mesmerized by it, wondering at the absolute marvel of the Storms' latest version of HELaTS.
"Weird, isn't it?" Cacha asked.
"It's brilliant," I said.
"Why?"
"It's keeping itself alive. It's sacrificed some of itself to make these little lung-hearts, and it's breathing and pumping blood to the rest of itself."
"Wow. How long could it keep doing that?"
"Maybe a few days. Even weeks, I guess, until it has used all of its reserves. Now, please excuse me a moment, while I pull myself back together."
Sitting, I reabsorbed the artificial leg I had made from my weapon. Briefly, I wondered if I would need to do anything about the skin layer that covered my shoulder, or about the fins on my severed leg, then I realized I was over-thinking it. It would be a shame to see the demise of the preservative measures the HELaTS system, had employed, but they had fulfilled their purpose.
I levitated the severed limb to my mouth, and kissed the fins. "Thanks, little buddies, you did a wonderful job."
That said, I simply levitated the severed limb into place, closed my eyes, and imagined tendrils reaching from my shoulder to integrate with my leg. Flesh merged with flesh. Fins vanished. Temporary skin vanished. Bones moved back into place and breaks fused. The damaged turret was reabsorbed. I had four legs again. A few moments of observation and concentration smoothed out the scars, and I looked as good as new. My leg had gone from being it to part of me again.
"Wow. That's it?" Cacha asked.
"It should be. Feeling won't return for a few minutes. Didn't you practice having a leg cut off in the lab?"
"No, thank you, I did not."
"So that's why you refused to answer, back when I asked you how it went?"
"I wasn't going to lie to you, was I?" Cacha said, sheepishly. "All the same, not telling you felt like lying."
"You should have just told me. It's not like I would have got angry or anything."
"I didn't want to disappoint you, either."
I hugged the idiot. "Don't let stupid things like that come between us, ever."
"Okay." She squeezed me back.
"So, what happened, up there?" I asked, waving my numb hoof in the direction of the shaft, "and why were you coming up from below?"
Cacha sat. "There were too many of them. They kept on coming, and we kept shooting, until there was such a giant mound of them, and bits blown from the elevator shaft, that it all became blocked. Then the smaller ones came, squeezing though the gaps, so we kept shooting and shooting.
"The others pulled back, and when they were clear, Snow and I backed up too, and started blowing pieces off the ceiling, until the whole places was just a gigantic mound of rubble. The clockwork spiders stopped coming after that.
"We had already found the front part of your pod, and your leg, so I grabbed that. Both had landed on our level, tossed there by the force of the blow that tore you apart. After that, we withdrew from the area and, I had a couple of the others guide me to the nearest alternative elevator shaft."
Cacha waved a hoof at her pod, and I noticed for the first time that it had two tiny passengers – the breezies, Zephyr and Strawberry. I waved at them and they waved back.
"We went down two levels, at first, but even that far down was blocked, so after that we went down six levels to be sure we cleared the blockage."
"So, you decided to scout upwards before going downwards?" I asked.
"It made sense. I didn't know if you would be up here, but going up three or four levels first was better than searching what is effectively a bottomless shaft. So, how far did you fall, or did you end up here?"
I shook my head. "I don't know for sure, but it sure felt like a mile."
"How did you survive a fall that far?" Cacha looked concerned.
"I think I floated down in what was left of the pod."
"Now, there's a good question. If you fell that far down, how come the remains of your pod are up here?"
"I rode it up the side of the shaft."
"In that condition? You're kidding."
"Nope. For real. It's just about as tough as we are!"
"Will you be able to drive it back to the habitat, or do you want to ride with me, even if it will be cramped with four of us in there?"
"I'll try riding it back. At least that way, Snow may be able to repair it. I don't want to abandon her efforts," I said.
"She'll be glad of that. When will you be ready to travel? How soon before you can use your leg properly?"
"I'm good to go, already," I said. I scooped up my food generator, and stashed it in the pod's storage compartment. "Let's go."
I swung myself up into the open cabin of the damaged pod, not even bothering to try to get its boarding system to work. Yup, my leg was fine. Cacha was lifted up into her pod, but left herself and the two breezies exposed.
"So, did anypony else search for me?" I asked.
"No," Cacha said. "They'd still be walking towards the shaft we used to get here, and even then, we figured their weapons would not have been able to deal with the resultant clockwork spiders. Only Snow and I were fast and powerful enough to be effective, and it made more sense to leave her as a guard for the others. Having stirred up that hornets' nest of clockwork spiders, the outsiders would have no chance of survival if they encountered more of them. Having Snow with them would at least give them a fighting chance."
"So, how many clockwork spiders did you encounter at the second shaft?"
"Just a single one, actually. There may be more by the time we could make it back there, in ambush, so we are returning via a third shaft."
"You can find a third shaft with no problem? I'm surprised you chose Zephyr as a navigator. He was lost the first time we met him!"
"Not fair," the tiny being voiced. "I was blown away that time. It's easy to get disoriented when you are being bounced and tossed about."
"I am also an experienced scout," Strawberry said. Her mane and tail were the same color as mine.
"Thanks for helping, little buddy. Thank you, Strawberry."
We saw nopony else until we were just outside the habitat, where we found Snow on patrol, and Brainstorm tinkering with a weapon I had not seen before. It was reminiscent of the ship's main gun that I had destroyed a couple of years earlier, although of a much more manageable size. I waved to them from my exposed position.
"Up, cracked egg glue!" Snow declared the moment she saw the condition of the pod I was driving. I took that to mean she wanted to repair it.
"You can fix it?"
"Of course. I have the front section. I was worried that you would abandon it. I see you have already reattached your severed limb. Are you all right?" she thought to me.
"Yes. All good. No hospital stays. No long comas while nerves knit. I'll probably have nightmares, but it is almost like I am getting used to it."
"I expect your brain will become accustomed to it with time," Brainstorm said. "All the same, not needing to become accustomed to it would be the better option. I'll get you to give me a full briefing later. I really want to know the details."
"The little heart-lung fins were awesome!" I said.
Plotting and planning was becoming somewhat of a constant for me, these days. It went with the territory of being the queen, even if most of those here did not know that. While I was not really a fan of this sort of thing, it did have the positive side of me not losing any limbs while so involved. I'd prefer to be out there, running – something I had not done for pleasure in quite some time.
A grandiose table, with the throne and sculptured chairs placed around it. Rich, red carpet. Ornate walls and fountains. Well, not exactly. A dozen old cushions positioned around a few old packing crates on a utilitarian floor built to withstand the wear and tear of the passage of landing craft, and assorted functional fixtures and fueling points adorning the walls was a more accurate description.
And my cushion had a prickle in it. I kicked it a couple of times, but that did not help.
Present were what was becoming my standard group of lower level cohorts, minus one changeling queen, who we were keeping safe until she had some royal offspring of her own – Brainstorm, Stormie, Maisie, Briggs, Cacha, Snow and myself. On the other side of the table were Ultramarine, Heavy Hitter, a couple of breezies and another couple ponies who I could not identify by name. They operated as witnesses more than anything, because it was rare for them to say anything.
"Clearly we misunderstood exactly what we were going to be fighting," I said. "We were expecting one, maybe two antibodies."
Snow harrumphed. "Clockwork Spiders."
"However, we were attacked by how many? There must have been ten of them before I was knocked out of the fight. How many more clockwork spiders did Snow and Cacha deal with before the area became clogged? How many are roaming around up there?" I asked. "Would you care to explain this?"
Ultramarine looked somewhat taken aback. Heavy Hitter just sat there with his mouth hanging open, but not putting any hooves in it.
"What? You have nothing to say?" I asked.
"We... we have never experienced such an attack ourselves before! Do you think we set you up? We were also at risk!" Ultramarine said.
"I had to ask," I said, shrugging. "It is my duty to protect the inhabitants of this habitat from all potential threats. Perhaps your earlier attempts awakened a greater response this time. How high up the shaft to the next level did you get on previous tries?" I was sure this had already been covered, but I asked again, anyway.
"We've never got any distance up the shaft! We made it from the previous level and onto this one before an antibody response, and was able to defeat the one that eventually appeared because of that. Ever since then, just going too near to a shaft has resulted in the appearance of another antibody."
"Okay, at least your answer is consistent," I said.
"Clearly we need a new plan," Ultramarine said.
"And a bigger army with better weapons," I said. I wondered how my trainer, 3G1 was doing with his recruits, and if they would be prepared to risk their lives for potentially gaining immortality, unicorns horns and dirty great guns. For that matter, there was the possibility of upgrading these outsiders too. They had experience, even if their training was haphazard, and a good percentage of them were already unicorns.
"So, equip us with weapons like the one you use," Heavy Hitter said.
"The unicorn weapon system only works on... well, on unicorns. It directly taps into a unicorn's magic. The unicorn doesn't even need to be good at magic, as the weapon systems deal with the requirements directly," Brainstorm said.
"So, you are telling me you are the pony that has a way to turn unicorns into living weapons like Aneki, Snow and Cacha?" Ultramarine asked.
"That, and more. We also have the ability to give your earth ponies horns, turning them into unicorns," Stormie said.
"You have turned earth ponies into unicorns?" Ultramarine's voice was loaded with skepticism.
"We have, twice."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Ultramarine said.
"Look at me and believe," Cacha interjected.
"You're kidding me?"
"Nope. Me and Snow. You don't think earth ponies with bat wings and unicorn's horns occur naturally, do you? They even restored Aneki's damaged horn."
"Snow told us she was a construct when we first met them," Heavy Hitter said.
"I thought she was being sarcastic. A construct? An artificially made pony? Really?"
"Really," Snow thought to us.
"What about pegasi? Can you convert them? Can you give them horns? Would that turn them into alicorn princesses? Or princes?" Heavy Hitter asked.
"I don't know, and no, I don't think so," Brainstorm said.
"So, you've not tried to convert a pegasus?"
"We don't have any in Habitat Eleven. No, incorrect. We have one of them, but I have not met her."
"Only one? What happened?"
"War, millennia ago. Unicorns were pushed nearly to extinction and pegasi were eradicated. A small genetic pool of survived, isolated, on the bridge, and was recently rediscovered. That's where we found the genes for bat-ponies too. And that's enough said on the subject," Stormie said.
"Oh. I had never considered a war could break out within a habitat," Heavy Hitter said. Stormie rolled her eyes.
"It was a subtle war, mostly managed through reprogrammed modifiers, underground fighters and state sponsored extermination squads," Brainstorm said.
"What caused ponies to fight each other? Do you know?"
"Although we did not know it, it was actually a pony-changeling war. The changelings were fighting for the survival of their kind because they assumed ponies would have driven them out or killed them."
"And that is very sad," I said, "because it was expected they would be boarding, disguised as ponies. Had either side bothered to address the other, there would have been no need to fight," I said.
"So, when did this war end?"
"When I accidentally blew up the changeling nest, and all but the youngest of their royalty," I said. "The youngest was quite amenable to a more cooperative existence."
"I can imagine," Heavy Hitter said. "So, exactly how old are you?"
"Perhaps you should be asking how long the war lasted," I said, without providing any information.
"So, to drag this discussion back on track, Brainstorm, if I understand you correctly, you are saying you can equip a significant portion of my team with these powerful weapons," Ultramarine said.
"I am saying that it would be technically possible, given resources and time, to convert a number of your team into living weapons," Brainstorm said.
"So, what's the cost? What is to stop you from doing so?"
"You are not from our habitat. In fact, you are strangers to us. I will not do anything that could risk our own habitat."
"But you have a solution to this problem?" Ultramarine asked.
"Become members of our habitat. Swear fealty to our queen," Brainstorm said.
"You want me to swear fealty to some mysterious pony, sitting safe in her fortified palace? If I am, no, if we are to swear fealty to any pony, I would at least like to meet them in person, so I can judge their character," Ultramarine said.
"That is not an unreasonable request. You will like her. Our queen is a leader, not a ruler. She doesn't ask of any pony what she would not do herself."
"If that were true, would she not already be down here, with us?"
"And if I were to say she was? You already know her," Brainstorm said.
"You are kidding me. I know her? Surely not Snow? She is your queen?"
Brainstorm laughed. "Snow is certainly old, powerful, and wise, but no, Snow is..."
"Bolts!" Snow interjected.
"Snow, as she just said, is a mechanic, an engineer, and an all-round tech-savvy pony, but she most definitely is not our queen."
"How do you derive that answer from her one word?" Heavy Hitter asked.
"Prior knowledge and experience," Brainstorm said.
"Think about it," Cacha said, "instead of taking wild guesses."
"With Snow's words? Oh, you mean about the queen is," Ultramarine said, "Okay. I think somepony said she was married to the oldest and most powerful stallion in the habitat, which, now that I think about it, would only help if I knew who he was."
Brainstorm laughed again, and Ultramarine gave him a weird look.
"Well, there are quite a few ponies down here that I don't know yet, but you said I already know her. The mare who was passing out food generators doesn't strike me as the type. The one with the funny robot riding on her back... no, not her either. Then there is Stormie, your wife. She certainly has the presence required, but then we go back to the oldest stallion clue. Brainstorm, are you...?"
"I am the oldest male in this habitat, yes," Brainstorm affirmed.
"And the queen is..."
"My wife, yes. I have three wives, as well as a significant number of other mares in my herd."
"Herds? I didn't think anypony practiced that anymore."
"Remember, in the lower levels we have just six stallions, and currently around six hundred mares," I said. "Herds are inevitable."
"Ultramarine, this line of questioning may get you there eventually, but you really are forgetting the biggest clues given to you," Cacha said.
"Couldn't you just tell us?"
"No. The queen is enjoying this too much!" Cacha gave me a subtle poke in the ribs.
"So, she's here right now, and listing to us?" Ultramarine released a frustrated growl. "Cacha, you said you know the queen, didn't you."
"I did. I do." Cacha smirked.
"But you don't know her," Ultramarine asked me.
"I said I have never met the queen."
Ultramarine shook her head. To have such a visible tic while thinking could be rather annoying!
"I... think... I'm getting it."
"Oh, come on, Ultramarine," Heavy Hitter interrupted. "You are talking to her, now. It's obvious. Which pony is clearly the leader of those we've met? Which pony always takes on the most dangerous tasks, when she could easily delegate? Which pony does Cacha love?"
"Ah! So, you've never met the queen, eh, Aneki?" Ultramarine asked.
"No, I haven't," I said with a shrug.
"Because you can't meet yourself," Ultramarine said.
"Not without the use of a time travel spell, and I don't have one of those," I said, grinning.
"You are a tease."
"Yup."
"... your majesty," Ultramarine added as an afterthought.
Chapter 58. Occasionally a Queen Has to Do Queen Stuff
The plan was simple enough. Build an army. Blow a hole through the floor above at some point where we were not expected, then attack, and destroy whatever facilities were making the clockwork spiders.
Of course, nothing was ever as simple as the plan, and plans were only known to be good up until your first assumption was proven wrong. What if we simply could not blow a hole through the floor, despite my weapon and spell-based ammunition? What if the entire level above us was a nest for clockwork spiders? The only way to find those things out was to proceed as planned. That, of course, would not go well, if the previous plan was anything to judge by.
Perhaps a simpler way to look at it was we were going to war with the ringworld and its automated security system. Even if we won the local battles, there was a high likelihood of retaliation, either from clockwork spiders from other areas, or from the system reasserting itself locally.
The backup plan of connecting Habitat Eleven to the systems was already underway, but I suspected it was too late to seal the habitat again, and go back to living as we were. The clockwork spiders were now quite aware of us.
And we were having another meeting...
Currently I was sitting on the floor of the vestibule of Habitat Ten. Allie was sprawled out on my back, under a blanket. We were enjoying a little mother-daughter time, even if we were stuck here. Cacha was keeping one side of me warm, Bittersweet the other.
Now that the participants had all arrived, the lid to the habitat had closed, and the vestibule was slowly warming. Our warmth trapping spell had grown weak and would fail within a few days, when we would replace it. In the mean time we were putting up with the lower than ideal temperature. Really, only the foals and non-HELaTS were affected by the chill, and those present were all bundled up anyway.
Kakuun was even down here, this time, disguised as a younger version of Princess Lunar Eclipse, as that form was one she already knew and gave her access to a HELaTS body. Princess Lunar Eclipse herself had not come, preferring to leave the actual running of the habitat to me.
"It would appear we are all present," Bittersweet deadpanned. "Shall we get to business?" Variations in her vocal expression were reserved for family.
She stood, the other ponies falling silent.
"As all those present are well aware, we have come to be of interest to the clockwork spiders," Bittersweet said. "We have reached the point were we have an unwelcome visitor showing up at the hangar door several times a week. So far, between the new turrets, and patrols, none have gained entry to the hangar. However, this hangar is not the only hangar. There are three more, one at each of the exits of the life support chamber."
Ponies shared comments for a few moments, before returning their attention to Bittersweet.
"But we are still safe, aren't we?" somepony asked.
"As far as we know, we are. However, while the doors from these into the habitat are currently secure, we do not have any idea as to what is happening on the other side of them, in the hangars. It would be in our interest to make sure the hangars remain secure, or are retaken if they have become infested. I believe we are now in the position to send a team of ponies around the perimeter of the habitat, to investigate the hangars from the outside."
More inter-pony twittering was ended by Bittersweet stomping a hoof.
"It occurs to me that the team could address other concerns while on this mission. Would those who have requests or suggestions, please say so."
After a moment of shuffling and whispering among those present, a pink-faced HELaTS mare rose.
"I am acting as the representative for a couple of the HELaTS repair and research teams. They have been studying the ship's main guns. At the moment the mechanisms are frozen in place, presumably because the external parts of them have been restricted by tendril growth. As your proposed team will be passing these guns, could they possibly evaluate the situation, and if feasible, cut them free?"
The mare sat, and another rose in her place, also pink, but with black mane. I was pretty sure she was one of Cacha's many sisters.
"Could the team also keep an eye out for potential power and fuel feeds we could tap into? Plans to hook the habitat into the systems of the ringworld have stalled until we can find suitable sources. Waste conduits would also be good, so we can dump the used fuel, although that may be best left until we can be sure we aren't polluting our own future environment."
The mare settled to the floor again.
"Thank you. Your suggestions and requests are noted. Are there any other requests?" Bittersweet asked.
"Just general scouting, and mapping of the immediate area around the girth of the habitat on this level," Brainstorm said, without bothering to stand.
Kakuun rose.
"We need to be able to stay in contact with the party, just in case help is required," she said. "Do we need repeaters, or will we be able to maintain communication with the team remaining so close to the habitat?"
"I believe that if they remain near the habitat, communications should be maintained. Nonetheless, it would not hurt to carry a few repeaters. If they prove to be inadequate, and communication is lost, I would recommend returning to the hangar for more repeaters," Brainstorm said, again remaining where he sat.
"So, basically we have requests to scout the area immediately around the habitat on the same level as the hangar entries are to be found, with specific interest shown in resource feeds and garbage removal, and if the ship's main guns are located, for them to be freed up if possible," Bittersweet said. "Is that correct?"
Several ponies voiced their agreement.
"Which team, or teams, should we send?"
"Let's not send out our queen, again," Kakuun said. It was nice to know she cared.
"Snow is busy building additional pods, so sending out the queen's team would be counterproductive," Bittersweet said.
"May I suggest we send Death Squad One. They have completed their post-conversion training, and would benefit from some experience in the field," Brainstorm said.
"Approved," I said. Death Squad One was not the team that I had battled years ago, so I was being completely objective.
"For backup, and again to get some post-weaponization experience, I would suggest we send out Lander Team One. Are you okay with that, Ultramarine?" Brainstorm said.
"That's fine with me."
"Also approved. Death Squad One can take four pods. Lander Team One can follow behind, using one of Snow's early powered wagons and one pod," I said. There simply were not enough pods to go around. I wanted three of them left here for my team, should there be an emergency, and a spare, just in case. "I'll leave the details to the parties involved."
"So, who will be guarding the hangar?"
"My team," I said. "Snow will already be in there, so Cacha and I may as well join her. It will also put us in the position of being able to respond quickly if required. I also suggest that Death Squad Two and Lander Team Two be placed on standby. Death Squad Two can come down to Habitat Ten."
"I will organize that," Kakuun volunteered.
"Brainstorm, what is the progress with conversions?" I asked.
"Death Squad Three are half way through conversion to HELaTS at the moment. They have already been converted to bat-winged unicorns. The weapons for them are nearly done. There will also be a few weapons from this batch available to unicorns from the Lander Teams."
"And the third and fourth conversion tanks? When will they be on-line?"
"A couple more weeks. We are still struggling to find all of the parts needed," Brainstorm said.
I glanced around at who else was present. Maisie was here, but Briggs was not in his usual place on her back.
"Maisie, how are you and Briggs going with research and conversion of clockwork spiders for our own use?"
"Briggs has successfully mapped their control circuits and is currently working out how to power our computers from their power systems. Once that has been solved, it's just a matter of modifying the spiders we have captured and installing the sapient computers in them."
"So, Briggs is connected to one now? How is he being powered?" I asked.
"He's still using the standard power-via-old-unicorn-horn method he's always used, and is drawing power from the magical array of the habitat itself. That will be of no use if we wish to use the clockwork spiders outside. For that, we are trying to directly connect to its power source."
"And that is proving difficult?"
"It is. If it isn't done right, we risk frying Briggs himself."
"So, connect another horn to it, and use that to power his existing horn receiver. The worst that could happen is that the transmitting horn takes damage," I suggested.
"Where could we get another horn? They aren't something we can just grab off the shelf, you know."
"Actually, you can. If Brainstorm can't supply you with any, I will get you some myself, and I will even encode a spell onto them so they do the job. Get me the details of what you need, and present them to me when you can."
Maisie nodded.
"All right. Are there any other issues that need addressing before I close this meeting?" Bittersweet asked, rising to her hooves.
Technically we were on standby as secondary guards. The primary duty was being handled by the automated turrets the Storms had placed around the entry to the hangar, both outside, and inside of the operational door. The breached door had been further reinforced. In fact, I had been the pony that did the extra welding that was required.
Nonetheless, as that guard duty did not require anything but our presence to fulfill, Cacha and I were helping Snow with work on the new pods. Our task was to gather the resources, and that meant disassembling the original carts, salvaging their wheels, engines, and whatever odds and ends were needed.
I was returning to the pile of gathered materials, levitating a wheel over my head when the communicator interrupted my thoughts. I lowered the wheels to the floor, then answered the call.
"1C3, would you please report to the Central, level twenty-seven, observation rooms."
What was it now? As per my self assigned duty, I had planned to stay in the hangar until the patrols returned, just in case an emergency arose and extra firepower was needed. What sort of disaster had occurred in the life support chamber to warrant directly calling me, even in my CIBO guise?
"Central, why am I needed?" I asked.
"Queen's orders," the pony at Central responded. I assumed it was a pony. Even if it was a changeling, it was still probably a pony.
"Really? Which queen?" I asked.
"From 1A1C now, and a standing order from 1A1."
Really? I was leaving myself commands?
"What is the issue?"
"Classified."
"Listen, Central, I am down in the hangar, on guard duty. I'm not moving unless you give me good reason."
"It's to do with an unexpected response to the changeling stories that have been airing on the media. My supervisor told me that 1A1 is too busy to attend, so I have contacted you instead. You are listed as an alternative contact, should 1A1 not be available."
Ah, that was an interesting way of interpreting my instructions. Obviously these members of Central did not know 1A1 and 1C3 were the same pony, which was the idea after all! Indeed, I had left instructions that I was to be contacted should something like this happen.
So, what to do, what to do? Well... so far, the teams outside had met no resistance. Things were going well. They had even succeeded in freeing up the barrel of the first ship's main gun they had encountered. Word had filtered back to me that the barrel was clear and the thing could possibly be fired with a little work, not that we should do so. Snow was in the hangar, working, and I could leave Cacha here with her, even if it meant breaking the atomic bonds that held us together. Brainstorm and Stormie were relatively nearby, in Habitat Ten. On top of all that, if the automatic weaponry outside failed to stop any clockwork spiders from entering the hangar, they would be forced to enter one at a time, making them relatively easy to deal with.
Yes, it looked like the absence or presence of one pony with a big gun would not make too much difference.
"Okay, Central, I'm coming up. I am several miles from you at the moment. Prepare to have the elevator standing by for me. I will let you know when I am in close proximity to it. Out."
I turned my attention to Cacha.
"So, where are we going?" she asked.
"Our separate ways," I replied. "Temporarily, of course."
"How could you?" Cacha said, with mock indignation. "Why?"
"Orders from both queens for me to tend to a certain problem. I'll let you know how it goes, later."
"I assume you wish me to stay here, on patrol, as it doesn't appear to be a queens' eyes only situation."
"Precisely. So, if you could brace yourself, I am going to have to physically tear us apart."
"Oh, come on!" Cacha said. "You know today's batch of glue hasn't fully cured yet. You can probably just walk away!"
I smiled, turned and found myself restrained as Cacha's forelegs wrapped around my neck.
"Then again, maybe you can't," she said.
"Then I will just have to activate the emergency release," I said, booping her on the nose.
Her grip loosened, and her hooves dropped back to the floor. "Hurry back."
This time she let me go. After taking a dozen paces, I waved, then broke into a trot.
The door to the rotating corridors through the hull opened but before I could step in, four other HELaTS filed out – Death Squad Two.
"Well, hello there, boys," I said. I couldn't say our relationship was good, but it wasn't bad either.
"1C3, ma'am," they responded.
"Why are you down here?"
"1A1C requested that we took over guard duty from you and 1C4, so you can head up to Central and meet with her," the lead pony said.
"Let me guess, level twenty-seven, observation rooms," I said.
"That is correct."
"Thanks, boys. We'll be going now. Look after the habitat for me."
I turned to find Cacha was edging nearer to us. No doubt she had heard.
"Reestablish molecular bonds," I said to her. Within moments she was at her usual place, by my side.
"I thought you'd never ask," she chuckled.
"I needed to ask?" I responded.
The observation room wasn't anything particularly special. It adjoined a second room, slightly higher than it, a large, magically-enhanced window separating them. To anypony being observed, it appeared to be nothing more than a regular wall. At the moment the observation room was empty.
The observers' room, however, contained a small gathering, of which Cacha and I were part. The third member was a glowing pony – a changeling from the relevant department. Kakuun was yet to arrive, presumably because she had not fancied waiting for the duration of our somewhat longer journey. The changeling dropped his disguise before addressing us.
"I am 1E6, and am one of the changelings involved with the production of the media series Changelings in Our Midst. Specifically, I am involved in the writing and have final say over what is exposed to ponies, and how it is done. To wit, 1C3, there has been an unexpected response to these stories," the changeling said. "Some ponies are starting to think their partners are changelings, despite changelings being nothing more than a myth to them."
"Are they changelings?" I asked. It wasn't really unexpected to me. Exposing them to these stories was about getting ponies to accept the possibility that such creatures were among them. We had even gone as far as using real changelings to play their parts, dismissing their appearance to the audiences as special effects.
"Usually, no," 1E6 said.
"Is there anything common to these occurrences?" I asked.
"Yes. The first is that the couples have never had foals of their own, so one of the partners starts to suspect biological incompatibility. The second is beauty, and the lack of it," the changeling said. "Usually, one partner will be significantly better looking than the other, in their partner's eyes at least. I can tell what a pony will find attractive from what the media offers as desirable, but being a changeling, pony beauty does not mean much to me, personally. Such would also be true of any changeling paired with a pony. As such, a changeling would be just as happy paired with an ugly pony as a good looking one. The same can not be said of pony-pony pairings."
"What do you think of both of us?" Cacha asked, posing.
"Hopefully I will not offend," the changeling said. "Starting with 1C3, you are above average. You would be attractive enough to work in the media, if it wasn't for your HELaTS body. You, however, are too muscled to be given anything but an action role. Perhaps then, your HELaTS body may even be desirable."
"And me?" Cacha asked. Clearly, this was why she asked the question in the first place.
"1C4, again, your HELaTS body works against you. If it were not for that, you'd be given the role of princess, the hero's flame, or whatever equivalent role was needed. You do not look like an action hero."
Cacha snickered. "Hear that, 1C3? I'm a princess."
"Do tell," I said. "You are also a real life action hero, despite your oh-so-girly appearance."
"That is strange," the changeling said, his horn glowing slightly. "1C4... you are... male?"
Cacha looked perplexed. "I'm a mare, now."
"But your... emotions... taste male."
"Were you just trying to feed from us?" Cacha frowned. I felt her tense beside me.
