The Adventures of Capt. Ambrose Mittens, Explorer of the Skies and Seas - Part XIX: The Equestrian Experimentby Mr AnomalousChaptersI: SCIENCE!II: THIS DOESN'T FEEL LIKE SCIENCE!III: ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT THIS IS SCIENCE?IV: WELL I THINK YOU'RE WRONGI: SCIENCE!There is a blur, quick, cat-like, and the face Dr. Fuzzyboots is thrown back, a light spray of blood following close behind. "You fool!" Captain Mittens bellows, indignant and offended, "You've just interrupted the forging of the greatest idea ever known to felinekind!" Fuzzyboots crawls back to a standing position, shaking his head and says in a less boistrous but equally indignant voice: "And what idea might that have been, Captain?" "I don't know!" Captain Mittens cries, swiping his paw against his assistant's face again, "You interrupted it!" Fuzzyboots wipes his cheek and grinds his jaw, struggling to contain an angry response. "It's gone! Lost in the void! Forever!" Captain Mittens trails off, gazing angrily out the window of his study, grunbling and mattering as he watches as the dark, desert-like landscape passes beneath him. Fuzzyboots groans, careful to keep it to himself. "Well, if you are finished being so melodramatic, sir, I have an announcement." "Eh?" Mittens responds, his rage subsiding, "And just what might that be, Doctor?" "It's a message. From the capitol." "Well if that's the case, where is Jasper?" "Still asleep, I'm afraid." "What!?" Captain Mittens bellows once again. "That can't be! Why, it's . . ." he checks the grandsire clock near the wall, ". . . it's four o'clock! Two hours after stirring time!" Dr. Fuzzyboots simply shrugs helplessly as his master shoves past him and exits the study. The early morning is cold and nippy but perfectly tolerable. Of course, Captain Ambrose Mittens would have said the same thing if they were five miles up in the sky during a blizzard measuring negative seventy degrees below zero--on the ground--but it matters not; Jasper is about to experience a very rude awakening all the same. Ah. Yes. She is young, unused, mostly innocent but not completely; still just with the right amount of daring and playfulness. The world is perfect; the room is small but well-lit and cozy, with a warm fire burning in a nearby hearth and earthly-smelling pots of flowers perching atop books of admirable thickness. Jasper is dressed his best with a brand new trilby, a waistcoat sewn from the highest-quality rat fur, and a shiny pocketwatch of pure platinum. And, of course, there's the utterly phantasmagoric dam lying sensually before him, stretched out, and with a mischevious glint in her eye. She stands up, presents herself--she is very wet--and then promptly pisses in his face. Jasper awakes, sputtering, to a sight much less pleasant than the one he was only just experiencing: the dark, furry underbelly of his boss. And there's something else. . . . Captain Mittens lowers his leg and scoffs, saying, "There! That ought to teach you, you lazy rapscallion!" Jasper, realizing what just happened, frantically begins spitting on the ground and wiping his face, cursing. "You bastard!" he says, "That was completely unnecessary!" "Oh?" the Captain says, "You're awake, and it's two hours overdue." Jasper spits again and then furrows his feline eyebrows. He retreives his pocketwatch--not platinum, sadly; only copper--and flicks it open. "What?" he gasps, "Since when do we wake up at bloody . . . two? Our bleedin' wake-up time was seven yesterday!" "Yes, yesterday. That was yesterday. Today is today. It is different. The moon is slightly closer and we are all older. Get your thoughts straight, you slubberdegullion." "Ponce," Jasper retors. "Cunt," responds the Captain. "Utter merkin." "Slimy Batty-fanger." "Pompous meater." "Disgusting paup-" "Enough." says a stern voice. "You two are like kittens. Just-born ones, with severe mental issues and only one leg who are destined for a thourough smothering by their mother." Jasper scowls and Ambrose curls his lip. Suddenly, out of the blue, Captain Mittens picks himself up and says: "Well, that message that Jasper here was supposed to be awake to receive and then make me receive: what is it?" "Ah, yes of course," says the bespeckled Doctor, fumbling to retreive a scroll from one of the may pockets in his lab coat, "It reads . . . 'Greetings, Sir Master Lord Earl Commander Captain Ambrose Mittens: It is with great glee and joy that I, Empress Puss of the Kitish Empire do humbly and cordially invite you to my palace, specifically, the Eastern Science-ing Wing, where Sir Felix Meowzer Meowsirs, as I am sure you know, works and dwells; he has a surprise for you that I am sure an adventure-minded feline such as yourself would find rather interesting. And then, of course, to my quarters, where I, too have something you might find interesting; namely, my new . . .' Wait, what?" Dr. Fuzzyboots cocks his head and turns the open scroll diagonally. "Oh my . . . a . . . a typewriter? . . . and a candlestand? . . . well now that's just cru-" Ambrose sweeps the parchment from his companion's hand and stuffs it into his overcoat. "That's enough of that, when does it say she wants us to be there?" "I don't know, I never got past the 'twenty foot tall-.'" "I said enough. Ah well, this baby of mine-." "I helped build it." "This baby of ours can make it there in just a few hours. Where are we now?' "Over the Southern Wastelands." "All righty then! Let's get a move-on!" Elsewhere, on a planet very distant and different from that Mr. Mittens, a table is thrown at a wall. It lands with a crash and a smash, splattering quill ink and scattering a plethlora of parchment against the brick and stone. "Oh. Oops," says a little unicorn filly. "Oh, um . . . not a problem! That ink was . . . well it was nothing special," Says a much larger pony, one purple and with both wings and a horn, "Everyone makes mistakes? . . . " A scroll appears, carried in by a tendril of rolling smoke, and lands on Twilight's head. She picks it up, ignoring the curious gaze of her apprentice, and reads it. "What does it say?" asks the young filly. "Well . . . it appears there's been a disturbance." The filly cocks her