MLP 30K: Rebel Dawn

Despite the uniqueness of its construction, its magnificent silhouette, and a peerless legacy, many of the chambers that made up the Vengeful Spirit's inner bulkhead were so similar to one another, that even a master cartographer could be forgiven for losing their way. But down one of the nameless maintenance corridors, amid the hiss of escaping steam and wafting factorum fumes, a solitary figure quickly navigates the labyrinthine maze with a small grey case in hand.

Despite the noxious stink of vaporized low-grade ceramite settling in its powdery film over the grey grating of the interior like frost, the heat remains oppressive. A thin sheen of sweat keeps the man cool as he rounds another bend, careful to avoid smudging his uniform or brushing a shoulder against the encroaching overhang of corroded copper ducts. The grey fleet worker uniform sticks to his frame, silhouetting a physique uncommon among the expeditionary fleet's menials.

The small microvox in his ear buzzes for the fourth time in as many minutes, prompting him to tuck the grey case beneath his arm and speed up to a predatory lope. His heavy footfalls go unnoticed as he twists just enough to avoid the lumbering coffle of slack jawed servitors bearing replacement pipe fittings. Leaving the rhythmic clanking of the dumb machine-men well behind him, the man weaves into a sheltered alcove and taps the runes to open up a secluded hatch.

A door promptly hisses open, releasing a belch of pungent fumes into the odorous hallway. The man cringes as he slips inside, sealing the door behind him.

He activates another runic pad and lets the case nestled under his arm drop to his awaiting grasp . A bank of lights flicker to life, bathing the obtuse angles of twisting pipes and casting shadows in the twisting darkness of the aged junction point.

After closing the door behind him, the man swiftly taps the microvox and draws in a breath of rank air. “Yes?”

'Alkhar, you Colchisian bastard, where have you been?!'

The impatient voice of Serghar Targost seethes over the other end, his voice tinny and faint thanks to the interference signals from his vox's ciphers.

“Busy.” The Vigilator replies, comfortably stalking further into the room. The man reaches a plain industrial grated staircase leading down to the sub-deck nitrogen scrubber vats and air recirculation pumps. It's easy to ignore in favor of a railing lined catwalk suspended four meters over the sub-decks ugly stained floor. Still, the man has to duck to avoid hitting the enormous overhead conduit pipes that ooze veils of dripping chemical lubricant.

'What do you mean 'Busy'?! You've had months to set this up, months. And for that time I listened to your hollow promises and advice. I got you what you wanted, and you've done nothing!'

“Far from it.” Alkhar sighs as a drip of scalding machine oil drizzles onto the back of his neck, neutralized only by the thick greasy oils he sweated out from his mucranoid gland to counteract the appalling heat. “Besides, I was nearly run over by Emissary Marr on my way here.”

'Marr?' Targost snarls audibly into the link, turning it to static. After a moment to collect himself, Targost whispers, 'He didn't suspect anything, did he?'

“No. And yes, I'm sure.”

'You better be, or we're all dead.'

“Captain Belekar isn't dead,” The Colchisian dryly replies, quickly ascending a secondary staircase up into an office hallway carved out of the wall space like a rat hole. He didn't need the flickering halogen lumins to illuminate the three doorways carved into the unadorned grey corridor of striated thermoplasts.

'No, he's just strung up and stuck through with enough feedback spikes to keep him screaming for weeks.'

“Ye of little faith.” Alkhar rounds the bend and mentally prepares himself, taking a fleeting second before opening the round pressure seal door. It hisses, the twisting helix lock spiraling hypnotically until the bisected metal petals yawn inward.

'Of course I have no faith in you. I'm supposed to be assembling with Sedirae in ten minutes. And, if you've been paying any attention at all, you'd know we're being shipped off to the Magna Tyrannis with Abaddon all in in some vague hope to dissuade Russ from butchering all of the Cyclops's malignant whelps. And Loken's being sent to breathe down my throat! He knows, Alkhar. And I cannot help you. I don't have a single legionnaire that I can keep on the Spirit. Sacred Unity, they're even wringing out the medical bay!'

The sickly odor of putrefying flesh washes over Alkhar as he steps inside the sealed room. “Calm yourself, captain-”

'CALM mys-'

“I have sufficient protection as is.” Even before the lights properly flicker into being, the pair of ruby eyes cleaving through the darkness follows his every move.

'If you do it now we can still count on a core of support. We can confront Horus, search the residencies, the remembrancers quarters, everywhere: then catch the xeno threatening the Warmaster.'

The lights snap on and illuminate two swollen figures standing side by side at the back of a filth stained, but otherwise unremarkable room. Both warriors stand still in their weeping green battle plate, caked in mottled grey green corrosion and distended obscenely like blisters and boils. Their fecund stink overpowers Alkhar's genhanced senses, abruptly halting his approach again.