"Eat, no. You do not love me. Nonetheless, I can still taste you without feeding. This skill is one of the reasons I was chosen for this role." 1E6 paused. "You said now."
"She's a victim of the changelings' attempt to eradicate all of us HELaTS. She was born intersex – male genetics but with a sterile, female body."
"That might explain why he is so desperately in love with a mare."
"Hmph. I'm gender confused as well, am I? Great," Cacha said. "All the same Brainstorm fixed my body, so now I am a real mare, even if the genetic material outside of my reproductive organs hold the male chromosome structure. Maybe I just madly love 1C3 because she is the most awesome pony I have ever met, whatever our genders."
"If you insist. You could be a fun character in the media. A girl, but not a girl. A boy, but not a boy. Princess Prince."
"I don't know if I should be flattered or offended," Cacha muttered.
"Well, love, you did ask for it," I said.
"You seem... amused."
"1C4, I suggest you settle for being exactly what you are," I said.
"And what would that be?" Cacha's expression was looking decidedly dark.
"Just be you," I said. "After all, what else can you be?"
Cacha rolled her eyes. "Yeah. What else can I be?"
"Now, let's get this conversation back on course, please," I said.
"As you wish," the changeling said.
"I do know that ponies that have been unable to secure a pony mate are often paired with a changeling. As such, pony/changeling pairings cannot be too uncommon," I said.
"True enough, but so far it seems most of the pony members of these pairings are either unimaginative or content enough not to worry," 1E6 said. "For your interest, we have brought one pony/changeling pairing, and one pony/pony pairing for you to observe. In both cases, the less attractive partners, stallions, discretely contacted central with their concerns. Neither has confronted their partner about it yet."
"Is this the first time you have watched such a confrontation?"
"No."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"This is the first time one of the partners is really a changeling."
"Ah. Shall we begin then?"
"We will start with the ponies, so you have a reference to what we have seen so far," the changeling said, "when 1A1C arrives."
"Ready?" Kakuun asked me. She was in her natural form. I guessed she would change form if she needed to speak to the ponies we were about to observe.
In the relatively short time in which I had known her, she had matured somewhat. Biologically, she was now capable of reproduction, and had even laid her first few eggs, two of which were destined to turn into changeling princesses. Apparently the absence of pheromones from other royalty had biologically triggered her to produce the royal eggs.
As such, her first children were eggs with which she could not interact. My first child was having discussions with me on the day of her birth. The difference was not lost on me. When would the changeling mother start loving her offspring? Would she ever? Was that why changelings were so love-starved they had to steal love from other species? Was this what happened when an insect species became sapient?
"Sure, have them come in."
A door on the left side of the observation room opened and a pony ushered two others into the room. One was a fairly boring looking stallion, with a mid brown coat, and slightly darker mane and tail. He wasn't ugly, perhaps warranting a three on a scale of ten, but he fell a long way of being considered attractive. He was the sort of pony that everypony in his class would probably have ignored, or treated as an extra.
His wife, on the other hoof, rivaled Cacha for beauty. Her coat was a glistening peach in color, while her mane and tail were rich chocolate, with a golden stripe. Her large eyes echoed her mane – chocolate with golden glints.
"Whoa," Cacha said. "She would win any pageant she was entered in!"
"Now, I am going to open the audio between the rooms, so could all those present remain silent, unless you wish to speak to the subjects," the changeling said.
The ambience changed slightly as the connection was made. The two ponies within the room glanced around, as if they were also aware of it.
"Do you know why we have been called here?" the mare asked her husband.
"I do have some idea, although this is certainly not what I was expecting," he said.
IE6 cleared his throat.
"Thank you for coming here today. You are currently involved in a Central sponsored evaluation of responses to certain stimuli."
"Whatever do you mean?" the mare asked.
"Peach Surprise, Rocky Outcrop, I believe you are having marital, issues," 1E6 stated.
"Wha...?" Peach Surprise seemed stunned.
"I wasn't expecting to discuss this issue with a disembodied voice in front of her," Rocky Outcrop said.
"She is exactly the pony with whom you should be discussing it," 1E6 said. "Now, Rocky Outcrop, if you would be so kind as to state your grievance."
He mumbled something.
"Say it so I can hear, dear," Peach Surprise said. "If I have wronged you, please let me know."
"Changelings in Our Midst," Rocky Outcrop said. "I started thinking about it. The changelings in it seem so real. Then I started to think what if they were real? Then I thought about us. Like the couples in the show, we have no foals, even after this many years. And like with them, you are totally gorgeous, totally out of the reach of an ugly fellow like me. You could have anypony you wanted. Why would you even live with me, if it wasn't to feed off some loser who would be totally devoted to you."
"Oh, Rocky," Peach Surprise said, taking a step towards him. He backed away. "Rocky! Those are just stories. I don't think changelings are even real. I am certainly not one."
"You would say that, even if you were one. You would not wish to be found out, would you?"
"Let me try to answer your comments. Yes, it is sad we don't have a foal yet. Perhaps time will bless us with one. I did not wish to upset you so there is something I have hidden from you. I have miscarried twice. We have had two youngsters, yet neither lived to see the light of day. I am so sorry."
"We had foals?"
Peach Sunrise nodded.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, love, but that still doesn't explain why you chose me," Rocky Outcrop said. "You could have been an actress. You could have married whoever you wanted. You could have..."
"I did marry who I wanted," Peach Sunrise said quietly.
"You wanted a nobody like me? Why?"
"Because I liked you. You were gentle and kind. Because I wanted the sort of life I could have with you. Yes, I wanted you. Cannot you accept that?"
"Rocky Outcrop," 1E6 interrupted. "Your wife is not a changeling. Thank you for your participation in this study. Upon exiting this room, you and your wife will be offered counseling. I recommend you take it. Should you be unable to have a foal of your own, adoption is also an option. This will also be discussed with you. You are free to leave."
"Before we leave, who are you?" Rocky Outcrop asked, "Or do you intend to stay anonymous?"
"I am a psychologist, and a writer for Changelings in Our Midst."
1E6 tapped a button, severing the audio link.
"Sorry for the lack of ceremony, but that exchange was fairly typical of what we have seen so far. In all but one case, the couples have remained together. Two couples have gone on to adopt pony foals."
"Giving them changelings would not be a good idea, would it?" I said, fully understanding the risk of giving a baby changeling to those who already had their suspicions. "I also noticed you did not deny the existence of changelings."
"Doing so may help in the current situation, but in the long term, it would be counterproductive. It is a minor detail they may not understand at the moment, but in time, they may remember," 1E6 said.
"And what of the couple that split?" Cacha asked.
"The love between the couple was waning, and being suspected of being a changeling was the final insult to the stallion involved. He broke off the relationship right there and then, suggesting that a divorce would be preferable to counseling. The mare took counseling anyway, to salvage her life, not her marriage."
"So, how are you planning on handling the next case?" Kakuun asked, "It does have a changeling as part of the pairing."
"I would like to get the permission of both queens. If I have it, I will reveal the truth to the couple. It could cause us more problems in the long term, but the data would be extremely valuable to me. I have had the stallion investigated. I believe him to be a low security risk," 1E6 said. "IC3, I do not know why you are here in your CIBO guise, but as I know who you are, may I proceed as if talking with 1A1?"
"You may. The only reason I am here as 1C3 is because that was who Central requested. Apparently the person I spoke to did not realize 1A1 and 1C3 were one and the same, and was under the impression that the 1A1 was too busy to attend!"
"Thank you, so 1A1, 1A1C, do I have your permission to reveal the existence of changelings?"
I glanced at Kakuun. We nodded at each other.
"You have our permission," Kakuun said.
The door on the left side of the observation room opened again, and two more creatures were ushered into the room. Again, one was a fairly boring looking stallion, this time with a lemon coat, and lime mane and tail. He was better built than the previous pony, but his coloring did not sit well with me.
His wife was another beauty. Her coat was pale blue, while her mane and tail were white. Her large eyes were a stunning mid-blue. She was glowing.
"Whoa," Cacha said. "I really must stop repeating myself. The pony she copied must have been a real stunner!"
"I am opening the audio between the rooms again," 1E6 warned.
We fell silent.
IE6 cleared his throat, then pushed the switch.
"Thank you for coming here today. You are currently involved in a Central sponsored evaluation of responses to certain stimuli."
"I thought this was to do with..." the stallion said. "Never mind. Please continue."
"Lemon Squash, if you proceed with this, what you learn here must remain confidential. If you cannot agree to that, leave now, with or without your wife, and hold your peace."
"As you wish. Morning Sky, Lemon Squash, I believe you are having marital, issues," 1E6 stated.
"You could say that." Lemon Squash said.
"You never said anything to me about it," Morning Sky said, concern painted on her face.
"Why would I tell you, when it is you, and what you are that is the problem," Lemon Squash said.
"What do you mean, love?" Morning Sky asked.
"They practically confirmed it a moment ago. You are a changeling."
"What do you mean?"
"Drop the act. Reveal yourself," Lemon Squash said.
"You are quite steadfast in your accusations?" 1E6 asked.
"I understood the hidden message of your Changelings in Our Midst show all too well. Changelings are real. They are in our midst. You wish to desensitize the population, so that when changelings are eventually revealed, ponies will be used to the concept, and will accept them. My own case is too similar to a recent episode. The hottest babe at school accepting the love of an ugly, unpopular dork like me. It shouldn't have happened, and now I understand why. Assign a changeling to the ugly ones that no pony will want. That way they get a girl, the changelings get a food source, and a poor set of genes is dropped from the gene pool."
"Ugly, perhaps, but certainly not undesirable. You have a great mind," I said. 1E6 looked at me in surprise. I don't think he had expected me to speak.
"Can I see who I am speaking to?" Lemon Squash asked.
"Can we drop the screen?" I asked 1E6.
He nodded and hoofed another button. The magic of the screen shimmered, and what had appeared to be a wall to those in the observation room vanished.
Lemon Squash stared at us. "Interesting," he finally said.
"Allow me to introduce myself," I said. "I am the queen of this habitat. You may call me 1A1. To my right is the princess, 1C4. To my left are 1A1C, the queen of the changelings, and 1E6, psychologist, and a writer for Changelings in Our Midst."
"The queen? The pony nopony has seen?" Lemon Squash asked.
"Well, now you have seen me. All that remains is for you to see your wife."
"I feel like I'm being treated as the villain here," Morning Sky said.
"You are part of the conspiracy," Lemon Squash said.
"As are you, now," I reminded him. "And it will remain that way, unless you wish to move to much more inhospitable lodgings."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No. I'm just pointing out the other alternative, and that would be moving you to a place where changelings are common knowledge. It just happens to be a fairly inhospitable place."
"I'm not so sure I like the sound of that. Now, what about my wife?"
"Morning Sky, you may as well reveal yourself," I said.
"I hoped it would never come to this," Morning Sky said. She sounded upset.
Green flame burst around her, burning away her disguise, leaving a glitter-winged changeling standing there, very forlorn.
Lemon Squash looked his wife up and down, shaking his head. I could detect a mix of emotions coming from him, including sadness and dismay.
"I was really, truly hoping I was wrong. In the end, you have simply been using me for all of these years – feeding on the love of an ugly fool of a pony?" the stallion said with disgust.
"No!" the changeling almost shouted. "I love you. I really love you!" Her wings glistened as she shook, her changeling face showing terror – terror at the prospect of losing the one she loved. That's when it struck me that I had been associating with changelings long enough to be able to read their body language and facial expressions well.
"Why would you love me? I could never work that out. There I was, with a gorgeous marefriend, and no amount of enticing by studs, or bullying of me would get you to leave me. It never made sense," Lemon Squash said.
"Tell me, do I look pretty to you now?" the changeling said.
"Honestly, no. You're scary and extremely insect-like. You don't appeal to me at all."
"So, what makes you think I would find one pony attractive over another? None of you look like changelings. You are weird and furry. The only way I understand the pony concept of beauty is through observation and example."
"So, why pick me?"
"Surely you have not forgotten it was you that confessed to me, back when we were in school? The plan was for me to be a popular filly at school, to gather love from as many love-struck colts as I could, before moving away to some location none of you would ever find me again. But then, you confessed, and your love was so much deeper, so much purer than that of the other ponies. I thought you were sweet. I liked you. It was not hard to go from that to loving you. That is why I stayed. That is why I still love you today. And for what it is worth, I never did return to the changeling nest. I never shared the love you gave me with anyone else, and when I started loving you, I no longer felt the need to feed from anypony. Loving you alone was enough to satisfy my needs."
"You aren't feeding off me?"
"No. I am so filled with love for you, I do not need to take yours."
"Hmm. What to do, what to do?" Lemon Squash mused. It was quite clear he was fighting an internal battle.
"I thought you hated me now."
"I am annoyed at being deceived for so many years. Conversely, the mare of my dreams has stayed with me through good and bad, so I'm thankful for that. Then again, to say you are of my dreams is accurate, because you are not real. My analytical brain is having serious trouble with all of this, yet my heart still loves... you?"
"Is there any chance of this relationship being salvaged?" I asked.
"I still love Lemon," Morning Sky said. "I wish to stay with him."
"Lemon Squash?" I prompted.
He sat.
"I don't know what to do. I mean... she isn't a pony."
"Love sometimes finds us in forms we don't expect. We can reject that love, or we can accept it, even if it does not conform to what we were wanting."
"And what would you know about it?"
"I'm straight. I expected I would eventually pair up with a stallion. See this delightful creature beside me? She was neither male nor female, but something in between. Intersex. I accepted her love."
"What about foals?"
"Yes, I have one, but she was not procured through conventional means. If you stay with Morning Sky and want a foal, you could adopt one. You could even adopt a young changeling, if you wished. You and Morning Sky could even teach them to love others instead of just feeding on them."
"My mind finds that a fascinating challenge," Lemon Squash said. "Please allow me to think it over. Oh, and discuss it with my wife."
Morning Sky practically tackled him in an enthusiastic hug.
"You still hug like her," Lemon Squash said.
"Oh, silly, I am her. I am Morning Sky, whatever I look like."
"Then, could you please go back to looking like you usually do? This is going to take some getting used to."
I reached over and hit the button that killed the audio link as Morning Sky returned to her former appearance.
"1E6, I trust you will do the follow up on this pair personally. I also want them as part of Central. Give them a job. Get them sworn to secrecy. Have them help with future cases."
"Yes ma'am."
We were still discussing details of the case when I was interrupted by the communicator.
A desperate pony was on the other end. "Aneki, we've been attacked. Lots of them. We've lost the teams outside!"
"Lost?" My heart rate shot up. Eight skilled ponies equipped with Storm Labs super weapons would not be easy to lose.
"They were overwhelmed by clockwork spiders. Hundreds of them!"
The news hit me like a multistory fall – I had sent ponies to their deaths.
Yes, I can make that jump, I thought as I launched myself without even slowing. Immediately I mentally played through landing, adjusting my course and speeding on my way. I could veer left, take a few steps, then turn right again, but that would cost me momentum. On the other hoof, if I immediately gathered myself and leaped a second time, my momentum would be preserved, and the route would be slightly shorter.
It would have been really convenient to have a teleport link between Central and the hangars, like the one between Central and the bridge, and so far, no amount of searching had found one. Running really fast, and taking life-risking leaps simply did not measure up by comparison. Running, as much as I loved it as a recreational sport, was a very poor way of navigating catwalks when one was in a rush. And then there was that painfully slow rotating tunnel to get through as well. Getting to the hangar was taking far too long.
What chance did I have of getting to those in distress on time? None, I told myself. I had no chance at all because they were already dead. That wasn't going to stop me. Maybe...
I landed on the targeted catwalk, gathered myself and took another flying leap. Wings. I really needed to get myself some of those bat wings, like Snow had. When they had been offered to me, I hadn't felt like spending the required time to have the modifications made. With them I could have bypassed all the jumping, and fly straight to the lock to the hangar. Spending a week in a conversion tank could have saved me minutes here, and at the moment, that seemed like a very fair exchange.
Behind me I heard a din of clattering hooves on the catwalk followed by cursing as Cacha missed her footing. Despite her skills, she was having trouble keeping up. The Catwalk Runner was not up to the demands. Realizing that, it occurred to me that such was my desperation, Cacha and I were not working as a team. It was time to ease up and regroup. Losing her en route would not help matters at all.
"Sorry, love," I thought to her, slowing, stalling, waiting for her to catch up.
She slowed, coming to a stop beside me.
"I should be concentrating on teamwork," I said, "instead of worrying about what has happened, as that won't achieve anything. And getting you killed on the way would be awful."
"Thanks. I don't fancy falling to my death," Cacha said, reaching across to chew the hair behind my ear. She knew I found that relaxing. "Besides, there will be plenty of time to worry and plan once we get to that damn tunnel."
"Too true."
"Seriously, you could have done any planning needed back in Central, rather than having to come down here..." Cacha paused. "Oh, yeah. We are two of the remaining defenders, aren't we? C'mon, let's go."
We took off again, along a catwalk, what's more. The aerial route had been postponed for when no alternative existed, or for when missing one's footing would not send one plummeting to their death. Cacha guided us right down onto the suspension platform and its marked routes, while my initial route had tried to maintain our altitude among the giant springs employed by the suspension system. Our speed may have been slower and the route longer than my headlong dash, but I had to admit it was safer and ultimately more efficient. Cacha was a native of the lower levels after all.
Soon enough we reached the edge of the water jacket of the life support chamber. The distant ceiling it had formed curved away, up into the black maw that was the gap between it and the outer hull. The lamps that highlighted the preferred path, winding and weaving its way upwards through structural elements and machinery, were the only interruption to the darkness. Unlike many lights in the habitat, these had been wired to remain lit at all times, if for no other reason than the sense of security it gave to those not used to running around in the murky bowels of the habitat. And yes, that included me.
Fortunately, my HELaTS body was immune to the exhaustion a regular pony body would be subject to by such a climb. I would need to eat more because of the energy spent. The HELaTS body merely did the conversion of food to energy, and the storage and delivery of said energy in a much more efficient way. Evolution had settled on a biological design that worked, mind you, not particularly well or efficiently, but it worked well enough for it not to bother refining the design any further. It had taken alien technology and brilliant pony minds to take the pony body to the next level. Perhaps it would prove to be a misstep, an artificial step that prevented us from developing a better biological solution to the limitations of our body, or perhaps it would be the only thing standing between us and extinction.
I had been informed that the teams I had send out to examine the other hangars had fallen as they approached the first hangar in a clockwise direction from where they started, and that hangar was a quarter of the way around the habitat. By my calculations, that put them about fifteen miles from the exit we were using. By hoof, I could cover that distance in half a day to a day, depending on just how bad the terrain was. In a pod, it would be a lot quicker, as was evident from how far the teams had already traveled, including time to attend to other tasks on the way.
But they had not had to fight their way through hundreds of clockwork spiders, and despite their training, they had failed when the spiders had attacked. The details of that attack were lacking, too. The reports had started out clearly enough. A clockwork spider had been seen. Then another two had appeared, and soon Death Squad One were battling more spiders than they could handle. Even before they had fallen silent, reports of more spiders came from Lander Team One.
We received some coherent messages, but, as was happening with Death Squad One, the messages rapidly deteriorated into pandemonium and screams, before ceasing. Any attempts to reestablish communications failed, leading to the inevitable conclusion that our ponies had all fallen, and in all likelihood, been cleaved apart by the thrashing legs of our mechanical nemesis. As I had experienced that first-hoof, twice, and survived both times, I couldn't be sure that the death of these ponies was as permanent as some would have me believe.
"You aren't thinking of going out there, are you, Aneki?" Cacha asked, as she galloped alongside me. I should not have been surprised. While she could not read my mind, Cacha certainly could read me.
"They are HELaTS. Even if they have been cut to pieces, chances are that some of them could survive," I said. "After all, we both did."
"And in both cases, the enemy was dealt with before we could be put back together," Cacha said. "At the moment, going out there would be suicide. The clockwork spiders took out half of our converted already. Sending more out would only add to the body count."
"But I can't just leave them out there!"
"Bigger picture, Aneki, look at the bigger picture. You might not have any choice."
"But we have to do something. If we don't, we will all die, either because they break in and kill us, or because they keep us holed up in here until we run out of power."
"The clockwork spiders may vanish if we stop aggravating them. Ants stop swarming if you leave them alone. There is also another way to leave the habitat, Aneki. Up. We should be able to exit through the bridge."
"But that's ten miles above us, and we aren't even sure if we can breathe up there, or for that matter, if we are inside or outside the ring, thus exposed to the great nothing."
"So you are just going to ignore the possibility?"
"Of course not. It's just that I have other problems on my mind."
"So, delegate. You are the queen after all."
Of course, Cacha was right. I delegated a lot of the running of the habitat already, mostly by default. If something was proceeding smoothly enough without my input, I left it alone. At least, now that we had installed repeaters around the areas of the hangar and Habitat Ten, I could communicate with others in all of the significant portions of the habitat with ease.
Well, there was no time like the present to unload a couple of problems. I brought up Bittersweet's contact entry in my comms unit's HUD, and called it. I also added Cacha's comm unit to the conversation. Within moments Bittersweet's usual deadpan voice answered.
"You sound like you are running," she said.
"I am. Bittersweet, could you please organize for some of the repair staff to head up to the bridge? There are some blocked windows up there. I want you to investigate the possibility of getting through them, even if it is via destructive methods. As such, I recommend building an airlock between the area around one window and the rest of the bridge."
"Okay. I can understand what you mean. I will organize a crew as soon as is possible. How are things? I've heard they are grim." Her voice showed some expression. Evidently, she thought the problem would directly affect those she loved.
"Yes, it is quite grim," I confirmed.
"Is there anything else I can do to assist?" The concern in her voice was quite apparent.
"Get the extra conversion tanks online as soon as you can. I don't care where you take the parts from, unless it damages a critical system."
"I know where some parts are, but it could involve the unintentional discharging of one of the emergency nitrogen or oxygen tanks. While those are no longer critical systems, that is a rather large volume of liquefied gas to dispose of."
"Okay, leave that one with me for the moment."
"Stay safe, daughter, and for the sake of all of us, please do not attempt a rescue of those who have already fallen." That time there was a lot of emotion in her voice.
I ran on in silence for a few moments, then thought to Cacha, "Anything else you can think of that we could do at the moment?"
"Sure. Why don't we dump the liquefied gas out through the thrust outputs for the engine. If nothing else, it might blow the spiders away from the habitat."
"It would also freeze us. Oh, what the hell. Bittersweet?"
"Yes?"
"Cacha suggests we dump the contents of one of the tanks through the thrust tubes and into the gap between the hull and the cradle."
"Perhaps that would prevent any attack from below, but we also risk lowering the temperature of the lower levels even further. Icing would be a much more serious issue."
"True, but at the cost of using some of our limited fuel, we could increase the output from the engines to compensate."
"Don't just increase the output," Bittersweet said. "Fire them, and the retro thrusters as well. That will evaporate the liquid nitrogen."
"With enough output, that evaporation would be practically explosive, never mind the thrust itself. That's a good idea. Get some teams on preparing the engines, and dumping the nitrogen as soon as possible."
"Affirmative. Will do." The redundancy of her words amused me.
The comms unit fell silent and I returned my full concentration to getting to the hangar, or more precisely, to my immediate surroundings, and how to best navigate them instead of relying mostly on Cacha while I was involved in conversation. That was when I noticed a foreign sound, a repetitive clanging that should not have been there. It was somewhere behind us, and approaching, which was quite an achievement considering how fast we were running.
"Cacha?" I thought to her. "Are you hearing that too?" I transmitted her a burst of sound.
"I am. That's the sound of a clockwork spider running on the catwalks."
"What?" How the hell did one of those get in here? Hang on... the only ways one could have got in were to break in, and I hadn't heard any reports of such, or for us to have brought it in ourselves, so that meant...
"It's Briggs," Cacha said.
Thank goodness for that! My mind aborted its excursion into the horrific.
"Briggs?" I called out.
"Behind you, ma'am," a vaguely artificial voice responded.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I've come to assist. Brainstorm said you would be stupid enough to try and save those that have fallen, so he had Maisie send me along."
"I guess Brainstorm is right. I am that stupid," I admitted. "I thought you weren't fully operational."
"Maisie took your advice and connected a horn to the internal power systems of this body. It appears stable enough for me to risk going outside the range of the magical power grid. As for going outside the habitat, the general risk to me is also a lot lower."
"Why? If they chop your power off, you could be just as dead, or is your memory non-volatile?"
"I would be safer because I am also a clockwork spider."
Perhaps what we needed was an army of friendly clockwork spiders patrolling the area around Habitat Eleven. Was there any possibility that the systems of the ringworld would consider the problem solved and stop producing the variant that weren't so friendly?
We finally arrived at the entrance to the passage through the hull. The large, circular, high-security door had already lifted clear, ready for us. A pony standing to one side waved us in. Briggs, being somewhat on the large size, had to hunch himself down to the height of an alicorn so he would fit, moving forward with an awkward, shuffling gait. The waiting pony stepped in behind us and the door started to descend. We were already walking along the pipe-like tunnel towards the next section as it rotated into alignment.
The rotating sections always left me feeling uneasy as the movement, although slow, was constantly shifting my center of gravity. Some ponies did not even notice it, but I sure did. The section locked into position, allowing us to walk into the next, stationary, section of the tunnel. I also did not like being trapped within each section, with a number of similar sections both behind and ahead of me, preventing me from running free.
Since I had first traveled along the tunnel, some modifications had been made. Communications repeaters and lamps had been attached to the upper surface of the fixed sections of the tunnel. Lamps had also been fitted in the rotating sections, but what started out as floor ended up as wall or ceiling as we passed through, so the lamps had been attached to points that were above us as we passed them, but would be in other positions at any other time. The result was a rotating light show that added to the unease I already felt.
We had passed about half way through the passage, when my tension was the highest, when my brooding was interrupted by my comms unit. So startled was I that my facial armor snapped shut. At least nopony could see me blush.
"Aneki, it is Pink Electricia here," the pony on the comms unit said. "I'm in the control room of one of the ship's main guns. This is the gun that had its external barrel cleared of the tendrils by our outside team. I believe we have managed to get the weapon to the condition where it can be fired." While I didn't know her by name, I imagined she must have been the pink-faced, pink-haired pony that had requested the outside teams attend to the weapons at the last meeting.
Those ship's main guns were dangerous – extremely dangerous. While I had not yet seen the damage done by one firing, I did recall the mess made by one knocking itself to pieces. When fired, I expected the damage would be significantly greater than that of my most destructive spell ammunition.
"Pink E, I think that would be too risky, as you would be firing into what is effectively an enclosed space," I said, picturing the disorganized structure of the multidimensional levels outside the habitat.
"According to the sighting camera, we have line of sight down a moderate length of tunnel. I believe it to be worth the risk. We can see clockwork spiders coming from the other end," Pink Electricia said.
That made a significant difference. The cons were risking the gun itself, and perhaps damage or injury to those who were firing it. The pros were that we could get rid of some of the enemy between the hangar and where our teams had fallen. The blasts may clear up some of the obstacles in our path. It would also send a very loud message to the clockwork spiders. Mess with us and we will fight back.
"You are risking your lives, Pink E," I said. "Are you happy to proceed, knowing that?"
"We are HELaTS. We risk our lives every day," she said. "We are prepared." She had a fair point.
"I appreciate your bravery. You have my permission to keep firing until you have pulverized the area. If each blast opens more targets, shoot them. If you can blow a hole into the level above, do so. Teach their defence system that fucking with us is a mistake."
"Acknowledged. I will report back after our first shot, if I am able to do so." Her voice sounded positively enthusiastic, despite the cautious words.
"Alert a rescue team to what you are doing before you start. I'd hate to lose more ponies today."
"Will do, but I am sure we will be fine. Signing off." I hoped she was right.
"Time to kick some serious spider butt, eh?" Cacha said. I didn't reply.
I had only taken a dozen more steps when I started to feel vibrations through the floor, despite the miles between the weapon and the hangar. It started off at a low frequency, then gradually climbed as the converter spun up. For that much vibration to be considered tolerable in a piece of equipment for which balance was essential, it was scary. The energy it was storing was enormous.
"We can feel it from here?" Cacha puzzled.
"It's mounted to the hull, isn't it? And we are in the hull at the moment. The vibrations are traveling through the material of the hull itself. Nonetheless, I would have expected the sheer mass of the hull to have had a greater dampening effect."
"So, the ponies in the life support chamber won't feel or hear anything."
"Not a thing, thanks to the suspension system. They can live on in total ignorance, safe in their boring, everyday lives."