head. "What kind of disturbance?" "A big one." "Where?' ". . . Everywhere." "What does it mean?" "Well . . . someone or something is . . . preparing to come here." "Can I see?" Twilight lifts the scroll higher with her aura. "No, no, classified." "Aww," says the filly. Twilight takes a big breath, tired but content and says, "All right then, I think that concludes the day's lessons." "Okay!" says the filly. "I'll see you tomorrow!" As the table-destroying pony happily prances out of the study, Twilight sighs and goes about cleaning up the mess. Fortunately, the ink was only imported from Trotland; not Trottingham, and the work that had been destroyed was minimal. And besides, that filly was growing quickly, almost as fast as Twilight had. Twilight could not wait to see as her apprentice grew and developed. Then she wondered if this was the way had, at one time, Celestia felt. But even with her mind fitted upon her personal student, Twilight's true thoughts mingled within the ink of that hastily-written letter. "There has been a fluxuation in the sphere," it said, "Danger level high. Initiate code 777." II: THIS DOESN'T FEEL LIKE SCIENCE!The spectral glow of the morning (the normal, sane morning) - reveals an army of spires and towers, all topped with grandiose flags and banners. The structures at first appear to be haphazardly thrown onto the mountin on which they dwell, but when one pays more attention, a level of organization and order unparalleled by any in the Kittish Empire is shown. The towers are tall, purely-colored, made from solid and shiny stones and materials, and the city's beauty is multiplied tenfold in the sheen of the dawn's sun. And not even this can compare the Empress Puss's grand and glorious palace, a dwelling fit for a god. Or a goddess . . . . Captain Mitten muses. His airship, moved along by a mixture of balloons and propellers fueled by solar energy, soars into the throng of towers, manuevering masterfully betwixt the marble and the ivory, never inflicting even the slightest scratch upon anything in the city or the stolid, wooden hull of the vessel. The sun crawls ever higher in the clear skies, and the Magnificent Malestrom sets down with a surprisingly light thud that echoes in the serene courtyard that is its destination. A nearby fountain gurgles happily, but that is all. There are no guards this far into the Palace's domain; no one who isn't wanted there could get there, and so the ramp lowers and the ship's three inhabitants exit without unopposed. "Ah, the Grand Palace; visiting it never gets old," Ambrose says, a smile lifting his whiskers. As he and his team move forward to the nearest entrance, one of the biggest of the Koi in the fountain goes missing rather thouroughly down the Captain's gullet--"Only the biggest and tasties fish-flesh for me!"--and they all saunter inside, wondering just what it is that could possibly be awaiting them. . . . The room is choked with darkness almost utterly; if it were not for the few candles and glowing scientific and magical instruments, the blackness would be palpable. But it's not, because there's a few candles and glowing scientific and magical instruments, so let's get a move on. Twilight fastens her goggles as she bends over her boilbing beakers and torrid test-tubes. The day is new, and so is science; ever-growing and evlolving, it never stops advancing. The purpose of this little bit of science-ing, however, is not a happy one. It's purpose is not for advancment or evolution, not for progress nor for climbing the ladder of civilization; its purpose is a dire one: it is for the saving of the world. Someone, somewhere, is poking at the weaves of reality, and they are poking really rather hard and carelessley. If that pony or whatever else is really so desperate to crawl into her world, Twilight reasons, then they must really really want it or something(s) within it. Naturally, Twilight cannot let this happen. This is her realm, the realm of the gryphons, the zebras, the ponies, the dragons; not of the outsider's. But still it persists. The weaves are beginning to give way, but Twilight is calm as she reads her tomes and pours her chemicals. She is confident. But what she doesn't know, is that that "outsider" is none other than the Royal Scientist Sir Felix Meowzer Meowsirs! The throne room. The throne room of utmost beauty and grandness, the throne room of massive size and massive worth, built from gold and cobalt, silver and fine oak, the throne room where Empress Puss herself dwells; it is empty. No pretty Empress Puss. "You there!" Ambrose barks, startling a young servant-sire, "Where is the Empress?" "Oh, uh, um, I-I don't-." "Finish that sentence with 'know' and you will experience no small amount of pain." "Ah, well, then she's . . . that way," the servant-sire says hastily, thrusting his paw down in a random direction, somewhere East-ward. "Thank you, dear sire! Now bugger off. Come, assistants, she is this way!" Amborse bellows vociferously. Dr. Fuzzyboots and Jasper both roll their eyes hard enough to cause pain, but comply, not wanting to incur the wrath and ridicule of their extraodinarily queer master. They wander for hours, seeing just about every bleeding square inch of the palace there is to see, Ambrose raiding any food he sees along the way, and never again asking for directions. Eventually, there is betrayal when Fuzzyboots and Jasper conspire against their master and promptly tackle him to the ground and pin him there. The shouts of: "Traitors! Trecherous cunts! Bastards! Rebels! Mutiny I say, nothing less than noose-inurring mutiny!" attract the resident of the doube-doors which they are closest, who just so happens to be who they are searching for. Captain Ambrose Mittens glances upwards and then straightens up, shrugging his assailants off. "Ah, see here now? I was just on the right path, and I was punished for it." Fuzzyboots and his partner-in-crime stand up and straighten themselves up. "We'd 've walked right past it, arse-wit," Jasper grumbles, but Ambrose pays no attention. "Milady Puss, I apologize for such crass shouting, but you see, I was betrayed. . . ." The tall, pearl-decorated and amused-looking dam raises her pink