Millennium Novus

Millennium Novus

Part I, Chapter 2:

Morning Ponies

At precisely 6:23 (Hub City standard time) the coffee machine in the kitchen flicked on, warming the water to pass through the pre-set grounds.  At 6:27, just as the first wisps of coffee aroma seeped under the door into the bedroom, the radio flicked on, filling the room with the soothing tones of National Pony Radio. 180 seconds later, the rebroadcasted interview with Gilded Pleat on the upcoming Protectorate election penetrated the fog of sleep around the unicorn’s mind, and she drifted back into consciousness. She stayed there for sixty seconds, savoring the last wisps of her dream. When the count had finished she felt awake enough to sit up.

Sliding her back hooves off the side of the bed, she placed them in the waiting slippers. A moment later her front hooves followed. She moved into the bathroom, her pace unsteady. She turned on the shower, slid off her slippers, then stepped into the water. Her water heater gave her eleven minutes thirty-three seconds (give or take five or so) of hot water, and she savored every moment, rubbing shampoo into her mane and across her coat. Just as the water was beginning to cool, she shut the faucet and stepped out, toweling herself off.

Her clothes were waiting for her right where she had set them last night, and she put them on now: brown turtleneck sweater and a sky blue scarf. She took her brush and forced her lavender mane into a semblance of order, then left the bathroom. At this time it was 6:45.

Her coffee was ready, so she filled her thermos and dropped two ice cubes within. This would set it to the perfect temperature in fifteen minutes time. She sat at her table and filled her bowl with cereal. Next to it she placed a ripe grapefruit and a cup of yogurt. She ate her breakfast in silence, listening to the radio. “Mr. Pleat, would you say that your opponent does not properly grasp the unfolding tensions in the CMZ?” “Certainly, Ace. The situation is extremely delicate. We have several unstable warlords. Sending in more troops would simply exacerbate the problem. Furthermore…” When she had finished, she grabbed her lunch from the fridge, flicked the lights and the radio off, and walked outside. She locked her door at exactly 7:00.

The morning routine was complete.

Evenstar Sigma trotted down the street, savoring the calm. Most ponies were still asleep, the night’s fog had not yet lifted from the air. Soon the street would be full of the sounds of families getting ready for work, and the air would be filled with the smells of pancakes, eggs, and soy bacon. But for the moment, it was quiet, and she was alone.

Or almost alone. As she rounded the corner, the unicorn caught sight of a familiar red pony waiting at the bus stop. She grinned, increasing her pace. The pony looked up, a haughty grin on her face.

“Well, if it isn’t the morning pony herself,” the red pony said.

“How’s it going, Vesper?”

“You say that every morning, Even,” Vesper said with a snort, “and every morning I say the same thing.”

“Well, not today,” Even pointed out.

“True,” the other pony said. “Instead, I made note of our growing rut and dug us out of it.”

Even tutted. “But you’ve messed it up now, you see?”

Vesper gave her a sour look. “How so?”

“Well, without our usual exchange of words we’re bound to run out of topics and lapse into awkward silence approximately thirty seconds before the bus arrives. We can get back on course when you complain about the other bus goers, but that doesn’t change the fact that things are going to get awkward very soon.”

Vesper laughed. “Is it bad that I’ve known you so long that I can’t tell if you’re joking?”

Even’s only answer was a look. Vesper laughed again, but the laugh rang slightly too loud in her ears and she stopped. The silence was suddenly deafening. She looked back to Even and saw a smug look on her face. “You know, sometimes I have to wonder about you,” Vesper said.

Even shrugged. “I like stability,” she said. “It makes sense.”

“You know what I think?” Vesper said, adopting a mock serious tone. “I think it’s gone to your head. What was that you showed me the other day? A checklist for all your checklists? ‘Oh, but Vesper! How else can I be sure that my pre-dinner post-TV checklist is complete? Or my thirty-minutes-before-bed checklist?’” She clasped her hooves to her face. “The horror!”

“I—“ Even said, but Vesper cut her off.

“And the best part,” she said laughing openly now, “the best part is that when I suggested, sarcastically, that you make a third layer of lists to make sure that your checklist checklist was completed, you took me seriously. You, my friend,” she jabbed a hoof at Even, “need a priority check.”

Even chuckled. “Point taken,” she said.

“So how’re you feeling about the first day of classes?”

“Prepared,” Even said. “The new morning routine worked perfectly, and I’ve got the syllabus and work all planned out. I can’t wait!”

Vesper chuckled. “If only your students could be so enthusiastic.”

“Oh, I think they will be,” Even said. “The Pre-Mark civilization is one of the most interesting fields around right now. We are literally making history.”

“Just so long as they don’t ask you to teach them magic.”

Even snorted. “At the Celestial? When Pegasi fly. They’re better than that.”

They fell quiet just as the bus rounded the corner. Vesper checked her watch. “There, you see?” he said. “Only six seconds of silence. Better recheck your checklist.”

