Lyra: Lost and Foundby Legofan24ChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 1Breep! Breep! Breep! Lyra stirred from the noise, but did not wake. Breep! Breep! Breep! She shifted under her sheets, groaning at the intrusion of her sleep. Breep! Breep! Breep! “Lyra! Wake up and turn your alarm off!” Lyra’s mother yelled at her from the floor below, her shouts slightly muffled. That in tandem with the alarm was enough to finally wake the groggy unicorn. She dropped a tired hoof on the button to silence the infernal contraption beside her, slowly sitting up and taking in the morning rays. Like she did every morning, Lyra didn’t quite get out of bed immediately; instead, after rubbing some sleep and crust out of her eyes, she was content to simply sit on her bed for a while, long enough, at least, for her to wake completely. As she sat, her gaze drifted to the only window in her room, which showed off a nice expansive view of desert nothingness. It was the same view that had greeted her every morning for the past couple of months. She had decided only a couple of days into residing in this desert place that it was not to her liking. But her family had managed to find consistent employment in the area, enough to keep them rooted to the growing settlement. The Heartstrings had always been a musical family, Lyra and her parents being no exception. They had always operated in family units, travelling to whatever communities needed a musical group to liven things up. As a result, they rarely ever found themselves staying in one spot for much longer than a few months before going elsewhere, finding a hotel or friend’s house to stay at between gigs. This desert place was their most recent adventure. It was a pony settlement many miles south of Canterlot. There was no official name for it yet, for it hadn’t been officially recognized as a place of residency, but those who were establishing themselves in the growing country town usually referred to it as Appleloosa, referencing the sizable apple orchard that provided most of the settlement’s food. Until a railway made a route out to Appleloosa, though, it was bound to remain just a small collection of random shacks in the desert. “Come on down and get some breakfast, Lyra,” she heard her mother, Mandy Heartstrings, call to her again. This week was a very important week to the family, but they needed to get an early move on today. There wasn’t much time to waste lazing about, and Lyra rolled out of her comfy bed and onto her hooves, making her way downstairs. The scent of pancakes and fresh batter permeated the air of the Heartstrings' small home, and by the time she had reached the ground floor, she was drooling slightly, her stomach rumbling quietly. Lyra’s father looked up from his spot in the open dining room, where he was busy restringing one of his acoustic guitars. He was a pale blue unicorn with a short and unkempt dark blue mane. He didn’t have a very muscular build, not being an athletic pony, after all, proven by his cutie mark, which was an image of an acoustic guitar. “Good morning, Honey. How’d you sleep?” he asked warmly as Lyra came to the table. “Well, I suppose,” she said back. Her father nodded and returned to the task of restringing his guitar. “That’s good to hear. You weren’t kept up out of excitement for today, then?” “No. Why would I be? The Festival isn’t for another few days.” Smirking, her father retorted, “That’s true, but you get excited for Hearth’s Warming Eve several days before the actual holiday. There’s no reason why this can’t be the same.” “Stop giving your daughter a hard time, Les Paul,” Lyra’s mother scolded from within the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. “And get your guitar off the table; breakfast is almost ready.” “Yes, Dear.” Fortunately, he had just finished up stringing his instrument. He gave it a test strum, treating them all to a ugly, crunchy, and completely out of tune chord. Lyra was smirking now, resting her cheek on her hoof which was in turn rested on the table. “Wow, dad, I expected better from you,” she teased. He chuckled at that, setting his guitar to the side, and she briefly joined him in his laughter. After a few seconds, Lyra’s mother entered from the kitchen, bringing along three plates of pancakes perched precariously on her back. The delicious smell shut both of them up. The green earth pony smiled at them. “Are you two hungry?” “You bet we are,” Les Paul agreed, wasting no time in using his magic to distribute the plates to the three spots around the table. Promptly, he got up from his seat and entered the kitchen to get drinks for the three of them while his wife took her seat. Upon returning, they all happily dug into their morning meal. Their breakfast had been underway for some time, and by this point, all three Heartstrings had nearly finished. Aside from the clinking of silverware and other sounds pertaining to eating, though, they had been silent. This silence was finally broken by Les Paul as he asked, “So girls, is there anypony in particular that you’re excited about seeing at the Festival?” Lyra’s mother answered quickly with, “I’m certainly eager to see Mr. Neightoven; I hear he’s one of the greatest composers and pianists in all of Equestrian history, but I can’t say that any other names in the listing stuck out to me- except for ours, of course.” “I’m agreeable on that,” Les Paul chuckled. Turning to Lyra, he repeated the question. “I didn’t really see anypony that interested me,” she answered. “Aw, not even us?” Lyra gave him a deadpan stare. “I’m joking, Lyra,” he said. “But really, nopony on the list caught your eye? Not even that young, rising cellist?” “Her name’s Octavia, Dad, and no; she does classical stuff, and you know I’m not into that,” Lyra answered, punctuating her statement with an eye roll. “Fair enough,” he returned, glancing to a clock across the room. “Looks like we’ve got an hour until we’ve really got to head out to rendezvous with our ride to Canterlot.” He swallowed his last bite of food. “Make sure you’ve got everything you’ll need for the trip. We’re not coming back until the Music Festival’s over.” Following suit, the two mares finished eating their breakfast soon after Les Paul did. He cleared the table and made off to the kitchen to clean the dishes, allowing Mandy and Lyra to return to their respective rooms and finish packing. Lyra had never been a very organized pony, but fortunately for her, she was also a light packer, lessening the need for organization. From underneath her bed, she procured a few packs of extra lyre strings and tossed those into her lyre case. Her hygienic supplies were thrown into a drawstring bag along with a small sack of bits and a deck of playing cards, and with that, she was just about ready to leave. There was some time to spare, so she went ahead and played her spare lyre, which she was opting to not bring along. She spent a couple of minutes playing through her major and minor scales, as she did at the beginning of every practice session, before moving on to more melodic tunes. She ran through only a small portion of her repertoire before the hour had passed and they needed to head out. Placing her spare instrument on its stand, she slung the drawstring bag around her back, carried her lyre case in her magic, and proceeded downstairs to where her parents were waiting for her. “You ready, Dear?” Mandy asked her. Much like Lyra, Mandy was also packing light, bringing along only a bag for her own hygienic supplies and her mandolin, the playing of which was her talent, as indicated by her cutie mark. Both items were secured around her back. Lyra nodded in affirmation. Les Paul spoke, saying, “The Princess has sent a carriage to pick us up from just north of the orchard and bring us to the nearest train station; from there, we’ll be taking an all-expense-paid ride to Canterlot. We should arrive the day prior to the Festival, giving us some time to wander about for a bit.” And with that, the family left the house, locking the door behind them and heading towards the orchards. “Dad, how much longer until they’re here? We’ve been out here for, like, an hour, now.” Despite the exaggeration, they had indeed been waiting for a while. The walk to the northern part of the orchard was nothing spectacular; there were a couple of curious ponies asking where they were headed to, but all had been given their answers and been on their way. But they were now at the rendezvous point, with no sign of the carriage. “No we haven’t, Lyra,” he answered, wiping some sweat from his brow with a hoof. It was no doubt hot, seeing as they were in a desert and it was approaching midday. Both Lyra and Mandy had gone under the shade of a nearby apple tree to try to escape from the heat of the day as they waited for the carriage, which was now going on a half-hour late. Les Paul, though, stayed in the open so that he was more easily visible by anypony coming their way. “Maybe there’s been an accident with the carriage?” Mandy offered as a reason for the delay. “Celestia knows how many things can go wrong with those,” she continued, brushing a bang of long, white mane from her face. “The axle could snap, a wheel could fall off, the roof could collapse-” “Not helping, Dear,” Les Paul interrupted, squinting as he looked for any sign of their transportation. Sighing and crossing her forelegs across her chest, Lyra leaned fully against the tree and flipped to her side. “I hope they get here soon,” she whispered. Mandy gently rubbed her back reassuringly, and Lyra began to doze off, her head lowering to meet her shoulder. But then something caught her eye. A peculiar track —no, several of them— wound through the dirt of the orchard. Her nap forgotten, Lyra raised her head and leaned in to inspect the tracks. Despite their faintness, she could see that they were almost rectangular in shape, and they came in pairs of two. Knowledge of whatever creature made these tracks, however, eluded her. “Mommy, do you know what animal made these tracks?” she asked, hoping her mom’s earth pony magic might help produce an answer. Mandy leaned over Lyra’s shoulder to inspect the tracks herself, but she could tell simply by her expression that she didn’t know. “Sorry, I don’t know,” she apologized. “Weird...I’ve never seen anything like these. Pauly!” she called, and he rushed over to them. “Do you know what could have made these?” Like Mandy, Les Paul inspected the track, but came to the same conclusion after some time. “Nope; I have no idea. But, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” “I’m going to follow them,” Lyra decided. “It sure beats sitting here and waiting.” Her parents both gave her stern looks. “Firstly, if you run off, we’re only going to be even more delayed in getting to Canterlot,” Les Paul said. “Secondly, we don’t know what made these tracks, and it’s possible that it’s not something you’d want to find. You’re not following those tracks.” “But dad,” Lyra huffed, “I’m bored! What else is there to do?” “Just be patient,” he answered. “Don’t you have cards on you, like you usually do?” Lyra nodded. “Then why not play with those?” “Because you two don’t know any card games!” she answered defiantly. Les Paul recoiled. “That’s not true. I know War.” “War’s not even fun; there’s no skill involved!” He shrugged. “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you, Lyra. Just...just…” His eyes widened and his mouth gaped as he looked to somewhere behind the tree Lyra and Mandy were under. “What is it, Pauly?” Mandy asked curiously as she and Lyra peeked around the tree. “Dear sweet Celestia…” Approaching the ponies were two...things; there weren’t even words in pony vocabulary to describe what they were looking at. They were both tall, easily double the height of the average stallion. Their bodies were covered in silver metal, except for where dirt had caked onto them. There were five limbs sticking out of their box-like bodies: two arms and two legs, all of which were slim and lank, and a cylindrical head dotted with many swiveling red lights. Additionally, each one carried a device that resembled a crossbow without limbs. Lyra also noticed that they had rectangular feet. These things, whatever they were, were responsible for the odd tracks. As the things got closer to them, Lyra and Mandy bolted away from the tree, taking cover behind Les Paul, and together they all backed away from the creatures. But their strides were long and quick, and soon they were mere feet away from the quaking family. The things looked down to them, the lights swivelling around the circumference of their heads in seemingly random patterns. Maybe those were its eyes and it was similar to a chameleon? Any thought on that was interrupted when the things spoke. None of the ponies could understand what the things