paw and says: "Think nothing of it, my good sire, I understand completely. I assume you are here to answer my summons?" "Indeed," Ambrose says, "That is the case. But there is one small problem: I forgot where the Eastern Science-ing Wing is." "Then why didn't you ask another servant-sir-?" Fuzzyboots begins but is interrupted by a paw in the face. The Empress conceals a smile and simply gestures . . . east-ward. "Come, my companions!" the Caption cries heartily, "Our Mission awaits!" Sir Meowsirs jolts in surprise when the doors to his laboratory are thrown open hard enough to crack the stone walls. "I hath arrived!" comes a much-too-loud cry, that unmistakable voice of Captain Ambrose Mittens. "Oh. Yes, that's right, the Empress chose you . . . ." the scientist mutters as Dr. Fuzzyboots excitedly begins to examine the instruments on the tables. "Goodness, Sir Meowsirs, this is a . . . a . . . ." Meowsirs Puts on a smile and, sweeping over the Fuzzyboots's place, says: "Yes, my good friend: that is a Vortex-cubed-Extrapulator. Fuzzyboots goes to point at another odd device but Meowsirs clamps his paw over the other scientist's mouth. "Yes yes, plenty of rare and amazing instruments and devices reside here in my laboratory, but none of that compares to my newest device." "Ah," the Captain says, "The . . . space . . . thing?" "Sure," Sir meowsirs replies, "This way, my good sires; amazement awaits!" "Oh no," Jasper says, genuinely frightened, "He's just like-." "Well, I do know that I like my amazement!" Captain Mittens interrupts. With a flair, Sir Meowsirs pulls of a heavy blanket and reveals the . . . space . . . thing . . . . III: ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT THIS IS SCIENCE?Wind can be painful. Especially when it contains sharp bits of ice and air cold enough to kill. Lyra has just recently learned this, but thankfully she has many layers of cozy clothing and that wonderful thing that comes with having a horn on your head: magic. Even so, it is cold. No matter. The day may be cold, icy, misty, freezing and windy--at least on the very peak of Canterlot Mountain--but it shall be a glorious day, the day that marks the first alien visitors to the planet Equis! Lyra doesn't know what type of aliens, but she has a hunch that they will be the returning remnant of those infamous creatures of old, those walking, hairless apes that are human beings. And that hunch is letting loose all sorts of excitment. Lyra hides amid the snow alone, binoculars at the ready, tensly waiting for the arrival, congratulating herself on sneaking a read at the letter before it had been sent; working at the Palace hads its perks. And now she will get them all to herself: the humans! Well, if they are indeed humans. Which they probably are! A spike is hammered through Lyra's thoughts, shattering them, when a low hum perforates the ground around her. It is almost unhearable, but it is most certainly there, and it is steadily growing in volume. Nothing to see, not yet, but the droning marks the first sign, and Lyra witholds a squee. Then she remembers that she's alone and lets it loose. Before her excitment can reach its peak, however, the droning suddenly halts. But then, almost immediately, amidst Lyra's confusion, there is a single, heavy pulse in the ground and in the air. Lyra is thrown back into a snow drift, her head ringing. She feels blood leaking from her ears. She is, for all intents and purposes, very stunned, until, of course, she remembers: aliens! Her entire body flowing with preternatural, almost pyschotic enthusiasm and positive prospect, she forces herself to stand on wobbly legs, smiling manically despire her ringing and bleeding ears.s As her hearing returns, she hears a new sound: humming. Not the old, earthy drone she first heard, but a mechanical one. She hears voices and she almost wets herself with excitement. She scrambles back over the snow, not caring that some of it is getting inside her coat, and throws herself over the drift, smiling all the way. And then, when she sees the truth, she faints out of pure disappointment. Gently now, gently. . . . A single drop of liquid, suspended over a beaker, hanging there. It needs to fall, fall and join it's liquid molecule bretheren, but only one drop. Any more would contaminate the entire operation, and of course, that simply won't d-. "Princess" comes a sudden shout, the smashing of her door against the wall--that seems to be happening a lot--a close companion to the cry. Twilight jolts, but thankfully is able to divert the spilling contents of the test tube elsewhere, namely, the wooden surface of the table. It will do no harm there, so Twilight turns to see her visitor and her vision is greeted by a panting guard, Princess Celestia close behind. "Thank you, Silver," Celestia says to the guard, "You are dismissed." Celestia entires the darkened chamber and apologizes for the spilled chemicals. "Oh, no, it's all right," Twilight says, wiping it up with a cloth, "It would be a problem if all of it had spilled inside the beaker. . . ." "Well it's good that didn't happen, then," Celestia responds, "What is it that I interrupted?" "A new spell-enhancer. Simple, but potent. But why are you so calm? Commander Silver seemed rather . . . distressed." "Well, it probably has something to do with the aliens. . . ." "Aliens?" Twilight says, tensing up. "The ones who just tore the space-time continuum to get here." "What?? What happened to 'danger level high.'