We certainly felt the thump when it came. The barrel of the gun was mounted on shock absorbers, so the thump could be attributed entirely to the blast against the outer hull... if things had gone well. I could feel the pitch of the vibrations rising again, as the rotary converter and flywheel based energy storage system regained its speed. That was positive. I held off calling Pink Electricia, lest I disturb her at a critical moment. When her call finally came, I found I had been holding my breath.
"Aneki, we survived. Mostly everything worked as expected. Nothing was damaged, and I think we can fire it again," Pink Electricia said.
"But?" I said. Her intonation suggested she was holding something back.
"We can't see what happened. The targeting screen went blank before the weapon actually fired. We think the targeting cameras retracted, and they haven't extended again."
That made sense. Unlike on the bridge, there were no windows to the outside. The targeting cameras were the only way to for anyone in the habitat to view what was happening outside, so they would need to protect themselves from shrapnel.
The control rooms for these weapons were built into the shell of the hull, as were the weapons themselves. They were accessed through tunnels that passed through the thickness of the shell. While the tunnels through to the hangars were protected by an arrangement of rotating tunnels, these were not. Regular high-security doors protected by hoof scanners were all that prevented ponies from entering them. Nonetheless, that had proved totally effective until Allie was able to override the security settings on them. Until then, the hellites had only been able to stare at the weapons through view ports in the corridors.
"I expect they will open after the dust and debris have settled," I said, after a few moments of playing through the situation in my mind.
"Oh, you're right! They have opened aga... wow!"
"Don't keep me in suspense, Pink E," I said.
"The target isn't there anymore. Neither is anything else around where it was."
"What exactly did you shoot at?"
"A wall, I think. It was the furthest point we could aim at. We aimed between all of the tendrils and barriers. Now that area is open, and all the other junk has been blown away too."
"What about the clockwork spiders?"
"I can't see any at the moment... no, there is one, and another. And more."
"Are they damaged?" I asked.
"No. I think these are fresh ones."
"You'd better get back to firing the weapon then, hadn't you?" I said.
"Affirmative. Pink Electricia signing off."
Just how many of these damn clockwork spiders were there? How quickly were they being produced? I guessed we would soon have a pretty good idea, one way or the other.
The final rotating section of the tunnel locked with the exit tunnel allowing us to walk down the final stretch into the hangar... and into pandemonium. Flustered ponies were racing about, yelling at each other, their facial armors deployed. Those with weapons had them equipped, and were approaching the open outer hull door. Several dusty examples were staggering in through the same. And there was a lot of dust in the air.
A breezie was on the floor at my hooves. It stood, and shook the dust from itself.
Oh. I hadn't thought of that.
"Brace yourself," I said to Cacha and Briggs.
I cast a barrier spell around the breezie. No sooner than I had done it, another blast of dust laden air came though the outer hull door, thwarting the effort of those that were trying to enter through it. Those that were knocked down immediately climbed back onto their hooves and moved away from it as quickly as possible, as did those who had been attempting to approach it.
"We are all in," one yelled as he cleared the door, spinning and hitting the button that controlled it, activating the automatic closing sequence.
The breezie looked up at me. "Something out there exploded!" she said.
"Um, yeah. Things tend to do that when you shoot them with one of the ship's main guns," I said.
"The what?" she squeaked.
"Excuse me a moment, please."
I activated my comms unit. "Pink Electricia?"
"Yes, Aneki? The second firing was successful. The cameras are still retracted, so I can't tell you the results yet."
"I can. There was an explosion, the effects of which reached as far as the hangar. Pink Electricia, in future, before firing the guns, please warn the ponies in the hangar to shut their doors," I said. "The shockwave was so great that it blasted air and dust into the hangar, and made it somewhat difficult for those who were outside, on guard."
"Um. Sorry," she said.
"You are not to blame – I authorized the firing. I am merely instructing you to add it to the steps taken when preparing to fire the gun."
"Affirmative."
I thought about what the shockwave was doing to those who had fallen, near the hangar to which they had been headed. The distance between that hangar and the ship's main gun was the same as the distance between this hangar and the gun. That blast may have made locating them even harder. Nonetheless, reducing the number of clockwork spiders out there was the priority, as it would make the rescue so much easier.
In front of me, several unicorns in the hangar were casting air-cleaning spells, so I joined them, our combined magic spreading out to fill the volume of the hangar. If I wasn't so stressed, watching the little spirals of air driven by each unicorn's horn could have been quite relaxing. Fortunately it didn't take long before the air was cleared of dust, and the offending particles had been fed into the local recycling system. I could get back to my planned rescue... or could I? The exit door was now firmly shut, and somepony over in the control center of the main gun was blasting away at anything that moved, so to speak.
"Aneki?" It was Pink Electricia again. She was just the pony I needed to talk to.
"Here," I said.
"The cameras have extended again. The area has opened out a lot, and I think we blasted the path the clockwork spiders were using to descend to this level. So far, no more have shown up. I can't tell if the route has been blocked or if they are just being cautious."
"Excellent. For your next shots, aim to the left of where you've hit. Work your way further left with each shot. What I want is for you to clear away as much as you can between your position and mine."
"You do know we can't aim that far left. The curvature of the hull, not to mention the limit of the arc of the gun, would prevent it."
"Of course you can't, but I'm hoping to make use of the shockwave to help clear the area. Maybe the blasts will destroy some spiders. Maybe it will drive some towards the auto-sentries we have guarding the exit."
"What about shooting to the right?"
"No. I'm hoping to be able to recover lost equipment, and, with some luck, rescue our fallen teams. They will already be getting enough of a buffeting without us aiming towards their position. You will probably only get two or three more shots in before I am ready to leave. Actually, fire three more times, total, then leave it at that. After that you can stand down, or work on another gun or something."
"Affirmative," Pink Electricia said, "Fire three more shots to our left, then stand down for the day. Signing off."
The comms unit fell silent.
I walked towards the center of the hangar, where the other ponies were gathering, apparently waiting for me to address them. Through my hooves, I felt the main gun fire again. The ponies glanced around, before looking back. That was when I noticed that their eyes were not on me but on the clockwork spider walking beside me. Between its sheer size and the clanging its blade like legs were making with each step, that was no surprise. The non-combatants ponies had not seen a functional clockwork spider before, so their expressions were a mixture of wonder and fear. Those who had fought them looked grim. None, however, raised their weapons.
"This is Briggs," I said, pointing a hoof to my left. "He's a little bigger than last time you saw him, but rest assured, he is in total control of the machine. The original brain of the clockwork spider was removed from its head, and his core was placed in there instead."
"My brain might believe you, but the rest of me sure as hell wants to get out of here," somepony said.
"Don't forget that several of us are more dangerous than him," I said.
"All the same..."
"What about those blasts from outside? You seem to know about them. What caused them?" another pony asked.
"The main gun between us and the next hangar to the right is shooting at the spiders. From what Pink E tells me, the spiders are being reduced to scrap. And that's were we come in. As soon as she finishes firing it, I am going to lead a rescue party to see what remains of the teams I sent out. If possible I will recover them, and any of their equipment that can be salvaged."
"Go out there, where the spiders are? I don't mean to be disrespectful, Aneki, but are you nuts? Those teams are dead," one pony said.
"Yes, I am quite nuts. Those ponies out there are mark-three HELaTS. Their bodies may survive, even if cut apart. Leaving them there is simply something I cannot do."
"What is the point in sending more to die in the hope that there may be something left of them? Those shockwaves probably blew away what was left anyway. Are you going to order us to go, despite this?"
They did not sound particularly enthusiastic, or happy, for that matter. I could understand what this pony was saying. Every other pony down here was also thinking it, their expressions and stances those of disapproval. I did not think they would mutiny if I pushed them, but it wasn't something I intended to do.
In the distance behind me, I heard the rotating tunnel cycle, locking into place. More reinforcements, I hoped.
I continued with my address to those in front of me. The newcomers could catch up later.
"The rescue party consists of one idiot and one clockwork spider," I said.
"Two idiots and a spider," Cacha said, "unless I can convince you to abandon this fool's errand."
"I'm doing it, okay?" I said, sounding exasperated. "If we succeed, we will probably be followed back by a horde of spiders. I want every pony else who can fight to support the auto-sentries. In the mean time, keep the area outside this hangar free of pests, but do not exhaust yourselves."
"What if somepony wishes to come with you?" one of the death squad members asked. "There are four pods available, and you will only be taking two."
The tilt on Snow's head showed she was also puzzled by the question. Could any of these ponies really be insane enough to go with me?
"Sorry, not this time. We will be running, or riding on the clockwork spider as the situation demands. If any of you wish to use the pods to patrol the immediate area, you may, but my experience suggests that they are not the ideal vehicle for combat," I said.
"Up!" Snow said.
"We can even use your special pod?" one pony asked.
"Yes, you can, but what do you think is so special about my pod?"
"It's the queen's pod. It has to be better than the others."
I almost laughed. "The only thing special about it is that it was chopped in half and stuck back together."
"Aneki, please leave this rescue mission to me, alone," Briggs said. "I am more than capable of carrying it out, and as I said before, there is considerably less risk to me, being a clockwork spider myself."
"Aneki, this is your last chance to back out of this suicide mission," Cacha said. "Seriously, back out now. Say you won't go."
"I'm going and that's tha... ouch!"
Something had just pricked me in the butt. I looked back to see what it was, and to my dismay, saw an empty syringe stuck there, grasped in somepony's magic. It was not Cacha's – the color was wrong. Then I noticed Stormie, while still a number of paces away, was the wielder. Whoa – that stuff was potent. My legs felt like jelly, and went from under me. My brain didn't feel that coherent, either.
"About time," Cacha said.
"So, I won't have to put you to sleep, too?" I heard Stormie ask as a swirling blackness swallowed my sight.
"Nope. She's not going anywhere, so why would I?"
The last thing I felt was a sense of relief. I had done everything I could. It was now out of my hooves.
"She's waking," somepony said. I didn't know who, because my eyes were still shut.
I didn't need to ask to whom they were referring, as the last thing I could remember was being stabbed in the backside with a syringe full of potent sedative. Gradually more bits of me came back online as the sedative lost its grip, but I knew it would be hours before I was capable of doing much, and as for decisions, they were a big no-no until at least tomorrow. The sedatives would be clouding my brain for that long, even if I didn't realize it. Stormie sure knew how to nobble a girl! At the moment she was not my favorite pony, even if what she had done had been for my own good. I'd thank her after I'd clocked her one to the jaw.
"And I haven't even slept with Stormie's husband," I muttered, "even though he's my husband, too."
"And she's not making a lot of sense," the pony said. "Is she sleep talking?"
"Oh, that made perfect sense," Cacha said, also from close by. "It's too bad Stormie didn't hear it."
"What didn't I hear?" Stormie said from a little further away..
"You shall forever wonder," I said. Petty revenge, perhaps, but revenge nonetheless. Clocking her one to the jaw would have to wait.
"You had better not call what we did muntiny. We will keep our queen safe from her enemies, even if that enemy is her own stupidity," Stormie said.
"I'd call it medical intervention when the queen was incapacitated by excessive stress," I said. "Still, it doesn't mean I won't delight in sticking a syringe into your butt at some time in the future."
"I'll keep that in mind." Stormie did not sound amused, although I did detect a hint of relief in her voice.
"So what happened out there? How long was I out?" I asked, finally opening my eyes to see where I actually was. Apparently I hadn't moved a step from where Stormie had put me to sleep. I was lying on the floor in the middle of the hangar. Hey, everypony. Here's your stupid queen, sleeping it off where she was sedated... It must have dome my credibility no end of good. At least they'd given me a pillow, even if it had legs.
"You've been out for about a day," Cacha said, answering the second question.
"What the?" A whole day? That was pretty rude of Stormie! "And you've been acting as a pillow for that long, Cacha?"
"Of course not. I often got up to stretch my legs, and several times I joined the others outside the door to blast at clockwork spiders. I also helped bringing in the rescued, and more salvage."
"Um, excuse me, Aneki," the unfamiliar voice said.
I glanced in its direction to find a three legged pony a pace away, looking down at me. She had an aqua face, teal eyes and a pale blue mane and tail. I recognized her as one of the outsiders, although the last time I had seen her, she had four legs. She had not formed a replacement leg from her weapon.
"You have my attention."
"I want to thank you for rescuing me," she said. "Even though you've been lying here, I know it was only because of your insistence that any rescue attempt was made."
"Oh, good," I said. "Somepony survived. But what about your other leg? I was rather hoping all of you could be brought back."
"A casualty, I'm afraid. That piece was missing. Briggs put as much of me together as he could find, but then, even with me assisting him, we could not find the missing leg."
"I'm sorry to hear that, although I expect Stormie can grow you a new one in the tank."
"Yes, they told me I could be restored."
"What about the rest of your team?" I asked.
"We brought back what we could find, which fortunately included the important bits of two of them. I'm told Brainstorm is working on them at the moment. Unfortunately Rose Wine took a blade through the head. There was nothing we could do for her. We also found enough pieces of Death Squad One that two of them could be reassembled as well."
"Were they missing any parts?"
"No. Those two were lucky. We were able to put them back together while we were out there. They then helped cover us as we looked for the others."
"So, where are they now?"
"Back on duty, guarding the door."
"Amazing," I said. They hadn't even asked for time off. "And the other two from the death squad?"
"Sorry."
"Oh." I was saddened to have lost any ponies at all, but to have some survive warmed me inside, despite the pain of loss.
"We knew the risks. Don't blame yourself. It won't make any positive difference."
"Thanks..." I didn't know her name, or if I did, I had forgotten it.
"Lana."
"Thanks, Lana. Get well soon."
"Okay, Lana, you've said your bit," Stormie said. "Let's get you to the hospital."
"Yes, ma'am," Lana said, turning towards Stormie, something she found a little difficult with her right hindleg missing.
As the two left, Stormie looked back over her shoulder at me. "Aneki, I gave you a counter-agent, so your body and mind will be totally free of the effects of that sedative within a few minutes, but if you have any intention of going out there, other than to help defending the hangar, I will gladly give you another dose, and forget about administering the counter agent."
"There's no point in going out there now, is there?" I said. "Those I wished to save have been saved."
"And that is exactly why I left you unconscious until now."
"This had better not become a habit," I muttered. That Stormie even had a sedative that stayed in effect until countered was scary!
"I will not interfere with your usual lead from the front approach, but if you try to go on a poi... suicide mission again, I will intervene."
My guess was that she had been going to say pointless suicide mission, but with Lana right next to her, that would have been extremely bad – unforgivable in my mind. I was pretty sure my thoughts of condemnation could easily be seen on my face, because Stormie almost looked contrite. She turned away, and walked purposefully towards the tunnel, forgetting Lana's limited speed. Trying to keep up, Lana hobbled behind her, and into the rotating tunnel.
The door closed behind them, freeing my mind of that interaction. I scanned my surroundings, wondering what, if anything, had changed during my forced slumber.
I could see the powered wagon that Lander Team One had taken. Damage to it was slight, suggesting that the clockwork spiders cared only about killing ponies, their equipment being of no interest once the primary goal had been achieved. It was heaped with the pods the teams had been using. Some looked to be in good condition, while others had fared even worse than mine had when I had last been sliced apart. Snow had unloaded one of them and was fussing over it, using her telekinesis to piece together the damaged sections.
So, Briggs hadn't just rescued ponies. He'd helped them retrieve the equipment too. Although recovering that equipment had been on my to-do list, it was of a lower priority than rescuing the fallen. Equipment wasn't alive. Perhaps Briggs was unable to make that distinction, being more machine than pony, or perhaps he just considered it to be part of the job.
Briggs himself was nowhere to be seen.
"So, I expect every pony in the habitat will soon know that the queen took a forced nap. That's going to look so great on my record."
"No." Cacha shook her head. "Only those that were down here saw, and most of them are smart enough to keep their mouths shut."
"And those that aren't?"
"By the time Stormie had finished lecturing them, they were smarter. A lot smarter."
"I guess that's one way of doing it. Keep yer trap shut or yer won't be able to open it again."
"Pretty much, although her wording was somewhat less confrontational. Seriously, once they realized you didn't expect them to come along, their opinion of you went up. They liked knowing their queen was willing to risk her life for each and every one of them. Besides, I don't think anypony down here really would be stupid enough to bad mouth you. You are too powerful. So is Stormie. And so am I."
It was true that most of my family were very powerful ponies, and I wasn't just talking in the political sense. Turning on us would not be good for one's peace of mind or well being! Besides, while I expected there may be other ponies that would like my job title, I very much doubted they would want the job itself. Warrior Queen, so dedicated to the service of her subjects that she is the first pony to go into hostile territory; so dedicated that her subjects had to hold her back... Nope, I really didn't need to worry, did I?
"All the same, if this comes back and bites me in the butt, I will bite Stormie in the butt – literally."
"You still hold resentments towards her, don't you?" Cacha said.
"She and Brainstorm have improved a lot, but they still lack social graces. And what they did to me when we first met was unforgivable. My conscious mind says I have forgiven them, but I'm pretty sure my subconscious has not, and probably never will."
Turning my mind to other topics, there was one pony currently missing from the picture. Actually, even though he now looked more pony like that he had for hundreds of years, he wasn't actually a pony. Well, he wasn't one anymore.
"Cacha, where's Briggs now? I'd like to thank him. Is he back with Maisie?"
Cacha shook her head, and flicked a hoof in the direction of the hangar doors.
"He went back outside to do more scouting. He told me the clockwork spiders totally ignored him, even when he was carrying injured ponies. He thinks the spiders assumed he was just going about his duty, or whatever it is that drives their actions."
"So, if we had ridden him out there, we would have been pretty safe, then?" I asked. That would be ironic.
"No, no, not at all. It seems the other clockwork spiders didn't like healthy ponies, even when he was with them. The two revived death squad members had quite a fight on their hooves. So did Lana, even though she was obviously injured."
"I guess that makes our next step obvious, doesn't it."
"And that would be?" Cacha asked, missing the obvious. Well, it was obvious to me.
"We get all of the sapient computers into captured clockwork spiders as soon as possible, assuming they are amenable to the idea. I expect a few will still like the safety of their hard shells and networks."
"You could probably get some of the non-sapient computers into them too. Briggs could do a memory dump or program them or whatever it is he does. The sapient ones could then each command a squad of drones."
"Cacha, you are brilliant. I'll suggest it to Maisie right now. Oh, and when I'm done, remind me to tell those two idiots from Death Squad one that their shift was over hours ago. Surely they have come down from the adrenaline high by now."
The foal wriggled in my grasp. It was pleasantly warm, dark and quite comfortable. It took my sleep muddled mind a few moments to realize the foal was my own, Allie. We were making up for all the time we were spending apart of late. Even if we were asleep at the time, we were still together – and the little darling was quite capable of entering my dreams and playing with me there. She also had the wonderful talent of heading off any nightmares, or guiding them into more pleasant dreams. In these emotionally stressing times, that was something I relished.
Of course, this couldn't last. Some pest was calling me on my communicator, severing whatever connections I had with the land of my dreams. I levitated it from my night-stand, answering the caller.
"Aneki, this is Briggs. I have found the facility that is constructing the clockwork spiders."
Wow. Not even a hello. He had jumped right into the conversation. My brain struggled to catch up.
"You've what? Did I hear you right?"
"I have found a facility where the clockwork spiders are being constructed. It was the only one I could find close by."
"Where is it?"
"One level above us. The area one level below it is about fifteen minutes away, by pod, from the habitat," Briggs said. "In other words, quite close, once you get up one level, and that isn't so easy, now that Pink Electricia has blown up the shaft they were using. I had to go quite the long way around."
"So, do you think there is anything we can do about it?" We had never used the blocked shaft ourselves. In fact, we hadn't even known about it. The shaft we had last attempted to go up a level was also clogged, unless the spiders had cleared it.
Cacha stirred beside me, and groaned. Allie wriggled, and opened her eyes. The importance of not disturbing them had dropped to zero.
"Mum?"
"Hush, little one. I'm talking to Briggs."
"Oh, okay." She relaxed again.
"Sorry, Aneki, even if there was a local shaft we could use, we still can't approach the facility directly. There are too many spiders up there. However, I can guide you to a place directly underneath it, one level down. Are you able to shoot through the equivalent of three or four storeys of multidimensional material?" Briggs asked.
"I should be able to. The trick is not to blow myself up at the same time. I'll have to use a variant of the spell I've been using to kill the clockwork spiders themselves."
"How so?"
"The spell drills the tiniest hole through the material, and keeps going until it penetrates the other side. Then it expands and blows everything up within the preprogrammed radius. The trick is to keep that radius lower than the thickness of the material that is being destroyed. The back-blast from the drill hole is bad enough!"
"Cannot you program the spell to pass through the material without interacting with it?"
"So far, I have not managed to achieve that. So, what are the other problems, if any?"
"There are still a lot of clockwork spiders down on this level that will need to be cleared out of our way. It is perhaps too dangerous for ponies to go there."
"That is a problem, isn't it? If we can't get ponies there, we can't attack. Is it in the arc of fire for Pink E's operational ship's gun?"
"No."
"Of course. That would be too convenient. Let me think on it. In the mean time, contact Pink E, and see if she can get an appropriate ship's gun to do the job."
"I will report back to you."
"Give it a few hours, please. I'd rather like to finish my sleep."
All we needed now was for Bittersweet to give us the all-clear. She had a team of ponies working on our ultimate clockwork spider repellant, the big blast. We were nearly ready. All relevant ponies were at their appointed locations, be it in the hangar, or in the lower levels of the habitat, at the various consoles that controlled the gas flow and the engines.
Routing the liquid nitrogen to the engine ports had proven to be quite easy as pipes meant for the thrust mass passed conveniently close by, and even had capped fittings in the perfect locations. It was as if somepony or some alien had carefully thought about emergency situations, secondary and even tertiary redundant systems. The nitrogen tanks were already a part of an emergency system themselves, designed for rapid re-establishment of the atmosphere in the life-support chamber, should there be a rupture or leak. Oxygen was mixed with it at that point, so there were already two sets of pipes per tank pair.
The liquefied gas needed heating before it got to the life-support chamber, or it would do more harm than good. So, what would happen if the pipes up through the primary heating system failed? They would need an alternative, of course. These other pipes could be pressed into service, taking the gas closer to the engines where it could be heated there, instead.
How many redundant systems had we lost knowledge of? On the other hoof, how many had already failed? I knew the Celestia controller that was responsible for the simulated sun in the sky dome had failed at all levels. Was there anything else we were missing that had simply become forgotten over the years?
Brainstorm raised his voice. "Remember, ponies, it will be unusually cold out there, and chances are that some liquid nitrogen may drip on you. That is why you have been issued coats." He was standing on a box in the middle of the hangar, addressing the ponies that had assembled in front of him, myself included. The coat he was dressed in was a frilly number that had once belonged to a media star or something. It was totally outrageous. I suspect he had chosen it so as to lessen the embarrassment of the other ponies over what they had received.
To call the garments that had been distributed coats was stretching the truth a little. They were a heterogeneous collection of clothes purchased from the pre-loved fashion shops of the life-support chamber. To us, their appearance was secondary, fortunately, as they were the out-of-date garbage no fashion conscious pony would buy. The flimsy and worn material would do very little against the lower temperatures – our HELaTS bodies would take care of that. All the coats were for was to prevent any of us receiving burns through direct contact with stray drips of liquid nitrogen. Some of us were wearing two layers, because the old clothes we had received were so worn. Oh, the frustrations of living in a resource-limited environment that relied on recycling and reuse.
We had gathered as many heavy weapons ponies as we could, and we were going to stack ourselves into and on top of the operational pods for a fifteen minute ride to the area that Briggs had found under the clockwork spider manufacturing facilities.
Death Squad Two gave us four ponies. The Royals gave us three. Death Squad One only had two survivors to offer, but they had gained valuable experience. Lander Team Two gave us another four ponies, for a total of thirteen. The Storms were remaining behind, with those with less experience or lesser arms, to guard the habitat.
Snow had managed to repair one of the damaged pods, so that gave us five operational pods between the thirteen of us. Three of the pods would carry two ponies as well as the pilot, and two would carry one pony. That way, the pilots could concentrate on driving or flying, while those atop the pods could dedicate themselves to defence. All ponies involved were now unicorns, as that was essential to being equipped with heavy weapons. As such all of them were easily able to cast a spell that would keep them firmly attached to the pod on which they were to ride.
Briggs, of course, was also accompanying us, but was quite fast enough on his own.
Another problem we had needed to solve was breathing. Our planned method of clearing the way to our attack point was to blow all obstacles away with a massive blast of nitrogen. That, of course, would make the air in the proximity of the habitat unbreathable. While HELaTS could survive for a short time without oxygen, heading off on a mission in an area that had just been purged by flushing it with a huge quantity of nitrogen did not seem to be a really good idea. As such, we had come up with three different ways to have access to that essential gas.
We had found a small supply of HELaTS space suits, much like the ones the newcomers had used in their escape from Habitat Six. Unfortunately, time had not been kind to the suits. We had salvaged the masks and tanks, which after a serious overhaul, seemed to be adequate. Each pony in the team had been given one. They fitted around our muzzles, temporarily bonding with the HELaTS armor. Likewise, the air tanks stuck to our flanks. Apparently the full suits had also included facilities for eating, drinking, and waste management.
The first fallback measure for breathable air was the pods themselves, each of which had been equipped with oxygen tanks. Failing all else, the riders could squeeze into the cab with the pilots. It would be totally impractical for combat, making it a survival measure should all else fail.
The third method of distributing oxygen was probably the most significant. As we did not wish to blast the toxic waste fuel out into the very environment for which we were fighting, Bittersweet's team had hooked up an oxygen tank to supply oxygen as an alternative thrust mass. The benefit was twofold. With the lighter thrust mass, less thrust would be generated when we fired the engines to expel the liquid nitrogen from the gap between the hull and its cradle. We really didn't want to try to lift off, after all. Secondly, it would help rebalance the nitrogen to oxygen ratio, meaning that if all went well, our masks and other emergency measures would not even be needed.
The nitrogen, which had already been pumped into the gap between the hull and its cradle, was already evaporating, chilling the lower levels of the habitat, and the hangar as it sucked the heat from them. The real action would occur when the superheated oxygen was blasted from the engines and thrusters, causing, in theory, a mass conversion of the liquid nitrogen to its gaseous form. The result would be an incredibly strong wind-storm blasting away from the habitat in all directions.
"Status, Bittersweet?" I subvocalized into my communicator.
"We are ready. Are the hangar doors sealed? Are you ready?" she asked.
"We are. Please proceed."
Earlier that day, I had taken the precaution of telling Kakuun and Princess Lunar Eclipse that there would be a significant event that could possibly be felt or heard within life-support chamber. Key people in the media had be warned, so that they would be able to calm the populace, should the need eventuate.
I was glad I had, because even with the dampening system that supported the life support chamber, something would surely have got through to them.
The noise was beyond anything I had experienced before. It made the sheer loudness, vibrations and terror of the ship's main gun incident pale to insignificance.
The engines roared at near full output, something they had never done before. Main and auxiliary thrusters blasted at maximum output. A huge quantity of liquid nitrogen explosively boiled, pushing its way out past that which was still liquid, causing a cacophony that overwhelmed our senses. The interaction of the liquids and gasses with the complex structures of the ringworld added to the vibrations as the engines fought against the structure that held the habitat in place.
It became difficult to stand, think or even breathe, and all ponies in the hangar collapsed, hugging each other in desperation. This hell went on and on, for longer than any pony could tolerate, and that was merely the beginning. Another heartbeat had passed, and we had to live through it all again.
Eventually the assault on our senses abated to intolerable, as the pool of nitrogen was exhausted, then faded to a stony silence as the engines were brought back down to their usual standby mode.
"Is it over?" a very small voice asked from very far away. After a moment, I realized that voice had been Cacha's and she was within my embrace.
"That was the scariest thing I have ever experienced," somepony said.
"After that I'm looking forward to the relative peace and quiet of battling hordes of clockwork spiders," said one the ponies from Death Squad One. Now, that really put it in to perspective.
The communicator beckoned. Bittersweet was calling.
"We appear to be alive," I answered, before she could even ask anything.
"That is reassuring. Likewise, apart from the odd gas leak, general shaking, and a spate of small system failures across the board, we also appear to have survived. We are dispatching repair teams as I speak. In the mean time, I believe it is your turn for action. The thrusters have been shut off, and will not be fired again, unless I have your express permission, Aneki."
"Noted," I said. "Thank you. Until we speak again."