were saying, though, as their words came out as garbled static and beeps. But their conversation didn’t last long until one of the things eventually raised one of its lanky limbs, curling the digits at the end until only one of them remained pointing in the direction of the open desert. “Go,” it commanded, startling the three ponies. Its voice was monotone and robotic, but managed a sort of malicious overtone as it spoke that one word. Les Paul looked in the direction it was pointing, seeing nothing but sand and dunes. He gulped. “There? You want us to go there?” The thing didn’t bother to verbally respond. Instead, it brought its leg into Les Paul’s ribs, the blow knocking the wind out of him, but fortunately leaving his ribs intact. Its partner raised its device and pointed it at them. “Keep your hooves off my family!” Mandy screamed at the things while Lyra tried to keep her wheezing dad on his hooves. She rushed in towards the one that had kicked Les Paul, spinning and bucking it in the shin. There was a sharp cracking sound, and Mandy crumpled to the ground, clutching her rear legs and groaning in pain. That metal was extremely solid! The creature itself looked completely unfazed, though, as it and its companion had another brief discussion in their strange language. When they had concluded, the thing that had been raising its crossbow-thing at them stalked over to Mandy’s crumpled form while the other, the one she had bucked, moved towards Lyra and Les Paul. As the metal monster came nearer, they stepped back to maintain their already uncomfortably close distance. Its partner had its device pointed directly at Mandy’s head. “Go. Resistance and noncompliance will not be tolerated,” the closer one reiterated. And then its partner fired. Chapter 2“Mommy!” Lyra screamed, the metal monster approaching her and her dad forgotten as she stared at her mother’s unmoving body. A loud noise came from the device the other held over Mandy, producing a red beam of light that left Mandy’s face burned and charred. Lyra and Les Paul were still for a few moments, looking on towards the earth pony’s body, hoping with all their might that what they suspected may have happened hadn’t. But in their pause, it was all too easy to see that Mandy was no longer breathing. Some of her mane caught fire from the wound’s heat, but was quickly smothered by the rising desert breeze. There was no doubt about it: Mandy had been killed. Right there in front of her family, Mandy’s life had been snuffed without any hesitation from the metal beasts. They truly were monsters. Tears welled up in Lyra’s eyes, watching as her mother’s corpse was carelessly slung over the shoulder of the monster that had murdered her. The cruelty didn’t let up there, though, as the remaining Heartstrings were herded further away from Appleoosa and into the open desert. Les Paul followed with no resistance after that, his hollow expression cast directly in front of him, zoning the rest of the world out. The winds continued to pick up, but he refused to even blink, even as grains of sand brushed across his eyes. Conversely, Lyra was a wreck, tears openly streaming down her cheeks, leaving trails where sand mixed with tears before quickly drying in the oppressive desert heat. Her mourning, though, was stifled under fear of meeting the same grisly fate of her mother. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut so as to spare them the punishment that the growing winds were bound to deliver. The winds around them became more harsh the further into the desert the group went, slowly evolving into a full-blown sandstorm. But the machines were as relentless as the winds, pushing the ponies further despite the risks to their well-being. In addition to her emotional suffering, Lyra quickly found herself suffering physically. Small grains of sand whipped around and into her, stinging her with sharp pains on contact. Thousands of such impacts bombarded both her and Les Paul every second, threatening to rip up their coats. Already this was happening to Mandy’s corpse, as gashes began to appear and tear through the deceased skin. Visibility was low, and it was some time before, faintly, in the distance, a silhouette could be made out on a nearby dune. At their distance, it resembled little more than a rectangle, but as the group neared, more details became visible. A small metal house would have been the best way to describe what it looked like to the two ponies, elevated on a few little shafts sticking into the sand. Windows surrounded one end of the rectangular frame while several large, cylindrical tubes jutted out of the other. Four arm-like appendages with claws on the ends were folded against the approximate center of the frame, two on each side. All in all, it was something the like of which no pony had ever seen. As they all closed in on the strange thing, one of its walls opened up, raising up to allow a view of the interior while a ramp descended into sand, providing access. A figure was present at the top of the ramp, but due to the sand blowing around, it was mostly obscured from view. “Catch somethin’ for me, did’ja?” the figure called to the two metal creatures in a gravelly, grouchy voice, only faintly audible over the now raging winds. “Bring ‘em on board, quickly now.” Lyra and her father were shepherded up the ramp and into the hull of the alien machine. It proved an obstruction for the blowing dust, and the nearer they got, the more they could see, until finally things were clear, and they could see the previously silhouetted figure. If it were standing, it wouldn’t have been much taller than Les Paul, but as it was, it was holding itself aloft with a pair of undersized looking wings, which flapped furiously to keep the rather bulgy alien above the ground. It had a pair of short legs and webbed feet beneath its generous pot belly, which looked even bigger compared to the creature’s relatively long and skinny arms. A short trunk, like an extremely miniature version of an elephant’s, came out of the thing’s upper lip, and its underbite revealed a pair of tiny tusks that came to rest on either side of its trunk. Unlike the metal monsters that had brought Lyra and Les Paul there, this thing wasn’t metal, but was instead flesh, like them. Its skin was mostly a dark purple shade, except for its chin, belly, and the underside of its arms, which were a beige color. Atop its head was a cap not unlike the kind that Wonderbolts would wear, complete with a set of goggles that were currently hanging around its neck. Additionally, it wore a dark brown vest over its body and a belt adorned with various alien tools around its midsection. “Hmm, what is it’ja’ve brought me, eh?” the creature, presumably male by the tone of its voice, asked its metal counterparts curiously when Lyra and her father were finally inside, the interior of which resembled a normal house quite accurately, save for the fact that everything looked metallic and highly futuristic. “A couple’a healthy specimens, methinks,” he said, flapping closer and humming thoughtfully as he more closely inspected his spoils. Les Paul looked up at his captor, meeting the curious gaze of the alien with a empty, sullen look of his own. “It looks upset,” the alien declared, looking up to his counterparts. When the alien noticed Mandy’s corpse, he made his way over to the machine holding it. “It wouldn’ be ‘cause’ja killed this’n, would it?” it scolded, to which the machine responded in its strange language. The alien seemed to understand it perfectly, though. “I don’t care if it was self defense! You’re a droid; ain’t no way these things’d get’chu!” the alien shouted, evidently mad. “I told you ta bring me live specimens, and ‘ere you are bringin’ a dead one aboard my ship!” The droid, as it was now known to be called, replied with another series of odd beeps. “You stupid piece of scrap! Family units only fetch more when they’re not dead! Dump the body, then I’m goin’ ta ‘ave yer chassis disassembled for parts.” “You’re not even going to bury her!?” Lyra spoke up, astonished that this thing could be so utterly uncaring and disrespectful. “Ah, so they can talk?” the alien, said, tone immediately shifting from enraged to intrigued as he moved his attention to them. “Yes, I’ll be burying ‘er,” he answered with a devious chuckle. “Deserts ‘ave a way of coverin’ up evidence, eh.” Speaking to the droids again, he said, “Drop ‘er an’ let’s get outta ‘ere.” The droid obeyed, dumping Mandy’s corpse into the sand just beside the ramp, then shifted Lyra’s and Les Paul’s things, which it had picked up and carried while its companion had led the ponies to the ship, on its back before reentering. Once fully inside, it flipped a switch next to the open doorway, which slowly retracted everything. With a hiss, the doorway closed, trapping the ponies in their new prison and sealing them away from Equestria, potentially forever. With the door now closed, the sounds from outside were muffled significantly, and the alien sighed contentedly. “Ah, that’s better.” He was only like that a moment before reverting his attention back to his droids. “Now, 86-L, go an’ recharge yourself; you did good work today.” 86-L left as commanded, going to a different part of the ship and out of sight. Moving to the other one, the one carrying the ponies’ things, the alien said, “As for you, 86-H, your defective programming was a poor investment on my part.” He reached for a small round device and a wrench-like tool from his belt. “I’m goin’ ta put on this restraining bolt; you’re goin’ ta drop those items off on the table over there, then you’re goin’ ta shut yourself down next to L, understand?” The droid replied with a single beep. “Good; at least there are some commands you can follow.” 86-H did as instructed, walking over to a nearby table and dropping off Lyra’s and Les Paul’s possessions before clanking out of sight, going the same way 86-L had. “Stupid droids,” the alien grumbled under its breath once 86-H was gone, then flew to where the ponies’ things had been deposited and began to rummage through it. “IG-86; claimed to be the best on the market! Hmm, but only for killing, it seems; looks like the vendor who sold me that faulty unit’s goin’ ta ‘ave a chat with HK when I get back to Coruscant.” It was evident that the alien was mumbling to itself, and Lyra took the opportunity to get closer to her dad, who was staring at the closed door, and had been since Mandy was tossed out. Somehow, she had found the resolve to reign in her emotions for the time being, but Les Paul apparently hadn’t. Without saying anything, she got beside him and hugged him tightly. It seemed odd to her that she was the one offering comfort. “Dad,” she whispered. “Do you know what’s going on? And do you know what’s going to happen?” Finally, Les Paul moved, returning his daughter’s embrace. “No, Lyra,” he said shakily. He continued weakly. “No, I don’t know. Just...know that I love you, okay? Whatever comes to pass, know that you mean everything to me.” “I know, dad; I love you too. But I’m scared.” She clenched tighter. “I want mommy back.” “I know you do,” came the response, but it was the alien that answered. Setting down Lyra’s lyre, which he had been fiddling with, he turned to face his catch. “I’m sorry that this ‘appened; truly, I am. I don’t like to kill when I don’ ‘ave to, but sometimes my droids just don’ agree; they get a little trigger ‘appy, eh. But don’ you worry! That droid’s goin’ to get what’s comin’ for ‘im.” Les Paul seemed to break out of his stupor —or, at least he became aware of the world around him again, though his expression was no less hollow. “Sir,” he said, addressing the alien, “I don’t know what my family or I have done to deserve whatever punishment you’re treating us to, but at the very least, could you tell us what’s going on, and why you’re doing this?” “Hmm, yes, of course,” he replied, with cheerfulness unbefitting the situation. “What kind’a Toydarian would I be ta be so inconsiderate, eh? Let me get the ‘yperdrive started and the autopilot set, then I’ll be ready to answer your questions. Please,” the alien gestured to the few seats scattered around the roomy ship interior, “make yourselves at ‘ome.” And then he left to do as he said he would, which was to set the ship for takeoff. “How kind of him to abduct us, but at least offer seating,” Lyra muttered as she and her father each took one of the offered seats. Her hope was that her joke would lighten the mood and lessen her stress. It didn’t. Suddenly, the whole ship shuddered violently for a second, causing both unsuspecting ponies to jump. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that,” echoed from elsewhere in the ship. “Engines‘re choked with sand, it’d seem. Simple fix; cover yer ears, though.” They did as instructed, and not a second later, loud roaring sounded from behind them, and the entirety of the ship vibrated. The alien made a brief reappearance as he passed through, only to leave to a different part of the ship, all the while, the roaring didn’t let up. For about another minute, nothing seemed to change. But then, unexpectedly, the roaring quieted while, at the same time, the ship lurched. The ponies were thrown off balance for a second, but managed to stay on their seats. After that, the two ponies found themselves beings pushed into their seats, almost as if they were...moving? They were moving!? For a reason that Lyra couldn’t place, she felt the urge to leap out of her seat and go...anywhere, really. Anywhere but where this ship was going to be taking her. But as she landed on the floor, the ship’s shaking and vibrating made balance hard to find, and she eventually was shaken to the floor. The voice of the alien sounded over some sort of intercom. “If I were either of you, I’d sit in my seat and find somethin’ to brace yourself against. The sandstorm’s making it ‘mpossible ta get off the ground with just the autopilot, so I’m goin’ to have to manually fly us out of the atmosphere ‘fore autopilot can be activated. And I can tell you now, my flyin’ ain’t no smooth sailin’.” Heeding the alien’s advice, Les Paul latched onto the arm of his seat with a vice grip, Lyra following suit once she finally managed to crawl back over and onto her seat. The ship continued to rattle, and they could feel themselves begin to go horizontal, quickly finding themselves lying on their seats rather than sitting in them. The volume of the roaring also began to increase as they progressed, such so that it was on the brink of being overwhelming. In fact, everything was reaching that limit: the noise, the shaking, the absurdity of their situation… And then it stopped. Well, the first two did, at least. Suddenly, the roaring became naught but a quiet hum, and the shaking halted completely. No longer did it feel as though they were sideways, either, instead feeling as though they had levelled out. Each of the ponies sighed in relief as their quickly beating hearts began to calm down. They didn’t know it, but they had finally gotten off-world. They didn’t know it, but they were the farthest any pony had ever been from home. Chapter 3“Hmm, the best part of exploring for sure is ‘turning ‘ome with spoils, eh?” the alien chuckled, having returned to Lyra and Les Paul’s location after the first couple minutes of space travel had passed, and after having set the autopilot and navicomputer coordinates. But he didn’t allow for a response from either of them before switching topics. He took a seat opposite them, demeanor instantly shifting. “So, then...I believe I promised ta answer some’a ya’s questions. What’ll be first?” “Who are you, and where are you taking us?!” Lyra shouted, leaning slightly towards the alien and giving him the nastiest glare she could muster, the whole of which seemed to be more amusing to the alien than intimidating, to her dismay. She felt a hoof rest on her shoulder in response, and looked to Les Paul, who bore a disappointed expression. Never one for outward displays of aggression, he was, even to those who deserved it. Submitting, she returned to a less threatening position. “Please,” Les Paul started, his first direct words to anything alien, “forgive my daughter’s rudeness. We’re just...distraught, after…” He trailed off, ears splaying back and head falling low. “Hm, pity,” the alien said sympathetically. “I’d’ve much liked ta meet ‘er.” After a moment, he amended, “The mother, I mean. Hm, but if it’s justice ya’re concerned about, know that that droid’ll be scrapped ‘s soon as we’re on Coruscant.” Les Paul barely acknowledged him, whispering a “Thank you,” as a fresh tear freely streamed down his cheek. It picked up dust and sand accumulated from the prior sandstorm, leaving a visible trail of light blue coat behind. “My...my question still stands,” Lyra reminded the alien, though her focus was only on her dad, reciprocating his earlier gesture and placing her own hoof on his shoulder, though for comfort as opposed to suppression. The alien grinned slightly. “Who I am, eh? There’s a question I ‘aven’t been asked in a while. Might ‘ave to do to with bein’ well known in the galaxy. But then again, we ain’t in the galaxy, are we? My name is Tozzulo. I’m a Toydarian from the planet Toydaria, an’ I’m a rather famous merchant and explorer...famous ‘mong certain crowds, that is. As for where I’m taking you, I already said: Coruscant. Got a friend there I wan’ you two ta meet.” “And...what are your wares?” Les Paul asked, quietly and tentatively. “Oh...rare things,” Tozzulo answered, taking a second to consider his response. “Exotic things- things no one has ever seen before.” Les Paul gulped, beginning to tremble slightly. “And those ‘exotic things’ wouldn’t happen to be-” “Heh, ya’re smart,” Tozzulo complimented. “I suppose that’s only better for me, then, eh?” What was daddy going to say?! Lyra thought, not having any immediate ideas. Her dad’s horn began to illuminate softly. “No,” he said resolutely, standing in his seat and lowering his head in a sign of aggression. “You’ve taken Mandy away from us already, and I will not let you take Lyra too!” Though confused about the details, she figured from what her dad said that the alien had ill intentions for them, and she mimicked her father’s stance, preparing a defensive spell, the only one she knew. It was nothing more than a numbing spell, but it could still very well incapacitate somepony if hit in the right area. She closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling around for energy to build up her spell with, but found very little. Her brow furrowed as she strained and strained to find a reserve of magical energy, but any little bit she found merely sputtered out of the end of her horn, which barely glowed, as a pathetic spark. Opening one eye quickly, she saw her father apparently struggling with the same issue. “That’s a cute trick,” Tozzulo snorted, “but it ends there.” From one of his many belt loops, he retrieved a device resembling a smaller version of the weapons held by his droids, and pointed it directly at Lyra. Lyra was paralyzed by fear, and was wearied by her attempt to cast. With the weapon aimed at her, she stopped in her casting, then collapsed into a sweaty, panting mess. Les Paul followed suit, buckling under the strain of his failed spell. “Ya know,” Tozzulo started, carelessly waving the weapon between the two of them, “normally, I try ta treat my merchandise well before I ‘ave to get rid of it; no one wants ta buy something that’s broken, eh. But when it fights back, I ‘ave no problem shooting it dead before it kills me first.” He now aimed his weapon unwaveringly at Les Paul. “So let me break things down for you two so that you understand perfectly: you are mine. You do as I say. If you don’t, you die. Is that clear?” Les Paul answered with a pathetic groan, an unsatisfactory response for the alien. He flapped his way closer to Les Paul, resting the cold, metal barrel on Les Paul’s forehead, right under the base of his horn. “Answer me: is that clear?” “Understood,” he muttered. “Good,” Tozzulo said. He retraced his weapon from Les Paul’s head and flew back to his seat, dangling the weapon at his side. “Any more light shows from either of you, and ya’re both dead. Now, I think it’s ‘bout time my hospitality’s been expended. Get up.” Lyra obeyed to the best of her ability, shakily rising to her hooves. Beside her, her father struggled, but eventually found his footing as well. “It’s time I think that I show you two where you’ll be stayin’, eh? Off the chairs,” the Toydarian commanded. Lyra stepped down first, then went to Les Paul’s seat to help him to the floor, as he was still weak. Tozzulo left his seat as well, taking to the air and gesturing to a nearby corridor with his weapon. Getting the hint, Lyra and Les Paul trotted to the indicated corridor, Tozzulo in tow. The corridor was only a few strides long, and led into what appeared to be a storage room. It was lined with containers of various sizes. Curiously, each metal container had a line of holes in the center, and a tiny number pad adjacent to the holes. Tozzulo flew over to one of the larger containers and began to press on the number pad, presumably entering some sort of combination, though he kept his weapon trained on the ponies to ensure they didn’t run. Not that they anywhere to run to. Once the combination had been entered, the front of the container opened with a mechanical hiss. Looking into it, Lyra saw that the container was empty, and had enough space that she and her father would be able to fit comfortably. Of course, that was a silly standard with which to gauge the size of it. Nopony put other ponies into boxes…right? “‘ight, inta the box ya go,” Tozzulo said, moving behind them and prodding them with his weapon. Not wishing to incur his wrath, Lyra and Les Paul obeyed. Once inside, they turned around to face their captor, who was busy fiddling with the keypad. With a final stroke, an orange barrier flashed into existence in front of the two ponies, each of them jumping back in surprise. “‘ere’s the deal: Coruscant is still about thirty hours away, and I ‘ave a few things ta make ready for when we land. Now, unless ya’s wantin’ to be turned ta dust or be shot, I wouldn’ go touchin’ that there energy field, or even attempt ta break out. This room’s under surveillance at all times, so I’ll know if one’a ya’s up ta something funny.” After that, Tozzulo hummed to himself for a second. Finally holstering his weapon, he mused, “After what ya’ve been through, with the desert an’ all, I imagine ya’s thirsty. I’ma grab the each’a ya a canteen’a water, then we’re gonna leave each other alone for a while.” And so he left, presumably to fetch the promised water, though Lyra couldn’t tell, confused as she was over the alien’s motives. “I can’t tell if he wants to kill us or what,” she said. Beside her, Les Paul trotted to the corner of the cage nearest to him and sat down. He sighed weakly. “You can’t figure out what he wants from us?” When Lyra shook her head ‘no’, he surprised her by actually chuckling ever so slightly. “Heh, I guess I can be somewhat happy that you have no idea what’s actually happening. Means you’re innocent, and that you’re a good pony for not having such thoughts.” Lyra moved to sit beside her dad, and he immediately wrapped her in a tight, protective embrace. She snuggled into him, trying to get as much of herself as possible into his comforting presence. “What does he want from from us, then, dad? Please tell me.” “Tozzulo wants money, Lyra. We’re his, and he intends to sell us.” “But that doesn’t make sense,” she complained. “You can’t own other ponies, right? And who’s he going to sell us to?” Again, Les Paul sighed. “Sadly, Lyra, it is entirely possible for somepony to own somepony else. It is a practice called slavery, and it’s a cruel, twisted means of deponyizing somepony. There is a master, who obtains a victim by either purchasing them or taking them by force, and there is the victim, or slave, who must either do whatever their master says or be punished.” “I haven’t heard of anything like that. Does slavery exist in Equestria?” Lyra asked. “No, never Equestria. In other kingdoms, like the gryphon kingdom back when they were conquerors, yes, but never in Equestria. Legally, at least.” As he said that, Tozzulo returned, carrying with him two small, metal containers, the contents of which sloshed around as he moved. Approaching the container, he fiddled around with the keypad again, bringing down the orange barrier just long enough to toss the canteens in before he brought it back up. “There you go,” he said, tossing them in. “Don’ drink it all too fast; that’s the last of the drinkin’ water on my ship, so that’s all ya’re gettin’, at least until we land. Is there anythin’ else I can do for ya ‘fore I leave ya be?” There were a few seconds of silence as the two ponies considered his question. Aside from smart-alec responses, though, Les Paul couldn’t think of anything too immediate. That being the case, he gave a weak shrug. Seeing this, Tozzulo began to, for the final time, use the number pad. As he was about to press the final key, Lyra spoke up. “Mister Tozzulo...sir?” she asked unsurely. “Could you answer one final question?” “Only if ya don’ call me ‘Mister’ or ‘sir’ again,” Tozzulo answered. “I hate titles.” “Sorry,” she apologized quickly, then got to her question. “What’s going to happen to us?” Tozzulo hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “I ‘onestly don’ know. Hm, ya’ve figured out by now that I’m goin’ ta sell you. I ‘ave a buyer in mind on Coruscant, a friend’a mine who does