? Why are you so nonchalant?" "Because it's my job. Now, I apologize for delaying your experiment, but I suggest you hurry it up; we don't know if they're hostile yet, but it's not a bad idea to be prepared," Celestia says as she extis the room, leaving a confused and slightly irritated Twilight Sparkle behind. "Well, this is cold," Captains Mittens says. "Oh really?" Dr. Fuzzyboots responds, "I must admit, I was laboring rather deeply and heavily under the now-clearly stupid delusion that we had landing somewhere in the tropics!" "That's what I'm here for," Ambrose says, Fuzzyboots's sarcasm flying so far over his head that it all eventually landed in Draconis, several hundred miles to the South, infecting Emporer Talon with an incurable case of cynicsm and condenscensation for the rest of the old dragon's life. Jasper took a step out behind them and immediately began cursing. "Come now," says Ambrose, "Stow that langauge and let us sally forth." "Hold on!" Fuzzyboots says, "How do we know that this isn't just some endless tundra, with no inhabitants whatsoever? I think you were pushing your luck when you blundered outside without even letting me test the air!" "We don't know, that's why we're going. Tally ho!" Dr. Fuzzyboots and Jasper were, naturally, forced to go after the Captain, for fear of missing him hurt himself. Unfortunately, that never happened, because the Captain was quick enough to stop himself before he took unwilling and impromptu flying lessons just a few yards away. "Halt!" Fuzzyboots cried. "Wait, already?" Jasper says. "Yes! Look, there, and be careful now!" "Woah. . . ." Jasper murmers. "Dear me. . . ." Fuzzyboots says. Only Captain Ambrose Mittens was able to remains silent, instead staring at the vista before them with mischevious glee. They were obviously on top of a mountain, but a very, very tall one, and the horizon was very far away. Several settlements were visible among the green, the tan, the brown, but the most obvious was the one right below them: the stretching mass of Canterlot City. "Well now," says the Captain, "Someone is trying too hard to be like Empress Puss, eh?" IV: WELL I THINK YOU'RE WRONGLyra awakes to find herself half-buried in snow and freezing cold. For several long moments, she is unaware where she is. But then it all comes back in an avalanche of diasappointment and emotion. Stifling tears, she staggers to her hooves and mopes away, melting into the early rays of the sun. Twilight Sparkle was prepared for the worst. Legions of hideous, tentacled and fanged beings; massive apes in suits of technologically superior power suits; an entire race hitherto undiscovered undead-like creatures ready to devour Equestria, anything. But no, instead all of her science-slaving and all of her desperate effort is rewarded with a few crass, pompous, talking felines who sound as if they were from Trottingham. "Well hello there!" says the biggest, fluffiest one with a top hat, a dark overcoat, and a set of odd goggles, "We are here to-wait, Fuzzyboots, can it even understand us?" Another, shorter-haired of the cats with a lab coat and an even odder set of mechanicals goggless sits on his haunches and says: "Well, almost certainly not. This is our first contact, and the chance that they, over the millennia, have developed a language even remotely similar to our--much less the exact same--is unimaginably small. . . ." "I know what you're saying," Twilight says promptly and grumpily. All the cats freeze, and the one with a leather flact-cap says: "We'll I'll be," quietly to himself. "Wait, you there, purple pony," the top-hatted one says, "Did you just say-''." "Yes!" Twilight cries, "And I am a Princess; do not talk to me like that!" "Ah, royalty," says the fat one, "Well then, my apologies," he says as he bows. The lab-coated on--Fuzzyboots it was--bursts out and says: "Wait, we can communicate? How is this possible?" "I don't know," responds Twilight, "But we can. Now what do you want, cats?" "Blunt and to the point, eh?" says the big one, "Well then; we are here to see what's here, and perhaps to set up some sort of trade or communication." "Is . . . that it?" Twilight asks, unsure. "Yes. We were sent here by a science experiment." "Well . . . I suppose I'll have to talk to the Princess, then. Princess Celestia, that is," Twilight says reservedly. "Is she the head-honcho, so to speak? Where is she? Why isn't she here?" "I am," comes a feminine and dignified voice. There's a ripple in the air, directly behind the cats, and Princess Celestia, dress in full battle armor, appears, accompanied by two guards, their spears brandished. Fuzzyboots and the other cat twirl around in surprise, but the fat one turns around calmly. He sizes Celestia up and then says, "Well then, at least you know how to defend your country. Empress Puss would most likely have had many more troops, but I digress." "Well, cat, if you truly do come in peace, then let us all speak. I shall summon my sister, Princess Luna, and perhaps some positive relations can be established." Oh. Yes. Again, Jasper is being presented with an attractive orifice, right there, ready for him. But what's this? It's . . . different, much more so than the one of the attractive young dam of last night. It's darker, more round. . . . "Shit." "What?" comes the voice of Captain Ambrose Mittens, "What are you waiting for? Plunge in, my young fellow; I don't have all day." Jasper wakes up more violently then anyone in the history of the multiverse ever has or ever will and immediately beings heaving all of the ingredients of last night's feast onto the floor. "Dear Puss, Jasper," says the Captain, "Can't hold down this wine? Delecious, yes, but hardly strong . . . ." The Captain is sitting on a lounge couch with two female ponies sensually eyeing him, his goggle replaced with a more formal monacle, and Dr. Fuzzyboots is off in the corner of the large room, talking passionately with the purple pont they had all met earlier, the little filly that is her apprentice hopping up and down excitedly and interjecting the occasional question. Jasper lets loose something like a scream and turns around staggering from the feasting hall. He breathes heavily, panting and sweating. "It must be the win," he concludes, "It must be. . . ." Jasper trails off and just stares over the edge of the balcony, looking at the city stretched before him. The whole world below him is brand new and beautiful. An entire new host of knowledge and materials, allies and relations . . . to think about it was staggering. But it was also quite amazing. Jasper furrows his brow. He heard something. . . . The young sire looks over his shoulder and inspects the walls and the bushes. Nothing, it would seem. Jasped shakes his head and returns to the feasting hall, eager to unload his paranoid and strangely gay thoughts into the air with a few more cups of wine. Back outisde, however, there is someone. Jasper did in fact hear something, and it is Lyra Heartstrings, frothing at the mouth, her eyes bloodshot. "Cats. . . " she says, "paws. . . ."