Even laughed as she followed her friend onto the bus.

***

The Celestial University was a monument to knowledge. From across the world, ponies traveled here to gain the best education that bits could buy. It was the oldest institution on the continent, and among its staff counted three Sanguine laureates, four prestigious authors, an oil magnate, and most recently, two Scholars Royale.

It was these two mares that stepped off the bus and into the bustling campus. After extracting a promise of lunch that afternoon and an affectionate punch on the shoulder, Vesper bid her friend farewell, and Even went to face her first class. Sipping her coffee, she put her books down in her office and walked through the side door into her lecture hall.

“Good morning class,” she said. “Welcome to Archaeology 503: Pre-Mark Civilization. I’m Professor Sigma. If you’re in the right place, great! Prepare for some of the most interesting stuff history has to offer. If you’re not in the right place, well…” she looked over the class, a bright smile on her face, “I hope I can convince you to stay anyway!”

There were a few chuckles. She sized them up. One advantage of teaching this far up the curriculum was that few, if any students, didn’t want to take her class. The thirty or so ponies looked back at her, general interest on their faces. She fought the urge to clap her hooves together. This is going to be great!

“Now,” she said, using her hoof-aid to pick up a piece of chalk, “who can tell me what the Mark is?” There was a scattering hands; she picked one at random. “Yes, Mr…”

“Throw Torch, ma’am,” the earth pony said. “The Mark is an event of unknown origin and description that was responsible for the end of the Pre-Historical civilizations.”

Even nodded. “Very good,” she said, writing it on the board. “Straight from the textbook, I imagine, was it? Well, good job nonetheless. The Mark, whatever it was, happened about eight thousand years ago, and ended the Pre-Historical era. And from what little we can glean from that time, the end was rather abrupt. The first proposed theory for the Mark dates to one hundred thirty-six years ago, when Professor Regal Sanguine published his book: ‘The Wrath of Gods’, in which he proposed that the similarities between writing, tools, and agricultural techniques in the different Pre-Classical civilizations was due to the existence and collapse of another, far greater civilization beforehoof. Who can tell me how his theory was received?”

The pony she called upon replied, “He was laughed out of the room, wasn’t he?”

“Correct!” Even said as she wrote this point down. “The other historians of the era thought the idea ludicrous, and Sanguine lost his position and his credibility. For over a hundred years, the Sanguine name was associated with the most foolish of scientific ideals, until—“ she paused, chalk at the ready, for the response.

The pony she was looking at gave a little start, “uh… they found evidence of it?”

“Bingo!” Even said, nearly shouting. “Archaeologists began to uncover artifacts dating from before the early farmers at the Fertile Saddle. Pottery, machinery, tools of a level of advancement that would not be seen again for thousands of years. The find was so astonishing, in fact, that the first finds were decried as hoaxes. But then they kept coming, and…” she gave a shrug. “Here we are. Any questions before we continue?”

She called upon a pegasus sitting in the back row. “Is it true that the technological advancement of the Pre-Mark civilization is nearly on par with our own?”

“Well,” Even said, “I wouldn’t put it that far, but some of their technology is on the level we have reached within the last three hundred years or so.”

The pegasus nodded, as if she had expected that answer. “And is it also true that some of their technology and architecture is impossible to work without something… more?”

Even’s smile faded. “What are you suggesting?” she asked, her voice suddenly cool.

The pegasus shrugged. “Several prominent ponies have put forth the idea that the Pre-Marks possessed a power that we’ve since lost. Something akin to… to…”

“Magic,” Even said, her voice dry as a bone. The pegasus nodded. “Alright, look,” Even said, clapping a hoof down on her desk loud enough to make several students jump. “In spite of what some ponies would tell you, the field of Pre-Mark studies has nothing to do with aliens, magic, demons, or any other supernatural entities. If you came to this class hoping to learn some spells, or other such nonsense, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“But the archaeological record—“ the pegasus began.

“—Is incomplete,” Even finished. “Even now, we know very little about the Pre-Marks or who they were. The language remains un-deciphered, and very little architecture has been uncovered. Those gaps you are referring to do not point to anything supernatural; we simply don’t know enough yet. There is nothing, I repeat nothing¸ that indicates the Pre-Mark civilization possessed any power more that we modern ponies lack, and I will not have this classroom filled with nonsense and pseudoscience. Is that clear?” The class nodded, some students looking more put out than others. “Now,” Even said, “before we really get into the meat of things, let’s go over the syllabus. The first three weeks will be devoted to social structure, government, and the possible hints of a caste system…”

“Rough morning?” Vesper asked as her friend trudged into the staff room.

Even gave a snort and plopped down into the chair next to her. She pulled out a daffodil sandwich from her lunch. “Let’s just say that my students are a bit… superstitious.”