the same sort’a stuff I do, only less explorin’ and more sellin’. As for what he does with ya, I imagine he’s gonna sell ya off ta someone else, and I can’t really say what they’d want ta do with ya.” With another, but this time much more exaggerated, shrug, he reiterated, “So like I said, I don’t know. Is that all?” “Yes, that’s all,” she replied weakly. No further words were exchanged as Tozzulo finally sealed up to container. The orange barrier dissipated as the box closed, shutting out nearly all of the light as it did so. The only illumination was the faint light coming through the holes in the side of the box. “I’m scared,” Lyra said after a few minutes of silence. “Why did this have to happen, and why did it have to be us? I don’t know what’s going on or what’s going to happen, and I have no control over either, and it just...ugh, it just frustrates me. And that...that scares me. And I miss mommy.” “I do too, Lyra.” He began to tenderly rub her shoulder. “I’m scared, just as you are, and for the same reasons. But right now is not the time to succumb to our fears; the toughest part of this is yet to come, I fear. For now, all we can do is keep a level head and look out for each other.” A level head. If he was right, and worse was to come, then the thirty hours Tozzulo said they had needed to be spent preparing, mostly mentally, as there wasn’t much either of them could do physically at the moment. Her day had only been few hours long now, but already Lyra felt expended. Getting rest would be a good first step for levelling herself. And so she began to doze. Sleep didn’t come easy, though, as she thought subconsciously of her mother. But finally, after several minutes of wrestling with her musings, she fell into a light slumber, tucked into the warmth of her father’s embrace. Chapter 4The mechanical door to the cage scraped open with such suddenness that it jarred Lyra awake from her rather deep slumber immediately. Her father, too, was awoken by it, but moved more slowly. “Hmm, needs some oiling,” Tozzulo mumbled to himself, then to his captives, said, “Deep sleepers, the both of you. C'mon, follow me.” Without waiting for them to even stand, the Toydarian began flapping away, apparently trusting them enough to comply without his supervision. It was a level of freedom Lyra appreciated, given her circumstances. Wordlessly, she and her father abandoned their cage and did as instructed, as their options otherwise were fairly limited. Tozzulo led them to the main area of his vessel and motioned for them to sit in the seats they had been sitting in previously. It was only after he was seated that he began to explain himself. “We're only a couple'a hours from Coruscant now, so I imagine you're both hungry. Also noticed that you hadn't had any of the water I left with you. Maybe you're wanting something more substantial. Wadd'ya eat?” Food had been the last thing on Lyra's mind while the past day and a half had transpired, but now that it was mentioned, she found herself famished, and her inability to access her stores of magic didn't help her feel any less empty. Having traveled about the land, she had tasted some of pretty much everything Equestria had to offer, and she suddenly craved a tasty sweet from Sugarcube Corner in Ponyville. “Some bread at the least, please, and anything else fit for an herbivore that you're willing to spare,” her father answered for them. It wouldn't quite be a cupcake, but it would suffice, and was the safest way to ask for more without asserting themselves too much and possibly threatening their captor. Tozzulo scoffed, probably picking up on her father's passive-aggressiveness, but he responded to it no further, instead replying to the request. “I think I've got somethin’ that you'll like, then. Give me a moment ta get it for you.” Then he got up and flew to a yet unexplored region of the ship. She and her father dared not leave the room, but Lyra felt brave enough to get down from her seat and stretch. As she did that, Les Paul stayed put, but eyed around, his gaze settling on the table where their possessions had been laid when they had first been abducted. The items were no longer there. Noting where her father was looking, she asked him, “Where do you think he put them?” Her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. He gave her a weak shrug, but said nothing. There was a sudden clatter from where Tozzulo had retreated, followed by a frustrated growl. “This is why droids belong in the kitchen and not on the battlefront,” he mused; to himself, most likely, but loudly enough to be heard by Lyra and her father. Presumably, he had dropped whatever he was doing, and Lyra found it amusing. She chuckled at his misfortune, seeing it as a way of getting back at Tozzulo, regardless of her lack of involvement. Les Paul was not so amused, though, and hushed her immediately with a sharp “Sh!” The glare he directed toward her for that moment was dispelled as quickly as it had appeared. “Don't mock or threaten him; he's already been much more gracious than he ought to have been. Don't get on his bad side now.” “I know, I know,” Lyra replied, getting back into her chair. “It was still funny, though.” “Even so-” Les Paul began. “What was funny?” Tozzulo interrupted as he reentered the room, carrying a plate in each hand and raising his brow accusingly at Lyra. She shied away from his gaze, but answered his query nonetheless, “It was funny that you, um, dropped something,” though her volume diminished as she spoke. When she had finished answering, Tozzulo continued towards them and presented them with the plates. Upon them were haphazard stacks of various greens —some familiar, others not — and a couple slices of bread, though they smelled of some unfamiliar spice that wasn't totally unpleasant. It was meager for sure, but welcome all the same. There was a distant look on his face as he presented them with the food, and, concerned, Les Paul said, “I'm sorry if Lyra offended you for finding it funny that you dropped whatever you had, but please, know that-” Tozzulo interrupted him again. “Meh.” Despite his indifferent tone, Tozzulo's brow creased, though whether in anger, frustration, both, or for some other reason, Lyra couldn't tell. “I ‘aven't broken you yet, have I?” he then asked Les Paul, his voice low. “Broken?” Les Paul repeated, unsure of what the Toydarian meant. Tozzulo didn't elaborate, though, instead humming deeply to himself and escaping back to the room he had previously occupied. Save for the rumbling of the ship's engines, all else was silent, and so the scraping sound Lyra's hooves made on the metal plate as she began scooping her greens onto the bread so as to make a sandwich seemed magnified and thunderous. Before long, the Toydarian returned, this time carrying with him two small cups filled with a blue liquid. As he handed them the drinks, he made no move to explain what it was, and they made no move to ask. Silence between them pervaded as he returned to his spot across from them and sat himself down, crossing one of his stubby legs over the other and stroking the scruff on his chin. The distant expression had resurfaced, and as he sat, he kept his head angled down and away from them, his eyes never leaving some spot on the floor that intrigued him. They sat awkwardly, not speaking, nor eating, nor drinking, for a good half a minute before Tozzulo finally began voicing his thoughts. “Broken,” he began, “in the sense that I mean, is when a slave completely relinquishes the will to resist their master. They give up and become thoroughly submissive.” Affixing his gaze to Les Paul, Tozzulo continued, “Think of me what you will, but I'm no slaver. I'm a trader, and believe it or not, I abhor when a master tries to break their slaves. But, the market for slaves is too profitable for me to keep my hands out of, and that’s why I deal explicitly with this dealer. Now, you're hungry; eat.” Neither Lyra nor her father had yet taken a bite of what Tozzulo had provided them, but at his word, they did, tiny nibbles at first, but once their appetites had been whetted, they ate ravenously, even Les Paul. They finished off their scraps quickly, finding the alien bits odd tasting, but still appetizing. After downing a gulp of his drink, Les Paul thanked Tozzulo for the food, then asked, rather conversationally, “So, what about this dealer warrants him getting all of your business?” The Toydarian redirected his gaze to them and answered, “Heh, it may sound backwards considering what I just said, but I trade with ‘im because he is notorious for being excessively cruel and for breakin’ his wares before selling them. His name’s Cameron, and he attracts a substantial number of buyers. Believe it or not, a good majority’a slave owners are actually sympathetic towards slaves, and are willing to buy them to get them away from vile dealers like Cameron.” Gradually, his distant look began to fade and a more playful one took its place. “Chances are, so long as you ‘ave some practical skills, someone’ll buy you who'll treat you with dignity, or even better, buy you for the sole purpose of freeing you; that's not unheard of. There's no guarantee’a that, but your chances are higher the more useful you seem. So...come on, sell yourselves to me!” Neither of them spoke for a few seconds after Tozzulo concluded his exposition. Having expected her father to speak for them, she looked to him concernedly when he didn't. There was a delicate clink as her father placed his drink down on a vacant area of his seat, then he cast his gaze towards the floor, wearing the most grief-stricken of faces. Never before had Lyra seen her father in such a pathetic state, and she felt a deep rage welling within her. Without thinking or caring of the consequences, she whipped her head to face Tozzulo and berated him. “What the hay is wrong with you?!” she shouted. Caught by surprise by her sudden outburst, Tozzulo flinched, but quickly recovered his cool demeanor. “Despite all the good you say you're showing us, it really isn't seeming like it to us, you hypocritical, contradictory maggot!” “You're right,” Tozzulo agreed calmly. “I am a hypocritical, contradictory maggot. And so far, being so's kept me outta trouble.” He rose from his seat and slowly approached Lyra. “But I tell you what, you are fortunate to have been picked up by me, 'cause it very easily could'a been someone else who did so.” Getting right in her face, he added in a low voice, “And I'm willin' to bet that anybody else wouldn't have tolerated your little outburst right there.” “We're musicians,” Les Paul said suddenly. A small grin crossed Tozzulo's face, and he retreated back a few feet from Lyra. “Ah, see, at least your father understands the situation,” he remarked to Lyra, then to Les Paul said, “Elaborate.” “I play guitar, and she plays lyre, and Mandy played...” He choked up for a second, but managed the resolve to continue. “We play together, mostly folk songs.” “Good, good; musicians are always in demand,” the Toydarian noted. “Is there anything else?” “Um, we’re both unicorns, so we can normally perform magic,” Les Paul added after a moment of consideration. Tozzulo scoffed. “Magic?” Then he began to laugh. “As in, cheap parlor tricks, or do you mean the Force like you’re some kind of Jedi? ‘Cause if the first, that’s not really in demand, and if the second, I wouldn’t believe you ‘cause you would’ve escaped or somethin’ by now.” His amusement faded. “Anything else? And this time, give me something legitimate and believable to work with.” Lyra pondered the query, but as she searched for something to add, she found that there weren't any other practical skills that she or her father had. Music had been their lives, and while they were expertly proficient at that, they lacked in many other areas. Also not helping was the fact that, in this alien space that they had been forced into, she didn't know what truly qualified as a practical skill. Les Paul was appearing to have no better luck at identifying any distinguishing features, and after another few moments, he resigned. “No, nothing else,” he said to Tozzulo, shaking his head. A discontented grunt came from Tozzulo, as seemed to be his habit when being told something he was dissatisfied with. “Well...you're alien, you speak Basic, and you play music; that'll at least start the pitch.” Lyra was unsure of whether to take that as a compliment or not. “I'll have somethin' figured out by the time we get there, and if all goes well, Cameron will make ya too valuable to mistreat, eh? As for now, though, your stretch has gone on long enough; back to your cage, both of you.” Lyra gave him a nasty glare, but complied without hassle. Her father followed directly after her, and Tozzulo a few paces behind him, and in short order, she and Les Paul were once again secured in their little prison.