I: SCIENCE!There is a blur, quick, cat-like, and the face Dr. Fuzzyboots is thrown back, a light spray of blood following close behind. "You fool!" Captain Mittens bellows, indignant and offended, "You've just interrupted the forging of the greatest idea ever known to felinekind!" Fuzzyboots crawls back to a standing position, shaking his head and says in a less boistrous but equally indignant voice: "And what idea might that have been, Captain?" "I don't know!" Captain Mittens cries, swiping his paw against his assistant's face again, "You interrupted it!" Fuzzyboots wipes his cheek and grinds his jaw, struggling to contain an angry response. "It's gone! Lost in the void! Forever!" Captain Mittens trails off, gazing angrily out the window of his study, grunbling and mattering as he watches as the dark, desert-like landscape passes beneath him. Fuzzyboots groans, careful to keep it to himself. "Well, if you are finished being so melodramatic, sir, I have an announcement." "Eh?" Mittens responds, his rage subsiding, "And just what might that be, Doctor?" "It's a message. From the capitol." "Well if that's the case, where is Jasper?" "Still asleep, I'm afraid." "What!?" Captain Mittens bellows once again. "That can't be! Why, it's . . ." he checks the grandsire clock near the wall, ". . . it's four o'clock! Two hours after stirring time!" Dr. Fuzzyboots simply shrugs helplessly as his master shoves past him and exits the study. The early morning is cold and nippy but perfectly tolerable. Of course, Captain Ambrose Mittens would have said the same thing if they were five miles up in the sky during a blizzard measuring negative seventy degrees below zero--on the ground--but it matters not; Jasper is about to experience a very rude awakening all the same. Ah. Yes. She is young, unused, mostly innocent but not completely; still just with the right amount of daring and playfulness. The world is perfect; the room is small but well-lit and cozy, with a warm fire burning in a nearby hearth and earthly-smelling pots of flowers perching atop books of admirable thickness. Jasper is dressed his best with a brand new trilby, a waistcoat sewn from the highest-quality rat fur, and a shiny pocketwatch of pure platinum. And, of course, there's the utterly phantasmagoric dam lying sensually before him, stretched out, and with a mischevious glint in her eye. She stands up, presents herself--she is very wet--and then promptly pisses in his face. Jasper awakes, sputtering, to a sight much less pleasant than the one he was only just experiencing: the dark, furry underbelly of his boss. And there's something else. . . . Captain Mittens lowers his leg and scoffs, saying, "There! That ought to teach you, you lazy rapscallion!" Jasper, realizing what just happened, frantically begins spitting on the ground and wiping his face, cursing. "You bastard!" he says, "That was completely unnecessary!" "Oh?" the Captain says, "You're awake, and it's two hours overdue." Jasper spits again and then furrows his feline eyebrows. He retreives his pocketwatch--not platinum, sadly; only copper--and flicks it open. "What?" he gasps, "Since when do we wake up at bloody . . . two? Our bleedin' wake-up time was seven yesterday!" "Yes, yesterday. That was yesterday. Today is today. It is different. The moon is slightly closer and we are all older. Get your thoughts straight, you slubberdegullion." "Ponce," Jasper retors. "Cunt," responds the Captain. "Utter merkin." "Slimy Batty-fanger." "Pompous meater." "Disgusting paup-" "Enough." says a stern voice. "You two are like kittens. Just-born ones, with severe mental issues and only one leg who are destined for a thourough smothering by their mother." Jasper scowls and Ambrose curls his lip. Suddenly, out of the blue, Captain Mittens picks himself up and says: "Well, that message that Jasper here was supposed to be awake to receive and then make me receive: what is it?" "Ah, yes of course," says the bespeckled Doctor, fumbling to retreive a scroll from one of the may pockets in his lab coat, "It reads . . . 'Greetings, Sir Master Lord Earl Commander Captain Ambrose Mittens: It is with great glee and joy that I, Empress Puss of the Kitish Empire do humbly and cordially invite you to my palace, specifically, the Eastern Science-ing Wing, where Sir Felix Meowzer Meowsirs, as I am sure you know, works and dwells; he has a surprise for you that I am sure an adventure-minded feline such as yourself would find rather interesting. And then, of course, to my quarters, where I, too have something you might find interesting; namely, my new . . .' Wait, what?" Dr. Fuzzyboots cocks his head and turns the open scroll diagonally. "Oh my . . . a . . . a typewriter? . . . and a candlestand? . . . well now that's just cru-" Ambrose sweeps the parchment from his companion's hand and stuffs it into his overcoat. "That's enough of that, when does it say she wants us to be there?" "I don't know, I never got past the 'twenty foot tall-.'" "I said enough. Ah well, this baby of mine-." "I helped build it." "This baby of ours can make it there in just a few hours. Where are we now?' "Over the Southern Wastelands." "All righty then! Let's get a move-on!" Elsewhere, on a planet very distant and different from that Mr. Mittens, a table is thrown at a wall. It lands with a crash and a smash, splattering quill ink and scattering a plethlora of parchment against the brick and stone. "Oh. Oops," says a little unicorn filly. "Oh, um . . . not a problem! That ink was . . . well it was nothing special," Says a much larger pony, one purple and with both wings and a horn, "Everyone makes mistakes? . . . " A scroll appears, carried in by a tendril of rolling smoke, and lands on Twilight's head. She picks it up, ignoring the curious gaze of her apprentice, and reads it. "What does it say?" asks the young filly. "Well . . . it appears there's been a disturbance." The filly cocks her head. "What kind of disturbance?" "A big one." "Where?' ". . . Everywhere." "What does it mean?" "Well . . . someone or something is . . . preparing