To say that outside the habitat was surreal would be an understatement. The usual darkness was hiding behind a veil of mist. The lights from the pods did not penetrate very far, mostly just reflecting off the haze around us. The other pods were similarly lit, but through our own micro universes of illuminated mist, only vague glowing spheres gave their positions away. Cacha and I were sitting, back to back, atop Snow's pod, held there by adhesion and counter-inertia spells. We were rugged up in our worn and unfashionable garments to protect us from any falling drips of liquid nitrogen we might encounter. Chances were we would still get the occasional freeze-burn. At least our muzzles, throats and lungs were protected from breathing the misty remains of the nitrogen blast we had used to clear all clockwork spiders from around Habitat Eleven.
Apart from our breathing and the quiet sounds the pod made as it rolled or floated across the terrain, all we could hear were a chorus of drips as droplets of liquid nitrogen or condensation fell about us, and the click-clack of Briggs's multiple feet up ahead as he trotted along. As he was unlikely to be attacked, he was scouting ahead.
Personally, I was also being subjected to a private concert, as Snow was broadcasting spooky, ambient music directly into my mind. I wondered how long it had taken her to craft each of her pieces of music, equipped with nothing more than her mind in which to play them. Well, she was over two thousand years old so she had plenty of time to nurture the skill. Perhaps her ability was so finely tuned as a direct consequence of her brain damage. If nothing else, I knew it wasn't a skill I held. This time I let Snow keep playing it, as it did not interfere with my real auditory senses, and it was kind of relaxing.
Sensing that the light from the pod was not really helping, Snow reduced the output to a gentle glow. After a brief telepathic conversation, the pilots of the other pods did likewise.
It was not as if we had far to travel, so the inconveniences were not really an issue. The original estimate to get to our destination, directly below the clockwork spider factory, was fifteen minutes of uninterrupted travel by pod. That had assumed we would be moving at a faster pace. The mist had put the kibosh on achieving that time. If it hadn't, we were expecting encounters with clockwork spiders would do so, anyway.
As we were wearing coats, forming turrets with our inbuilt weapon systems was impractical, so we had each created two weapons, one per foreleg, and were holding them at the ready. But should we need to dismount and walk, we would need to reabsorb them or configure them as something more appropriate. All the same, we had not needed to fire a single shot since we set out. Occasionally the shadows in the mist hinted at the shape of a clockwork spider, but usually it was our imaginations. The couple of clockwork spiders we did see had been smashed apart or skewered on broken tendrils of the ringworld structure, and were mostly dead.
One that had been skewered had maintained some function in its head, and had blinked at us forlornly as we passed. I decided that stealth was more important than finishing it off, so we had continued on our way without destroying it. I almost felt bad for it, probably because of its pony shaped head. I wondered if they were made that way to cause us to feel sympathy for them, and thus lower our guard.
Up ahead, the clacking of Briggs's feet stopped.
"I've found a number of damaged but presumabbly mobile clockwork spiders," he transmitted to us. "I suggest you remain there until we can scout ahead."
All of the pods came to a stop as one, the glowing hull of each going totally dark. The ambient light that remained, combined with the glow of our eyes did little more than change the color of the haze from black to very dark grey. We may as well have shut our eyes. I looked towards Cacha, to find her glowing orbs were fixed on me. I smiled inside my mask. Okay, so there was one reason to keep my eyes open.
"Okay, Briggs," I subvocalized. "Do we have line of sight to them? Well, a direct line of fire, anyway?"
"I think so, but I will leave the final call to your judgement."
"I'll be there in a moment."
"I shall return part way and collect you."
I reabsorbed my weapons and adjusted my hooves so they were soft pads. I turned and gave Cacha a quick hug. Releasing the magic that held me in place, I slid to the floor, taking extra care to be silent. The constant dripping of condensation caused by the release of liquid nitrogen was masking any small sounds I made. If I was to think about it, I could not have chosen a better masking sound than the dozens of tiny impacts, as that was the exact sort of sound that would normally have given my position away. Moments later, the sound of Briggs feet clacking on the floor made taking care almost moot. Then again, Briggs did not need to hide.
Slowly I crept towards the sound Briggs was making – or to where I thought he was, as there was some echoing confusing my mental image. Of course, if Briggs was a unicorn, it would be easy for us to synchronize via telepathy, but he wasn't, which is why I was advancing now. Once I could see the targets, I would be able to guide the shots of the others.
While on the floor the glow from my eyes was marginally better than being in total darkness. With my nose near the floor, I was able to get a sense of what was a pace ahead of me, and that allowed me to navigate the hazards of the irregular, organic structure.
It was not long before there were clockwork spider feet right in front of me. I knew they belonged to Briggs. Why the other clockwork spiders were not moving about was puzzling. Briggs reached forward, grasped, spun and lifted me, holding me with my back to his upper torso. I hadn't been carried like this since I was a foal! As my legs were now freed from their primary duty, I again formed my weapons. It wasn't as if I couldn't have hooves and guns at the same time, but the coat was making that difficult.
"Ready?" Briggs asked me. In reality, his method of mental communication was closer to that of a comms unit than true telepathy.
"Ready," I subvocalized back. After all, the comms system was based on magic, and could be considered telepathic devices. None the less, it was nothing like the mental intimacy that came with true telepathy.
Briggs turned and headed back in the direction he had taken before, apparently unphased by the swirling mist.
"You can see clearly?" I asked.
"I can see well enough. The visual band used by both pony eyes and my original optical sensors is somewhat cloudy, but the clockwork spider's senses extend both above and below that."
It was too bad the system comms units was practically useless with transmitting video, although some of what could be transmitted was unfathomable, nausea being one such aberration.
"Can you see our glowing eyes?" I asked. "I expect so."
"Ah, yes. Perhaps you should close them until we get closer."
I did so, and that added to the surrealness of the situation. Briggs continued walking, but not for long.
"They are just ahead of us," he said. "Once you open your eyes, and transmit the targeting information, I will move to the side, so as to give the others a clear shot. Ready?"
"Is everypony ready?" I thought.
A chorus of affirmative assertions was the result.
I opened my eyes, to find I was practically on top of the huddled clockwork spiders. To my surprise, they looked vulnerable and confused. I rapidly scanned the scene, suggesting targets to each of the waiting ponies. Cacha could take the one to the left. The Death Squad One members could each of those to the right of that. Death Squad two and the Lander Team needed to wait a couple of seconds and shoot at the second row of clockwork spiders. I would shoot at anything that was still moving.
That made it all sound nice and organized, didn't it? The reality that the huddle of clockwork spiders could not be readily broken into rows – it was simply that they were all muddled together but some were further back than the others.
"Fire on my command," I thought, as Briggs suddenly leaped sideways. "Fire, fire, fire!"
They hadn't held back. In retrospect, just a couple of shots would have done enough damage to those poor, disoriented clockwork spiders. Bombarded with destructive spells, the first row exploded, the resultant shrapnel doing even more damage, parts flying in all directions. The second volley of shots found their marks on already airborne chunks of clockwork spider, blowing them to dust.
I never even got a shot off, as the combined concussions threw both Briggs and I further than our plan had allowed. He had managed to protect me from most of the flying debris by positioning himself between me and the explosion, but I could feel that I had several cuts and contusions. It wasn't a major concern, as the updated HELaTS modifiers would have the wounds fixed within moments.
"Who are the idiots that decided to use unrestricted spells?" I asked, my mental voice calm, but cold.
"That would be the two fellows from Death Squad One." Cacha replied.
"Was that wrong?" one of them, Sendo, asked. "And, technically, it isn't an unrestricted ammunition spell. It simply doesn't contain the blast within the clockwork spider's body, instead using the explosion to our advantage. Using that spell was how we survived the trip back after we were rescued. I just assumed we would be continuing to use it."
"It was... unexpected, but you may have a point. I was too conservative in my first encounter with a clockwork spider," I said.
"So were we, and look what happened to us – two dead, two dissected," Sendo said.
"I was sliced and diced, too," I said. "More importantly, was the attack a success? The explosions threw me, and from here I can't see anything for the smoke. Perhaps you would care to advance and check?"
"Will do. Trust me, they will be total wrecks. Squad Two, follow behind and cover us, just in case more show up."
At least the explosions had dissipated the mist in the area, even if it had replaced it with chokingly thick smoke. Thank goodness we were wearing the respirators we had salvaged from the spacesuits.
Something else was nagging at the back of my mind, and the after effects of the concussion wasn't helping me to think... Briggs! He hadn't said anything since the blast.
"Briggs? You are awfully quiet. You haven't joined the other clockwork spiders in destruction, have you?" I asked, trying to sound calm.
"Fortunately, no. I was able to shield you without taking any damage myself. My apologies. I should have realized Sendo and Mors would be using generalized ammunition."
"Shall we also investigate the level of our success, then?" I asked. By now, I had no doubt that we had succeeded, if only due to the fact there had been no retaliation. What we had to worry about now was the possibility of more clockwork spiders coming, attracted by the noise.
"You may as well come this way," Mors said, as he drove his pod towards the center of the carnage, followed by the two pods of Death Squad Two.
I followed on hoof, immediately tripping over what appeared to be part of a clockwork spider's leg. Visibility really was suffering because of the thick smoke. At least, with the breathing apparatus we were wearing, we were being spared from breathing it. Could I clear the smoke? Smoke was just fine particles hanging in the air – not really that different from dust. Activating the same spell I had used to clear the air, after the ship's main gun incident, I mentally swept the area. With each pass of my spell, smoke cleared, revealing the situation in tantalizing pieces.
And that was exactly what I was looking at – pieces. What's more, the closer I got to the target area, the less I was finding. The center of the blast site was clear of all debris.
"So much for those clockwork spiders," I said. "I wonder why they were behaving like they were."
"My guess is the situation overloaded their processors, to put it a crude way. They simply were not programmed to handle such a massive event – or series of events," Briggs said. "First, you hit them with the main guns, destroying many, as well as damaging the structure of the ringworld itself. Then, on top of that, you attacked from all sides of the habitat in one massive blow. I am unsure if their primary objective is to protect the structure, or to rid it of unwanted invaders. If it is the former, their actions have resulted in events contrary to their goal."
"Leaving them with no possible action but inaction if they wished to bring a stop to what seemed to be a cascading return of force," I surmised.
"Exactly."
"So, have we already won? Do we need to keep going, to push the message home, as well as rid ourselves of one actual source of the threat?"
"I honestly don't know. So far, I have been concentrating on decoding the signals needed to drive their bodies, not the neural structure that is their mind."
"If we took over the manufacturing facility, could we reprogram them to leave us alone?"
"Maybe. It would not be as easy as that, though, as they don't run simple code, as per what we use with old unicorn horns. Their minds are much more like that of a living creature, with their base programs built into their very structure, much like a pony's basic operating system is programmed into its body and mind by its DNA."
"Oh. In that case, I guess we blast them now, then sift through the pieces to learn what we can do in the future," I said. "How much further do we need to go?"
Briggs pointed upwards. "Our target is above us now. Being unable to climb between levels locally, due to the destruction caused by the ship's main guns, those clockwork spiders were as close to their base of operations as they could get."
"Then we'd better set up, and get this over as quickly as we can. I would hate to lose the opportunity. This time, however, we will use the approved ammunition spells, and set up shields to protect us from the blast."
The pods were strategically parked away from us, in such a way as to restrict access to where we were setting up. Death Squad Two were keeping watch. The rest of us gathered at the point Briggs had indicated. At my suggestion, each pony had formed a single, long barreled weapon with a base that could be rested against the ground. Although awkward, it was possible to walk while keeping the weapon deployed. Briggs directed each pony as to the optimum angle for their shot.
The ammunition spell I had given each pony was designed to penetrate through the thick multidimensional material that made up the floor of the level above us. Once it broke through the upper surface, it would expand into a sphere a couple pony lengths in diameter, and vaporize everything within that sphere. Half of that sphere would intersect with the floor, releasing a massive blast as the freed atoms reacted with each other and the gasses of the atmosphere. What was in the upper hemisphere of the disintegration zone was practically irrelevant, although I expected we would be destroying walls, machinery and probably some clockwork spiders.
I cast the shielding spell, a glowing blister forming over us, sealed around us where it met the floor. My hope was that it would allow the back-blast from the shots to flow around us without even buffeting us.
"Is everypony ready?" I asked.
A chorus of affirmatives confirmed the fact.
"Fire One!"
Cacha fired her weapon, a spurt of flame blasting back at her from above, but before it could even ruffle her mane, the flame hit the shield, fanning out, encasing us in a glowing dome. I felt the load on my horn.
"Fire Two!"
Snow blasted the ceiling, and another wave of flame washed over the dome of my spell. Yes, I could hold this.
"Fire Three!"
We had kept moving, then firing, until Briggs said we should have vaporized the entire site occupied by the clockwork spider factory. All that was left to do was investigate.
A total of two damaged clockwork spiders had approached us during the attack, both of which were promptly destroyed by Death Squad Two. Was it possible that we were winning, well, winning this battle? The war could be a different matter entirely.
When the smoke had been cleared, I noticed drips were slowly forming at many of the tiny holes our ammunition had created while boring through to the surface above. These drips were not condensation – the color was wrong – and all off the heat from our blasts had dried out and warmed the immediate area enough for condensation to be unlikely.
"Liquid from above?" I asked Briggs, waving a hoof at the ceiling.
"The clockwork spider factory wasn't anything like the word factory would call up in your mind. If anything, it had more in common with Brainstorm's tanks, or even the recycling vats of the habitat. It was made up of a honeycomb of pools, each filled with a soup of resources and modifiers, although in this situation, the tiny machines would be better described as being builders than modifiers."
"So, why would damaged clockwork spiders want to return?" I asked, thinking of the group that had been waiting here.
"I watched a damaged one immerse itself in a pond, and emerge later as if it were new."
"That was daring of you. What would have happened if you had fallen into a pool?"
"I expect the clockwork spider I inhabit would have been repaired."
"Thank goodness that didn't happen. Perhaps you should also avoid these drips... You know, I think we have been attacking these things the wrong way! I'm going to grab a sample of this stuff and take it back for the Storms to analyze. Perhaps they can reprogram them, or create a new modifier that attacks them. If we could infect the resource distribution system, we might even be able to adjust or simply remove all clockwork spider manufacturing!"
"You are hopeful," Briggs said, "but the Storms do seem to achieve the impossible often."
"Do tell, but that's a problem for later. Now, how do you suggest we go up and inspect the damage? You took a rather long way around, which we could do, although it may be uncomfortable riding on top of the pods for that distance. Could one of the carts make the journey?"
"Riding the pods would make more sense," Cacha said, "as there will be more clockwork spiders to deal with. Just because we may have stopped more being made doesn't immediately rid us of those that were already on patrol."
"I suspect the big blast did that, on this level at least," I said, "but I had not forgotten. The level up is probably crawling with them."
"Why don't you just bore a hole all the way through the ceiling, and into the next level?" Cacha asked. "It would be quicker, unexpected, and open out on an area we have blown the shit out of."
"And with any luck, all those out on patrol will come running home to help, if that's what they do," I said.
"Wouldn't that be convenient? Scary, intense, even, but convenient."
"Indeed. Okay, everypony, this time, those who can are going to cast the shield spell. Those who can't can keep a lookout. I will be the lucky pony to shoot through the ceiling!" I announced.
After consulting with Briggs as to the possible best location to add a new 'elevator shaft', I had the others, pods included, gather on the ground around me. Those that could, cast their shield spells. That was almost everypony. The effect was tangible. I climbed atop the pod which had been parked at the center of our cluster, formed my weapon, and braced it against the top of the pod.
I was planning on taking several shots with the same spell we had been using to destroy the factory. The theory was all but the last blast would be directed upwards, along the path already opened by the previous shots. Only the last shot or two, when breakthrough occurred, would we be hit with the full force of the explosions.
"Are you ready, my little ponies?" I asked. "I don't know how bad the blast will be, but be prepared to hold against something stronger than you can imagine."
A chorus of affirmatives, some hesitant, suggested they were prepared.
"Here goes!"
My first shot resulted in a back blast much like each of the shots from when we were destroying the factory. The combined shield didn't even waver.
The second shot produced a more muffled, distant explosion. That was when I realized I hadn't moved the weapon, and had fired up the exact same hole. The spell relied on penetrating material to place the sphere of destruction. I had probably just blown a hole out of the floor above the one we wished to cut through!
"Note to self," I said, "If you wish to cut through a level, you either need a new spell, or you need to create a new hole with each shot."
"How long's writing a new spell going to take?" somepony asked. "Do we drop the shield?"
"Nope. I'm going to use the second method."
With that said, I moved the weapon just enough to miss the old hole, and fired again. The result was a little shrapnel rained down on us as the blast within the second hole blew through into the first. I moved my gun and fired again, with much the same results. More of the liquid flowed down the larger hole, dripping onto the shield, before rolling off to one side or another. It was like watching balls of mercury. The drips were unable to adhere to the spell. I guess I shouldn't have expected otherwise.
With each successive shot, the trickle got larger.
It was the sixth shot when things happened. The repeated moment of tension followed by just a back blast was just beginning to take its toll on concentration. The shield shimmered, buckled, then a few layers of it burst as the monumental force of the explosion pushed down on us. I was able to hurriedly throw up my own shield as the combined shield pressed me against the top of the pod. Fortunately, the shield held.
I lay there, silent, breathing deeply as the dust settled around us, landing on the shield, then shimmying off, as it too found no purchase.
No pony else said anything either. A brief mental headcount had assured us we were all well.
Eventually, the dust had cleared enough for me to see up to the ceiling. Except for a slight inward kick at the opening, it appeared to be the full diameter of the sphere of destruction. Before that last shot, the remaining thickness must have been a mere hoof-width. Drips were now forming around the lip of the opening, as the liquid was no longer being funneled into small hole.
"So, why are you still calling yourselves the death squads?" I asked Sendo and Mors, "And what's with your names? They mean death, don't they?"
Mors shrugged. "Habit?"
"More than that," Sendo said. "To be part of a death squad was cool. We were the ultimate squads. We were allowed to kill, and no other ponies were allowed to do that. It was quite the status symbol, even if only coded ponies knew about it. And, yes, we are sorry for hunting and killing the Hellites now, but back then, we didn't know."
"But what about your personal names?" I asked again.
"Oh, Sendo, you mean?" Sendo asked. "It isn't my real name. Within the squads, instead of calling ourselves by our codes, we each picked a name associated with death, and used that."
"You are using them outside your squad now," I pointed out.
"We are, aren't we? We started doing that once we became HELaTS and moved down here. It seems that codes don't hold much sway down here. Even you, Cacha and Snow don't bother with them."
"True enough," I was about to add that those were our real names, when I remembered that Cacha's name had originally been a nickname, before I gave her a royal name that used it. Even I did not use my full real name, and the less said about it, the better.
Levitating ourselves and our equipment up the shaft we had created, to the level above, had been without incident. Emerging into the destroyed factory had elicited not so much as a single response. We had found ourselves in a bizarre landscape of mangled pipework, strewn equipment and a floor riddled with the large, hemispherical holes our spell ammunition had created when detonating. That made surface navigation rather difficult! Where two holes just touched, the resultant edge was occasionally like a razor blade. Usually the explosions were powerful enough to break them away, but some had survived. Fortunately we discovered them before anypony had stepped or driven onto them, so no HELaTS ponies needed reassembly.
There was so little of the builder soup that had been used to create and repair the clockwork spiders remaining that Briggs decided it was worth the risk of him coming up to investigate in person. We were going to offer to levitate him up when he appeared at the top of the shaft under his own power. His eight limbs made climbing quite easy. He simply pressed outwards against the walls of the shaft, then edged himself up, one leg at a time. It was scary how far a clockwork spider could reach.
After orienting himself with the somewhat changed interior of the factory, he set about taking samples, and gleaning whatever he could from the remaining machinery. Anything that could be detached, he stashed in the storage compartments of our pods.
Meanwhile, the rest of us found ourselves sitting along the enlarged opening to the facility, our attack from below having blown away the front wall. As minutes turned to hours, it became obvious we were waiting for an attack that was wasn't going to happen.
During the reprieve, I contacted Bittersweet every so often to report on our progress, or lack thereof. To ensure that we would not lose communications with those back in the control room, we had left a trail of repeaters along our route, much like a breadcrumbs from the breezie story. So far, nothing had 'eaten' them.
Eventually, when we were about to declare the mission a success, and move on, a single clockwork spider showed up. It dawdled into view, not showing the slightest interest in us. I ordered everypony to hold their fire, as I was interested to see what it would do. The most obvious thing about this clockwork spider, and what made me want to wait, was that it was different to all of the clockwork spiders we had encountered so far. It was a clockwork spider spider, as distinct from a spider-pony or spider-breezie. It wasn't particularly big either – perhaps two or three times the length of a pony if it extended its legs. It was bone colored.
"You know, that could make an interesting reference for the Storms to study," Briggs said from behind me.
"There is some old saying about not poking sticks into hornet nests," I said. "I think I've fought enough hornets for a while. He can compare breezie spiders with pony spiders if he needs a second point of reference."
"Point taken, spider left," Briggs said, indicating that even though he was just an artificial neural matrix, he still had a pony sense of humor.
The spider walked up closer to us, dodged around us, and continued into the destroyed facility. It climbed through the pits as if they were part of the normal landscape. Reaching the far wall, it reached for a small protrusion on the wall, attached itself via one of its legs. Once secured, it folded itself up as small as it could, becoming inert.
"Ha," I said. "It's come to recharge. I'm surprised we left somewhere for it to do so! I wonder what it will be like when it is done."
Briggs walked over to it and waved a leg around its head. There was no response.
"Either it trusts me – us, or it really has shut off and can't detect what's going on around it... in which case it is either very stupid, or... trusts us," Briggs said, "and please excuse me talking in circles."
"Stupid is a possibility," I agreed. "While the clockwork spiders we have fought have been capable, I don't think I would call them intelligent. They seem to be mostly reaction driven. Created as a direct response to us, they had but a single purpose – destroy us."
"And this one, by the lack of a pony-like head, appears to have been built for some other purpose which doesn't involve us."
"It isn't modeled after any kind of invader. Its appearance is similar to that of the alien Warners. Perhaps it is to the ringworld what HELaTS are to Habitat Eleven," Snow thought to us.
"In which case, we've just blown up their service center!"
"Hopefully they really can learn, assuming there is some inter-factory communications," I said. "Briggs, you discovered no more centers like this while you were searching?"
"I did not. I would expect a single center would be placed in such a way as to serve an area, monitor several elevator shafts, and so on. This was probably the only one for fifty to a hundred miles, and it just happened to be practically on top of us."
"I wonder if the Landing Craft 2H6 ponies encountered clockwork spiders from more than one factory," Snow thought.
"Unless we go hunting for more factories, we won't know," I said. "Personally, I think we should place monitors here, and watch if things change. Perhaps we could include one of Brainstorm's remotely activated turrets. Then we take what we have learned and the samples we have gathered and retreat to Habitat Eleven and watch."
"And if more clockwork spiders are made, or come from another factory?" Cacha asked.
"We've proven we are up to the task. I'm willing to bet they won't attack, going on the actions of those we found cowering one level down. Perhaps we have conquered them using logic, but in a very messy and violent way."
"Here's hoping," somepony behind us muttered.
I stared at the inert spider, wondering just how smart it was, and if what served as a brain could be communicated with via magic in a similar way I was able to program languages into other ponies or indeed breezies. No, of course not. If it worked that way, Briggs would be part of our telepathic network instead of relying on his communicator circuits. I'd have to devote some time to developing a spell that did work, some time when I had... time.
"Cacha, come with me," I said, then realized it was a redundant comment. "I'm going to have a close look at that clockwork-spider spider, and would like you guard me. That's a mouthful. Maybe we need Snow to give the new variant a name."
"Blunt spider," Snow said without further prompting. Well... it wasn't fitted with blades, so I could see her meaning. Future generations would wonder where these strange names came from.
"Blunt spider it is," I said.
I was pacing while I was thinking. As Cacha would have instinctively followed me, I had taken to circling about her, so she could remain seated.
"My vote is for more exploration," Cacha said. "I've just talked to Bittersweet, and it doesn't sound like the habitat is having any issues at all. Even if more spiders were to show up, they can always shut the doors, then call us."
We had grown tired of sitting around waiting, and were planning on moving. Where we were going had not yet been decided. While heading home always held appeal, we had become emboldened, and were prepared to push our luck. It also made good sense to keep exploring while the clockwork spider count was extremely low.
"I'm for exploring. After all, we fought long and hard to get up to this level. I want to see what they thought needed so much protection. I also want to see what's one level up as well, although we will need to find a shaft for that. I don't really want to blow another hole through the multidimensional material if I can help it," I said.
"Why not?" Cacha asked.
"It's dangerous and exhausting, and if we really have won, I don't want to antagonize any more security measures," I said. "Briggs?"
"Yes, Aneki?"
"You didn't explore what was one level above this one, did you? You haven't mentioned it, if you did."
"I did climb up to the next level briefly, just to make sure there weren't more clockwork spiders in the immediate area, but no, I did not explore beyond that. I already had a huge area to cover, and it was luck as much as anything that this factory was in the search area. If it had been a hundred, no, twenty miles away, I would still be looking."
"And while we cannot be sure there are no other factories in the area, the lack of response suggests it was the only one," I said.
"And so did that spider," Briggs said, indicating the charging outlet the machine had used to recharge itself.
"I disagree on that point. I expect this was simply the most convenient charging outlet. Other exploration suggests that there are many other charging locations available. There are certainly other power outlets, and that charging station looks no different."
"Could be. I guess it will become clearer with time."
"Going up one level is the current plan, then. What shafts are available? There's one within the firing arc of Pink E's main gun, there's the one we blocked with dead Clockwork Spiders and debris, and, presumably the somewhat more distant one Cacha and I used to return after the aforementioned became blocked. Briggs, I assume that is the one you used?"
"It is. None the less, I recommend we go for the one Pink E blocked, as it may well be clear one level up. It is also so close that even if it is impassable, we will not have wasted much time."
"And if it is blocked, we can always blast the debris. That won't be the same as cutting a new shaft," Cacha said. "And if you are too tired, Aneki, I can blast it."
"Okay. Mount up, ponies. We are going exploring. Briggs, if you would be so kind as to lead the way."
It came as no surprise that this level, one above that onto which Habitat Eleven exited, was fundamentally the same as the level below. However, it was more organized – streamlined. There were less of the random tendrils intruding on our path. Occasionally the tunnel would break away from its apparent natural flow, to continue in a more prudent direction. Something had been at work here, remodeling the automatically built structure to follow more specific plans.
We were driving towards the closest elevator shaft. With the floor as clear of interruptions as it was, levitating the pods made no sense. They used less power when riding on their wheels. Riders and drivers were as before, but now that we were free of the nitrogen mists, we had disrobed. I don't think anypony was upset about having to shed the abominations of coats we had been wearing. Now that I was naked again, I took the time to form a pair of shoulder mounted turrets with my weapon.
"I may be stating the obvious, but I can see the work of intelligence here," Cacha said, waving a hoof around.
"You too?"
"Indeed. This goes beyond the automated manufacturing we have seen before. Now that they have grown the basic structure with builder-modifiers, are they fitting out the ringworld one level at a time? Have they got down to just one level above us, resulting in all of the extra security?"
"Maybe. I agree that they are remodeling, cleaning up the chaotic nature of their modifier-grown structure, but..."
"But what?" Cacha asked
"I don't think there are many levels above us. Think about it. Ten miles up, the bridge of our habitat is free of the structure and has a clear view of the stars, of space. That means that there have to be less than ten miles of levels above us."
"Ten miles is still a long way. Years of climbing, if the one year a mile rate the Lander ponies took to climb this far is considered," Briggs said. He was walking beside the pod on which Cacha and I were riding.
"We have levitating pods to speed things up, but even so, I don't think there are anywhere near ten miles of levels above us," I said.
"How so?" Briggs asked.
"Oh, I think I just scuttled my own argument," I said, thinking of the darkened windows around the bridge. Was it really just the top of the bridge sticking through? If that was the case, why were we messing around down here. It was time to check if Bittersweet had done as I asked. "Clouds," I said. "You can't see any clouds from the skylight windows on the bridge. The bridge is higher than most if not all clouds."
I activated my communicator, hoping that with all the repeaters between us and the habitat, the signal would not be too degraded. All it would take was for one to be slightly obstructed for a significant drop in signal quality.
"Aneki?" Bittersweet asked. Perfect. She sounded like she was standing right next to me.