Chapter 1Breep! Breep! Breep! Lyra stirred from the noise, but did not wake. Breep! Breep! Breep! She shifted under her sheets, groaning at the intrusion of her sleep. Breep! Breep! Breep! “Lyra! Wake up and turn your alarm off!” Lyra’s mother yelled at her from the floor below, her shouts slightly muffled. That in tandem with the alarm was enough to finally wake the groggy unicorn. She dropped a tired hoof on the button to silence the infernal contraption beside her, slowly sitting up and taking in the morning rays. Like she did every morning, Lyra didn’t quite get out of bed immediately; instead, after rubbing some sleep and crust out of her eyes, she was content to simply sit on her bed for a while, long enough, at least, for her to wake completely. As she sat, her gaze drifted to the only window in her room, which showed off a nice expansive view of desert nothingness. It was the same view that had greeted her every morning for the past couple of months. She had decided only a couple of days into residing in this desert place that it was not to her liking. But her family had managed to find consistent employment in the area, enough to keep them rooted to the growing settlement. The Heartstrings had always been a musical family, Lyra and her parents being no exception. They had always operated in family units, travelling to whatever communities needed a musical group to liven things up. As a result, they rarely ever found themselves staying in one spot for much longer than a few months before going elsewhere, finding a hotel or friend’s house to stay at between gigs. This desert place was their most recent adventure. It was a pony settlement many miles south of Canterlot. There was no official name for it yet, for it hadn’t been officially recognized as a place of residency, but those who were establishing themselves in the growing country town usually referred to it as Appleloosa, referencing the sizable apple orchard that provided most of the settlement’s food. Until a railway made a route out to Appleloosa, though, it was bound to remain just a small collection of random shacks in the desert. “Come on down and get some breakfast, Lyra,” she heard her mother, Mandy Heartstrings, call to her again. This week was a very important week to the family, but they needed to get an early move on today. There wasn’t much time to waste lazing about, and Lyra rolled out of her comfy bed and onto her hooves, making her way downstairs. The scent of pancakes and fresh batter permeated the air of the Heartstrings' small home, and by the time she had reached the ground floor, she was drooling slightly, her stomach rumbling quietly. Lyra’s father looked up from his spot in the open dining room, where he was busy restringing one of his acoustic guitars. He was a pale blue unicorn with a short and unkempt dark blue mane. He didn’t have a very muscular build, not being an athletic pony, after all, proven by his cutie mark, which was an image of an acoustic guitar. “Good morning, Honey. How’d you sleep?” he asked warmly as Lyra came to the table. “Well, I suppose,” she said back. Her father nodded and returned to the task of restringing his guitar. “That’s good to hear. You weren’t kept up out of excitement for today, then?” “No. Why would I be? The Festival isn’t for another few days.” Smirking, her father retorted, “That’s true, but you get excited for Hearth’s Warming Eve several days before the actual holiday. There’s no reason why this can’t be the same.” “Stop giving your daughter a hard time, Les Paul,” Lyra’s mother scolded from within the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. “And get your guitar off the table; breakfast is almost ready.” “Yes, Dear.” Fortunately, he had just finished up stringing his instrument. He gave it a test strum, treating them all to a ugly, crunchy, and completely out of tune chord. Lyra was smirking now, resting her cheek on her hoof which was in turn rested on the table. “Wow, dad, I expected better from you,” she teased. He chuckled at that, setting his guitar to the side, and she briefly joined him in his laughter. After a few seconds, Lyra’s mother entered from the kitchen, bringing along three plates of pancakes perched precariously on her back. The delicious smell shut both of them up. The green earth pony smiled at them. “Are you two hungry?” “You bet we are,” Les Paul agreed, wasting no time in using his magic to distribute the plates to the three spots around the table. Promptly, he got up from his seat and entered the kitchen to get drinks for the three of them while his wife took her seat. Upon returning, they all happily dug into their morning meal. Their breakfast had been underway for some time, and by this point, all three Heartstrings had nearly finished. Aside from the clinking of silverware and other sounds pertaining to eating, though, they had been silent. This silence was finally broken by Les Paul as he asked, “So girls, is there anypony in particular that you’re excited about seeing at the Festival?” Lyra’s mother answered quickly with, “I’m certainly eager to see Mr. Neightoven; I hear he’s one of the greatest composers and pianists in all of Equestrian history, but I can’t say that any other names in the listing stuck out to me- except for ours, of course.” “I’m agreeable on that,” Les Paul chuckled. Turning to Lyra, he repeated the question. “I didn’t really see anypony that interested me,” she answered. “Aw, not even us?” Lyra gave him a deadpan stare. “I’m joking, Lyra,” he said. “But really, nopony on the list caught your eye? Not even that young, rising cellist?” “Her name’s Octavia, Dad, and no; she does classical stuff, and you know I’m not into that,” Lyra answered, punctuating her statement with an eye roll. “Fair enough,” he returned, glancing to a clock across the room. “Looks like we’ve got an hour until we’ve really got to head out to rendezvous with our ride to Canterlot.” He swallowed his last bite of food. “Make sure you’ve got everything you’ll need for the trip. We’re not coming back until the Music Festival’s over.” Following suit, the two mares finished eating their breakfast soon after Les Paul did. He cleared the table and made off to the kitchen to clean the dishes, allowing Mandy and Lyra to return to their respective rooms and finish packing. Lyra had never been a very organized pony, but fortunately for her, she was also a light packer, lessening the need for organization. From underneath her bed, she procured a few packs of extra lyre strings and tossed those into her lyre case. Her hygienic supplies were thrown into a drawstring bag along with a small sack of bits and a deck of playing cards, and with that, she was just about ready to leave. There was some time to spare, so she went ahead and played her spare lyre, which she was opting to not bring along. She spent a couple of minutes playing through her major and minor scales, as she did at the beginning of every practice session, before moving on to more melodic tunes. She ran through only a small portion of her repertoire before the hour had passed and they needed to head out. Placing her spare instrument on its stand, she slung the drawstring bag around her back, carried her lyre case in her magic, and proceeded downstairs to where her parents were waiting for her. “You ready, Dear?” Mandy asked her. Much like Lyra, Mandy was also packing light, bringing along only a bag for her own hygienic supplies and her mandolin, the playing of which was her talent, as indicated by her cutie mark. Both items were secured around her back. Lyra nodded in affirmation. Les Paul spoke, saying, “The Princess has sent a carriage to pick us up from just north of the orchard and bring us to the nearest train station; from there, we’ll be taking an all-expense-paid ride to Canterlot. We should arrive the day prior to the Festival, giving us some time to wander about for a bit.” And with that, the family left the house, locking the door behind them and heading towards the orchards. “Dad, how much longer until they’re here? We’ve been out here for, like, an hour, now.” Despite the exaggeration, they had indeed been waiting for a while. The walk to the northern part of the orchard was nothing spectacular; there were a couple of curious ponies asking where they were headed to, but all had been given their answers and been on their way. But they were now at the rendezvous point, with no sign of the carriage. “No we haven’t, Lyra,” he answered, wiping some sweat from his brow with a hoof. It was no doubt hot, seeing as they were in a desert and it was approaching midday. Both Lyra and Mandy had gone under the shade of a nearby apple tree to try to escape from the heat of the day as they waited for the carriage, which was now going on a half-hour late. Les Paul, though, stayed in the open so that he was more easily visible by anypony coming their way. “Maybe there’s been an accident with the carriage?” Mandy offered as a reason for the delay. “Celestia knows how many things can go wrong with those,” she continued, brushing a bang of long, white mane from her face. “The axle could snap, a wheel could fall off, the roof could collapse-” “Not helping, Dear,” Les Paul interrupted, squinting as he looked for any sign of their transportation. Sighing and crossing her forelegs across her chest, Lyra leaned fully against the tree and flipped to her side. “I hope they get here soon,” she whispered. Mandy gently rubbed her back reassuringly, and Lyra began to doze off, her head lowering to meet her shoulder. But then something caught her eye. A peculiar track —no, several of them— wound through the dirt of the orchard. Her nap forgotten, Lyra raised her head and leaned in to inspect the tracks. Despite their faintness, she could see that they were almost rectangular in shape, and they came in pairs of two. Knowledge of whatever creature made these tracks, however, eluded her. “Mommy, do you know what animal made these tracks?” she asked, hoping her mom’s earth pony magic might help produce an answer. Mandy leaned over Lyra’s shoulder to inspect the tracks herself, but she could tell simply by her expression that she didn’t know. “Sorry, I don’t know,” she apologized. “Weird...I’ve never seen anything like these. Pauly!” she called, and he rushed over to them. “Do you know what could have made these?” Like Mandy, Les Paul inspected the track, but came to the same conclusion after some time. “Nope; I have no idea. But, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” “I’m going to follow them,” Lyra decided. “It sure beats sitting here and waiting.” Her parents both gave her stern looks. “Firstly, if you run off, we’re only going to be even more delayed in getting to Canterlot,” Les Paul said. “Secondly, we don’t know what made these tracks, and it’s possible that it’s not something you’d want to find. You’re not following those tracks.” “But dad,” Lyra huffed, “I’m bored! What else is there to do?” “Just be patient,” he answered. “Don’t you have cards on you, like you usually do?” Lyra nodded. “Then why not play with those?” “Because you two don’t know any card games!” she answered defiantly. Les Paul recoiled. “That’s not true. I know War.” “War’s not even fun; there’s no skill involved!” He shrugged. “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you, Lyra. Just...just…” His eyes widened and his mouth gaped as he looked to somewhere behind the tree Lyra and Mandy were under. “What is it, Pauly?” Mandy asked curiously as she and Lyra peeked around the tree. “Dear sweet Celestia…” Approaching the ponies were two...things; there weren’t even words in pony vocabulary to describe what they were looking at. They were both tall, easily double the height of the average stallion. Their bodies were covered in silver metal, except for where dirt had caked onto them. There were five limbs sticking out of their box-like bodies: two arms and two legs, all of which were slim and lank, and a cylindrical head dotted with many swiveling red lights. Additionally, each one carried a device that resembled a crossbow without limbs. Lyra also noticed that they had rectangular feet. These things, whatever they were, were responsible for the odd tracks. As the things got closer to them, Lyra and Mandy bolted away from the tree, taking cover behind Les Paul, and together they all backed away from the creatures. But their strides were long and quick, and soon they were mere feet away from the quaking family. The things looked down to them, the lights swivelling around the circumference of their heads in seemingly random patterns. Maybe those were its eyes and it was similar to a chameleon? Any thought on that was interrupted when the things spoke. None of the ponies could understand what the things were saying, though, as their words came out as garbled static and beeps. But their conversation didn’t last long until one of the things eventually raised one of its lanky limbs, curling the digits at the end until only one of them remained pointing in the direction of the open desert. “Go,” it commanded, startling the three ponies. Its voice was monotone and robotic, but managed a sort of malicious overtone as it spoke that one word. Les Paul looked in the direction it was pointing, seeing nothing but sand and dunes. He gulped. “There? You want us to go there?” The thing didn’t bother to verbally respond. Instead, it brought its leg into Les Paul’s ribs, the blow knocking the wind out of him, but fortunately leaving his ribs intact. Its partner raised its device and pointed it at them. “Keep your hooves off my family!” Mandy screamed at the things while Lyra tried to keep her wheezing dad on his hooves. She rushed in towards the one that had kicked Les Paul, spinning and bucking it in the shin. There was a sharp cracking sound, and Mandy crumpled to the ground, clutching her rear legs and groaning in pain. That metal was extremely solid! The creature itself looked completely unfazed, though, as it and its companion had another brief discussion in their strange language. When they had concluded, the thing that had been raising its crossbow-thing at them stalked over to Mandy’s crumpled form while the other, the one she had bucked, moved towards Lyra and Les Paul. As the metal monster came nearer, they stepped back to maintain their already uncomfortably close distance. Its partner had its device pointed directly at Mandy’s head. “Go. Resistance and noncompliance will not be tolerated,” the closer one reiterated. And then its partner fired.