to come here." "Can I see?" Twilight lifts the scroll higher with her aura. "No, no, classified." "Aww," says the filly. Twilight takes a big breath, tired but content and says, "All right then, I think that concludes the day's lessons." "Okay!" says the filly. "I'll see you tomorrow!" As the table-destroying pony happily prances out of the study, Twilight sighs and goes about cleaning up the mess. Fortunately, the ink was only imported from Trotland; not Trottingham, and the work that had been destroyed was minimal. And besides, that filly was growing quickly, almost as fast as Twilight had. Twilight could not wait to see as her apprentice grew and developed. Then she wondered if this was the way had, at one time, Celestia felt. But even with her mind fitted upon her personal student, Twilight's true thoughts mingled within the ink of that hastily-written letter. "There has been a fluxuation in the sphere," it said, "Danger level high. Initiate code 777."
II: THIS DOESN'T FEEL LIKE SCIENCE!The spectral glow of the morning (the normal, sane morning) - reveals an army of spires and towers, all topped with grandiose flags and banners. The structures at first appear to be haphazardly thrown onto the mountin on which they dwell, but when one pays more attention, a level of organization and order unparalleled by any in the Kittish Empire is shown. The towers are tall, purely-colored, made from solid and shiny stones and materials, and the city's beauty is multiplied tenfold in the sheen of the dawn's sun. And not even this can compare the Empress Puss's grand and glorious palace, a dwelling fit for a god. Or a goddess . . . . Captain Mitten muses. His airship, moved along by a mixture of balloons and propellers fueled by solar energy, soars into the throng of towers, manuevering masterfully betwixt the marble and the ivory, never inflicting even the slightest scratch upon anything in the city or the stolid, wooden hull of the vessel. The sun crawls ever higher in the clear skies, and the Magnificent Malestrom sets down with a surprisingly light thud that echoes in the serene courtyard that is its destination. A nearby fountain gurgles happily, but that is all. There are no guards this far into the Palace's domain; no one who isn't wanted there could get there, and so the ramp lowers and the ship's three inhabitants exit without unopposed. "Ah, the Grand Palace; visiting it never gets old," Ambrose says, a smile lifting his whiskers. As he and his team move forward to the nearest entrance, one of the biggest of the Koi in the fountain goes missing rather thouroughly down the Captain's gullet--"Only the biggest and tasties fish-flesh for me!"--and they all saunter inside, wondering just what it is that could possibly be awaiting them. . . . The room is choked with darkness almost utterly; if it were not for the few candles and glowing scientific and magical instruments, the blackness would be palpable. But it's not, because there's a few candles and glowing scientific and magical instruments, so let's get a move on. Twilight fastens her goggles as she bends over her boilbing beakers and torrid test-tubes. The day is new, and so is science; ever-growing and evlolving, it never stops advancing. The purpose of this little bit of science-ing, however, is not a happy one. It's purpose is not for advancment or evolution, not for progress nor for climbing the ladder of civilization; its purpose is a dire one: it is for the saving of the world. Someone, somewhere, is poking at the weaves of reality, and they are poking really rather hard and carelessley. If that pony or whatever else is really so desperate to crawl into her world, Twilight reasons, then they must really really want it or something(s) within it. Naturally, Twilight cannot let this happen. This is her realm, the realm of the gryphons, the zebras, the ponies, the dragons; not of the outsider's. But still it persists. The weaves are beginning to give way, but Twilight is calm as she reads her tomes and pours her chemicals. She is confident. But what she doesn't know, is that that "outsider" is none other than the Royal Scientist Sir Felix Meowzer Meowsirs! The throne room. The throne room of utmost beauty and grandness, the throne room of massive size and massive worth, built from gold and cobalt, silver and fine oak, the throne room where Empress Puss herself dwells; it is empty. No pretty Empress Puss. "You there!" Ambrose barks, startling a young servant-sire, "Where is the Empress?" "Oh, uh, um, I-I don't-." "Finish that sentence with 'know' and you will experience no small amount of pain." "Ah, well, then she's . . . that way," the servant-sire says hastily, thrusting his paw down in a random direction, somewhere East-ward. "Thank you, dear sire! Now bugger off. Come, assistants, she is this way!" Amborse bellows vociferously. Dr. Fuzzyboots and Jasper both roll their eyes hard enough to cause pain, but comply, not wanting to incur the wrath and ridicule of their extraodinarily queer master. They wander for hours, seeing just about every bleeding square inch of the palace there is to see, Ambrose raiding any food he sees along the way, and never again asking for directions. Eventually, there is betrayal when Fuzzyboots and Jasper conspire against their master and promptly tackle him to the ground and pin him there. The shouts of: "Traitors! Trecherous cunts! Bastards! Rebels! Mutiny I say, nothing less than noose-inurring mutiny!" attract the resident of the doube-doors which they are closest, who just so happens to be who they are searching for. Captain Ambrose Mittens glances upwards and then straightens up, shrugging his assailants off. "Ah, see here now? I was just on the right path, and I was punished for it." Fuzzyboots and his partner-in-crime stand up and straighten themselves up. "We'd 've walked right past it, arse-wit," Jasper grumbles, but Ambrose pays no attention. "Milady Puss, I apologize for such crass shouting, but you see, I was betrayed. . . ." The tall, pearl-decorated and amused-looking dam raises her pink paw and says: "Think nothing of it, my good sire, I understand completely. I assume you are here to answer my summons?" "Indeed," Ambrose