"Indeed," I said. "Do you remember me asking for you to organize a team to build an airlock and break out of the bridge?"
"I do, and I did," she said.
"And?" Come on Bittersweet. I know you rarely show enthusiasm, or emotion for that matter, but what's with this dramatic pause?
"They reported back to me a few hours ago. It is unsuitable as an exit. It is too cold and the air is too thin to breathe. HELaTS would be able to survive for a while, but the general population would not."
"So, it's pretty high up?" I asked.
"Apparently so. The description of the team members that exited and explored the immediate area suggests to me that a mountain has been built over the habitat. I planned to go and look myself, but was waiting for your return."
"Thank you, Bittersweet. I shall continue pushing up from here, then. We are planning to go up to the next level while we can. That we may be under a mountain will impact which shafts we investigate. I expect the one we are approaching will be either under miles of soil, or extra levels due to its proximity to the habitat."
"Good luck. Stay in touch." There was the hint of emotion in that sign-off. It was for me, personally, not just a generic greeting.
"I'll leave the channel open," I said, "If you can stand our chit-chat and bad humor."
"Perhaps you might even get me to smile," Bittersweet said, dryly.
"Well, Briggs, I have an answer for you," I said. "There may be miles of material above us here, but perhaps twenty miles from here, this level may be very near the surface. They said the air was too thin up there. It is close to optimal here."
That was an interesting thought – air pressure. At this level it was comfortable to HELaTS, and quite suitable for regular ponies too. One hundred miles down, it would be crushingly high, unless they had some way of regulating it, which clearly was occurring. Perhaps levels were isolated by some sort of force field that kept the pressures even. We could do that with magic, so perhaps it was also possible with technology. The difference in pressure between one level and the next would be so slight as to be unnoticeable. Oh, perhaps the multidimensional material the thick floor of each level was made from was responsible for the regulation. After all, the stuff was dense enough to generate a gravity field. I filed the thought away as another mystery to be solved one day.
"Would you look at that!" somepony exclaimed, pulling me from my introspection. "Pink Electricia seems to have broken the ringworld with her gun."
They were right. I looked over the side of the pod and could see what the pony was referring to. There were cracks in the multidimensional material of the floor, some quite noticeable. And being a structural engineer, cracks like those really bothered me. They were not clean, but took constant direction changes. The edges looked ragged. The material had been subject to a lot of stress. The output from the ship's main guns was scary. It was little wonder Brainstorm had insisted I destroy the gun in the lower levels before it could be fired. He was right – the moment that death squad had committed to firing the thing, they were dead. All me shooting them and causing the gun to explode had done was change the manner of their deaths, and prevent a lot of others.
"Time to levitate our pods again," I broadcast to the other ponies.
One by one, each of the pods lifted from the floor. None went particularly high as there was no need. I didn't think our weight would cause a cracked area to fall, but if one did fall, for whatever reason, it would be better if we were not driving on it!
"Welds!" somepony exclaimed. "They have been welding the cracks over here."
"Stop. I want to look," I said, releasing the spell that kept me attached to the pod. I slid to the floor, and scampered over towards where the supposed welds were. The floor felt solid, despite the cracks, probably because of the difference in mass between me and the material the floor was made of.
I soon found the weld. The material used to weld was slightly different in color and was not level with the surface of the floor, so the route of the crack was still visible. Why this crack had been welded when others around it had been left wasn't clear. I suspected it posed a greater risk to the structure and had been addressed first. What worried me was how properly the weld had been made. A mere surface weld would be inadequate.
Well, I could easily check that, couldn't I? I had experience with the multidimensional material from when I had needed to cut through it. Using the scanning spell as a base, I modified it so I could scan to a great depth, and added the ability to check atomic bonds. That part was actually part of my ammunition spell! Casting the spell, I lowered my glowing horn to the crack, and let the magic work its way into the weld itself.
Patterns. Concepts. It was almost dreamlike. If I had to describe what I experienced, I think I would fail. It was eerie, and beautiful. Fractaline – like one of those fractal patterns I had seen in old school books, but a million times more immersive.
I followed the patterns to the very bottom of the crack, along all of the myriads of tiny branches, right down to where the last atoms had been pushed apart. The welds fell short of these impossible to reach crevices, but burrowed into other, more stable areas, creating firm bonds that while not as good as the unbroken material, would offer at least ninety percent of the strength. Even though the length of weld I had scanned was small, I had learned what I sought. I did not need to worry – these welds were excellent. I dropped my spell.
"Nice of you to join us," Cacha said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You've been standing there with your head to the floor for over ten minutes."
"Oh, is that all? I think I could have enjoyed doing that for a lot longer. It was so beautiful. Anyway, the weld is good."
"I think you were the only pony that really cared," Cacha said.
"You would all care if the area collapsed. Who knows what it could bring down on our habitat if the failure was catastrophic enough. And in my defense, I am a structural engineer. I see things you could not imagine. I'm going to follow this weld, both to see how far it goes, and to find out what is making it."
"At least following it will take us in the right direction."
"Move out!" I said, taking off at a gallop. It was good to stretch my legs after being perched on top of the pod, or sitting about, as most of the day had been spent. I was soon well ahead of the pods, not that they couldn't go faster if they wished. Moments later, I heard somepony else galloping behind me. Cacha. Did I really think I was going to go anywhere without her?
It only took a couple of minutes for me to catch up to the welder, and during that time I was so busy enjoying my run that I barely had time to notice the scenery, not that it was particularly noticeable. Still going at a brisk gallop, I rounded a curve to find a number of spiders ahead of me. Most were blunt spiders, the machines we had concluded were maintenance robots. One was a clockwork spider. Oops. I slid to a stop, activating my targeting spell. I didn't fire, as this presented a unique opportunity to observe if the behavior of the clockwork spiders really had changed.
We both tensed, but other than that, neither of us made any attempt to approach the other. We stared at each other for a few moments, then the clockwork spider did something totally unexpected. It settled to the floor, folding its legs up beneath itself.
That was the clearest it could be about its intentions. It was showing that it was not going to attack. Even though we did not share a language, the clockwork spider was trying to communicate with us.
In response, I reabsorbed one of my turrets. The clockwork spider did not react. After a few moments, in which we continued to stare at each other, I reabsorbed the other turret. The clockwork spider lowered its head slightly. Okay, that was good – I hoped that was good.
I activated my communicator, selecting all members of the party. "Everypony," I said, "Stop where you are. Do not engage the clockwork spiders, unless they attack. I repeat, do not initiate hostility."
"Okay, but why not?" Cacha asked.
"Because I appear to be holding peace talks with one of them. It is non-aggressive."
"We are not far from you. We will hold position here, but if we hear anything we are coming in," Mors said.
"Actually, I'm just a few paces behind you, on hoof," Cacha said. "You didn't think you were going to leave me behind, did you?"
"What? You mean you aren't actually beside me right now?" I asked, sarcastically. "If you want to come the rest of the way, reabsorb your weapons."
Cacha slid in beside me, her hoofsteps barely audible. The clockwork spider looked at her, then at me. I nodded, but remained where I was.
As no hostilities seemed imminent, I decided to examine what I had come to see – the welding – and what a setup it was! There must have been a dozen of the blunt spiders attending to the welding machines. There were several of them, each hooked to long, winding cables that ran down an adjoining tunnel, and were presumably hooked into the power and resource feeds of the ringworld in an area that wasn't damaged.
Each machine glowed and hissed, shimmering fields surrounding them, a more concentrated version of the fields reaching down into the crack they were repairing. If I didn't know better I would have called those fields magic. Perhaps their technology really did arrive at the same place as our magic. I found a couple of things particularly interesting. The fields varied in color, probably in direct relationship to their job. The crack had actually already been welded, and could be seen in the gaps between the machines. The welds were different colors. So, that was how they were doing it! They were repairing one atomic matrix at a time. Each successive machine was making a repair to another of the matrices. By the time all machines had passed, the weld would be complete.
And it was a comparatively slow process. Then again, building the ringworld had also been a slow process. How many millennia had it taken so far? Ten millennia?
"Those blunt spiders don't mind us at all, do they?" Cacha asked.
"We are clearly not part of their functional description. They are probably programmed to merely work around us."
"Us, or any other creature that they encounter. That's good to know."
Cacha took a step towards one of the blunt spiders, to judge its reaction. There was none, but the clockwork spider was another matter. Again it tensed, partially raising itself from the floor.
"Cacha, step back now!" I said.
Fortunately, she did. The clockwork spider settled again.
"We have a guard," I said. "Instead of trying to eliminate us, this clockwork spider is prepared to leave us alone if we don't interfere with the work going on in the ringworld."
"That suggests a learned behavior, or some kind of reasoning, doesn't it," Cacha said.
"For sure. If it's a new type, I can't tell, because it looks exactly the same as the ones we've fought. In fact, it looks a little grubby, which means it probably survived our attacks."
"The last survivor? It's trying a new plan because the old one failed and now it has no backup?"
"Perhaps, but do not forget that they usually worked alone," I said, "so a lack of backup may not be of concern to it".
I took a couple of steps, my path running parallel to the works. Stopping, I looked at the clockwork spider again. It remained settled. Okay, it seemed to be happy with that. I started walking again, making sure that I did not get closer to the blunt spiders or their machinery, glancing at the clockwork spider every few paces. It seemed we understood each other – we were looking each other in the eyes. I nodded, then continued on my way.
Soon we were past the site, moving away from all of the spiders. The clockwork spider's eyes had followed our progress, but not once did it move. It seemed we had an understanding, a non-aggression pact. I could live with that. It was too bad they hadn't adopted that attitude in the first place. No ponies would have died. None of the ringworld would have been damaged. Oh, well. Fuming about it would solve nothing.
I toggled my communicator. "Okay folks, don't follow the path I took. We'll meet up ahead."
"What happened?" Briggs asked.
"The clockwork spider was prepared to let us pass if we didn't interfere with the repairs. All the same, it would be better if we don't bring the whole team and the pods through."
"I will guide the team through an alternative path," Briggs said. "We will meet you soon. Please let us know if you become lost."
"Will do. Actually I was planning on waiting at the next intersection that gives me a good view of alternate routes. See you soon."
The closer we got to elevator shaft, the deeper we went into what was clearly a construction zone. Again, Cacha and I were traveling with our team, riding on top of Snow's pod. I certainly would not have minded running the entire route, but sitting on the pod gave me a distinct advantage – I could see over a lot of the machinery and construction supplies that the spiders had spread about. Certainly, repairs were going on, but they were secondary to the construction effort. The blunt spiders were still tidying up the mess caused by the ship's main gun, and, by the looks of it, some damage from the nitrogen blast too.
There was a noticeable lack of clockwork spiders, although the occasional movement glimpsed out of the corner of my eye suggested that there was a breezie based clockwork spider dodging about, trying to stay well out of our way. Again I came to the conclusion that these things either had, or were developing, a sense of self. If we could stop killing each other it would be great.
The closer we got to the elevator shaft, the more ordered it became. Despite the damage, the equipment they were building and installing was obvious. The ceiling gradually became higher, making the level feel less cramped. The illumination also increased, the perceived environment slowly morphing from the cold grey-blues and grey-greens into ambers and hints of red. It made the area feel positively inviting.
Even though my experience with the alien technology was limited to that which I had seen in the habitat, physics remains a constant, and the equipment I was looking at bore some resemblance to the power regulation and emergency storage systems of the habitat. Some parts were very similar to the rotary converter and flywheel based energy storage system of the ship's main guns.
What were they building? Could we have been wrong about the elevator shafts? Were they really provision for gun barrels? The shafts were a hundred miles long. That would be a bit excessive! What were they trying to do – spit out slugs at the speed of light? Aiming would be impossible. Maybe I was just letting my imagination get the better of me.
What else could need that much power? Could it be the elevator system? A hundred miles was a long trip, and if it was to take a tolerable time, the elevator car would need to accelerate to quite some speed, the rate limited of course by the physiology of the occupants. What if they could locally counter the forces of the acceleration with small gravity generators? It would be possible. The size of the elevators was limited by the diameter of the shaft. Ferrying a ship-load of creatures would take forever if only a small number could fit into the elevator car at a time. Perhaps they would run several cars up the shaft together.
"Look," Cacha said, pointing upwards. "It's the shaft."
And so it was. The ceiling had become quite high by this point. It had to be at least five storeys above the ground. From our position, the hole in the floor was obscured by masses of machinery and cabling, so I hadn't noticed it. The hole in the ceiling was less obstructed. Dangling from it were guides or rails. They were twisted, probably as result of our bombardment of the area. Other than that, the hole was clear of debris or obstruction. It seemed larger than the shaft down which I had fallen.
"That's been bored out, enlarged," I said, unintentionally practicing a little tautology in my attempt to be understood.
"It will be easier to go up through it, then, won't it?"
"Should we take the whole team up with us?" I asked.
"Briggs would have trouble getting up there. It looks too smooth to climb, and he won't be able to reach all sides of the hole like he did when he climbed up the hole we made," Cacha said.
"Triad," Snow said, from below us. "Float."
"Take our team of three and levitate up there with the pods? Yes, that would work. The others might not be too keen, though," I said.
"Princess, princess."
"True. I forget that I'm the queen sometimes. Okay, everypony. We are stopping here and dismounting. Snow, Cacha and myself are going to take one pod each, and head up the shaft."
I heard a couple of groans. Apparently there were others in the party that were looking forward to exploring.
"The rest of you will remain here, on guard in case there is an attack. Seriously, though, I doubt it. Please, don't start anything. Defense only!"
"We hear you," Sendo said. "And I, for one, don't mind sitting this one out. Going where no pony has gone before can be painful."
"Do tell," I muttered, "but it hasn't stopped me yet."
With each of us enclosed in separate pods, Cacha, Snow and myself prepared to take on our next surprise. There was bound to be a surprise – there always was one. After mentally synchronizing ourselves, we began our ascent. Being inside our pods, none of use had extended our weapons, and those on the floor, while ready, had been told not to fire unless I commanded them to do so, or was killed.
I was glad I had made that order too, or a lot of needless shooting could have been the result. Our pods were only about a pony height clear of the floor when one of the blunt spiders ran at us and jumped, landing atop Cacha's pod, where it steadied itself, and held on. Cacha squeaked, but stayed in formation with us. No other clockwork spiders reacted. It must have been particularly disturbing for Cacha, because, while fully enclosed in the pods, our vision came from the pods themselves, and not our eyes. No doubt she had an excellent view of being embraced by the multiple legs.
"Hold your fire," I reaffirmed my command.
"What's it doing?" Cacha asked.
"Just sitting there," I said.
"Could it be hitching a lift?" Snow thought to us.
"Could be. Cacha's pod is on the side closest to those damaged rails."
"Should I move closer to the debris?" Cacha asked.
"Sure," I said.
Cacha adjusted her route so that as her pod rose, it would pass quite close to the twisted rails that hung from the shaft. I stole a glance downwards, and discovered two things at once – that the debris had been cleared from the shaft, so I could see as far down it as the light would allow me, and that I didn't particularly like hovering over bottomless shafts!
"Careful not to knock it off. It's a scary long way down!"
"Nearly there. Oh, it's moving," Cacha said.
"We'll stop here," I said, watching the spider as it reached for the dangling rail.
As soon as we were stationary, the blunt spider reached back to its abdomen with two legs, extruding a gleaming thread from it. As the thread lengthened, the spider carefully fused the end of it with the most sturdy section of the damaged rails. After tugging at the thread to make sure it was firmly attached, the spider took two steps forward, and off Cacha's pod, and slowly descended towards the floor below, legs spread, as the thread trailed out behind it.
We watched silently until it had reached the floor, anchored the thread, and started climbing up again.
"Well, it is a spider after all, even if it is a big one," I said.
"We are no longer needed," Cacha said.
"Opportunist," Snow said. And this time her choice of word was perfect.
We resumed our journey upwards. I directed my vision to that which was above, and watched as the dark hole in the ceiling swallowed us. I increased the light output from my pod, and soon the three of us were again alone in our bubble of light.
"Something is going on here," Cacha said. "We've already gone far enough to have passed through the solid part of this level, yet there doesn't seem to be an opening above us."
"Tube up twist," Snow said. Evidently she thought her scrambled words were adequate, so she hadn't used telepathy.
I gazed above me, and although our pods were the only, limited, source of light, I could see what she meant. The shaft was bent. We were being steered away from the habitat. That meant that whatever traveled up and down this shaft was meant to veer from the vertical. The guide rails were on what was becoming the lower surface.
What had started as a barely noticeable change in angle soon became quite distinct, and before we had traveled much further we found the shaft had become a tunnel.
"I was hoping this shaft would take us above all of these levels," Cacha muttered.
"We are still under the mountain, I think," I said. "Maybe this would be the surface if the habitat wasn't here."
"Hard," Snow said, then followed her comment up with a telepathic explanation. "We are still within the portion of the level that is made from solid multidimensional structure. It is much thicker than any of the layers we have been through before, which makes me think that we are within the final layer of the structure. I expect this tunnel will present us with a way to get to the surface sooner or later."
"We are traveling horizontally," I said.
"But the ground above isn't. It's a downward slope."
"Never mind that," Cacha said. "Things are getting interesting up ahead. The tunnel is getting wider and I can see the rails split into two sets ahead."
"You can see that?" I asked, surprised.
"I have light amplification and zoom active. I'm relying on you two to watch what's going on close by! And... there is something sitting on the right set of rails."
"I didn't know the pods had zoom or light amplification!" I said.
"They don't, but my new targeting spell does," Cacha said with a chuckle. "You aren't the only pony who can write new spells, Aneki."
"Ha. Your spells have not been approved by the administration. Cease using them immediately!" I said.
"You have to be joking," Cacha said.
"It would be a sad day if I was serious. Nonetheless, such a day may come if we have too many unicorns. Perhaps that is something you can look after in the future."
"Let's hope it never comes to that."
As we continued along the tunnel it became obvious that this was more than just part of an elevator system. Our nearest analog in Habitat Eleven would be the Mane Way. These shafts and tunnels were part of a ringworld-wide transportation system.
Where the tracks divided, we had found a long, tubular craft, a train, gripping the rails. Its design, and the incorporation of gravity generators suggested it was meant to run both horizontally and vertically. While travel along the tunnels would allow rapid semi-local transportation, taking a ride right around the ringworld would take years. If one needed to get to the other side quickly, it would be faster to take a trip to the outer hull of the ring world, a hundred miles below us, then catch a space ship to the other side of the ring. Well, it made for a nice theory, and a solid argument, even without confirmation.
And as per all transportation systems, there had to be a place where passengers could board or disembark, and there hadn't been one near Habitat Eleven.
"Do you think we can convince the blunt spiders to make us a new boarding point?" Cacha asked.
"Ramps from our hangars would be more use," I said. "We want to move a lot more than ponies and changelings. We want to move a civilization."
"I can imagine the crush at the doors."
"We can do it over decades. If the plan to hook up the habitat to the systems of the ringworld succeeds, technically we wouldn't even need to leave. Both the resource and energy shortages would be dealt with."
"So after all this, you are thinking of having ponies stay in the habitat?" Snow thought to me.
"Some may prefer to live out their lives that way," I said. "It also depends on whether the living surface of the ringworld is suitable for us."
"Oh, yes. I keep imagining it as if it were the old Equestria. We can only hope it is that lovely."
"You can still remember it after a couple thousand years?" I asked, quite sure my memory would not have the ability.
"Only vaguely. Mostly my memory has been preserved through some photographs. I have some picture books among my personal belongings, although even these present a very distorted view, with the paper and inks having degraded over the centuries. It was so vivid, so colorful. The colors inside the habitat simply do not compare. We have been living in a muted world for so long – a world where the ponies themselves are the most colorful elements, with the exception of me," Snow thought to me.
"At least you are not cream colored, like almost everything else in the habitat," I said.
"And my father is black," Cacha said. "No color at all."
"Cross whine," Snow said. So, she wasn't complaining.
"Yeah, I guess you could have ended up lime green and bright purple or something," Cacha said.
"My mane is bright purple," Snow thought to us, "although in this case I mean so bright it is almost white!"
"Snow? Did you perchance just make a pun?" I asked. The structure wasn't quite right, and it had been expressed by sending concepts to our language centers via telepathy, but there was definitely humor there.
"Up!" Snow confirmed.
Fancy that! That was quite the feat for someone with expressive aphasia.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I can see light up ahead," Cacha said.
"Tell me it's not an oncoming train," I said, glancing about. At this point of the tunnel there wasn't a lot of space to dodge. Seriously, I didn't expect it would be a train – the system was both damaged and incomplete. Nonetheless, the train we had already seen must have traveled along these rails to get to where it was.
"It's not a point light source," Cacha said. "It's more general, as if something above is lighting the area. I am at the limit of my zoom resolution though, so don't quote me on that when we get hit."
"If we get hit, I doubt any of us will be in any condition to quote you, being dead and all. I doubt even HELaTS can recover from being splattered."
"Wow," Cacha said.
The cavernous void the tunnel had opened out into was well lit, and was the source of the light Cacha had seen from a few miles further away. The lower portion of the tunnel had not changed, continuing into the giant room, the rails still at the bottom of the dished floor. At a height that matched that of the doors on the train we had seen, the floor leveled out, becoming the platform. Visually, the area was utilitarian, much like everything else we had seen down below.
Looking straight up, I saw an array of windows or skylights reminiscent of those at the top of the bridge of Habitat Eleven. They were many storeys up. Through them was streaming glorious sunlight. Sunlight. The real stuff. I partially ejected myself from the pod just to enjoy the hints of radiant warmth, something I had never felt from the sky of the habitat. With the sun fixed in the center of the ringworld, having the sun directly above would take some getting used to.
And all of the blue – a beautiful sky-blue – the habitat had got that part right. When viewed from the proper distance, namely, not from the bridge of the habitat, the semi-transparent ceiling of the ring world, now far above us, was... perfect... an infinite blue. The ceiling itself was indiscernible.
Much as she had when explaining motorcycles and trains, Snow had subjected us to a game of charades, and this time the word we got was station. Certainly, it was a word we knew, but perhaps not in this context. Snow explained that stations were the interchanges between the train and the places it stopped, and this place was most definitely one of those: a boarding point, as Cacha had recently suggested. So, a pony or other creature was meant to board a train on the outer edge of the ringworld, after disembarking from a spaceship, then travel up one of the shafts, then along the tunnels until they came to a place like this. They then disembarked, presumably with their possessions, and proceeded on hoof, foot or wing.
Stairs and ramps led from this platform to whatever was above. And that was exactly what we were interested in. While the sky above was beautiful, we could still not see the ground outside, and that was what would make or break our migration from Habitat Eleven.
"We seem to be just below the top level," Snow thought to me.
"So our destination is clear?" I joked.
"Up!" Snow said, giggling.
So up we went.
Clear of the rails, we had lowered the pods back onto the floor, and were now rolling slowly up the largest ramp. There was room enough for all three of us to travel side by side. The roof of the ramp was solid, as were the walls, so we had lost our view of the sky. Ahead was a solid looking door. That figured. Some sort of security would be wanted to stop... bugger... to stop unwanted guests like us.
"Aneki? Cacha? Snow? Are you there? Please respond," Bittersweet's desperate voice spoke into our minds. The signal was severely degraded.
"Bittersweet? What's the problem?" I asked.
"Aneki? Cacha? Snow? Are you there? Please respond," Bittersweet said again.
"Oh, shit. We're out of range," I said.
What was it with us and approaching unknown doors? It always seemed to happen – some event, some disaster, some drama. I backed the pod down the ramp while trying to reestablish contact with Bittersweet. It was not until I drove into the trench with the rails in it that I got a response. That made a lot of sense, actually, because I was now in line of sight with our last repeater, which was half a mile up the tunnel.
"Do you have some disaster there?" I asked.
"Apart from losing contact with the queen and her team, no," Bittersweet said, sounding relieved. Okay, she really had been worried. "What happened?"
"We went around a corner," I said, "and we were so enthralled with the view that we forgot to drop another repeater."
"Was that sarcasm?" Bittersweet asked.
"No. The view really is something. We can see the sky!"
"And?"
"And nothing else yet. There is a closed door between us and outside."
"I trust that won't be an issue," Bittersweet said.
"I guess not. If we can't go through it, we can go through it."
"Hi, Bittersweet. We are all fine," Cacha said, as she came up alongside me. "I've just dropped a repeater so you should be able to hear our gasps of wonderment, or curses of frustration when we get past the door. What is it with us and doors?"
"Get to it then, please!" Bittersweet said. "Even Kakoon has come down to listen in."
"Hi Aneki!" Kakoon said. "You have quite the audience in the control room. It's getting positively crowded!"
"Really? I guess I'd better take a break and have a nap then," I said, with a laugh. "Okay, I shall get back to that door."
Back to the task at hoof, we again drove up the ramp. It was a fairly shallow angle, and as such, quite long. This time we made it as far as the door before stopping. Apart from some raised sections, suggesting reinforcing, the door was featureless. The frame around it was also completely free of interruption, and that was a problem. There was no hoof scanner, button or any other visible way of opening the door.
Typical.
I ejected myself from the pod and walked towards it to examine it more closely, with the idea of cutting or blowing my way through it when I gained a response. Whatever controlled the door spoke into my mind, much the same way our hoof scanners did, bypassing language by transmitting concepts directly – pretty much the same way Snow now communicated too.
"Unexpected but recognized sapient species detected. Opening airlock door."
With the crack of separating seals, the door moved back a fraction, then retracted into the ceiling, leaving our way forward clear. The floor leveled, and at the far end of a reasonably sized chamber was another similar door. The air lock was big enough to take perhaps a hundred ponies and their belongings without getting cramped.
"Well, that was unexpectedly easy," I said. "Not that I mind."
I reached back to my pod, poking a hoof at it, and getting reabsorbed. Ugg! The angle I had activated it from hadn't been ideal, because I ended up going hoof over head as it repositioned me.
"That looked painful, Aneki," Cacha said.
"It wasn't the best method of mounting, I will admit, but I am fine."
"Did we perchance just find a loophole in their security system?" Cacha asked.
"Up!" Snow said, then adding via thought, she added "It's worked for me for the last two millennia!" She was referring to her own ability to pass through all of the security systems of Habitat Eleven as she had been registered as a test subject during the construction phase.
"Maybe they forgot to erase us from their database, or maybe it's just a catchall in the programming designed to allow future sapient species past. Let's get moving before it changes its mind," I suggested, gunning the pod forward.
As soon as we were all within the airlock, the door automatically closed behind us.
"I wonder how great the pressure differential will be," Cacha said.
"Probably no different at all," I said. "I expect this airlock is actually so they can prevent other, less intelligent or unauthorized creatures from gaining access to the sublevels, and going that it actually has seals, that probably extends to microscopic creatures such as bacteria, in the event that there is a plague or something."
"What if it tries to stop us going back down?" Cacha asked. "Oh, forget I said anything. We make a new door if we have to, don't we?"
"Of course."
The outer airlock door opened moments later, gently stirring the air at most. More noticable was the light spilling into the airlock. Beyond the open door, the ramp continued up some way before opening out, a mottled pattern of light and shadow visible on the exposed surfaces. I accelerated through the door and up to the roofless part of the ramp so I could get a better view. Above me was a canopy of gently swaying leaves from a pair of trees that were growing by the ramp.
Excited by the view, I raced the remaining distance to the top of the ramp, parking the pod as soon as I was on level ground. As soon as I ejected myself from the pod I was cocooned in a blanket of new, fresh aromas, so different to the pony smells of the habitat and lack of smells of the lower levels of the ring world. Snow and Cacha joined me on the ground.
"That smells... awesome!" Cacha enthused.
"It does, doesn't it."
Snow sent me a picture of flowers. Yes, that was apt.
I walked around the pods so I could get a good view of what was around me. Several ramps came to the surface in the general area, their exit positions suggesting different gradients had been used. Back, some way beyond the ramp we had exited, a low building stood. It was featureless, and a dark, cool grey in color. I soon realized it was the skylight above the station platform. Behind that, some miles away and off to the right, we could see the mountain that was covering Habitat Eleven. It was huge, dominating the horizon in that direction. Its top was covered in white.
"Snow!" Snow said. So, that's what the stuff looked like.
Between the station and us were various trees, shrubs and other plants, all laid out in what could only be called an organized garden. There were sunny areas, shady areas, and some that were a mixture of both. Golds and bright greens of sunlit plants, browns, greys and deep greens of shaded areas. The temperature would be comfortable for regular ponies, and the humidity was perfect.
"So far, so good. I wonder how many of the plants are edible," I said. "I'm going up for a look around."