“No. After all, brother Targost, while I'm certain that our enemy is here, they are silent and waiting for their opportunity. This deployment is obviously their design. So I say 'let them wait'.” With an errant nod, the Vigilator make a quick blasphemous sign. The pair of guardians lumber aside with a whine of protesting servos. “We will lull them into a sense of complacency when they think we are weak and scattered. It will embolden them, and they will reveal themselves for all to see.”

Setting his grey case aside, Alkhar forms a toothy grin as he opens one of the white crates. Blue light crackles of electricity dance across the inner workings of the container and weave rippling tines through the air. “And then...” Breathing out to keep himself from inhaling the noxious fumes, the Word Bearer Vigilator reaches down to caress the glassy skin of a large semi-translucent orb. “We will strike with the might of a legion.”

The sickly black and green fluid inside twists and spirals slowly wherever his hand sensually drift across the surface, as if sensing the presence of life outside the fragile globe.

The rattling train rocks back and forth as the world outside passes by the windows at a steady clip. Twiggy desert trees and patches of yellowed scrub grass dot the dusty countryside, blurred by a faint heat haze lingering on the desert hardpan. Once ponies got past Los Pegasus, it was a rather lonely ride that few individuals except a few homesteaders, bothered to take.

And squinting into the mesa strewn distance where even the saguaro's didn't grow, Moondancer lets the empty corner of Equestria stare back at her. Somewhere out there, beyond the scruffy sour-faced reflection staring back at her, somewhere out beyond the line of craggy red plateaus, was an observatory waiting at the very end of the line.

For all the promises and importance, the future was looking bleak. And coming from a gloomy, rain soaked, Canterlot to the sunny San Palamino expanse, that was saying something.

More than a day and a night of travel, of awkward noises and bitten-back conversations over sparse meals, had been only the beginning of Moondancer's discomfort. She'd had to take her sweater off, Trixie had given her slightly pudgy barrel a fair bit of ribbing, and her mane had turned frizzy and brittle in the deplorable dryness. Licking her slightly chapped lips, the Unicorn mare sighs against the burning hot window, smudged by her mane and intruded upon by the afternoon sunlight filtering through to bake her like an apple pie.

A voice kicks her consciousness back into place. Swiveling her ears back towards the sound, she can hear the obnoxious nasal rattle, “Honestly, Starlight. Even Trixie wouldn't travel this far for a show, and she will roam far and wide to bring joy to her fans.”

Moondancer snorts, quickly flipping the page of a book. She'd brought a half dozen and read them all in the past, but the information went in one ear and out the other like she was nothing but an intellectual sieve.

“It is pretty out of the way, isn't it? You think this railroad was built just for the observatory?” Starlight mutters with a light sigh as she wiggles in her seat to get more comfortable while the pale blue and silver mare sprawls leisurely across a whole seat to herself, opposite her... 'whatever they are'.

With an empty coach car, there wasn't much need to whisper among themselves. Nevertheless, with Sunset Shimmer just a hooflength across from her, she'd been keeping quiet for the past half hour since they left the Los Pegasus station. The Unicorn mare's lounging spot resting with her back against the burning hot glass pane didn't look the least bit comfortable. But the mare drank in the sunlight like some desert flower.

'That's a creepy comparison to make, right? Yeah, definitely a bit creepy.' Moondancer scrunches up her muzzle and sighs. Even if it's accurate, it's definitely a weird to think.

“Starlight, did we HAVE to come along? Surely a few moving ponies could pack up all the science things and we could have stayed in Ponyville. Or at least grabbed a room and enjoyed Los Pegasus for a while. Trixie would have liked room service with a nice drink while sunbathing on a patio deck.”

Moondancer snorts and mutters in a mocking Canterlot lilt, “Could I interest madam in a hot tin roof and a glass of water to the face?”

Aside from a flick of Trixie's ear and the faintest irregularity in Sunset's breath that gave her away, her comment goes unremarked upon. But despite her closed eyes, a lip bite gives the fiery Unicorn mare away.

“I'm sure we could do that when we get some time. So long as you don't mind company.” Starlight replies, pulling a book from an overhead compartment, continuing their conversation across the isle, one seat back.

“If it's you, Trixie is sure she can survive.”

Moondancer mouths an unflattering reply and sneers before squirming to put some more distance between her and her blisteringly hot seat. Looking at Sunset, she catches a single aqua eye just barely peeked open. But the mare does at least flash her a friendly grin.

Finally at her limit, the Unicorn snaps the book closed in her magic and hisses quietly, “I was sure we got rid of that anti-intellectual wind bag. I mean, I knew she was a whorse but she's like the clop, she shows up once and you just can't get rid of her.”