Chapter 2“Mommy!” Lyra screamed, the metal monster approaching her and her dad forgotten as she stared at her mother’s unmoving body. A loud noise came from the device the other held over Mandy, producing a red beam of light that left Mandy’s face burned and charred. Lyra and Les Paul were still for a few moments, looking on towards the earth pony’s body, hoping with all their might that what they suspected may have happened hadn’t. But in their pause, it was all too easy to see that Mandy was no longer breathing. Some of her mane caught fire from the wound’s heat, but was quickly smothered by the rising desert breeze. There was no doubt about it: Mandy had been killed. Right there in front of her family, Mandy’s life had been snuffed without any hesitation from the metal beasts. They truly were monsters. Tears welled up in Lyra’s eyes, watching as her mother’s corpse was carelessly slung over the shoulder of the monster that had murdered her. The cruelty didn’t let up there, though, as the remaining Heartstrings were herded further away from Appleoosa and into the open desert. Les Paul followed with no resistance after that, his hollow expression cast directly in front of him, zoning the rest of the world out. The winds continued to pick up, but he refused to even blink, even as grains of sand brushed across his eyes. Conversely, Lyra was a wreck, tears openly streaming down her cheeks, leaving trails where sand mixed with tears before quickly drying in the oppressive desert heat. Her mourning, though, was stifled under fear of meeting the same grisly fate of her mother. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut so as to spare them the punishment that the growing winds were bound to deliver. The winds around them became more harsh the further into the desert the group went, slowly evolving into a full-blown sandstorm. But the machines were as relentless as the winds, pushing the ponies further despite the risks to their well-being. In addition to her emotional suffering, Lyra quickly found herself suffering physically. Small grains of sand whipped around and into her, stinging her with sharp pains on contact. Thousands of such impacts bombarded both her and Les Paul every second, threatening to rip up their coats. Already this was happening to Mandy’s corpse, as gashes began to appear and tear through the deceased skin. Visibility was low, and it was some time before, faintly, in the distance, a silhouette could be made out on a nearby dune. At their distance, it resembled little more than a rectangle, but as the group neared, more details became visible. A small metal house would have been the best way to describe what it looked like to the two ponies, elevated on a few little shafts sticking into the sand. Windows surrounded one end of the rectangular frame while several large, cylindrical tubes jutted out of the other. Four arm-like appendages with claws on the ends were folded against the approximate center of the frame, two on each side. All in all, it was something the like of which no pony had ever seen. As they all closed in on the strange thing, one of its walls opened up, raising up to allow a view of the interior while a ramp descended into sand, providing access. A figure was present at the top of the ramp, but due to the sand blowing around, it was mostly obscured from view. “Catch somethin’ for me, did’ja?” the figure called to the two metal creatures in a gravelly, grouchy voice, only faintly audible over the now raging winds. “Bring ‘em on board, quickly now.” Lyra and her father were shepherded up the ramp and into the hull of the alien machine. It proved an obstruction for the blowing dust, and the nearer they got, the more they could see, until finally things were clear, and they could see the previously silhouetted figure. If it were standing, it wouldn’t have been much taller than Les Paul, but as it was, it was holding itself aloft with a pair of undersized looking wings, which flapped furiously to keep the rather bulgy alien above the ground. It had a pair of short legs and webbed feet beneath its generous pot belly, which looked even bigger compared to the creature’s relatively long and skinny arms. A short trunk, like an extremely miniature version of an elephant’s, came out of the thing’s upper lip, and its underbite revealed a pair of tiny tusks that came to rest on either side of its trunk. Unlike the metal monsters that had brought Lyra and Les Paul there, this thing wasn’t metal, but was instead flesh, like them. Its skin was mostly a dark purple shade, except for its chin, belly, and the underside of its arms, which were a beige color. Atop its head was a cap not unlike the kind that Wonderbolts would wear, complete with a set of goggles that were currently hanging around its neck. Additionally, it wore a dark brown vest over its body and a belt adorned with various alien tools around its midsection. “Hmm, what is it’ja’ve brought me, eh?” the creature, presumably male by the tone of its voice, asked its metal counterparts curiously when Lyra and her father were finally inside, the interior of which resembled a normal house quite accurately, save for the fact that everything looked metallic and highly futuristic. “A couple’a healthy specimens, methinks,” he said, flapping closer and humming thoughtfully as he more closely inspected his spoils. Les Paul looked up at his captor, meeting the curious gaze of the alien with a empty, sullen look of his own. “It looks upset,” the alien declared, looking up to his counterparts. When the alien noticed Mandy’s corpse, he made his way over to the machine holding it. “It wouldn’ be ‘cause’ja killed this’n, would it?” it scolded, to which the machine responded in its strange language. The alien seemed to understand it perfectly, though. “I don’t care if it was self defense! You’re a droid; ain’t no way these things’d get’chu!” the alien shouted, evidently mad. “I told you ta bring me live specimens, and ‘ere you are bringin’ a dead one aboard my ship!” The droid, as it was now known to be called, replied with another series of odd beeps. “You stupid piece of scrap! Family units only fetch more when they’re not dead! Dump the body, then I’m goin’ ta ‘ave yer chassis disassembled for parts.” “You’re not even going to bury her!?” Lyra spoke up, astonished that this thing could be so utterly uncaring and disrespectful. “Ah, so they can talk?” the alien, said, tone immediately shifting from enraged to intrigued as he moved his attention to them. “Yes, I’ll be burying ‘er,” he answered with a devious chuckle. “Deserts ‘ave a way of coverin’ up evidence, eh.” Speaking to the droids again, he said, “Drop ‘er an’ let’s get outta ‘ere.” The droid obeyed, dumping Mandy’s corpse into the sand just beside the ramp, then shifted Lyra’s and Les Paul’s things, which it had picked up and carried while its companion had led the ponies to the ship, on its back before reentering. Once fully inside, it flipped a switch next to the open doorway, which slowly retracted everything. With a hiss, the doorway closed, trapping the ponies in their new prison and sealing them away from Equestria, potentially forever. With the door now closed, the sounds from outside were muffled significantly, and the alien sighed contentedly. “Ah, that’s better.” He was only like that a moment before reverting his attention back to his droids. “Now, 86-L, go an’ recharge yourself; you did good work today.” 86-L left as commanded, going to a different part of the ship and out of sight. Moving to the other one, the one carrying the ponies’ things, the alien said, “As for you, 86-H, your defective programming was a poor investment on my part.” He reached for a small round device and a wrench-like tool from his belt. “I’m goin’ ta put on this restraining bolt; you’re goin’ ta drop those items off on the table over there, then you’re goin’ ta shut yourself down next to L, understand?” The droid replied with a single beep. “Good; at least there are some commands you can follow.” 86-H did as instructed, walking over to a nearby table and dropping off Lyra’s and Les Paul’s possessions before clanking out of sight, going the same way 86-L had. “Stupid droids,” the alien grumbled under its breath once 86-H was gone, then flew to where the ponies’ things had been deposited and began to rummage through it. “IG-86; claimed to be the best on the market! Hmm, but only for killing, it seems; looks like the vendor who sold me that faulty unit’s goin’ ta ‘ave a chat with HK when I get back to Coruscant.” It was evident that the alien was mumbling to itself, and Lyra took the opportunity to get closer to her dad, who was staring at the closed door, and had been since Mandy was tossed out. Somehow, she had found the resolve to reign in her emotions for the time being, but Les Paul apparently hadn’t. Without saying anything, she got beside him and hugged him tightly. It seemed odd to her that she was the one offering comfort. “Dad,” she whispered. “Do you know what’s going on? And do you know what’s going to happen?” Finally, Les Paul moved, returning his daughter’s embrace. “No, Lyra,” he said shakily. He continued weakly. “No, I don’t know. Just...know that I love you, okay? Whatever comes to pass, know that you mean everything to me.” “I know, dad; I love you too. But I’m scared.” She clenched tighter. “I want mommy back.” “I know you do,” came the response, but it was the alien that answered. Setting down Lyra’s lyre, which he had been fiddling with, he turned to face his catch. “I’m sorry that this ‘appened; truly, I am. I don’t like to kill when I don’ ‘ave to, but sometimes my droids just don’ agree; they get a little trigger ‘appy, eh. But don’ you worry! That droid’s goin’ to get what’s comin’ for ‘im.” Les Paul seemed to break out of his stupor —or, at least he became aware of the world around him again, though his expression was no less hollow. “Sir,” he said, addressing the alien, “I don’t know what my family or I have done to deserve whatever punishment you’re treating us to, but at the very least, could you tell us what’s going on, and why you’re doing this?” “Hmm, yes, of course,” he replied, with cheerfulness unbefitting the situation. “What kind’a Toydarian would I be ta be so inconsiderate, eh? Let me get the ‘yperdrive started and the autopilot set, then I’ll be ready to answer your questions. Please,” the alien gestured to the few seats scattered around the roomy ship interior, “make yourselves at ‘ome.” And then he left to do as he said he would, which was to set the ship for takeoff. “How kind of him to abduct us, but at least offer seating,” Lyra muttered as she and her father each took one of the offered seats. Her hope was that her joke would lighten the mood and lessen her stress. It didn’t. Suddenly, the whole ship shuddered violently for a second, causing both unsuspecting ponies to jump. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that,” echoed from elsewhere in the ship. “Engines‘re choked with sand, it’d seem. Simple fix; cover yer ears, though.” They did as instructed, and not a second later, loud roaring sounded from behind them, and the entirety of the ship vibrated. The alien made a brief reappearance as he passed through, only to leave to a different part of the ship, all the while, the roaring didn’t let up. For about another minute, nothing seemed to change. But then, unexpectedly, the roaring quieted while, at the same time, the ship lurched. The ponies were thrown off balance for a second, but managed to stay on their seats. After that, the two ponies found themselves beings pushed into their seats, almost as if they were...moving? They were moving!? For a reason that Lyra couldn’t place, she felt the urge to leap out of her seat and go...anywhere, really. Anywhere but where this ship was going to be taking her. But as she landed on the floor, the ship’s shaking and vibrating made balance hard to find, and she eventually was shaken to the floor. The voice of the alien sounded over some sort of intercom. “If I were either of you, I’d sit in my seat and find somethin’ to brace yourself against. The sandstorm’s making it ‘mpossible ta get off the ground with just the autopilot, so I’m goin’ to have to manually fly us out of the atmosphere ‘fore autopilot can be activated. And I can tell you now, my flyin’ ain’t no smooth sailin’.” Heeding the alien’s advice, Les Paul latched onto the arm of his seat with a vice grip, Lyra following suit once she finally managed to crawl back over and onto her seat. The ship continued to rattle, and they could feel themselves begin to go horizontal, quickly finding themselves lying on their seats rather than sitting in them. The volume of the roaring also began to increase as they progressed, such so that it was on the brink of being overwhelming. In fact, everything was reaching that limit: the noise, the shaking, the absurdity of their situation… And then it stopped. Well, the first two did, at least. Suddenly, the roaring became naught but a quiet hum, and the shaking halted completely. No longer did it feel as though they were sideways, either, instead feeling as though they had levelled out. Each of the ponies sighed in relief as their quickly beating hearts began to calm down. They didn’t know it, but they had finally gotten off-world. They didn’t know it, but they were the farthest any pony had ever been from home.
Chapter 3“Hmm, the best part of exploring for sure is ‘turning ‘ome with spoils, eh?” the alien chuckled, having returned to Lyra and Les Paul’s location after the first couple minutes of space travel had passed, and after having set the autopilot and navicomputer coordinates. But he didn’t allow for a response from either of them before switching topics. He took a seat opposite them, demeanor instantly shifting. “So, then...I believe I promised ta answer some’a ya’s questions. What’ll be first?” “Who are you, and where are you taking us?!” Lyra shouted, leaning slightly towards the alien and giving him the nastiest glare she could muster, the whole of which seemed to be more amusing to the alien than intimidating, to her dismay. She felt a hoof rest on her shoulder in response, and looked to Les Paul, who bore a disappointed expression. Never one for outward displays of aggression, he was, even to those who deserved it. Submitting, she returned to a less threatening position. “Please,” Les Paul started, his first direct words to anything alien, “forgive my daughter’s rudeness. We’re just...distraught, after…” He trailed off, ears splaying back and head falling low. “Hm, pity,” the alien said sympathetically. “I’d’ve much liked ta meet ‘er.” After a moment, he amended, “The mother, I mean. Hm, but if it’s justice ya’re concerned about, know that that droid’ll be scrapped ‘s soon as we’re on Coruscant.” Les Paul barely acknowledged him, whispering a “Thank you,” as a fresh tear freely streamed down his cheek. It picked up dust and sand accumulated from the prior sandstorm, leaving a visible trail of light blue coat behind. “My...my question still stands,” Lyra reminded the alien, though her focus was only on her dad, reciprocating his earlier gesture and placing her own hoof on his shoulder, though for comfort as opposed to suppression. The alien grinned slightly. “Who I am, eh? There’s a question I ‘aven’t been asked in a while. Might ‘ave to do to with bein’ well known in the galaxy. But then again, we ain’t in the galaxy, are we? My name is Tozzulo. I’m a Toydarian from the planet Toydaria, an’ I’m a rather famous merchant and explorer...famous ‘mong certain crowds, that is. As for where I’m taking you, I already said: Coruscant. Got a friend there I wan’ you two ta meet.” “And...what are your wares?” Les Paul asked, quietly and tentatively. “Oh...rare things,” Tozzulo answered, taking a second to consider his response. “Exotic things- things no one has ever seen before.” Les Paul gulped, beginning to tremble slightly. “And those ‘exotic things’ wouldn’t happen to be-” “Heh, ya’re smart,” Tozzulo complimented. “I suppose that’s only better for me, then, eh?” What was daddy going to say?! Lyra thought, not having any immediate ideas. Her dad’s horn began to illuminate softly. “No,” he said resolutely, standing in his seat and lowering his head in a sign of aggression. “You’ve taken Mandy away from us already, and I will not let you take Lyra too!” Though confused about the details, she figured from what her dad said that the alien had ill intentions for them, and she mimicked her father’s stance, preparing a defensive spell, the only one she knew. It was nothing more than a numbing spell, but it could still very well incapacitate somepony if hit in the right area. She closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling around for energy to build up her spell with, but found very little. Her brow furrowed as she strained and strained to find a reserve of magical energy, but any little bit she found merely sputtered out of the end of her horn, which barely glowed, as a pathetic spark. Opening one eye quickly, she saw her father apparently struggling with the same issue. “That’s a cute trick,” Tozzulo snorted, “but it ends there.” From one of his many belt loops, he retrieved a device resembling a smaller version of the weapons held by his droids, and pointed it directly at Lyra. Lyra was paralyzed by fear, and was wearied by her attempt to cast. With the weapon aimed at her, she stopped in her casting, then collapsed into a sweaty, panting mess. Les Paul followed suit, buckling under the strain of his failed spell. “Ya know,” Tozzulo started, carelessly waving the weapon between the two of them, “normally, I try ta treat my merchandise well before I ‘ave to get rid of it; no one wants ta buy something that’s broken, eh. But when it fights back, I ‘ave no problem shooting it dead before it kills me first.” He now aimed his weapon unwaveringly at Les Paul. “So let me break things down for you two so that you understand perfectly: you are mine. You do as I say. If you don’t, you die. Is that clear?” Les Paul answered with a pathetic groan, an unsatisfactory response for the alien. He flapped his way closer to Les Paul, resting the cold, metal barrel on Les Paul’s forehead, right under the base of his horn. “Answer me: is that clear?” “Understood,” he muttered. “Good,” Tozzulo said. He retraced his weapon from Les Paul’s head and flew back to his seat, dangling the weapon at his side. “Any more light shows from either of you, and ya’re both dead. Now, I think it’s ‘bout time my hospitality’s been expended. Get up.” Lyra obeyed to the best of her ability, shakily rising to her hooves. Beside her, her father struggled, but eventually found his footing as well. “It’s time I think that I show you two where you’ll be stayin’, eh? Off the chairs,” the Toydarian commanded. Lyra stepped down first, then went to Les Paul’s seat to help him to the floor, as he was still weak. Tozzulo left his seat as well, taking to the air and gesturing to a nearby corridor with his weapon. Getting the hint, Lyra and Les Paul trotted to the indicated corridor, Tozzulo in tow. The corridor was only a few strides long, and led into what appeared to be a storage room. It was lined with containers of various sizes. Curiously, each metal container had a line of holes in the center, and a tiny number pad adjacent to the holes. Tozzulo flew over to one of the larger containers and began to press on the number pad, presumably entering some sort of combination, though he kept his weapon trained on the ponies to ensure they didn’t run. Not that they anywhere to run to. Once the combination had been entered, the front of the container opened with a mechanical hiss. Looking into it, Lyra saw that the container was empty, and had enough space that she and her father would be able to fit comfortably. Of course, that was a silly standard with which to gauge the size of it. Nopony put other ponies into boxes…right? “‘ight, inta the box ya go,” Tozzulo said, moving behind them and prodding them with his weapon. Not wishing to incur his wrath, Lyra and Les Paul obeyed. Once inside, they turned around to face their captor, who was busy fiddling with the keypad. With a final stroke, an orange barrier flashed into existence in front of the two ponies, each of them jumping back in surprise. “‘ere’s the deal: Coruscant is still about thirty hours away, and I ‘ave a few things ta make ready for when we land. Now, unless ya’s wantin’ to be turned ta dust or be shot, I wouldn’ go touchin’ that there energy field, or even attempt ta break out. This room’s under surveillance at all times, so I’ll know if one’a ya’s up ta something funny.” After that, Tozzulo hummed to himself for a second. Finally holstering his weapon, he mused, “After what ya’ve been through, with the desert an’ all, I imagine ya’s thirsty. I’ma grab the each’a ya a canteen’a water, then we’re gonna leave each other alone for a while.” And so he left, presumably to fetch the promised water, though Lyra couldn’t tell, confused as she was over the alien’s motives. “I can’t tell if he wants to kill us or what,” she said. Beside her, Les Paul trotted to the corner of the cage nearest to him and sat down. He sighed weakly. “You can’t figure out what he wants from us?” When Lyra shook her head ‘no’, he surprised her by actually chuckling ever so slightly. “Heh, I guess I can be somewhat happy that you have no idea what’s actually happening. Means you’re innocent, and that you’re a good pony for not having such thoughts.” Lyra moved to sit beside her dad, and he immediately wrapped her in a tight, protective embrace. She snuggled into him, trying to get as much of herself as possible into his comforting presence. “What does he want from from us, then, dad? Please tell me.” “Tozzulo wants money, Lyra. We’re his, and he intends to sell us.” “But that doesn’t make sense,” she complained. “You can’t own other ponies, right? And who’s he going to sell us to?” Again, Les Paul sighed. “Sadly, Lyra, it is entirely possible for somepony to own somepony else. It is a practice called slavery, and it’s a cruel, twisted means of deponyizing somepony. There is a master, who obtains a victim by either purchasing them or taking them by force, and there is the victim, or slave, who must either do whatever their master says or be punished.” “I haven’t heard of anything like that. Does slavery exist in Equestria?” Lyra asked. “No, never Equestria. In other kingdoms, like the gryphon kingdom back when they were conquerors, yes, but never in Equestria. Legally, at least.” As he said that, Tozzulo returned, carrying with him two small, metal containers, the contents of which sloshed around as he moved. Approaching the container, he fiddled around with the keypad again, bringing down the orange barrier just long enough to toss the canteens in before he brought it back up. “There you go,” he said, tossing them in. “Don’ drink it all too fast; that’s the last of the drinkin’ water on my ship, so that’s all ya’re gettin’, at least until we land. Is there anythin’ else I can do for ya ‘fore I leave ya be?” There were a few seconds of silence as the two ponies considered his question. Aside from smart-alec responses, though, Les Paul couldn’t think of anything too immediate. That being the case, he gave a weak shrug. Seeing this, Tozzulo began to, for the final time, use the number pad. As he was about to press the final key, Lyra spoke up. “Mister Tozzulo...sir?” she asked unsurely. “Could you answer one final question?” “Only if ya don’ call me ‘Mister’ or ‘sir’ again,” Tozzulo answered. “I hate titles.” “Sorry,” she apologized quickly, then got to her question. “What’s going to happen to us?” Tozzulo hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “I ‘onestly don’ know. Hm, ya’ve figured out by now that I’m goin’ ta sell you. I ‘ave a buyer in mind on Coruscant, a friend’a mine who does the same sort’a stuff I do, only less explorin’ and more sellin’. As for what he does with ya, I imagine he’s gonna sell ya off ta someone else, and I can’t really say what they’d want ta do with ya.” With another, but this time much more exaggerated, shrug, he reiterated, “So like I said, I don’t know. Is that all?” “Yes, that’s all,” she replied weakly. No further words were exchanged as Tozzulo finally sealed up to container. The orange barrier dissipated as the box closed, shutting out nearly all of the light as it did so. The only illumination was the faint light coming through the holes in the side of the box. “I’m scared,” Lyra said after a few minutes of silence. “Why did this have to happen, and why did it have to be us? I don’t know what’s going on or what’s going to happen, and I have no control over either, and it just...ugh, it just frustrates me. And that...that scares me. And I miss mommy.” “I do too, Lyra.” He began to tenderly rub her shoulder. “I’m scared, just as you are, and for the same reasons. But right now is not the time to succumb to our fears; the toughest part of this is yet to come, I fear. For now, all we can do is keep a level head and look out for each other.” A level head. If he was right, and worse was to come, then the thirty hours Tozzulo said they had needed to be spent preparing, mostly mentally, as there wasn’t much either of them could do physically at the moment. Her day had only been few hours long now, but already Lyra felt expended. Getting rest would be a good first step for levelling herself. And so she began to doze. Sleep didn’t come easy, though, as she thought subconsciously of her mother. But finally, after several minutes of wrestling with her musings, she fell into a light slumber, tucked into the warmth of her father’s embrace.
