The young unicorn mare barged into the study.
“Master, I made it! I made it!”
Starswirl didn’t even look away from the book he was reading. “Nightshade,” he snapped, “this is the last time I say it unto thee: when I’m in my study, I DON’T EXPECT TO BE DISTURBED!”
“But master—”
“No buts! Go away!”
A hush fell. Starswirl kept on reading, but Nightshade didn’t move: she stayed put, fidgeting. Minutes elapsed in silence. At last, Starswirl sighed and put his book on his desk. He took off his spectacles and placed them on the book. Raising his head, he glared at his student. “What is this commotion about?”
“I found a way to stop time!” Nightshade chirped.
“What!?”
“Well, not really stop it. Slow it down, rather.”
Starswirl scowled. “My lass, never should apprentices tamper with time, lest they seek trouble. What didst thou do?”
“I connected a negative thaumaturgic source to a concentrator, then fed the thaumatic current into a partially shunted metamorphoser, whose output I directed into—”
“Stop!” Starswirl stood up, rounded his desk, and walked towards the door. He motioned Nightshade with his head. “Show me.”
A small contraption was installed on a wooden table. Cogs whirred, fluids bubbled and sizzled in beakers, ducts and wires curled up around various bits and pieces. A metallic rod jutted out of that ragbag.
“I call it the CT field. CT for ‘counter-time’,” Nightshade explained. “The rod here“—she pointed at the protruding rod—“emits the field, which affects the machine and its immediate surroundings. Let me show you.”
Nightshade took two hourglasses. She placed the first one at the edge of the table, and the other one as close to her machine as possible.
“Now look carefully,” she said.
Using her magic, she turned the two hourglasses upside down simultaneously. Nothing unusual happened, until the upper bulbs had almost emptied out. At that moment, Starswirl noted that the sand of the hourglass next to the device flowed down slower. The difference was minute, but noticeable.
Starswirl sniggered. “Thou art trying to trick me,” he said. “Those two hourglasses are not the same. One is bigger.”
“No master, I wouldn’t dare. I guarantee there are no tricks. I can switch them if you desire.”
“Please do.”
Nightshift exchanged the two timepieces and started the experiment again, to the same result: the hourglass placed next to the machine ran slower.
“Fascinating!” Starswirl brushed his beard thoughtfully. “Art thou sure thou dost not alter the gravity field rather than time itself?”
“No, I did other experiments, like measuring how long it takes for two identical iron nuggets to dissolve into the selfsame solution of sulphuric acid. The furthest nugget consistently melted faster.”
Starswirl nodded. “Very impressive. What is thy plan?”
“Improve it.”
“Very well, I shall allow it, but under one condition.”
“Yes?”
“Never, I say never, speak of thine experiment to somepony else. Not even to thy fellow students. Not a hint, not a whisper, nothing. Dost thou understand? Otherwise, I shall dismiss thee immediately. Is that clear?”
“Very clear, sir.”
“Then go ahead,” said Starswirl. He turned around and left the room.
But you know how young apprentices behave. Nightshade carried on with her experiment and increased the efficiency of her machine. One day, she was so elated by her results that she spilled the beans to her closest friend. That friend then told another friend, who told somepony else of her family, and so on. Soon, everypony gossiped that Starswirl had invented a machine to slow time down.
Starswirl himself heard about this on the grapevine. And he did as he’d warned: he destroyed Nightshade’s device, and booted her out of his school.
Nightshade turned back home with her tail between her legs, and told her parents she’d been dismissed. Her father bawled her out, and she was confined home for a full month. Nightshade’s family was poor, and her parents had to work real hard to pay the tuition Starswirl’s school charged. But her punishment didn’t last long.
Because the next morning…
Somepony knocked at the door of the house. Nightshade’s mother walked across the room and opened it. On the threshold stood a swanky stallion, maybe even a famous one, though Nightshade’s mother couldn’t place him.
“Good morning, madam,” he said. “May I speak to your daughter, please?”
Nightshade’s mother was nonplussed, but with her husband being at work, she accepted. They all sat around the living room’s table.
“I’ve heard,” the posh stallion said to Nightshade, “that you’ve invented a device that can alter the flow of time. Is that true?”
“I shouldn’t speak of it, but yes,” she acknowledged. “The latest version I made was able to slow it to half speed, or so.”
“If I provide you with the necessary outfit, would you be able to build a more powerful version of it?”
Nightshade’s eyes sparkled. “I think I could, yes.”
“Then listen to me. I’ve recently purchased a large open lot in the vicinity of Manehattan, on which I plan to construct a score of buildings. Right at the centre, I want you to build a large replica of your device whose field will cover the entire area. I will then advertise each flat with the guarantee of doubling the future owner’s lifespan. I’m positive they’ll sell like hotcakes. I know many friends who’d spend a fortune to prolong their life a few years. If I offer them to double what’s left of it, they’ll empty their bank account right away. And,” he leaned over the table to Nightshade as if he were about to reveal a secret, “I’ll give you 5% of all profits.” He looked around at the shabby decor. “You shall never live in need again,” he added, beaming. “Deal?”