"Good idea," Cacha said.
We each returned to our pods, choosing the partially exposed driving positions, so we could see what was around us with our own eyes, smell the wonderful scents and feel the warmth of the sun on our black hides. We levitated until we were well above the trees – until we were high enough to get an uninterrupted view of the land.
Directly below us, the area around the station had been planned and laid out in a very organized fashion. It was like a display, an example of what could be done. It was something to marvel new arrivals. Roads spread out from it in all directions, into the untamed lands beyond. There was no sign of any buildings, suggesting that apart from insects, the vegetation, and whatever equipment was responsible for planting it, and making the roads, that the place was devoid of life.
We were the first species here.
While these lands were untamed, they were not completely without thought. Some areas were devoid of trees, suggesting they would be good for crops or for villages. There were bodies of water, presumably for fishing or providing water for crops. No wonder the ramp up from the station had been so long. We hadn't been passing though just the multidimensional material, but through a depth sufficient to hold soil and bodies of water.
None of the growth looked to be particularly old either, perhaps a hundred years, give or take, I guessed.
"This place isn't open for business yet, is it?" Cacha mused. "We get first dibs."
"I wonder what the spiders will think when they try to move in and find there is a keep out sign on the door."
"They will probably be annoyed. All the same, they stole our planet, so why shouldn't we steal back the same surface area?"
"That would be fair. Unfortunately, we have lost most of our different species due to them being in the habitats that successfully left. We are also limited in what crops we can plant, unless there is an archive of seeds hidden away that I don't know about. The habitat was meant to be a colony ship, after all, so I'll get some ponies to start researching. You copy on that Bittersweet?"
"I copy," she said.
"Aneki, you still haven't told us what you are seeing. All we are getting is your wows, awesomes and gasps," Kakuun said "What's it like up there?"
I looked around again. Above me was the blue sky stretching out in all directions as far as I could see. In the distance, I could see waterways weaving their way through the landscape. Trees, plants and grasses carpeted hillocks and shallow valleys out to where they merged with the sky at the horizon. There was the faint trace of an arc running through the sky – the ring of the ringworld – and of course, directly above, the sun shone. I wasn't sure how night time would be implemented, if it was implemented at all, but like so many other things, that we would learn with time.
"Aneki?" Kakuun prompted.
"Kakuun, everybody," I said, "this time, I think we really have found Heaven!"
Who would have thought I would have resorted to writing diaries, yet here I was, years later, reading them again. When you lived for a long time, they became essential. Even with HELaTS enhanced memories, the way our brains worked ensured that memories eroded over time. Sometimes the ghosts of the memory remained, but almost all access to it was lost. It might surface as déjà vu, or something even stronger if that elusive trigger could be found.
Sometimes the memory was totally gone, and in the case of the pony who wrote the diaries that Kakuun had found, who exactly she was has been lost to time. That she was Princess Moon Glow's daughter and Princess Lunar Eclipse's younger sister was almost certain, but her name had vanished along with the covers and front pages of her writings. Yet, forgotten as she was, she would be remembered for the effect her writing had on Kakuun, and how that would affect the lives of all in the habitat. To be forgotten and remembered at the same time was sad.
And in time, I would also pass into obscurity, being nothing more than a name in some old books, a figure from history, or even someone from so long ago all relevance was lost. Admittedly, that would be some time off, as we HELaTS were proving to be quite hardy.
My first diary was showing its age now. Years of handling and sliding on and off the shelf had left its cover scuffed and fragile. If I felt like it, I could have restored it with magic, but I liked it as it was, showing its history.
Carefully I opened the cover, and started reading the first page.
The first entry I had made in the new diary was a bubbly piece of fluff about reaching the surface of the ringworld and all its beauty. It's a good thing I was the only one who got to read it. In fact, it covered several pages. The writing style varied from paragraph to paragraph as I alternated between hoof-writing and using my horn to manipulate the pen. It would be a few years before my horn writing improved to the point I was happy with it.
The second entry was better.
RW 0. Day 2. We have decided to start an new calendar to celebrate our emergence into the ringworld. Of course it only applies to those of us who have come out here, and those involved in the logistics. Mostly it is just us HELaTS. We call it the Ringworld Calendar and are using the prefix RW to distinguish it. It's about time ponies had a new calendar anyway. The numbers in old system were getting a bit long, and our dopey Habitat Eleven calendar was designed to hide our real history. What defined days and years will probably need trimming further down the line. At the moment, there is no distinction between day and night, and as the ringworld is static with respect to the star, orbital years simply don't exist.
Anyway, we have hit our first major problem. Food. While we HELaTS seem to be able to eat some of the plants growing in the ringworld, it appears regular ponies can't. We brought back samples from our first trip out there, and handed them to Storm Labs to examine. The results were not promising. Those that were not outright toxic were of no nutritional value or so foreign as to be unpalatable. It was possible they had been engineered for spiders to eat as a substitute to creatures.
One solution would be to turn everypony into HELaTS, but we really don't want to go that way. For starters, our supply of modifiers is limited to what our tiny HELaTS modifier factory can produce. We could convert hundreds of ponies a year with what was available, as distinct from the hundreds of thousands we would need to convert the population.
Turning everypony into a HELaTS also gave us the population control problem. It would not be an issue for a very long time as long as we could expand out, unopposed, into the ringworld, but what then? Would we also have to start stealing solar systems from other life forms to build ringworlds of our own?
The other solution is to plant food we can eat. Food generators will do for as long as our population remains stable, but when ponies start spreading out around the much larger space available up here, I expect there will be a population explosion. Besides, the generators only work in an artificially generated magical field.
There must be a seed bank hidden somewhere in Habitat Eleven. In the sublevels, there was the hidden warehouse that contained the ship's main gun used for practice – the gun I destroyed outside Brainstorm's Advanced Weapons Development Laboratories. Surely there must be other hidden warehouses we missed.
---
If they weren't going to eat these plants, I wondered what else the HELaTS spiders were planning on consuming. I suspected, if they were remotely civilized, it would have been food from generators. I doubted very much they would have survived against other intelligent species if they kept catching them in their webs and eating them! Yay for being herbivores.
We eventually found the seeds. They were in an unexpected location, and in an unexpected form.
Ah, here was the entry from when we found the seeds. Fortunately, it didn't take too long. After all, we had every pony and changeling in Central searching.
RW 0. Day 8. We found the seed bank, but not in the place we expected. It was hidden in one of Central's deniable facilities. In fact, it looked fairly innocuous. It was, or should I say they were a variant of the portable food generators. All we had to do was heap carbon, water and a few trace minerals into them, and they presented us with seeds, or in some cases, seedlings. The easiest source of material to put into them will be the vegetation we will have to clear to make way for our crops.
Here was another interesting entry.
RW 0. Day 15.
After some lengthy discussion with the heads of the habitat, it has been decided that for the time being, we will keep the life-extending benefits of HELaTS conversions a secret from the general population. Well, maybe not secret, as our longevity will reveal that. Perhaps unstated would be a better term. We will not be offering conversions to ponies outside of those who really need it for their dangerous lines of work, including farming, exploring, both on the surface, and within the lower levels of the ringworld, construction work, and so on. The stigma associated with being a HELaTS will work in our favor.
---
HELaTS, while now legally accepted, were still strange, hairless, black ponies. Full acceptance could still be generations away. Ponies liked their coats! Dangerous jobs were not particularly appealing to ponies who had led a soft life until now. We now considered those who expressed interest in conversion on a case by case basis.
The existing HELaTS simply kept on living they way they were used to. They educated their own offspring in their ways, and when the time came, the youngsters were offered their freedom as a regular pony, or conversion to HELaTS with the corresponding responsibilities. Our HELaTS population had doubled over the years, which was nothing compared to the general population explosion. After going through school and mingling with regular ponies, many of the foals of the HELaTS ponies elected to lead a normal life.
RW 0. Day 17. The ship Snow had sent to the ceiling of the hangar when the first clockwork spider attacked was finished today. It is big enough to carry ten ponies in relative comfort, as well as providing somewhere to sleep. It can carry ample supplies. Coupled with its inbuilt food generator, it would be possible to travel for weeks without needing to return to base. We expect to find other stations or fuel points on the surface where it could be refueled. We flew it around the hangar cautiously. It will be fantastic when we get it up onto the surface. But that is the problem. How do we get it up there? It can be disassembled for transport, but I'm thinking ahead. We need to open direct routes between the habitat and the surface of the ringworld.
Convincing the blunt spiders to cut us a new route through the levels would be the best, but getting them to understand us is going to be difficult until the techs work out how to communicate with them. For now, I have assigned a team to explore and map the tunnels between our hangars and the shafts. They are, of course, equipped to deal with any clockwork spiders that may prove hostile. All the same, I doubt we will find any, even in the areas we have not explored yet.
---
After several years we were able to create four paths to the surface, with the help of the blunt spiders. Each began at one of our hangars, and intended egress points from the life support dome. They exited at four places around the foot of Mount Eleven, which was what we ended up calling the mountain that covers our habitat. Ponies now frequently traveled between the city in the habitat and the new satellite cities and towns.
The Storms, Maisie, Briggs and his team of sapient computers were able to tweak the coding of the factories that made the spiders. The result was that the factories were now producing blunt spiders that could understand us, clockwork spiders that protected us and computers that didn't rely on modifier rewritten brains of pony corpses. The code was spread via virus to all facilities in the ringworld. Well, that was our intention. For all I knew it could still be spreading around the other side of the ringworld, or some counter had been created to it. After all, this place was huge and we occupied only a fraction of a percent of its surface area.
The original blunt spiders continued with their original programming, which suited us fine, for the most part. Direct communication was possible, but difficult. Some times they either ignored us, or simply were incapable of understanding what we were trying to tell them. Occasionally we had to persuade them to abandon a project that went against our interests. Persuasion usually amounted to blowing up what they had just created a few times.
The few original clockwork spiders, as theorized, were quite intelligent. When first made, they were merely automatons, but the longer they functioned, the greater their reasoning abilities grew. There were several, both large and small, living in our society. Mostly they worked with Briggs and the other sapient computers that had been transferred to clockwork spider bodies. They no longer tried to protect the interests of the blunt spiders, which fortunately prevented conflicts when we had to destroy their efforts.
As for Snow's ship, it was quite successful, and over the years, the design had been tweaked to make it even better. There were thousands of them in service now. Some had been lost to accidents, general wear and tear and old age, but quite a few of the first generation, including the prototype, were still in use.
Many of Snow's other designs had also been mass-produced and were in regular use.
Others had also tried their hooves at design, and there were now some competing manufacturers, but so far none had enjoyed the same success.
RW 0. Day 26. We are drawing up plans for our first surface colony. That sounds impressive, doesn't it? The reality is a little less glamorous. We need some sort of headquarters, a village, and some farms. The headquarters isn't really that essential, actually, but... a certain somepony with a penchant for palaces disagrees.
Princess Lunar Eclipse wants us to build a castle, believe it or not – a castle like the one in the old picture book of Snow's.
"The people will expect one," she had insisted.
What people? She expected the same ponies and changelings that were used to Central, in the hub below the center of the Mane Way, cramped living quarters and a forgotten royal residence would want a castle? I was not convinced.
"Visitors need a clear visual indication of where those in charge can be found," she said.
"So, build a tower," I said.
"This will be prettier. And it will have towers."
"Bah!" I said. This was a losing battle. If we wanted her to act as an interface between the creatures of Habitat Eleven and Central, she did need somewhere to do it, and her current 'throne room' left a lot to be desired. "Make sure that what you do does not make all of ponykind jealous. I wish to avoid creating a society with any more classes than it already has. We have enough problems with having changelings hidden in our midst, and with some regular ponies still turning up their noses at the HELaTS."
"All the more reason to put me on a pedestal," Princess Lunar Eclipse said. She was a HELaTS, after all, and a large one at that!
---
I never thought space faring creatures were likely to look for a castle as a point of contact, but as she kept on insisting, we built one. It was not so much a residence for her, but as a new home for Central. It looked quite regal on the outside with its spires, grand windows and balconies and all the storybook glory of the old capital of Equestria.
Inside it was quite different. It was mostly offices, meeting rooms, and all the usual infrastructure needed to run a nation. It also included a residential wing, with apartments for the dignitaries to live in if they so desired. I made sure they were similar to what we were building for the regular folk. Of course, there was nothing stopping anyone from decorating their rooms in a manner of their choosing, as long as it was at their own expense.
We built the castle on what we had arbitrarily decided was the east slope of the mountain. We based the points of our compass on the nearest approximations of the directions used in Habitat Eleven. Of course, the alignment was well out. We had been very lucky for the habitat to be captured by the construction work when it was perfectly vertical. To have had our east-west line up with the plane of the ringworld toroid would have required our original planet to have zero tilt on its axis, or for something to have moved it into perfect alignment, and that would have been an unrealistic expectation, not to mention a monumental engineering task.
And the really funny thing was that near the castle was exactly where our unexpected, off world visitors would choose to visit us.
The following entry was one I wish I had never needed to make.
RW 0. Day 167. Today we found out what the alien spiders eat. They eat other creatures. They eat ponies. One of our exploration teams failed to return, so we went looking for them. They had gone on hoof. We flew in pods. Using scanning spells, we were able to follow their trail, even from the air. Several days travel by hoof, and only and hour or two by pod, we found where they had vanished.
There were caves, trees, and webs – lots of webs strung out between trees. From the air, it was clear that the webs had been used to corral the ponies. The ponies had not merely stumbled into the web – they had been hunted and herded into it.
Equipping ourselves with our weapons and protective bubble spells, we landed the pods, and followed the trail to our fallen friends. All that remained were skin and bone. All of their flesh had been dissolved and sucked out.
That was when the spiders attacked us. Our protective bubbles prevented them gaining purchase on us, or biting us with their venom dripping fangs.
I started shooting, my shots cold and calculated. I started with the spiders that were attacking, then moved on to all others, young and old. These things had stolen our planet, and were now trying to steal our lives. Would this have been the fate of all ponies if the Warners had not assisted in the evacuation of the planet?
It took my team several hours to cleanse the caves. There were a few dozen adult spiders, which were about the size of the pony based clockwork spiders. There were also hundreds and hundreds of young, each about the size of my hoof. When we were finished, there was a lot of charred organic matter generally coating all surfaces of the caves. I kept one of the young, and samples from the adults – specifically the fangs and venom glands.
We found their stores too. They had brought food of their own, and also had equipment that appeared to be food generators, although these did not look to be in the best condition, so either they were afraid of running out of food, or enjoyed hunting for fresh food.
Probably the most sickening discovery was one of our own, still alive, wrapped in web and paralyzed by poison. We rescued her, and took her to the hospital in Habitat Ten. Brainstorm and Stormie are using spells and their regrowth tanks in an attempt to heal her. They should be able to, considering the miracles they can now work, but true success will depend on what the poison has done to the pony's brain.
---
Poor Lucy never woke from the venom, passing away within the year from complications associated with it. Even having having samples of the venom was not enough to help her. Her last gift to us was an antivenom made from the antibodies her body generated to fight it. Fortunately the antivenom was very rarely needed. With time, a synthetic vaccine was developed and given to all regular ponies.
After that encounter, we ramped up security, and limited exploration to repurposed clockwork spiders and trained HELaTS living weapons, who were immune to venom. We found several pockets of spiders hiding in caves. None had attempted to build any sort of structure, let alone a township. Was this their usual way of life? The complexity and elegance of the rail network and stations suggested otherwise. Were they early colonists?
As it turned out, we would get our answers many years later.
RW 5. Day 91. Cacha and I are both taking another turn in the conversion tanks. This time we are getting bat-pony wings. They are just too convenient to not have.
---
Well, royalty were meant to be alicorns, weren't they? Seriously, bat-winged unicorns were not alicorns. Brainstorm found that pegasi could not have horns, and unicorns could not have pegasus wings. Alicorns were different, the result of an unrelated, and very specific gene sequence. He compared my DNA with Allie's, as she was essentially a clone of me, with alicorn modifications. The programming in the modifiers generated by the bodies of HELaTS ponies also helped to unravel the code.
RW 6. Day 23. Work on Central Castle is well under way. It looks more like mud and mess than anything impressive yet. Building materials are on tap from the ringworld itself, and our own blunt spiders are doing the work. The structure will be a lot more sturdy than the buildings we first built without the assistance of blunt spiders.
RW 7. Day 84. The giant spokes between the star and the ringworld are shrinking. It appears they are no longer required. What was their purpose? Most likely they had a dual function – to hold the ringworld in place as it was built, and to serve as a conduit for the building materials gathered from the sun itself. At the rate they are shrinking, they will be gone in a year or two.
RW 8. Day 129. We have day and night. We have watched as the mass that was held above and below the sun was formed into a slowly rotating cage around it. Barely visible at first, the bars grew in thickness. At first their effect was limited to a passing drop in light level, but as they grew thicker, the shadows became darkness. We call that night. Conveniently, the night shadow moved from what we were calling east to west.
And of course, it has thrown our schedules into total chaos, as the day is about two hours longer than what we were used to.
From this day forward, the ringworld calendar shall synchronize itself with the new day length time. As we are not orbiting a planet, a year is an arbitrary measure. We have decided to reduce the number of days in a year, so that a year stays more or less the same length as we are used to. Hopefully drastically changing seasons will not mess that up.
---
The clock makers were busy for a while, adapting clocks to run slower to match the new length of day. Years are now three hundred and thirty seven days long.
RW 8. Day 183. The temperature has dropped, now that we have a period of darkness each day. It may fall further. I hope not.
---
Temperatures did stabilize in a very livable band. The tint on the sky dome faded, allowing more heat in during the day, to compensate for the period of night. Over the course of each year there were slight variations, causing changes in weather. According to Princess Lunar Eclipse, none of these changes were as drastic as used to occur on our original planet. We were not subjected to blistering heat where plants died back, or to freezing cold, where water turned to ice. Snow remained on Mount Eleven, but came no further down. The variations were never enough to warrant being called seasons.
Okay, so the sky wasn't really a dome – it was the inside of a toroid. All the same, no matter where you stood, it appeared to wrap around you like a dome.
RW 9. Day 22. Breezies have created a tiny society for themselves. Being sensitive to anything stronger than a breeze, they made their new home in the atrium of the castle. We will address expansion issues when it becomes a problem. I don't see that being any time soon.
The changelings burrowed into the mountain behind the castle, making their nest in the caves and tunnels they created. Apparently their tunnels went far enough back to hit the hull of Habitat Eleven. It's not the sort of place I would want live, but they seem very happy to be free of the restrictions of pony architecture.
Queen Kakuun also has a throne in the throne-room of the castle, along with whatever serves as a throne for each of the other royalty. Mostly the throne-room serves as a place for meet and greet with the general population when they have issues they are unable to sort out any other way, like deciding which of two arguing farmers get to keep the pear tree on their fence line.
---
Yes, even I had a spot there, as did Cacha, Allie and Princess Lunar Eclipse. There was even a tiny throne for the current breezie representative.
Mostly, discussions and meetings held there were civil. I wished I could say always but ponies will be ponies!
RW 39. Day 256. Cacha is less clingy than she used to be. It's been a gradual change, but it seems her subconscious has realized that I will never abandon her, so she can afford to let me out of her sight. I don't think I would be capable of following a pony to the total exclusion of going where I wanted or needed to go, as Cacha had been doing for many years. Well, not total exclusion – I would ask her if there was anywhere she wanted to go or anything she wanted to do. Usually she was just happy enough to stay near me.
---
And Cacha decided she was a male again, the poor confused pony. We ended our sham marriage to Brainstorm, married each other in a quiet ceremony, and raised ourselves a family.
That made it sound so easy, didn't it. She left her body as it was – female with male genes, and we used magic and cell manipulation to get pregnant. Yes, both of us, to each other. We'd raise a couple of foals, then after a few years break, have another go. Now we had children and great grand children that were the same age! The mix had been fifty-fifty, five fillies and five colts, courtesy of Cacha's male chromosomes, and plain old luck. I had carried three of those fillies, and of course, there was my oldest, Allie, bringing my total to four fillies, two colts.
Cacha was delighted to have fathered and borne colts, considering she was a member of the generation of HELaTS where all male had been born intersex.
Add in Allie's and Bittersweet's foals, and we had quite the family!
RW 51. Day 22. Today my mother died.
RW 51. Day 28. It seems my father could not live without my mother. He wilted and died in such a short amount of time.
---
Apparently I had been too upset to write anymore about these events at the time. Then again, what else did I need to write? I didn't have any regrets in my relationship with them. I didn't need to pour my heart out with lists of things I wished I had done. Sure, I missed them, but that was okay, wasn't it?
RW 56. Day 320. With the possibility of more aliens showing up, and the language barriers that would cause, a few of us unicorns worked together to make a new translation spell. It sort of worked like the spell we had developed for Snow, but in reverse. Instead of the transmitter being a unicorn, it was the receiver that worked the magic. The spell would discretely hook into the subject's mind, allowing us to understand what they were saying. It also had the advantage of not wasting our limited memory space on even more languages. Coupled with the original spell, we now had duplex.
The translation spells proved quite useful more than once. The first was this, although in retrospect we would have done fine without it on this occasion.
RW 59. Day 11. Giant black ships appeared in the sky today, casting huge shadows on our lands. Technically, the ships were on the other side of the sky, it being a physical barrier and all, not that it stopped the aliens from them coming down to the surface. They were some sort of biped, clad in powered shells and carrying impressive weaponry. And there were lots of them, so it was of some concern.
And of course, the ones Cacha and I personally approached were waiting just outside the castle, as if expecting an invitation inside. Score one, Princess Lunar Eclipse.
Fortunately for us, they didn't start their negotiations with shooting. I approached them with my own weapons hidden, and they kept theirs lowered. Dialog was entered into, and while the conversation was relatively short, it answered mysteries that had been puzzling us for millennia. They didn't even enter the castle, happy to discuss things with us right there.
The conversation went something like this:
"So, where did you come from? How did you find this ringworld? We found one of your ships docked outside the ring," the leader of the aliens said. I presume they had found Lander 2H6. "We presume it was yours – several ships strapped together as some sort of life boat."
"We came from here. This was our home before the spiders drove us away. The ship you found was from the few of our species who returned here after their habitat was destroyed on the way to its destination. The rest of us have been here all along, living in our habitat as the ringworld was built around us. Our habitat failed to launch, and no spiders ever came back to check," I explained.
"So this is your home system? Good, I will have it registered as such with headquarters. You are the first species we have found that have survived a takeover and remained at their original location."
"Unfortunately, most of the species from our planet left," I said.
"The handiwork of those kooks, the Warners, no doubt," the alien said. "They are slightly better than the other spiders in that they do not believe in killing and eating other life forms, but they do still breed like crazy."
The aliens went on to explain that they were looking for spiders, and they were looking for them with ill intent. Apparently some of their worlds had been stolen too, and they had gathered their forces and were fighting back. That was a quick way to get into my good books.
Spiders, we were told, were very much like their miniature cousins. They had dozens, even hundreds of eggs every year, and now that they were more scientifically advanced, they did everything to ensure as many of their offspring as possible survived. That included using HELaTS to make them more or less immortal. Their expansion as such, was exponential. First they had conquered their own world, then their own solar system. Soon they had discovered an ancient network of hyperspace lanes and spread to other solar systems, conquering and stealing them.
That was clearly not going to be sustainable, as there was limited space on mere planets, so they started with a long term plan, converting solar systems that could be reached along these hyperspace lanes into ringworlds, then as they became ready, thousands of years later, they and their supporting species would move to them.
At some point there were moral, political and commercial hiccups that changed their ways from war to simple stealing. They would set their system in motion, then tell the current occupants move on, because the spiders had been there first, and that their planets were going to be destroyed. That was quite believable. They had done exactly that to us, after all. The marginally more moral sections of their society provided those who were losing their worlds with enough old technology to move onto another.
As for the Warners, they were not upstanding enough to stand against the mass injustices that were being committed, instead satisfying their own guilt by giving some assistance to the victims, who were directed at the nearest solar system that was not connected to the hyperspace lanes. What awaited the displaced at the other end of their trip was unknown, as the spiders themselves had never explored them. That the ancient builders of the hyperspace lanes had not seen fit to connect to them did not bode well.
The expansion plan had worked well for thousands of years, until they tried it on a species that had a vast network of planets of its own, and their own method of traveling faster than the speed of light. The spiders stole colony worlds of this species, and that proved to be their largest strategic error. Militarizing themselves, the species set about ridding themselves of the problem, or more accurately, ridding the galaxy of spiders. The extent of the spiders' domain was bigger than expected, and the war had been going on for over a thousand years, but was nearing its end, with the military of bipeds now in the mop-up phase. And that was what they were doing here. This ringworld was one on the outer fringes of the spiders' domain, and on the opposite side to that of these aliens.
The war explained why the spiders we had found were living in caves, with limited technology. We were not seeing any spider colonists. Those we had found were refugees, fleeing to an unfinished ringworld in a desperate attempt to escape those who were exterminating them.
While we had eradicated any that encroached on the lands we had claimed, the bipedal aliens were going to sweep the entire ringworld until they found and killed the rest. They had the technology required to rapidly search the huge area of land.
What amused me with this encounter was that the aliens had translators of their own. The principle of their operation was similar, but based on technology, rather than magic. Those communicators could prove useful for those not endowed with the universal unicorn tool, a horn. We negotiated with them to gain the technology. That we wanted a method to communicate and not weapons appeared to impress them.
They were also relieved to hear that there were only a few thousand HELaTS ponies, reserved for dangerous work, and that most ponies were living a natural life. That we could only have a single child per year was also good news to them, as we would never become a galactic plague like the spiders. When all was said and done, I think we had gained an ally.
---
We occasionally get visits from these aliens. Sometimes we share technological discoveries, but mostly they leave us alone as it is clear we are quite capable of surviving without their good will or charity.
We even got to meet them outside of their hard shells. They have four limbs, but walk only on their rear legs. Their front legs have fingers but apparently they are born that way. And they are as multicolored as we are!
They still don't understand magic.
RW 67. Day 22. Time Travel. Now there's an interesting subject. We found out why the ancients that had tried to use time travel to head off the spiders had failed. Simply put, you can't go back and alter the past. Sure, you can go back, but in doing so you become part of that past. It is as if you had always been there, as part of that past. Why didn't we already know that? How come we didn't have ponies from the future constantly dropping by, telling us about what was to come?
I suspect the answer is that those who tried it once realized its futility and abandoned all future excursions. Oh, and I met this funny fellow called Swirling Star the Bearded, or something like that, when I went back to see what had happened way, way in our past. Unlike other ponies attempts, I had merely gone to observe. I had no intention of trying to change history, because by then I already knew it wasn't possible.
What I did learn was interesting. The spiders had probably lied to us. I was not able to find any evidence that they had ever visited our planet to check for existing life forms. Color me surprised – not.
---
Had ponies from the future ever visited me? I didn't know. If they had, they had not told me they were from the future.
Time travel had a much more useful application, and it had nothing to do with trying to change or even visit the past. We were using it in spaceship engines.
Hoping to find the other habitats, we had explored many different methods of space travel. So far this was the most promising. There were no hyperspace lanes in the direction which the habitats had gone. Slower than light speed travel would require a generation ship, or a habitat, to make the journey. No pony was interested in taking that approach. Searching would take too long. We needed something that was so fast it was practically instant.
Light speed drives had successfully been developed. It would take many years to travel the required distance using them, so they, by themselves, were not the solution. They did have one very exploitable trait though – they slowed time for the travelers. So, by reaching the speed of light, we could do away with generation ships. A single crew could make the trip in what seemed to them to be only a few minutes to a few hours, most of the spent time being during acceleration and deceleration. Gravity technology allowed us to create inertial dampers, much like those used in the trains that moved between the outer and inner surfaces of the ringworld.
The problem was that while the crew did not feel the passing of time, the rest of the universe did, so they would still arrive at their destination after many years.
And that was where time travel came it. The spaceship would make thousands of tiny trips into the past as it went, each trip to a time immediately after its last jump. As such, it would reach its destination moments after it had begun its trip.
Well, that was the theory, anyway. They were still assembling the prototype.
The time travel spell itself had been proven, and tested with much experimentation. Unlike the old spell we had found, this spell did not whisk you back to your own time after a short visit to the past. In fact, it worked in a completely different way.