Chapter 4The mechanical door to the cage scraped open with such suddenness that it jarred Lyra awake from her rather deep slumber immediately. Her father, too, was awoken by it, but moved more slowly. “Hmm, needs some oiling,” Tozzulo mumbled to himself, then to his captives, said, “Deep sleepers, the both of you. C'mon, follow me.” Without waiting for them to even stand, the Toydarian began flapping away, apparently trusting them enough to comply without his supervision. It was a level of freedom Lyra appreciated, given her circumstances. Wordlessly, she and her father abandoned their cage and did as instructed, as their options otherwise were fairly limited. Tozzulo led them to the main area of his vessel and motioned for them to sit in the seats they had been sitting in previously. It was only after he was seated that he began to explain himself. “We're only a couple'a hours from Coruscant now, so I imagine you're both hungry. Also noticed that you hadn't had any of the water I left with you. Maybe you're wanting something more substantial. Wadd'ya eat?” Food had been the last thing on Lyra's mind while the past day and a half had transpired, but now that it was mentioned, she found herself famished, and her inability to access her stores of magic didn't help her feel any less empty. Having traveled about the land, she had tasted some of pretty much everything Equestria had to offer, and she suddenly craved a tasty sweet from Sugarcube Corner in Ponyville. “Some bread at the least, please, and anything else fit for an herbivore that you're willing to spare,” her father answered for them. It wouldn't quite be a cupcake, but it would suffice, and was the safest way to ask for more without asserting themselves too much and possibly threatening their captor. Tozzulo scoffed, probably picking up on her father's passive-aggressiveness, but he responded to it no further, instead replying to the request. “I think I've got somethin’ that you'll like, then. Give me a moment ta get it for you.” Then he got up and flew to a yet unexplored region of the ship. She and her father dared not leave the room, but Lyra felt brave enough to get down from her seat and stretch. As she did that, Les Paul stayed put, but eyed around, his gaze settling on the table where their possessions had been laid when they had first been abducted. The items were no longer there. Noting where her father was looking, she asked him, “Where do you think he put them?” Her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. He gave her a weak shrug, but said nothing. There was a sudden clatter from where Tozzulo had retreated, followed by a frustrated growl. “This is why droids belong in the kitchen and not on the battlefront,” he mused; to himself, most likely, but loudly enough to be heard by Lyra and her father. Presumably, he had dropped whatever he was doing, and Lyra found it amusing. She chuckled at his misfortune, seeing it as a way of getting back at Tozzulo, regardless of her lack of involvement. Les Paul was not so amused, though, and hushed her immediately with a sharp “Sh!” The glare he directed toward her for that moment was dispelled as quickly as it had appeared. “Don't mock or threaten him; he's already been much more gracious than he ought to have been. Don't get on his bad side now.” “I know, I know,” Lyra replied, getting back into her chair. “It was still funny, though.” “Even so-” Les Paul began. “What was funny?” Tozzulo interrupted as he reentered the room, carrying a plate in each hand and raising his brow accusingly at Lyra. She shied away from his gaze, but answered his query nonetheless, “It was funny that you, um, dropped something,” though her volume diminished as she spoke. When she had finished answering, Tozzulo continued towards them and presented them with the plates. Upon them were haphazard stacks of various greens —some familiar, others not — and a couple slices of bread, though they smelled of some unfamiliar spice that wasn't totally unpleasant. It was meager for sure, but welcome all the same. There was a distant look on his face as he presented them with the food, and, concerned, Les Paul said, “I'm sorry if Lyra offended you for finding it funny that you dropped whatever you had, but please, know that-” Tozzulo interrupted him again. “Meh.” Despite his indifferent tone, Tozzulo's brow creased, though whether in anger, frustration, both, or for some other reason, Lyra couldn't tell. “I ‘aven't broken you yet, have I?” he then asked Les Paul, his voice low. “Broken?” Les Paul repeated, unsure of what the Toydarian meant. Tozzulo didn't elaborate, though, instead humming deeply to himself and escaping back to the room he had previously occupied. Save for the rumbling of the ship's engines, all else was silent, and so the scraping sound Lyra's hooves made on the metal plate as she began scooping her greens onto the bread so as to make a sandwich seemed magnified and thunderous. Before long, the Toydarian returned, this time carrying with him two small cups filled with a blue liquid. As he handed them the drinks, he made no move to explain what it was, and they made no move to ask. Silence between them pervaded as he returned to his spot across from them and sat himself down, crossing one of his stubby legs over the other and stroking the scruff on his chin. The distant expression had resurfaced, and as he sat, he kept his head angled down and away from them, his eyes never leaving some spot on the floor that intrigued him. They sat awkwardly, not speaking, nor eating, nor drinking, for a good half a minute before Tozzulo finally began voicing his thoughts. “Broken,” he began, “in the sense that I mean, is when a slave completely relinquishes the will to resist their master. They give up and become thoroughly submissive.” Affixing his gaze to Les Paul, Tozzulo continued, “Think of me what you will, but I'm no slaver. I'm a trader, and believe it or not, I abhor when a master tries to break their slaves. But, the market for slaves is too profitable for me to keep my hands out of, and that’s why I deal explicitly with this dealer. Now, you're hungry; eat.” Neither Lyra nor her father had yet taken a bite of what Tozzulo had provided them, but at his word, they did, tiny nibbles at first, but once their appetites had been whetted, they ate ravenously, even Les Paul. They finished off their scraps quickly, finding the alien bits odd tasting, but still appetizing. After downing a gulp of his drink, Les Paul thanked Tozzulo for the food, then asked, rather conversationally, “So, what about this dealer warrants him getting all of your business?” The Toydarian redirected his gaze to them and answered, “Heh, it may sound backwards considering what I just said, but I trade with ‘im because he is notorious for being excessively cruel and for breakin’ his wares before selling them. His name’s Cameron, and he attracts a substantial number of buyers. Believe it or not, a good majority’a slave owners are actually sympathetic towards slaves, and are willing to buy them to get them away from vile dealers like Cameron.” Gradually, his distant look began to fade and a more playful one took its place. “Chances are, so long as you ‘ave some practical skills, someone’ll buy you who'll treat you with dignity, or even better, buy you for the sole purpose of freeing you; that's not unheard of. There's no guarantee’a that, but your chances are higher the more useful you seem. So...come on, sell yourselves to me!” Neither of them spoke for a few seconds after Tozzulo concluded his exposition. Having expected her father to speak for them, she looked to him concernedly when he didn't. There was a delicate clink as her father placed his drink down on a vacant area of his seat, then he cast his gaze towards the floor, wearing the most grief-stricken of faces. Never before had Lyra seen her father in such a pathetic state, and she felt a deep rage welling within her. Without thinking or caring of the consequences, she whipped her head to face Tozzulo and berated him. “What the hay is wrong with you?!” she shouted. Caught by surprise by her sudden outburst, Tozzulo flinched, but quickly recovered his cool demeanor. “Despite all the good you say you're showing us, it really isn't seeming like it to us, you hypocritical, contradictory maggot!” “You're right,” Tozzulo agreed calmly. “I am a hypocritical, contradictory maggot. And so far, being so's kept me outta trouble.” He rose from his seat and slowly approached Lyra. “But I tell you what, you are fortunate to have been picked up by me, 'cause it very easily could'a been someone else who did so.” Getting right in her face, he added in a low voice, “And I'm willin' to bet that anybody else wouldn't have tolerated your little outburst right there.” “We're musicians,” Les Paul said suddenly. A small grin crossed Tozzulo's face, and he retreated back a few feet from Lyra. “Ah, see, at least your father understands the situation,” he remarked to Lyra, then to Les Paul said, “Elaborate.” “I play guitar, and she plays lyre, and Mandy played...” He choked up for a second, but managed the resolve to continue. “We play together, mostly folk songs.” “Good, good; musicians are always in demand,” the Toydarian noted. “Is there anything else?” “Um, we’re both unicorns, so we can normally perform magic,” Les Paul added after a moment of consideration. Tozzulo scoffed. “Magic?” Then he began to laugh. “As in, cheap parlor tricks, or do you mean the Force like you’re some kind of Jedi? ‘Cause if the first, that’s not really in demand, and if the second, I wouldn’t believe you ‘cause you would’ve escaped or somethin’ by now.” His amusement faded. “Anything else? And this time, give me something legitimate and believable to work with.” Lyra pondered the query, but as she searched for something to add, she found that there weren't any other practical skills that she or her father had. Music had been their lives, and while they were expertly proficient at that, they lacked in many other areas. Also not helping was the fact that, in this alien space that they had been forced into, she didn't know what truly qualified as a practical skill. Les Paul was appearing to have no better luck at identifying any distinguishing features, and after another few moments, he resigned. “No, nothing else,” he said to Tozzulo, shaking his head. A discontented grunt came from Tozzulo, as seemed to be his habit when being told something he was dissatisfied with. “Well...you're alien, you speak Basic, and you play music; that'll at least start the pitch.” Lyra was unsure of whether to take that as a compliment or not. “I'll have somethin' figured out by the time we get there, and if all goes well, Cameron will make ya too valuable to mistreat, eh? As for now, though, your stretch has gone on long enough; back to your cage, both of you.” Lyra gave him a nasty glare, but complied without hassle. Her father followed directly after her, and Tozzulo a few paces behind him, and in short order, she and Les Paul were once again secured in their little prison.