“Oh, great Wise One,” Vesper said, waving her hooves above her head, “teach me the ways of the Ancients! I want to learn to levitate, teleport, and maybe even grow into an Alicorn! Ponies across the world will venerate me as a ruler because of my power and wisdom!”

Even shoved her friend. “And your students wanting you to teach them the best strategies for the Playstable 3 is any better?”

“Hey, at least I can sort of see their logic. I mean, what are they supposed to expect?”

“The study of mathematical models of conflict and cooperation between intelligent rational decision-makers.”

“Lord, you make it sound like such a snooze.”

“Now now, Vesper,” Even said, a hoof raised, “one shouldn’t shy away from advanced vocabulary to better express oneself. Higher lexicon means higher learning.”

Vesper snorted and took a bite of her sandwich.

“Honestly, though,” Even said, “There’s just something about the damn Pre-Marks that really brings the quacks out of the woodwork. You know I even had a kid ask me about the Endless Monarchs again?”

“No.”

“Yes! Just because a few gods appear in murals in different sites does not make them real! I mean, what? Junk like this would be laughed out of the room in any other archaeological field, but no, just because it’s a ‘lost civilization’ full of ‘ancient secrets’, ponies think that there’s magic and gods?” She waved her hooves around her head.  “What?”

Vesper let her grin drop. “How many do you think will drop out?” she asked.

Even looked at her. “Once they finally realize that I’m not going to teach them witchcraft? About half, I’d say.”

“There, you see?” Vesper said. “Not all of them.”

A grunt was the only response. The pair ate for a time in silence. Although she wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Even was grateful for the size of the class. Superstition still swamped the field, but each year the voices of reason became stronger and the conspiracy theorists sounded crazier. She was confident that, within the decade, the study of the Pre-Marks would be dominated with rational, sensible, science.

“So how’s your application for the dig going?” Vesper asked.

“Pretty good. I’ve finished the draft and my research is in place. I really just need to check my work.”

“So you’re just about to start, then.”

“Oh, can it. This is the dig of a lifetime; I can’t be too careful.”

“Oh, come on, Even! You’re a shoe-in! Youngest full-time professor (present company excluded), and one of only two Scholars Royale? There’s no way you’re not going to get it.”

“None of that will matter if my proposal’s sloppy,” Even said, finishing her sandwich and taking a bite out of her apple.

“Even, you gave me your last draft and I can tell you that it’s not sloppy. It’s great. You are, once again, worrying over nothing. You know what I think? I think you need a night out.”

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes,” Vesper grinned. “A couple of friends of mine are grabbing a few drinks this Friday, as a sort of end-of-the-first-week thing. You should come too.”

“I don’t know…”

“Even,” Vesper looked at her friend, staring until the purple unicorn met her eyes, “you need to get out more. See the city lights. Meet new ponies.”

“You’ve tried this before,” Even growled, “and it hasn’t worked.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to bring a book this time.”

“Hmm.”

“Please? I doubt you’ll have much time for partying in the CMZ.” Vesper asked, giving her best look. Even scrunched up her face, but the battle was won and she knew it.

She sighed. “Fine, but!” she said as Vesper let out a whoop, “If I don’t like it, I’m going to leave, got it? And no—and I mean no—attempted hookups, understand?”

“You got it,” Vesper said, “just leaves more for me anyway.”

“This is going to be terrible,” Even muttered.

“This is going to be great,” Vesper said.

The day passed faster after that. Even taught a final class, bid Vesper farewell, and took the bus to the salon. It was Monday, and that meant errand day. She got a manecut and a horn filing at the salon, then walked to the grocery store. She gathered her groceries, ticking each checkbox on her list (and the double checkboxes next to them) and paid for her goods. Finally, she picked up her laundry from the Laundromat, and rode the bus home.

At this time it was 6:04. Ignoring the faint twitch of annoyance at arriving at such an irregular number, she reset her pre-dinner checklist to compensate for the four minutes of lost time and went about her business. Dinner consisted of a light meal of sautéed hay, barley stalks, and an apple for dessert. She made her lunch for the next day and set tomorrow’s clothes out.

When she had checked the last box on her post dinner list, a change came over Even. If an onlooker were to spy her at that moment, he might have been reminded of a child doing something they know is wrong: she was full of nervous energy and excitement. Casting a furtive glance around her study, she opened the last drawer of her desk and pulled out a small notebook.

It was old and dirty, torn from years of use. The cover was made out of cardboard. When she was younger, Even had drawn a symbol on the front, a six-pointed star with five smaller stars around it. She wasn’t really sure what it meant, but she liked it all the same. She opened the notebook to the first blank page, noting that there were not many left. Then she produced a pen and began to write.

Monday, September 3, 3024

Last night was the same dream I’ve been having every other night for the past few weeks. At least, I think it is. I get different pieces each night. This time, it began in some sort of dirigible. I was flying somewhere, and when I finally landed, I met the strangest assortment of ponies…