Sunset's brow lofts up with an ever twisting smirk, asking an unasked question.

“I read.” Moondancer scrunches her muzzle up.

“I didn't say anything.” Sunset smirks and closes her eye again with a breathy sigh.

'Sun-worshiping filly.'

Night was always more comfortable. Shaking her head, the Unicorn opens her little book again. She may have been distracted, but a distraction would be a welcome break from listening to the prattling braggart and her apologizing companion. Moondancer quickly scans the cover. 1001 Saddle Arabian Nights. Looking up sharply from the page, she shuts it again and sets it down beside her. She didn't recall even packing that, let alone picking it from her hoofbag.

'Alright, yeah. Too distracted.'

From further back in the car, she hears the quiet albeit one-sided conversation from the other two ponies. Ignoring the scientists, the mare finally lets her head rest back on the uncomfortably hot seat. “Sunset, it's still something like four hours out, right?”

“Yeah,” her faux sleeping friend replies, eyes snapping open to regard her with a smile. “Why? Bored?”

“Kinda. Any suggestions?”

The Unicorn mare's ears pin back, “Sorry,” she forces a bit of a sheepish grin. “I guess Luna's dispatch had me a little eager and I kinda forgot to bring cards or anything like that. Don't tell Pinkie, I don't need her hiding stashes of emergency playing cards around Equestria. You know she'd do it.”

Moondancer gives a short but resigned sigh before looking back out the window at the desert expanse beyond the scalding hot glass. “Hey,” Sunset pips back up as she stretches, “You could ask Trixie, she usually has them even if they are stage props.”

It was loud enough and obvious enough to grab the attention of the couple in the middle of the train car. Deep violet and brilliant blue eyes lock on Moondancer rather quickly. From across the aisle, the lounging showmare's lips slowly form into a smirk, openly daring the mare to ask or plead.

The studious mare's expression hardens like granite as she locks her gaze with the antagonistic blue brat. Ignoring the happy grin from the pale mauve mare hanging over the seatback to talk, Moondancer asks sharply, “Do these trains have any alcohol on board?”

Starlight shakes her head, “Sorry, it's a straight commuter train. It's, umm, kinda why we stopped for lunch back outside Los Pegasus.”

Breathing out a sigh of resignation, the bookish mare resettles the pair of glasses perched on her snout and glances at the windows. “I wonder if these go all the way down.”

“If they did, it wouldn't matter much.” Trixie smiles, throwing a stage whisper to Starlight, “Her fat flank wouldn't fit through either way.”

“Trixie! That isn't nice!” Starlight hisses right back.

“You're right.” Trixie huffs an overly dramatic sigh, as transparent as the hot air from her muzzle. “That was mean of Trixie to draw attention to such things. Do forgive the contrite and penitent Trixie.” The fabricated Canterlot grin that cakes her muzzle accompanies Starlight's weak but hopeful smile.

Neither does much to alleviate Moondancer's twitching eye. She fixes the still smiling Unicorn a death glare. 'Blow it out your ears, not like your brains will get in the way.'

Standing up, the moody Unicorn trots leaves her seat. The groan of her shifting weight attracts Sunset's attention, her ears tilting for a moment before she glances up with a hint of concern. But the moody Unicorn trots right past her pale antagonist and straight down the aisle.

Oh sure, she wanted to wipe the filly's insipid grin off her face with a hoof, but it was better to disengage. She'd done it all her life and it had worked out fine so far. Moondancer draws in a steady breath, flicking her tail as if to work out that irritation,psyching herself up to approach the occupants of the rearmost booth.

A dusty rose coloured earth pony mare chatters animatedly with a less-than-occupied Unicorn. The latter's ears perk towards her, and her neck snaps around as she recognizes Moondancer's approach. A sparkle of hope reflects in her eyes, as if just as desperate for some manner of relief from her companion.

'Oh mare, you have no idea.'

“And suddenly she asks, just asks right out of the blue 'hath thou any knowledge to make thy dreams a reality?' I mean, who'da guessed that the Princess of Equestria would ask ME, to help HER?! Can you believe it?!”

The dark Unicorn re-affixes her gaze on the jubilant earth pony practically vibrating out of her seat. “I know, Clare. I was there too, in case you forgot.”

Clarion Call merely makes a squeeing sound, not too far off from a tea kettle starting to boil. It was obnoxious, but faced with the prospect of dealing with her or Trixie, it was an obvious choice. Especially since she wasn't sure if the rear door to the cabin was locked and if she could get away with just hopping on the covered railway car behind them.

Approaching the pair, Moondancer doesn't even stop before slipping into their booth and wordlessly taking a seat next to the Unicorn with a huff of breath.