“Well…” Nightshade hesitated. “Can I run it by my father first?”
“Of course, dear!”
The stallion stood up, rummaged in his saddlebag. He drew a burlap bag out, and threw it on the table. It landed with a clink, as if it were full of small metal items. Nightshade unknotted the drawstring and looked inside. “I… I can’t… believe it!”
“Just an advance on your future revenues!” the stallion said. “I shall be back tomorrow, and hope you’ll have made up your mind by then. So long!” He walked to the door and left.
Nightshade emptied the bag on the table. She’d never seen so many golden bits, and neither had her mother. They fell into a tight embrace, crying for joy.
Of course, they said ‘yes’. They were humble, they couldn’t afford to turn such an offer down. So, a week after this unexpected meeting, a luxurious carriage picked up Nightshade at home and carried her away to her new workplace in Manehattan.
During the next two years, Nightshade’s parents received only occasional news of their daughter, though she sent them money every so often. Once, they wrote they’d love to come and visit her, but she replied she had a very busy life, worked almost around the clock seven days a week, and really had no time to welcome them. So they gave up on the idea.
The months went by. With the money their daughter had earned, Nightshade’s parents bought a cosier cottage, and moved. They weren’t living on easy street, but they weren’t scraping by any more.
Although they had a better life, they missed their daughter. Until one day they received a large envelope with a fancy logo printed on it. It was an invitation to the inauguration of ‘My nest out of time’, as the property developer had called it. After Celestia’s Summer Sun Celebration, organised that year in Manehattan, a celebration would take place in the new-founded district. After which, at midnight sharp, the ’time-slower’, as it had been named, would be turned on, forever.
On the rear of the card, a handwritten message explained that Nightshade had waived her income in favour of a large furnished flat in one of the most luxurious buildings, where they could all live together. They had so much to catch up on, but it didn’t matter: they would have years to do so.
Thus, on the longest day of the year, Nightshade and her parents reunited. They almost couldn’t recognise her daughter: gone was the shy tatterdemalion. Instead, they met a swanky young mare, who had traded her country drawl for the posh warbles of the high society.
Together, they watched the Summer Sun Celebration, then moseyed to their future home. At the edge of the new district, they discovered a tall glass dome, in which holes were punched here and there.
The purpose of the dome, Nightshade explained, was to block any movement in or out. Once the machine turned on, nopony from outside could ever enter inside the area, and nopony from inside could ever leave it: because time would flow so differently on either side of the dome, any sudden transition could cause instant death. The entrance gates would be locked forever. The holes allowed for fresh air to enter, and for ponies to speak to one another without trespassing. Pipes had been installed underground to trade goods and pump water in and out.
They walked along the glassy wall until they arrived at the two mighty steel gates that led inside. After a short pause, they ambled past them. Inside the dome, every building, every stone, every sign, every lamppost, everything was sparkling. Windows shone in the sunshine. Grocery shops brimmed with scrumptious produce and the library with brand new books.
Even the hospital looked welcoming.
When they’d visited almost everything that could be visited, they walked to the central square, where the ’time-slower’ sat. It was a white, nondescript bungalow, on the roof of which a long pole jutted. All around, a lively garden had been created, with arbours, paths meandering between flowerbeds, and stately trees under which small animals scurried. Festoons had been put up over long trestle tables filled with various sandwiches, desserts, treats and other dainties. An orchestra played lively riffs.
At ten in the evening, the feast was in full swing. Nightshade and her parents had already met their neighbours, a rich family from Canterlot, and chitchatted with many other inhabitants. They were about to indulge in an umpteenth glass of cider when a bright flash dazzled the crowd…
When everypony could see again, the stern figure of Starswirl stood in the centre of the square. Ponies around him tottered back in fear.
“STOP, YE FOOLS, LEST THIS ABODE BE YOUR GRAVE!" he boomed.
A frightened silence descended. The orchestra ceased playing, and everypony hushed.
“YE DARE PLAY—” he began.
“What is it, old dotard? How dare you disturb this day of joy and celebration with your poppycock?” a female voice interjected.
The crowd split apart, and Nightshade stepped forth.
“Thou… Thou…” Starswirl pointed an accusatory hoof at her former apprentice. “Thou wicked whelp. Dost thou know what thou hast done? I remade thy calculation and unearthed the truth.”
“What is it that you have discovered?” Nightshade, unflinching, asked.
“What doth happen if thou changest the sign of the field thou art so proud of?”
Nightshade pondered for an instant. “It’d accelerate time instead of slowing it down, I suppose.”