says, "That is the case. But there is one small problem: I forgot where the Eastern Science-ing Wing is." "Then why didn't you ask another servant-sir-?" Fuzzyboots begins but is interrupted by a paw in the face. The Empress conceals a smile and simply gestures . . . east-ward. "Come, my companions!" the Caption cries heartily, "Our Mission awaits!" Sir Meowsirs jolts in surprise when the doors to his laboratory are thrown open hard enough to crack the stone walls. "I hath arrived!" comes a much-too-loud cry, that unmistakable voice of Captain Ambrose Mittens. "Oh. Yes, that's right, the Empress chose you . . . ." the scientist mutters as Dr. Fuzzyboots excitedly begins to examine the instruments on the tables. "Goodness, Sir Meowsirs, this is a . . . a . . . ." Meowsirs Puts on a smile and, sweeping over the Fuzzyboots's place, says: "Yes, my good friend: that is a Vortex-cubed-Extrapulator. Fuzzyboots goes to point at another odd device but Meowsirs clamps his paw over the other scientist's mouth. "Yes yes, plenty of rare and amazing instruments and devices reside here in my laboratory, but none of that compares to my newest device." "Ah," the Captain says, "The . . . space . . . thing?" "Sure," Sir meowsirs replies, "This way, my good sires; amazement awaits!" "Oh no," Jasper says, genuinely frightened, "He's just like-." "Well, I do know that I like my amazement!" Captain Mittens interrupts. With a flair, Sir Meowsirs pulls of a heavy blanket and reveals the . . . space . . . thing . . . .
III: ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT THIS IS SCIENCE?Wind can be painful. Especially when it contains sharp bits of ice and air cold enough to kill. Lyra has just recently learned this, but thankfully she has many layers of cozy clothing and that wonderful thing that comes with having a horn on your head: magic. Even so, it is cold. No matter. The day may be cold, icy, misty, freezing and windy--at least on the very peak of Canterlot Mountain--but it shall be a glorious day, the day that marks the first alien visitors to the planet Equis! Lyra doesn't know what type of aliens, but she has a hunch that they will be the returning remnant of those infamous creatures of old, those walking, hairless apes that are human beings. And that hunch is letting loose all sorts of excitment. Lyra hides amid the snow alone, binoculars at the ready, tensly waiting for the arrival, congratulating herself on sneaking a read at the letter before it had been sent; working at the Palace hads its perks. And now she will get them all to herself: the humans! Well, if they are indeed humans. Which they probably are! A spike is hammered through Lyra's thoughts, shattering them, when a low hum perforates the ground around her. It is almost unhearable, but it is most certainly there, and it is steadily growing in volume. Nothing to see, not yet, but the droning marks the first sign, and Lyra witholds a squee. Then she remembers that she's alone and lets it loose. Before her excitment can reach its peak, however, the droning suddenly halts. But then, almost immediately, amidst Lyra's confusion, there is a single, heavy pulse in the ground and in the air. Lyra is thrown back into a snow drift, her head ringing. She feels blood leaking from her ears. She is, for all intents and purposes, very stunned, until, of course, she remembers: aliens! Her entire body flowing with preternatural, almost pyschotic enthusiasm and positive prospect, she forces herself to stand on wobbly legs, smiling manically despire her ringing and bleeding ears.s As her hearing returns, she hears a new sound: humming. Not the old, earthy drone she first heard, but a mechanical one. She hears voices and she almost wets herself with excitement. She scrambles back over the snow, not caring that some of it is getting inside her coat, and throws herself over the drift, smiling all the way. And then, when she sees the truth, she faints out of pure disappointment. Gently now, gently. . . . A single drop of liquid, suspended over a beaker, hanging there. It needs to fall, fall and join it's liquid molecule bretheren, but only one drop. Any more would contaminate the entire operation, and of course, that simply won't d-. "Princess" comes a sudden shout, the smashing of her door against the wall--that seems to be happening a lot--a close companion to the cry. Twilight jolts, but thankfully is able to divert the spilling contents of the test tube elsewhere, namely, the wooden surface of the table. It will do no harm there, so Twilight turns to see her visitor and her vision is greeted by a panting guard, Princess Celestia close behind. "Thank you, Silver," Celestia says to the guard, "You are dismissed." Celestia entires the darkened chamber and apologizes for the spilled chemicals. "Oh, no, it's all right," Twilight says, wiping it up with a cloth, "It would be a problem if all of it had spilled inside the beaker. . . ." "Well it's good that didn't happen, then," Celestia responds, "What is it that I interrupted?" "A new spell-enhancer. Simple, but potent. But why are you so calm? Commander Silver seemed rather . . . distressed." "Well, it probably has something to do with the aliens. . . ." "Aliens?" Twilight says, tensing up. "The ones who just tore the space-time continuum to get here." "What?? What happened to 'danger level high.'