Casting a questioning glance at the mare opposite her, and seeing nothing but a few facial twitches of mindless giddiness, Sine Wave lofts a brow. “Umm... can we help you?”

Moondancer's neutral face doesn't so much as crack. “We have four hours left until we reach your station, right?”

“About that.” Sine cautiously replies.

“Alright, well so I don't want to smack a filly, I'm gonna offer you a deal: I'll pay you twenty-five bits each to talk about anything with enough intellectual merit to not make my brain cells scream and shrivel up.”

Both science ponies sit in silence for a few moments, not that the dead-faced mare does anything but stare straight ahead. Clarion Call and Sine Wave exchange a few uncommunicative glances back and forth, but even the awkward lull was more bearable than Trixie's smug grin.

“Sooooo-” Clarion Call cautiously starts, “who would win, batmare or supermare?”

Sine Wave's mouth opens only wide enough for her to groan and slap a hoof to her forehead, “THAT'S your first question?!”

“Pffft, Supermare, obviously.” Moondancer replies with a dismissive hoof wave.

“Even with her old utility saddle?” Clare squints and sniffs, as if smelling something rank.

“Yes.” Moondancer's heart rate spikes sharply. “Well, I mean, excluding White Light Batmare of course.”

“Oh. My. Celestia.” Sine groans loudly and leans back, hooves covering her face, “I am in Tartarus.”

“We understand that you are hesitant about this. If there was any other way...”

“Just...tell me that it wasn't planned. Please. This wasn't done on purpose, was it?”

The pair of Alicorns stand amid the empty halls with no sound but their voices to interrupt the stillness of the affair. It was a somber lull, born from tears and necessity. And in the darkened caverns beneath the husk of a shattered dream, the pair confide about the world to come.

“Nay, of course not. We wouldst have liked to see your vision brought into the world, not smothered in its cradle. For what it's worth, We have complete trust in thee.” Luna's pause is only long enough for her to draw another disappointed breath.

The cavernous space rises up before them, empty and decrepit as if long neglected by the world. Their glowing horns light the interior of the space, illuminating every carved facet of what would have been an immaculate laboratory for arcane studies. The smell of powdered granite in the air is faint, but mixes well with the lingering waft of the plaster daub on the ceilings, ready for a coat of cheerful paint that wasn't to be.

“Twilight, thy heart is strong, and We place our trust in thee.” Luna turns to address the smaller lavender princess. Twilight's eyes stare straight ahead, fixed on the pair of new carved anchor stones. Each of the three tonne lodestone monoliths lay set and secured by silver pins driven precisely into the middle of the floor.

They were merely the first alteration.

“I thought this was my calling. I-I wanted this to work. I wanted to give something back to Equestria. It was a gift that it gave to me. I thought this is how I could help m-make a difference.” Twilight starts, but trails off into the silence with a sharp intake of breath. She shows no other outward displays of emotion aside from a subtle prickle on the fur of her cheeks. But the Princess of the Night didn't have to be Cadence to spot the strained features and slight shiver of a mare trying to keep her emotions in check. It was an all too common sight.

In the basements of the still-born dream, its mother breathes an unsteady breath. One laden with sadness, disappointment, and regret for a future that would never be.

Luna gently reaches a hoof out to rest on Twilight's withers, “You are still a visionary, Twilight Sparkle. And a friend. Perhaps we may still use the foundation you built for its intended purpose: a bridge to new friendships and understanding.”

The Princess of the Night knew better than most about the pangs of dying dreams. She knew of the despair of good intentions being scattered to the winds as ash at a funeral.

It hurt all the same, no matter what was said. And so it goes unsaid.

Luna slips closer, turning the touch of support into a comforting hug. Twilight's body tenses for a moment, before her nearside spasms and she leans her weight into the elder Alicorn. Her breathing grows ragged in just a few heartbeats before the spasms race to her chest. Twisting her neck over Twilight's, Luna draws the little Alicorn into a full embrace. A pair of dark wings unfurl to cover her friend as she tucks the mare against her chest. The softly sobbing mare nuzzles further against the luxurious coat, muffling the sounds of her sobs as they grow into a throaty wail as the dam bursts.

The embrace tightens, and Luna feels every single tremor ripple through the mare's tense frame. Luna tucks her friend further into her embrace, shushing her with a few soothing sounds. She shouldn't be hurt by this, yet Twilight clutches desperately to her like a foal to her dam.

The unfamiliar feeling should have been immensely awkward, yet the clutch of the smaller pony against her was equally painful for the diarch. She was no mother. Luna had been an emotional support for her sister, but it was never like this. Reaching back into her memory, the Princess of the Night recalls a moment from her youth. A time of pain, of loss, a filly needing consoling.

The melody comes naturally to her.

A last bittersweet song echoes in the cavernous halls of the School of Friendship's abandoned campus.