“Exactly! But thy equation is not symmetric: if huge amount of energy thou must expend to slow down time, only a tiny amount shall accelerate it. Hast thou envisioned what would happen should thy mechanism stray?”
“And why should anything go wrong? It’s been checked and double-checked. It’s hundred-and-ten percent safe. And, besides, since I’ll live here, I can always fix it if it fails.”
Starswirl’s eyes blazed. “Very well then. But I warn thee”—and his voice rose again, in semblance of Luna’s—“HEARKEN YE ALL: TIME IS A RUTHLESS USURER. THAT WHICH TODAY FROM IT IN MIRTH YE BORROW, SOON YE SHALL GIVE BACK IN SORROW.”
And with these words, he vanished.
Uneasy whispers arose from the throng. “Don’t listen to his blustering words,” Nightshade shouted. “He’s just an old coot haunted by jealousy. I have succeeded where he has failed, and he cannot stomach that the disciple outwitted the master. There’s nothing to fear. In a few years he’ll be dead, while you’ll be alive and sound. Let him curse in vain, and let the celebration resume!”
Nightshade gestured the orchestra, which picked up where it had left off, and soon, thanks to the countless litres of cider and food, Starswirl’s foreboding words were all but forgotten.
At eleven, the revelry petered out. It was time for heartbreaking partings. Brothers, sisters, parents, children, cousins, neighbours, all indulged in sweet embraces. The outsiders waved goodbye to the insiders, and trickled out through the gates. At five to midnight, those gates closed with a resounding clang, forever cutting off both worlds. At midnight, the machine was switched on, and everypony could hear its characteristic hum for the first time.
As Nightshade had explained, living organisms couldn’t withstand the instant transition from normal to slowed-down time. The machine had therefore been adjusted to ratchet up its power. During the first months, ponies of either side could still discuss through the holes. After the sixth month, though, the slowdown began to be noticeable: the inhabitants of the dome moved sluggishly (that’s why those from outside tagged them as ‘slugs’) and when they spoke, they did so at an exaggerated low speed and with a husky voice. Soon, machines had to be installed on both sides to keep conversations possible.
After a year, the field reached its full strength. On sunny Sundays, the citizens of Manehattan took up strolling along the dome to peek at what happened inside: foals playing games so slowly it seemed ridiculous, birds almost suspended in mid-air, leaves shivering so sedately it bordered on supernatural. And, on top of that, the machine’s monotonous hum that oozed through the holes.
It went on for twenty-four years, until that fateful summer Sunday—an unfortunate happenstance. Everypony was out to enjoy the heat wave. Many sauntered along the dome, eyeing every now and then inside. Families had gathered around the holes to chinwag with their relatives. By and large, it was a happy day off.
Until, at four P.M. roundabout, the hum of the machine abruptly changed. In a few seconds, it rose to a strident wail. Under the bulging eyes of the spectators, the ponies inside began to move randomly, as if panicked, faster and faster. They became blurred streaks, and finally disappeared altogether.
It lasted just an instant. Gaunt corpses appeared all over the place. A noxious reek of rot and death wafted through the holes. The flesh of the corpses decayed into carrion that dripped on the ground, leaving only the bare bones, which turned to dust and were blown away. The lush vegetation wilted and withered away until all that remained was petrified trees and barren earth.
Finally, buildings themselves crumbled down, and the two mighty gates that sealed the entrance crashed onto the ground. Only then did the wail of the accursed machine die out.
Sixty seconds had been enough to turn a bustling district into an open grave. Starswirl’s prophecy had been fulfilled to the letter.
What had happened, nopony knows. Had something gone wrong with the machine? Had a desperate stallion, perhaps jilted by his significant other, chosen to commit suicide and dragged everypony down with him in his ruin? The mystery was never solved. But Starswirl was right: directed the other way, the same amount of energy had caused time to speed up ten thousand times.
The dome was dismantled. Rubble and ruins were picked up and carried off, the lot was acquired by the Crown and a monument, now very old, was built to commemorate this tragedy. From that day forth, the diarchs banned any experiment about time, and the scrolls were locked away in a secret room of the Royal library.
Celestia closed her book.
“There’s something I still don’t understand,” the young purple filly sitting in front of her protested.
“What?“
“Apparently, some survived the breakdown. Those shouldn’t have died. They should’ve lived on, at an accelerated pace. Very short lives, but normal lives by their standards. Why did they die exactly?”
“You’re sharp as a tack, eh?” Celestia joked. “You’re right, but you forget something. They died of thirst.”
“How’s that?”
“They had no water resources of their own. Everything was supplied from outside, which was fine as long as time inside ran more slowly. But when it started to careen, from their perspective the outside world froze. Water stopped flowing in the pipes. They were doomed.”
“Thirst. What an awful way to die.”
“Such things happen Twilight, when arrogance meets greed,” Celestia concluded.