It was a two part spell. The first part was cast, creating an anchor in space-time. The second part returned everything within its field of influence back to the time the anchor was placed, but not to the physical location. The anchor spell had a sphere of influence as well, and the further you got from it, in either space or time, the weaker its influence became. If you got too far away, it became lost. To an observer, it seemed to fade with time, which I guess it did, from their point of view, yet it remained as strong as ever at the point in space-time as when it was placed. Experiments with parallel spells and multiple paths had allowed us to return to one of these lost anchors, where, as expected, it was as strong as when it was cast.
As the influence of the anchor spell was in three dimensions, there was a cubic relationship between the energy required and the effective distance one could travel in it, as travel was only in a single dimension. As such, we were casting the anchor spell just big enough for the ship to pass about twice its length before casting the second, return-spell to recover the spent time.
Once a return-spell was used, that anchor was lost. Traveling backwards in time with this method was impossible, however if one cast two anchors in a short time apart, one could jump back to the earlier anchor by completing its spell first, then jump forward to the other.
We thought about casting anchors to allow us to return to earlier times for purposes other than that of the ship engine, but realized something very important – We knew we couldn't change the past – by returning we simply would become part of the past as it already was.
And that brings us to today, RW 114. Day 148. More to the point, the reading of and reflection on my diary had just been interrupted by one of the aides coming in and telling me that there was a giant ship in the sky, slowly approaching from the east.
"Inside the skydome?" I asked. We hadn't had a large ship approach us from inside before. I was not aware of any way for a ship to get into the ringworld, short of being built within its confines. The biped visitors had never mentioned finding any other species, so I wondered where the ship could have come from. Was it one of theirs? Could they have teleported the entire ship through the barrier of the sky?
"Thank you. Mobilize the defenses," I said. "I shall go out and investigate. Cacha, are you coming?"
"Rhetorical question, my dear," Cacha said. Of course it was. Even with Cacha being less clingy, we still did almost everything together.
We hurried from our private rooms, through the throne room, grand hall, through the ornate front doors, and out into the forecourt. As soon as I had a clear view of the sky, I began searching for the ship. Perhaps a balcony would have afforded a better vantage point. Nonetheless, I soon spotted the ship.
Sure, it was large, but it would have been dwarfed by the sky-filling battleships of the bipeds. If it had been outside the sky dome, it would have been little more than a speck to the naked eyes.
Using the targeting spell Cacha had developed, I zoomed in on the flying object, and was very surprised that its appearance was of similar styling to that of our castle. It consisted of three lesser hulls in a triangular configuration around a central, somewhat more substantial hull. The lesser hulls were each linked to the central hull by substantial fins. The main portions of the hulls were white, with the noses being purple with gold detailing. It was clearly being held up there without the assistance of wings, so either it had magical or technology based antigravity capacity.
"Weird," Cacha said. "Has someone been studying our picture books?"
"I suspect they have. You realize that what that means, don't you?"
"It's a pony built skyship," Cacha said, "and that may mean that we are not the only ponies living in the ringworld."
"That's not what I was thinking. If they were from the ringworld, why didn't the bipeds mention them to us?" I asked.
"That is a good point."
"I think they have come from somewhere else, and are searching the ringworld for us," I said.
I turned to one of the aides that had followed us out. "If they are not already doing so, please have the other royalty prepare themselves to receive guests."
"Right away, your highness," the aide answered, galloping away. I would have preferred them to call me by my name...
I knew some alicorns who would like enough time to put on their regalia, and Kakuun would need fetching from her nest.
The skyship slowed, losing altitude as it approached the castle. I wondered if it was going to land as it was, or if it would turn its bow towards the sky, and reverse down to the ground. If it did that, it would really look like a castle itself. I also wondered what it was planning to land on. We hadn't included a skyship landing pad in the our designs. The most we had allowed for was a few of Snow's fliers.
It didn't land. Instead, it just hovered above us.
Around me, the other HELaTS that were on security duty gathered, looking at the ship. There were about a dozen of us. While we were used to seeing Snow's fliers or pods hovering above us, this was something we had not experienced before. A few extended their HELaTS head armor, but none formed weapons, as I had not done so.
A portal opened in the side of the building sized craft above us, and a team of armored, winged ponies galloped out, pulling a golden chariot. It really looked bizarre. None of the few pegasi I knew galloped in the air. There was simply no point!
"They are all a bit fancy, aren't they?" I said as more pegasi in golden armor followed the chariot out of the skyship.
"It must be an alicorn princess or someone with similar tastes," Cacha said. "Way too glitzy for me!"
I had to agree with that. Neither Cacha or myself wore much in the way of regalia. Occasionally we'd put on a crown or tiara when we were on the throne, but that was all. When I was out and about, I either went au naturel, or wore the same sort of clothing as regular ponies. Princess Kakuun had a tiny black crown, relying mostly on her physical differences as a changeling queen. The alicorns, however, both liked dressing up, Lunar Eclipse because she was raised that way, and Allie because she enjoyed a little rivalry with Lunar Eclipse.
The pegasi and the golden chariot they were pulling spiraled around us several times as they flew lower, eventually coming to a stop between us and the doors to the castle. Indeed, the passengers were both alicorns, one white, and the other dark purple, both dressed in a manner similar to our own alicorns. Both also had flowing, glittering hair. Their guards either landed around the chariot or remained in the air above the royal ponies in the chariot.
Really? It couldn't be? But it had to be! These were the oldest alicorns. Princess Lunar Eclipse had described them to us on many occasions.
Seeing as how they were between me and my castle, I walked around the front of the chariot and the team, positioning myself between the newcomers and the castle entrance. The princesses watched my progress with raised eyebrows. Cacha was, of course, beside me.
"Welcome to Mount Eleven," I said.
"Have no fear, ponies. We come in peace," the white pony said. She spoke in yet another variation of Ancient. My translation spells had no trouble compensating for the differences in language.
"And we are peaceful," I said. If they hadn't come in peace, we would have already been shooting.
"Could you please direct us to your nearest princess?" the white pony asked. I had a good view of the underside of her chin, a problem I now also had with my own daughter and her towering stature.
"Sure," I said. "She's standing right beside me. This is Princess Cacha, and I am Queen Aneki."
"Be a good girl and tell me where your alicorns are please," the white alicorn said. Her attitude came across as that of a mother dealing with cheeky children. It was true that my one hundred and forty something years of age were insignificant when compared to the millennia she had lived. I guess she simply wasn't familiar with the concept of a non-alicorn ruler.
"They are in the castle, obviously," I said, jerking a hoof in the general direction. "Come, Princess Cacha. It seems we are in the way of the elite."
"I am so looking forward to seeing my daughter and granddaughter again," the deep purple alicorn said to her sister, ignoring the jibe.
I was no longer part of the conversation, but that did not stop me from speaking.
"Don't get your hopes up," I said.
"How so?" The attention of both sisters was once again on me.
"Your daughter, Princess Moon Glow died more than half a millennium ago," I said.
"How?" the purple alicorn asked.
"Prisoner of war," I said. "Details are sketchy, as most of our records have been lost."
"Oh," the purple alicorn said. "After so long, I was looking forward to being with her again."
"You appear to know who we are," the white alicorn said.
"Celestia and Luna. Yes," I said, not bothering with any formalities, as was my habit. "Eclipse is in the throne room waiting, or will be shortly, although at this point, I doubt she knows she is about to be visited by her grandmother."
"Your familiarity with royalty will not be tolerated," one of the guard ponies said, stepping towards me. He was a classic story-book guard, in golden armor and brandishing a spear. He was a pegasus, and not even a HELaTS. He was currently pointing the spear in my direction.
Many HELaTS hooves around me rose to the ready, pointed directly at him. The message was clear, even though their weapons did not appear.
"You are my guests. If you wish the situation to remain cordial, I suggest you go back to guarding your princesses," I said. "Although you may not realize it, the ponies gathered around me are the elite soldiers of our settlement, and the royal guard, and all of us are extremely well armed."
"Sentry, remain silent, and return to the ship," Princess Celestia ordered.
The sentry immediately took flight, leaving us.
"I apologize. He was warned that the culture may be different here, and that for that outbreak he will be disciplined later," Princess Celestia said.
"Are you not HELaTS maintenance ponies?" Princess Luna asked.
I shook my head. "No, we are not maintenance ponies. We are combat specialists, and are much more advanced than what you call HELaTS. Now, if you would be so kind, further discussion can wait until we are all in the throne room. This way please."
"As you wish."
This time, I took the lead, Cacha beside me, and my security team behind me, and skirting the princesses and their guard.
I heard quiet chattering between the two princesses as they followed us through the grand hall. Mostly they were commenting on the high number of HELaTS present in the scenes pictured in the stained glass windows. The windows weren't my idea, and I was in too many of them for my liking, but according to Eclipse, if I didn't want to be in them, I needed to stop being such a significant part of our history.
As we entered the throne room, the security team separated from us, taking positions around the walls.
The other princesses were all on their thrones, Kakuun to the left of the large, central throne, in her odd-looking, black affair, and Lunar Eclipse and Allie to the right in more traditional thrones. The tiny breezie throne was immediately to the left of the main throne, directly attached to it.
As for those present, technically speaking, Allie was the lowest rank among the princesses, and Cacha's title was merely a formality. What power she had was directly through me. The breezie representative's power was limited to that of her own tiny kingdom, although we always considered her needs and listened to her requests.
"Allow me to present Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna, formerly of Equestria, part of our long lost home planet," I said as they entered behind me. I heard Lunar Eclipse gasp. "Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, allow me to introduce our court, Princess Kakuun, our ruling changeling queen, Queenie Breezie, the breezie representative, Princess Lunar Eclipse, as you well know, and Princess Allie, the queen's firstborn."
"Your central throne is empty," Princess Celestia said. "Is there another yet to arrive? The queen perhaps?"
"That would be my throne," I said, climbing the few stairs of the dais, and sitting on it. Cacha settled beside me, between me and Queenie Breezie. I opened a hidden compartment in the arm and pulled out my crown, levitating it into position on my head. Cacha did likewise with her tiara. The crown was a simple affair, more a representative token than royal jewelry. Fittingly, it was made of the same multidimensional material as the habitat and the ringworld.
"So, outside, you were not joking when you said...?" Princess Celestia asked.
"That I was the queen? No, I wasn't joking."
"That's unusual for you," Princess Lunar Eclipse said, chuckling. She turned to the visiting princesses. "She usually prefers to remain anonymous, revealing herself at the most awkward time."
"She really is the queen – the ruler?" Princess Celestia asked, not quite sure if she should be believing what she was hearing.
"She is, and a fitting one at that. If it were not for her, the effects of the war would still be lingering, if the habitat's failing systems hadn't already killed us."
"My sincerest apologies. It seems I have been discourteous," Princess Celestia said.
"These things happen. I'm not much of a royal example," I said.
"Maybe she isn't a royal example, but she is the perfect example of what royalty should aspire to be. She is selfless, and a true leader. She's our warrior queen," Princess Lunar Eclipse said.
I found the praise to be quite embarrassing! It was no wonder I preferred to stay anonymous!
After that, we moved to a more comfortable, less formal room, where we could swap tales and chat about what each party had been doing for the last two millennia.
I could repeat what they shared with us, but really, that's another story, isn't it?
This is where H'ven Sent started. At the time I was not really into My Little Pony, but then, back at the beginning of 1997, My Little Pony was a very different show/toy. My interest in My Little Pony came about one year later, when I bought my first pony at a garage sale. I was, however, into real live miniature ponies. I bought my first while I was writing this.
I never finished this story as it was, although after reading H'ven Sent, the outcome of this should not be too hard to work out.
The Pony Chronicles.
Generation One
There was history and there were legends, and telling them apart was usually fairly easy despite the time that passed, each year eroding belief. Some legends were obviously just that, while others were more difficult to discredit. Some where downright impossible.
Ilinga Bright Star or Brighty as he was called, was an intelligent pony and figured he had a fairly good grasp on the difference between fact and fiction.
For example, that there had once been a pony called Ilinga Swift Traveler, and that he had discovered the scripts and begun to decipher them was a story that definitely had a high degree of truth to it. The scripts existed and Brighty himself was studying them. More of the scripts were being understood all the time. Ilinga Swift Traveler was also an ancestor of his, thus Brighty's right to study the scripts.
On the other hand, Swift Traveler's ability to leap the length of the library in a single jump was obviously a legend. No pony could do that. Of course Swift Traveler had been dead for generations, so no one could ask him how the legend started.
Another factor that could separate legend from fact was writing. Until very recently, all pony history was passed down from parent to child, as was the case with the legend of Ilinga Swift Traveler. A select few who had studied the scripts were also applying the skills they had learned in deciphering them to recording more significant current events in the pony society. How was it that pony society had forgotten how to write?
Ironically a lot of these recent recordings were about the changes the scripts were causing in pony society. Some ponies adopted the writings without a second thought. They were becoming capitalistic, involving themselves in trade and commerce at levels never before seen. Some were even branching into manufacturing. Admittedly, these manufactured goods were mostly simple adornments for the fashion conscious pony, though some were really useful tools, like brushes.
Medicines had also improved, as had medical techniques, even though the scripts sometimes were obviously referring to anatomy somewhat different to theirs.
The other events worthy of recording were the political changes, and the dividing of the ponies into separate factions, those in favor of the continued studying of the scripts and the employment of the knowledge gained, those totally against the scripts and all they told of, and the third group who really didn't care about the scripts, but were totally against the hostilities between the other two factions.
Some of what Brighty had deciphered in the scripts today was frightening. If it were true, then life was very different to what they believed. Such findings would further divide society. If the conservatives had their way, he could be cast out into the badlands.
Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he walked from the halls where the scripts were kept, and out onto the grassy planes that surrounded them. Pausing for a moment, he tore a mouthful of the succulent growth and chewed it. Good food, fresh water and somewhere to run. These were the things a pony really needed, but increasingly, ponies wanted more.
A wonderful mare or two were always good to have too, and Brighty could see his mare now, trotting across the library grounds towards him, her chestnut coat burnished copper, her mane and tail paler, glittering in the evening sunlight.
Marble Sky Dancer had run with him from when he was a yearling, and they had studied together for years. They now had foals of their own, a three year old, Ilinga Sun Fire, a glowing chestnut filly like her dam, and Ilinga Midnight Winds, a handsome yearling, black like his father, but without the white star on his forehead.
Their small family herd usually grazed around the library, a privilege that was limited to those who studied there, or away in the hills and valleys they called their own. Midnight Winds, Windy, continued to run with them, but Sun Fire was running with a young stallion her own age now.
"You seem troubled," Dancer observed after they had touched noses. With her teeth she began to scratch Brighty behind his left ear, something he enjoyed immensely. It helped him to relax.
"Puzzled would perhaps be closer to the truth," he stated. "Over the last few days, the scripts have not been making much sense. The words are words with which we are familiar, yet what they say is bizarre."
"In what way?" Dancer enquired through a mouth full of hair.
"Describe the sun, moon and stars to me," Brighty requested.
Dancer stopped scratching Brighty, giving him a puzzled look. Everyone knew about the sun, moon and stars. It was one of the oldest legends of all.
"Well..," she began, "The heavens are a big sphere on which the stars and sun hang, and around which many horses pull the moon on invisible tracks. The earth is another sphere rotating within the sphere of the heavens, held there by the north and south poles, part of the Great Axle of the universe."
"Why have we never seen the tracks of the moon, or the Great Axle?" Brighty prompted.
Dancer answered without hesitation "Because the tracks of the moon are too far away for us to see. The north and south poles of the Great Axle are hidden from us by the curvature of the earth, and are surrounded by great oceans we are unable to cross."
"Come," said Brighty. "Let us go to the hills."
"What of Windy?"
"He is old enough to look after himself for a little while," Brighty stated," Let him run with his friends for a few days." With that said, he trotted off, heading in the direction of the secluded valleys they claimed as their own.
When Brighty had first chosen the two valleys as his retreat, he had done so with care. They were not too far from the library – two hours at a pleasant trot, or quicker if one was prepared to gallop. The first was easy to enter, just by following the creek up into it, a gentle hill lightly wooded and yielding good grass to the right, and a somewhat steeper climb to the left, mostly covered in more dense trees and brush.
It was up this steep slope he now climbed, Dancer following close behind, and like him, placing her feet on stones and tussocks of grass so that she would leave no track. Soon they were over the ridge and climbing down the almost cliff-like wall of the second valley. This valley was their private place, where they came if they wanted solitude, or needed to hide from other ponies or predators.
It sported a small flat with enough grass and shrubs to feed them and their family, a fast flowing creek providing sweet tasting water and some caves to provide shelter from storms and inquisitive eyes. At both ends of the flat, the cliff-like walls closed in on the creek, preventing anyone from walking through. That could also work against them, trapping them, but they knew if they were desperate, they could always leap into the creek and let it carry them beyond the walls.
Ir they had to do that, they knew the the creek opened out into another valley a little further down, curving a little such that the current should take them to the bank.
Finally stopping near some of the silt deposited on the bank of the creek when it had been running a little higher, Brighty addressed Dancer again.
"What's beyond the heavens? Beyond the sphere?" he asked.
Dancer stared at him, totally confused. How could anything be beyond the heavens?
"What if I told you the sun was a big ball of light like this?" He drew a circle in the sand with his hoof. "And around it circled another ball, this time one made of soil," He added a planet and the path of its orbit to his diagram. "And that ball of soil was called Earth."
Dancer's eyes were wide open, staring at the bizarre concept. After a few moments she muttered "There is no moon."
"It orbits the ball of soil in the same way that the ball of soil orbits the sun," He added that to his picture as well. "And the stars are just other suns, a long, long way away where they appear very small to us because of the distance."
"That would mean there could be more balls of dirt - more earths," Dancer concluded.
"It could, though they are so far away we cannot see them."
"Why wouldn't the moon just fly away if it had no tracks to keep it there. Why would the earth keep circling the sun?"
"Gravity. It holds the moon to the earth, and the earth to the sun," Brighty explained.
"Then why doesn't the moon fall on the earth?" Dancer asked, wondering how Brighty could explain such a major flaw in this theory.
He looked around until he found a long stemmed grass, uprooting it. He carried it back to where Dancer stood watching.
"The little ball of dirt where the roots are is the earth. I am the sun. Now watch," With the tip of the grass clamped firmly between his teeth, he began to swing the grass around his head. The little ball of dirt remained at the end of the taught grass stem as it whirled around. He released it and it arced away from him, bouncing off the soft grass of the flat.
"By spinning around the earth, the moon is able to keep from falling, just the way the roots of the grass stayed away from my head. Instead of the stem, gravity keeps the moon from flying away," Brighty explained.
"Do you believe this?" Dancer asked.
"There were many formula presented, and the diagrams where clear, once I had deciphered the words. It may be possible," he answered. "Could you believe?"
"No," She gazed at him sadly. "Though I can see why you were worried. This sort of... tale... could give those who oppose the library and the studying of the scripts the leverage they need to close it down for heresy and have the scripts destroyed."
"Would they really be that foolish?" Brighty asked. "Of course they would," he answered himself.
"Although, if the scripts contains such lies, would it not be for the better?" Dancer asked.
"The scripts have never been proven wrong so far," Brighty answered, though he knew in his heart that the scripts had never addressed anything quite so fundamental before either.
Generation Two
Ilinga Bittersweet flexed his hoof, watching the sun glint off the finely honed blade attached to it. Marble Sky Dancer, his dam was shocked that he could create, or even consider such a weapon. Ilinga Bright Star, his sire wasn't that pleased either, but made no comment. He had helped Bittersweet to attach it, silently, expressing neither enthusiasm or condemnation. While he didn't like it, Bright Star realized he was at least partially responsible for the situation.
The three were living in exile, and had been for as long as Bittersweet could remember. One black son, born in exile, bringing joy during his mother's grief.
There was some story about Ilinga's folly, about scripts that told lies about the universe, and about the unfortunate pony who told others about them.
So now the Ilingas were paying for it. More specifically, this branch of the family was paying for it. Zealots were out hunting them again, determined to rid themselves of the evil scholar who would spread lies about all that was sacred.
Bittersweet could see them now, three of them, below him, working their way between the trees on the slope up to the cliffs above his sire's hidden valley. Like these, others had come before, and had been repelled, but at a cost. Brighty's injuries had never fully healed. He could still move about his valley and up and down the cliffs, but in a fight he would surely die.
So that left Bittersweet. And his weapon. He backed slowly, remaining out of the attackers' sight as they passed below his hiding spot. As the final pony went past, Bittersweet leapt forward, dropping onto the pony from above. Three to one. He needed all the advantage he could gain.
The impact knocked the pony forward, and off balance, the blade drawing some blood. Before the pony could recover, Bittersweet rushed forward and struck again, the blade slicing through grey hide all the way to bone. Blood spurted over Bittersweet's legs, to him its odor repulsive yet exciting.
Screaming, the grey pivoted, attempting to dodge his attacker, attempting to position himself so he could strike back at the fast moving black devil.
Bittersweet was already rearing, bringing down his hooves on the grey. Hooves that flashed silver and brought pain like fire. Blood issued forth from the great opening down the side of the grey's neck, as he staggered then fell to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief. The black devil had the flash of lightning, the pain of fire at his hoof-tips.
Bittersweet rushed past, eyes fixed on the next intruder, remaining silent when the other trumpeted his challenge. The grey was out of the fight now, Bittersweet knew, but still there were two of them, and he no longer had the advantage of surprise. He would have to rely his speed and cunning, and on the advantage of the blade. He couldn't afford to waste energy on screaming his defiance.
Now, while he was behind the remaining zealots, he was also below them, a definite disadvantage. He would strike at them, taunt them, then try to lure them to somewhere they could fight on at least even terms. Perhaps, if the opportunity arose, he would slip away from them, so he could both rest, and move to another position that gave him the advantage, but that was for later. Bittersweet felt his energy surging through him. He was young, strong and this battle had only just begun.
The other ponies spun on their hind legs and rushed him. Rearing, he lashed at the first, the pinto and apparent leader, before spinning himself and sprinting a few strides, leaping onto a protruding rock. From there he had an advantage, though small, and he stood there in defiance, awaiting the zealots' next moves.
The strange, running, dodging fight lasted until late afternoon, the sun sinking low. Bittersweet's flanks heaved with exhaustion, and the cuts, bruises and bites on his hide stung and ached, but he had won, so, unless anyone else suddenly attacked, there was nothing to concern him.
The grey lay beyond the mouth of the outer valley, dead, where he had collapsed of blood loss while trying to escape. Bittersweet had ignored him as he had limped past during the fight.
The bay had fallen to his death from the hazardous tracks that ran along the cliff tops in the next valley, helped of course by a stunning blow from Bittersweet's hoof.
The Pinto had run, bleeding and almost blind, a cut from the blade across his eyes. Bittersweet had watched him go, stumbling, staggering to his feet, galloping blindly only to fall again, rolling, struggling, then back on his feet and off again.
Bittersweet figured the pinto might return if he survived his headlong dash, though it would not be for a considerable time. All the same, whether he returned or not was almost irrelevant because others would surely come.
Bittersweet slowly walked off towards the stream to wash the blood from his coat. It had been a most exciting day. It made a change from the loneliness of his sire's hidden valley, and the monotony of endlessly learning from the scripts Bright Star had carefully drawn for him to study. Sure it was the right of an Ilinga to study the scripts, but it was also the right of all ponies to be able to run free and search for a mate, and so far he had been denied the latter.
He sighed. Ponies wanted too much.
Several days had passed since the fight, and Bittersweet's wounds were healing nicely. They weren't much, not the sort of thing that would hinder him if he had to fight again. Dancer and Brighty weren't at all pleased he had to kill. It hardens one's heart Dancer insisted.
Bittersweet had to agree with that, because now he stood looking at the body of another pony without really feeling anything. In this situation, most other ponies would have run, scared of the death before them.
Of course the ponies Bittersweet had been fighting only days before were not the first ponies he had killed. Others had come to kill Bright Star and Sky Dancer, even to kill him, so those who had died had not been innocent. Nonetheless, each killing took away a little of Bittersweet's soul.
He took another step towards the body before him. A pale buckskin, and fairly dainty. A filly? He wandered closer, and saw that her legs and neck were tangled in some sort of snare, most likely made by one of the predators that lived beyond the outer rim of the areas the ponies had secured, in the so called badlands. They usually weren't a problem, but occasionally one of the evil creatures would come in hoping to catch a pony to eat. This one must have been daring to have come this far into pony lands.
Bittersweet was about to turn and walk away when he heard the faintest sound, almost like a voiceless whinny. Staring around, he searched the horizon for other ponies and saw none. That left only the body, so he walked up close to examine it. It definitely was a filly, a pretty one too, with a pale, fawnish grey coat highlighted by chocolate points. There was no smell of death. As Bittersweet watched, he saw the flicker of her eyelids. She was alive! Alive, but barely, with the snare wrapped around her neck, cutting off her breath.
If it had been any pony other than Bittersweet that had discovered her, she would most likely have died, but Bittersweet had his weapon, and realized that the hated blade could not only be used to take life, but to save it.
With the greatest of care, he cut the transparent threads of the snare, one after the other until the filly lay there, free of her bonds, and while her breathing was stronger, she had no strength to do anything else.
Bittersweet contemplated what to do. Two ponies working together would have been able to fashion a stretcher on which to lay her and take her to safety. By himself, he could not. Going to find another pony would leave her exposed to the carnivores and scavengers, so that was not an option either.
Instead, Bittersweet decided he would remain with the filly until she recovered enough to move. First he had brought her mouthfuls of water from the nearby creek, trickling them into her open mouth and onto her tongue. He had also collected some small branches covered in tasty leaves, placing them by her for when she regained enough strength to eat.
He spent the rest of that day alternating between lying against her to help her stay warm, and pacing the area like a sentry, driving off any creature that strayed too close.
The night was long, and the sounds of the night creatures kept Bittersweet on edge, staring into the dark, feeling what was around him with his every sense. Beside him was the comforting rhythm of the filly's breathing, slow but steady as she slept.
Eventually, so tired he could not help it, he took some sleep in short snatches as he kept watch over her.
Announced by the calls of the early rising birds, daylight gradually illuminated the dome of the heavens. The sun would soon appear in the same place in sky as it always did. The moon had already descended below the curve of the horizon.
Bittersweet stood, shook himself, then wandered over to the creek, plunging his nose into the refreshing, cool water. While drinking, he heard the scrambling of hooves on the rocky soil, and looked up in time to see the filly stand. She was not particularly stable, legs apart like a newborn foal trying to find its footing for the first time.
Lowering her head, she chewed on one of the branches of leaves Bittersweet had left for her, before slowly but deliberately making her way towards the creek, towards him.
Bittersweet remained as he was, quietly standing, watching. The filly made it to the creek, enthusiastically slurping mouthfuls of water. Pausing, she lifting her head and stared at him.
"You're a lucky one," Bittersweet commented. "If I hadn't come past..."
The filly nodded. "I had heard there was a killer pony in these parts though I hadn't expected to fall into one of his traps."
Bittersweet snorted. "That trap wasn't set by a pony. Too hard for a pony to make."
"Huh?" the filly questioned. She coughed a few times, no doubt still recovering from her near strangulation.
"I'd say that trap was set by a two-leg looking for food."
"What about you?" the filly probed. "Aren't you afraid of the killer pony?"
"I can look after myself," Bittersweet said darkly. "I also know that this killer only defends himself from those that come in packs to kill him, so who are the killers? The conservatives, if you ask me."
The filly looked at Bittersweet long and hard, her expression mirroring some of what was going through her mind. A real thinker, Bittersweet noted.
He interrupted her, before she could bring up the killers again, though no doubt conversation would return to them some time soon. "And what brings you out this far from the town, or do you run in these parts?"
The filly took more water before answering. "I'm not from these parts at all really, or from that town with the library. I come from a village on the sea shore that harvests seaweed for food and medicine. I came here on sort of a quest."
Bittersweet looked at her, puzzled. "Came here? What has this place to offer?"
"Well, I'm passing though this place, but I believe I am very near my destination, or I wouldn't have come into the killer's territory. Haven't you heard of the legend?"
"Legends. I know too many of them," Bittersweet snorted "Which one do you mean in particular?"
"When you have travel led to the Far Away Bright Star, an new life will opened before you," the filly recited.
Legend? More like a quote, Bittersweet thought, though he hadn't heard that one before, but it did sound like it related to his family.
"Personal quest, or do you expect the whole world to change?" he asked.
"I don't know. The way grandmother used to tell it I couldn't tell if it was meant to happen to me when I grew up, if it was meant for all ponies everywhere."
"So why search here?"
The filly collected herself, then began. "I came her looking for Ilinga, which means 'far away', Bright Star."