? Why are you so nonchalant?" "Because it's my job. Now, I apologize for delaying your experiment, but I suggest you hurry it up; we don't know if they're hostile yet, but it's not a bad idea to be prepared," Celestia says as she extis the room, leaving a confused and slightly irritated Twilight Sparkle behind. "Well, this is cold," Captains Mittens says. "Oh really?" Dr. Fuzzyboots responds, "I must admit, I was laboring rather deeply and heavily under the now-clearly stupid delusion that we had landing somewhere in the tropics!" "That's what I'm here for," Ambrose says, Fuzzyboots's sarcasm flying so far over his head that it all eventually landed in Draconis, several hundred miles to the South, infecting Emporer Talon with an incurable case of cynicsm and condenscensation for the rest of the old dragon's life. Jasper took a step out behind them and immediately began cursing. "Come now," says Ambrose, "Stow that langauge and let us sally forth." "Hold on!" Fuzzyboots says, "How do we know that this isn't just some endless tundra, with no inhabitants whatsoever? I think you were pushing your luck when you blundered outside without even letting me test the air!" "We don't know, that's why we're going. Tally ho!" Dr. Fuzzyboots and Jasper were, naturally, forced to go after the Captain, for fear of missing him hurt himself. Unfortunately, that never happened, because the Captain was quick enough to stop himself before he took unwilling and impromptu flying lessons just a few yards away. "Halt!" Fuzzyboots cried. "Wait, already?" Jasper says. "Yes! Look, there, and be careful now!" "Woah. . . ." Jasper murmers. "Dear me. . . ." Fuzzyboots says. Only Captain Ambrose Mittens was able to remains silent, instead staring at the vista before them with mischevious glee. They were obviously on top of a mountain, but a very, very tall one, and the horizon was very far away. Several settlements were visible among the green, the tan, the brown, but the most obvious was the one right below them: the stretching mass of Canterlot City. "Well now," says the Captain, "Someone is trying too hard to be like Empress Puss, eh?"
IV: WELL I THINK YOU'RE WRONGLyra awakes to find herself half-buried in snow and freezing cold. For several long moments, she is unaware where she is. But then it all comes back in an avalanche of diasappointment and emotion. Stifling tears, she staggers to her hooves and mopes away, melting into the early rays of the sun. Twilight Sparkle was prepared for the worst. Legions of hideous, tentacled and fanged beings; massive apes in suits of technologically superior power suits; an entire race hitherto undiscovered undead-like creatures ready to devour Equestria, anything. But no, instead all of her science-slaving and all of her desperate effort is rewarded with a few crass, pompous, talking felines who sound as if they were from Trottingham. "Well hello there!" says the biggest, fluffiest one with a top hat, a dark overcoat, and a set of odd goggles, "We are here to-wait, Fuzzyboots, can it even understand us?" Another, shorter-haired of the cats with a lab coat and an even odder set of mechanicals goggless sits on his haunches and says: "Well, almost certainly not. This is our first contact, and the chance that they, over the millennia, have developed a language even remotely similar to our--much less the exact same--is unimaginably small. . . ." "I know what you're saying," Twilight says promptly and grumpily. All the cats freeze, and the one with a leather flact-cap says: "We'll I'll be," quietly to himself. "Wait, you there, purple pony," the top-hatted one says, "Did you just say-''." "Yes!" Twilight cries, "And I am a Princess; do not talk to me like that!" "Ah, royalty," says the fat one, "Well then, my apologies," he says as he bows. The lab-coated on--Fuzzyboots it was--bursts out and says: "Wait, we can communicate? How is this possible?" "I don't know," responds Twilight, "But we can. Now what do you want, cats?" "Blunt and to the point, eh?" says the big one, "Well then; we are here to see what's here, and perhaps to set up some sort of trade or communication." "Is . . . that it?" Twilight asks, unsure. "Yes. We were sent here by a science experiment." "Well . . . I suppose I'll have to talk to the Princess, then. Princess Celestia, that is," Twilight says reservedly. "Is she the head-honcho, so to speak? Where is she? Why isn't she here?" "I am," comes a feminine and dignified voice. There's a ripple in the air, directly behind the cats, and Princess Celestia, dress in full battle armor, appears, accompanied by two guards, their spears brandished. Fuzzyboots and the other cat twirl around in surprise, but the fat one turns around calmly. He sizes Celestia up and then says, "Well then, at least you know how to defend your country. Empress Puss would most likely have had many more troops, but I digress." "Well, cat, if you truly do come in peace, then let us all speak. I shall summon my sister, Princess Luna, and perhaps some positive relations can be established." Oh. Yes. Again, Jasper is being presented with an attractive orifice, right there, ready for him. But what's this? It's . . . different, much more so than the one of the attractive young dam of last night. It's darker, more round. . . . "Shit." "What?" comes the voice of Captain Ambrose Mittens, "What are you waiting for? Plunge in, my young fellow; I don't have all day." Jasper wakes up more violently then anyone in the history of the multiverse ever has or ever will and immediately beings heaving all of the ingredients of last night's feast onto the floor. "Dear Puss, Jasper," says the Captain, "Can't hold down this wine? Delecious, yes, but hardly strong . . . ." The Captain is sitting on a lounge couch with two female ponies sensually eyeing him, his goggle replaced with a more formal monacle, and Dr. Fuzzyboots is off in the corner of the large room, talking passionately with the purple pont they had all met earlier, the little filly that is her apprentice hopping up and down excitedly and interjecting the occasional question. Jasper lets loose something like a scream and turns around staggering from the feasting hall. He breathes heavily, panting and sweating. "It must be the win," he concludes, "It must be. . . ." Jasper trails off and just stares over the edge of the balcony, looking at the city stretched before him. The whole world below him is brand new and beautiful. An entire new host of knowledge and materials, allies and relations . . . to think about it was staggering. But it was also quite amazing. Jasper furrows his brow. He heard something. . . . The young sire looks over his shoulder and inspects the walls and the bushes. Nothing, it would seem. Jasped shakes his head and returns to the feasting hall, eager to unload his paranoid and strangely gay thoughts into the air with a few more cups of wine. Back outisde, however, there is someone. Jasper did in fact hear something, and it is Lyra Heartstrings, frothing at the mouth, her eyes bloodshot. "Cats. . . " she says, "paws. . . ."