Bittersweet noticed she was very sincere, and she certainly didn't seem the type to be hunting him.
"What for, to kill him and purge the world of his folly?" Bittersweet tried, his voice acidic.
"Oh no! If I did that, how could the legends come true?"
"C'mon. He's just an old pony who wants to be left in peace. What are you expecting of him?"
The filly's eyes opened a little wider. "You speak as if you know him."
"I do," Bittersweet stated, watching her eyes grow even larger. "My name is Ilinga Bittersweet. He's my sire."
"Sun Mei Ling," The filly introduced herself. "I've never heard of you before. I thought he had sired only two ponies."
"And one more in exile," Bittersweet commented.
The filly nodded. That made sense. "When I've rested some more, could you please take me to Bright Star."
"I guess it couldn't hurt."
The sun was nearing the horizon when Bittersweet finally led Mei Ling onto the floor of the second valley. The journey had been slow, but Mei Ling had regained her balance by the time they had to climb down the cliff-like wall into Bright Star's safe haven.
"A good hiding place," Mei Ling observed. In the distance she could see an old chestnut mare drinking from the creek.
"It used to be," Bittersweet agreed, "but unfortunately, the zealots know where we are. Now it is simply a good place to defend. A fortress."
He led Mei Ling to the mouth of a cave. From within came a snort and the sound of slow footsteps as a pony hidden by the darkness moved towards them.
The pony stopped when his outline became just visible in the failing light. Mei Ling could feel the pony's eyes moving across her, evaluating her. She could almost make out the shape of a white star on the pony's forehead, hidden by both his mane, and the darkness. Ilinga Bright Star. It had to be.
"A visitor," The pony commented. "How unusual."
Mei Ling responded by introducing herself as politely as she could, hoping she had not offended Bright Star when he did not respond.
Finally Bright Star moved forward so she could see him, then began to speak.
"Hmm," he said. "There must be something significant about you. You're the first pony to get past Bittersweet in a while."
Mei Ling looked thoughtfully at Bright Star, then at Bittersweet, at the blade fitted to his hoof, the hints of his partially healed wounds through his coat, his well muscled body, his fighter's stance, even when he was relaxed.
"Now I know why you don't fear the killer," she said to Bittersweet.
"However, he does have to worry about everyone else," Bright Star commented. "I am too old and have too many injuries to help him to defend this valley. He has kept us all alive."
"Far be it from me to condemn him," Mei Ling responded. "If it wasn't for that blade he wears, I too would be dead."
Time passed and Sun Mei Ling became part of the daily goings on in Brighty's hidden valley. There was no great change brought about by her meeting with Bright Star, other than her continuing presence in the valley. In a way, a new life was opening before her as she came to care more for the ponies that lived there. Her dislike for the killer turned to admiration, then love, as she saw the sacrifices Bittersweet was making to help Brighty and Dancer live out the rest of their lives in peace.
A number of times Bittersweet returned to the valley battered and bleeding, but always the victor. Once Mei Ling followed at a distance out of curiosity. It amazed her to find that Bittersweet was fighting four ponies at once, all stronger and heavier than he, yet his speed and cunning helped him avoid many of their blows, and the blade he wore made his blows count.
The strange, running, dodging battle continued for hours, up and down the hills, through rocks and trees, along cliff-tops, through anywhere that could give Bittersweet an advantage, until the last of the attackers fell. She marveled at his endurance, and his knowledge of the landscape and wondered how long it would be until the attackers started wearing blades of their own.
Later, when she expressed her concern to Bittersweet, he snorted with amusement. "Zealots," he said, "are against all technology, against anything they may learn from the scripts. It is against their beliefs to resort to such a thing. Lucky me."
"Not all conservatives object to all that has been learned," Mei Ling stressed.
"True. But the conservatives are generally only annoyed with what my sire discovered, and banishment satisfied what outrage they may have felt. I'd say many have forgotten, other than to think of it as a joke. It's only the zealots, the real radicals that still feel he must die, even all these years later. Especially considering how many of their assassins Brighty and I have dispensed with."
"It sounds more like revenge," Mei Ling commented.
"It does, doesn't it."
Generation Three
The little bay pony approached the library. He had been longing to do this for almost as long as he could remember, back from when his sir and grandsire had told him stories of the great mysteries it held. Some of what was contained there made no sense, or was inaccurate. At least, that was how many ponies felt about it, though that did not dampen the youngster's spirits.
Perhaps some of what was written wasn't meant to apply to their world. Perhaps there could be more than one truth. Perhaps there was more than one world.
The little bay knew such thoughts could lead to grief, much as simply revealing the contents of the scripts had led to Ilinga Bright Star being exiled. That was why he shared his thoughts with no one. He had learned what he could from the great scholar Ilinga Bright Star, and now he wanted his turn to study directly from the scripts.
As the little bay approached, an older black who had been grazing the library grounds moved to intercept him, blocking his progress.
"Who are you to approach the library?" the black demanded.
"I am Ilinga Sun Ray," the bay introduced himself, "and I come to study the scripts, as is my right as an Ilinga."
"Nice try, Shorty," the black replied. "I am Ilinga Midnight Winds, and I have never heard of you. What's more, there have never been any bays in the Ilinga line, so you cannot possibly claim to be related."
Another pony appeared from the surrounding trees and approached across the library grounds, slowly and deliberately. Midnight Winds watched him, another black stallion, perhaps younger than he, but looking at the scars he bore, perhaps more experienced at fighting. Midnight Winds hoped he would not have to resort to violence.
The pony arrived, taking up a position behind the small bay, whom Midnight Winds had briefly forgotten.
"And who might you be?" Midnight Winds asked.
"Ilinga Bittersweet, your full brother," replied the fighter. "Are you going to let my son pass?"
"I know of no such brother," Midnight Winds replied succinctly.
Another voice, coming from behind, startled Midnight Winds, and he swung around to face the third pony. This pony, also a black stallion, was older than he, though he did not carry his age well. Life for this pony had been hard. Midnight Winds stopped and stared in disbelief.
"If perhaps you saw fit to visit your father and mother once in a while, you might know these things, Windy," the old pony stated.
"Ilinga Bright Star! Father!" Windy exclaimed. He had not seen him since that night years ago when the ponies drove Bright Star from their midst.
"Meet your brother, Bittersweet, and his son Sun Ray," the old pony introduced the others.
"Father, you put yourself at risk by coming here," Windy commented, after briefly acknowledging the other two members of his family.
The old pony shook his head. "Not especially. Years have passed since the zealots last sent an assassin, and from what I hear, many ponies no longer care."
The fighter spoke again. "And I am here to protect him, should such occur. I expect you would assist."
"Can we go into the library?" the young bay interrupted.
Windy laughed. "Of course we can. It is the right of all Ilingas to study the scripts."
As the four ponies walked into the great halls, they felt a comradery, a bond. The bond of family, and the bond of knowledge.
PUI
An expectant hush had fallen over the settlement. The choosing would soon occur. For many days now, Aneki had watched as the mare had walked the paddock by day, or settled in her stall at night, for the mare was expecting. A foal, but not just any foal, but hopefully a promised one, one who would lead them to the land beyond.
The promised ones had powers beyond the common pony, though what these power were was vague. All that was known was that the Pui and these ponies could somehow form a bond that would lead them through the gateway into the promised lands. The legends made that much clear.
Though there were many ponies born, very few showed any powers, and so far those that did were not that strong. None the less, what Pui-pony bonds were made were valued. At a choosing, three young, available Pui were presented to the newborn. The foal would select one, to which they would bond for life.
Sometimes, the foal born would not have any powers, and would hide behind its mother, like any regular foal, but this mare had thrown four of the promised ones, each more powerful than the last. There were great hopes for the next.
Aneki was one of these Pui. Unlike her human masters, she shared the blood and genes of ponies, though to look at she was almost human. Her tail and ears were more like those of a pony though. Most significantly, it was the ability of the Pui to bond with the ponies that set them apart from the humans.
She had been to four choosings before, and four times before, the foal had picked someone else. She always cried when that happened, as there was nothing more she wanted than to be chosen. This was to be her last choosing. If five foals rejected a Pui it was believed the Pui themselves lacked the ability to bond.
Finally word spread that the mare had given birth, so that afternoon, Aneki was carefully bathed and groomed by her mother, then dressed in a simple white gown.
The other two candidates were also similarly presented, the boy from next door, Gav, and another younger girl called Dovin.
As the sun went down, each was led into the stable, then into the mare's stall and seated against one wall. The mare eyed them suspiciously and made nickering sounds to the little animal she was hiding. The adults left the stall, and a hush fell on all in the stable.
Each child, while remaining silent, called out to the newborn with their mind, enticing the foal to come forward, to meet them. Moments passed, then a wobbly little chestnut and white pinto filly appeared from behind her mother's legs, and slowly advanced.
Aneki called and called again, begging the foal to chose her, but to no avail. The little creature wobbled past her like she didn't exist, sniffed at Gav briefly, then turned to Dovin, extending her quivering nose to rub with Dovin's.
Aneki burst into tears.
Some hours later, Aneki was still crying. What was the point of a Pui that couldn't communicate with a promised one? The humans no longer required her. In fact, they probably wouldn't want anything to do with her. Her family would tolerate her, but she would be an outsider now.
Contact
Ilinga Sun Ray was intrigued by what he had learned. All the arguing about theories was fine, if there was no way to prove them. But what if there was a way? Should not that way be taken? He had read of a device called the telescope, something that varied in complexity depending on task, but essentially always did the same thing. It allowed one to study something far away as if it were near – something far away, like the moon, and the tracks on which it ran.
If he could get one of these telescopes, he may just be able to see the tracks, if indeed they existed, proving or disproving Ilinga Bright Star's revelations once and for all. The only problem was getting one. The ponies had no such piece of equipment, nor did they yet possess the technology to produce one, so that lead Sun Ray to think more forbidden thoughts. The two-legs. It was possible they had something to help him build one. After all, it appeared that the scripts, in part at least were, about them.
So he had prepared himself for his trip, both in mind and body. There had been much exercise to increase his strength and stamina, much sparring to improve his agility, and much study to equip him for what he might discover. Bittersweet taught him a lot about fighting, even bestowing him with a blade like his own, trying to give the diminutive Sun Ray a better chance should he find himself in danger, though Bittersweet had no idea what the youngster was planning. The scripts themselves shed some light on the two-legs, and their ways, so Sun Ray read what he could, and deduced what he couldn't.
One day, without much ado, he set off on his quest. He went first to the hidden valley, to visit his mother, Mei Ling and grandmother, Sky Dancer, and to marvel at his new baby sister, a little palomino foal who was still struggling with her first words.
From there, several hours trotting took him through what the ponies considered to be the bad lands, and towards where he believed the two-legs to live. Some caution was needed, but he was able to avoid confronting any of the creatures who dwelled there.
Finding a two-leg settlement proved to be easy, and to his surprise and advantage, he also discovered there were ponies there. The ponies appeared to be captives, held in fenced pastures. Sun Ray considered the dangers, then decided to approach anyway, moving from cover to cover, dodging in and out of trees and shrubs, like he had been taught by his sire and grandsire. No Ilinga should ever leave a track.
These ponies, once he approached, were easily twice his height, perhaps even twice the height of his sire, and as much as he tried, he was unable to engage them in conversation. It wasn't that they didn't use the same language; rather that they just didn't respond at all. One or two of them could communicate with him in the crudest, instinctive ways, but not anything like the level at which Ray was expecting. Perhaps their method of communicating with each other was different to any he knew.
Disappointed he continued scouting around, moving towards the first of the large structures he could see, further along the fenced area.
Before he reached it, he heard subdued whimpering, and slowly and quietly approached, wondering at the source of the sound. Peering through the trees, he found himself looking at a young two-leg, curled on the ground crying. Like one of the species of two-leg described in the scripts, this example had both equine ears and a tail. Her long reddish purple hair was hiding her face.
Sun Ray watched for some time before deciding this creature was no immediate threat, and in fact may be able to help him with his quest, assuming it was more communicative than any of the less than helpful ponies in the paddock.
"Why do you cry?" he quietly asked, wondering what response he would get.
"Because I can never be a chosen one," came the sobbed reply.
"Chosen for what?" Ray asked.
"Chosen to bond with a pony," she replied, then lifting her head, she glanced around. "You should know that. Who are you? Where are you?"
Remaining completely still, and silent, even holding his breath, so as not to give away his exact location, Ray replied "I am Ilinga Sun Ray."
"I hear you, yet you make no sound," the two-leg observed. "Where are you, and how can you do that?"
"Do what?" Ray puzzled, as if he was doing nothing out of the ordinary, though admittedly, communication with a two-leg wasn't really something any ponies he knew had ever tried.
"How can you talk without sound. That is something only the promised ones are said to be able to do," The two-leg female moved herself into a seated position and began searching around her with her eyes. "How could it be that one is communicating with me now?"
"All of my kind communicate that way," Sun Ray replied, as if it was nothing special.
The young female's eyes eventually came to rest on the leaves behind which Ray was hiding. "I'm Aneki," she introduced herself.
Ray pushed aside a small branch with his nose, allowing the girl to see more of him.
"You are a pony!" she exclaimed. "A tiny pony."
"That surprises you?" he asked. "I guess with that paddock full of poor examples as a reference, I shouldn't be surprised."
The girl looked stunned. "You called the promised ones what?"
"Those ponies, they aren't that bright. At least, I couldn't talk with them," Ray replied, watching the girl's reactions. "It seems you have trouble grasping that concept."
"They are the promised ones! The best ponies we have. The humans have been carefully breeding them for years. Without them we cannot get to the promised land," she paused for a few moments. "And I cannot communicate with them at all either, which is why I am crying."
"I'll get you to explain it to me in more detail later," Ray commented, moving from his cover to stand before the girl. With her sitting on the ground, his nose was about the height of hers. "I'm looking for lenses, or a telescope, and I've come out here to see if I can find one. Perhaps you can help me."
"The humans have some, but they are very old, and valuable. Some humans also uses lenses in front of their eyes to correct their sight, if it is deficient."
"So you do not consider yourself to be human?" Ray enquired, intrigued that a two-leg would make such a distinction.
"No, I am one of the Pui."
"Ah. Yes. I have read of the PUI," Ray commented. With the revelation, a little more of the scripts made sense. He pondered what studying humans and the PUI would do to his understanding of the scripts. A great deal, he figured. This opportunity could prove rather valuable.
"You can read too?"
"It is difficult, but I manage," Sun Ray replied. "Much of what is written obviously does not apply to my kind, so understanding what is written can be hard, which is why I seek the telescope."
Voices that seemed relatively close interrupted them. Aneki stood so she could see above the shrubbery she had been lying in. It was Dovin and her elder sister Torin, both of them in the pony paddock.
Upon seeing Aneki, they approached, climbing onto the paddock fence railings. Sun Ray disappeared back into his bush.
"Talking to imaginary friends, are we?" Dovin taunted.
"I was talking to a pony," Aneki answered, looking around to find Sun Ray gone. "Where'd he go?"
"No pony's going to talk to you, reject girl," Torin grinned.
"That's what you think," Sun Ray responded from within his hiding place. "Aneki, are these people your friends?" he asked.
"Sort of. Dovin and Torin are chosen ones," Aneki replied.
"Talking to your imaginary friend again, Aneki?" Dovin prompted.
Aneki looked stunned. Hadn't they heard Sun Ray?
"I'm real enough," Ray stated, again noticing the total lack of reaction from the two other PUI.
"Can't you hear him?" Aneki asked.
The two just burst into laughter.
"Well, that's interesting, Aneki," Sun Ray observed. "See if you can reply to me without using your mouth. Just think your words, wishing I can hear them."
"Like this? Can you hear me?" Aneki though.
"Well enough," came Ray's reply. "It may be better for us if they do not know we can communicate. They do not seem sincere."
"Hah! So you have got a pony in the bush!" Torin exclaimed, reaching down to pat a pony that had just come alongside her. "Guiding Star can smell it."
Sun Ray pushed his nose out through the leaves, looking up at the two PUI, and the pony that had sniffed him out, then wished he hadn't. They lacked the kindness Aneki was exhibiting.
"So reject girl has got herself a reject pony," Torin smirked. "Go play chosen one with your pet, little girl."
With that, she dropped from the fence, and walked away, Dovin and the pony falling in behind her. When they had gone far enough away for comfort, Aneki settled on the ground again, and Sun Ray emerged fully from the bush.
"So those big ones can communicate something, even if we can't hear it," Sun Ray observed.
"Yes. Bondings are always between one Pui and one pony," Aneki though back. "So we should not be surprised at that. They have to learn to communicate from the time the foal is born. It can take many years."
"And yet we met only minutes ago, and we can talk freely," Ray pondered, "But then, as I said before, all my kind talk that way."
"Somewhat amazingly in the same language I use."
"It is pretty amazing isn't it. I can understand what they say, and what you say, when you use sound, and I can also understand you when you talk as we do."
"It cannot be coincidence. The chance would be too great," Aneki pondered.
"It's like we have a common history," Ray suggested. "It is not an unreasonable assumption, especially considering we have the scripts, which make references to both our kind, and to humans."
"Scripts?" Aneki asked.
"Yes. The ancient writings that my ancestor discovered. I have studied these, much as all Ilingas have since they were uncovered by the great Ilinga Swift Traveler."
"I wonder if they could be the lost writings?" Aneki pondered.
"I think we'd better go somewhere where we can have a long talk. There must be a lot we can learn from each other."
Team
Aneki led Sun Ray away from the town, to a pleasant and quite location on the banks of a stream. Both used the opportunity to drink.
Settling in the shade and relative privacy under the canopy of a convenient willow, the two again began to exchange information.
"The lost writings tell of a great journey that must be undertaken, for the benefit of all mankind," Aneki explained. "They explain why it must be taken, and when it will end."
"And?" Ray prompted.
"We only know parts of it that some people remember, or have written down. We know the writings contain information that is most important to us, but alas, we do not know what those writings are," Aneki expounded. "All we have left are legends and prophecies, many hundreds of years old."
"All right. Let's try a fairly common legend. Describe the sun, moon and stars to me," Sun Ray requested, thinking of the turn of events that occurred after his grandsire asked the same question many years before.
"The heavens are an enveloping sphere on which the stars and sun hang, and around which many horses pull the moon on its tracks. Likewise, the earth is a sphere rotating within the sphere of the heavens, held there by the north and south poles, part of the Great Axle of the universe.
"The north and south poles of the Great Axle are hidden from us by the curvature of the earth, and are surrounded by great oceans," Aneki recited.
"Almost word for word the same as our legend," Sun Ray seemed pleased. "However, some key words are missing."
"What words?" Aneki probed, leaning toward Sun Ray curiously.
"The first is 'invisible'," Ray stated. "The moon on its invisible tracks."
"But they aren't really invisible," Aneki corrected him.
Sun Ray looked startled. "You can see them?"
"Only sometimes, on a really clear day, with a telescope. Once I did have a look through one," Aneki paused, as she pondered her earlier conversation with Sun Ray. "Oh! That's why you are seeking a telescope, isn't it!"
"It is," Ray answered, then fell silent. He settled to the ground, folding his legs underneath him.
Of course, that also meant Ilinga Bright Star's revelations simply did not apply to this universe. Sun Ray wasn't sure whether this was bad news or good. Perhaps, as he surmised, there could be more than one truth, more than one world.
"What do the tracks look like?" he asked.
"Silver threads," Aneki responded. "Silver threads that follow the path of the moon."
"Have you looked at the stars and sun through the telescope?"
"Not the sun. It's too bright," Aneki explained, "but the stars, yes. They were only small sources of light. I couldn't see anything special about them."
"When you have traveled to the Far Away Bright Star, an new life will opened before you," Sun Ray suddenly recited. "Tell me, how are we meant to get to those stars?"
Aneki responded, "Poisoned by the great war, the earth is dying and cannot be healed, so a journey, beyond any other ever traveled before, must be undertaken for any to survive, yet those who set out on this journey will not be the ones to arrive at the promised land.
"When all have traveled to the far away bright star, an new life will opened before you," Aneki fell silent.
"Those who set out will not arrive?" Sun Ray queried. "What kind of journey is that? Who would start on a journey they could not complete?"
"Only those who had no choice," Aneki commented. "And then they would pass their dreams onto their children, who would continue in their place."
"The earth is dying?" Sun Ray queried. He knew what the ponies believed, but had seen nothing written.
"The sun is dying," Aneki replied, "and with it the earth. Though the change is slight, with each passing year, there is less light from the sun, and less warmth. Snow is moving further down the mountain peaks, and the great polar ice caps grow. The humans have been recording these things for years."
"You mention polar ice caps," Sun Ray said. "I noticed in your earlier description of the earth, you did not mention being unable to cross the oceans to see the north and south poles of the great axle. Perhaps your kind has crossed the ocean?"
"Yes, the humans, and even some of the Pui have been to the north pole. Ice builds up around it, as this is where the least warmth from the sun falls. I am told that from the center of the ice cap, the great structure of the north pole can be seen extending to the sky."
"Amazing," Sun Ray shook his head. "I know! Tell me, what is beyond the sphere of the heavens?"
"We do not know," Aneki admitted. "The theorists argue that each star is another sun, like our own, and from each, surely more stars could be seen. Remember, we are meant to be traveling to a far away bright star, and what would be the point if there was no new earth there on which we could live?"
"Yet we do not appear to have begun our journey," Sun Ray stated.
"Which is why we struggle to breed a promised one, so we can start," Aneki sighed.
"Yes, tell me," Ray suggested, picking up from where his earlier conversation had been abandoned, "how is it that these ponies are meant to help, and where do the humans and PUI fit in?"
"According to legend, the promised ones, the ponies, are meant to take us to the new world, the promised land. The chosen ones of the Pui, are the only ones capable of communicating with the ponies, so it is through them and the ponies, that the humans will reach their destination," Aneki paused. "What do the scripts say?"
"I do not know," Ray admitted.
"But why? You said you have read them," Aneki sounded a little desperate.
"I have read some of them. The scripts are more than just one book. There are many volumes, and they cover many subjects. Some are helpful, like those which give details of healing techniques, and there are those that are of dubious value, like the one that describes an alternative universe," Sun Ray explained.
"My grandsire found a description of the sun, moon and stars that does not agree with the legend. The ponies tried to kill him when he revealed it."
"Tell me," Aneki prompted, curious.
Reluctant though he was, Sun Ray proceeded to outline the alternative universe to Aneki, finding, to his surprise, that she was more receptive to the alternate theory than his society had been. As he talked, she drew what he described in the soft soil near the riverbank. Then she added more orbits around the sun, adding more earths, each with their own moons.
"What is that?" Ray prompted, puzzling over her diagram.
"It is a copy of a drawing I have seen. In the museum where the telescope is, there is a painting hanging on one wall. There is no text describing what it means, but it is obviously a very old scientific document. Each of these circles is called a planet, and each has its own name. Earth is the third from the center, from the sun," Aneki paused, "But it is a meaningless drawing, because with the telescope, the humans have proved that apart from the sun, moon and stars, there are no other bodies in the heavens. The humans think it has another, symbolic meaning, each different ring perhaps representing the earth at a different time."
"Or the drawing represents another earth," Sun Ray suggested.
"The one we travel to?" Aneki puzzled.
"I do not know. Perhaps there is more on this in the scripts, but in another volume to the ones I have read," Sun Ray pondered.
"How can we check?" Aneki asked.
"That is a difficult question." A dark brooding look came over Sun Ray.
"Why? What's wrong?" Aneki probed.
"Ponies consider the two-legged creatures to be evil. To bring you to the scripts would be a crime worse than revealing what the scripts said about the universe. They would kill me, and they would most definitely try to kill you. In fact, if they knew I had come out to a two-leg settlement, they would most likely kill me for that."
Aneki became still, studying Sun Ray through squinting eyes. Finally she spoke again. "But we must get to those scripts if we are to survive."
"If any human tries, there will be much blood shed. I trust you will not tell them," Sun Ray began to wonder what he had done by revealing anything at all to this two-legged creature.
Aneki sighed. "It would make little difference if I did. Remember when we met, I was crying."
"Yes," Sun Ray nodded, inviting her to go on.
"I was rejected as a chosen one. I am now an outcast. If I came to them now, telling them that a talking pony has read the lost writings, and knew where they were, they would simply ignore me, believing me to be trying get their attention, or to win another chance to become a chosen one," Aneki shrugged. "It's just you and me."
Sun Ray nodded. "We'll have to solve this by ourselves then."
And that was all I wrote.
I named two of my miniature ponies after characters from this story – Sun Ray (who was a bay colt) and Bittersweet, a name I saved for my first black colt. The name proved fitting because he died at one day old.
"I'm a guy. I'm gal. I'm a guy. I'm gal. I'm a guy. I'm gal," the pony chanted to itself as it trotted along the abandoned corridor. Of course, that sort of attitude made it hard to assign a gender to the little equine, although at a glance, one could be forgiven for assuming the pony was a young mare. Actually, if one was to watch it closely for some time, one would come to the same conclusion.
The pony's body was completely black, from its nose to the tip of its hooves. Its eyes had an orange sheen to them, but could not be clearly distinguished due to the protective layer over them. Its mane and tail were another matter. It was as if they had no desire to be part of the black and muted scheme, preferring to be an explosion of yellow instead. The mane had been tied in a high ponytail. The tail? It was a pony tail already.
"How can I ever solve this? Is there a solution? Do I have to be trapped in this frustrating no-pony's-land between male and female?" the pony asked itself.
The pony turned a corner, and a lamp on the ceiling in its new direction lit, the one in the former direction switching off, recognizing the futility of remaining lit. At least the lights still worked in these abandoned corridors. They were considered important enough for no pony to have ever stripped them from the corridor ceilings as salvage. Admittedly the pony's glowing eyes were designed to work in total darkness, but visual range was limited due to the weak light-output of the eyes. It made rushing through the unlit machinery of the lower levels both dangerous and exciting.
"I'm a guy. I'm gal. I'm a guy. I'm gal. I'm a guy. I'm gal."
Despite the pony's feminine appearance, its chromosomes were those of a male, yes, chromosomes with the X and Y pair. Yet something was missing – stallion bits. The pony didn't have the stallion bits between its legs. Those were the most desirable bits to have, with the ridiculous female to male ratio from which the lower levels suffered. There were simply not enough males – true males – to go around.
Conversely, there were plenty of sexless freaks, like this pony: female external bits, but no womb inside. For an endangered species there was nothing quite as useless as these not-a-girl, not-a-boy ponies. They were useless enough to be considered expendable. If there was a dangerous job to be done, it was always given to one of the sexless. No true pony really cared if one of these things died, if it saved them from having to risk themselves.
"Curse this stupid body. Why couldn't I be a true stallion?"
The pony had been raised as a female, until the shortfall had been noticed, but despite its extremely feminine appearance, it or she had preferred to pursue more male-centric interests. As soon as she was able to, she had taken to galloping around the dark network of catwalks, taking leaps of faith over unlit gaps and that led to her being given the name Catwalk Runner instead of the placeholder Little Miss she had been called as a newborn. It wasn't a name she was fond of, but it led to her answering to a somewhat different name, and that itself was ironic.
She had not yet been upgraded to a Hellite, thus, resplendent in her natural pink coat, was vulnerable to the low temperatures and general dangers of anywhere outside their ramshackle living quarters. Because of this, concerned adults would often try to intercept her when she decided to go for one of her wild runs. Cries of "Catch her!" would go out, and the nearest adult would block or tackle her if they could. Mostly they were successful. Eventually, as soon as she heard "Catch her", knowing her exploits were about be cut short, she'd abandon her attempt – effectively answering to "Catch 'er" as if it was her name. In time, that was exactly what it became – Cacha.
She had been considered an eccentric filly. Of course, apart from her father, there had been no other males with whom she could interact, and that led to her preferring to be a loner when she wasn't interacting with her immediate family. The other three males that lived in the lower levels each had their own family groups, and had she matured as a true mare, Cacha would have moved in with one of them, perhaps moving between them to spread her genetic contribution around. As it was, no pony would want her genetics, not that she had a way to pass them on.
Many years later, her adolescence had come and gone, or perhaps more accurately, the time for it had passed, and she had not developed into a true mare. Some privacy invading tests had proved what she feared – she was neither female or male, but stuck somewhere in the middle. So, she was one of the despised sexless and to the other ponies was nothing more than an exploitable resource. After all, why would you send a viable mare into a dangerous situation, when you could send one of these sexless rejects. Stallions, being the extremely rare resource that they were, never had to do anything that would put them even at the slightest risk.
