The Blank Pony

Zipp was the first to wake. This was not unusual for her. While it obviously took some effort to get out of bed, morning was the best time to fly, especially during the summer. She did not hold out much hope that the skies had cleared—but did hold out hope that the skies had gotten worse. A practice flight through a thunderstorm would be a more than adequate way to start the day—and with everypony else sleeping, there was no one around to tell her it was a bad idea.

She grabbed her workout clothes and—quietly—put them on. The realization that she among her friends was the only one that was technically naked most of the time had started to bother her more than it probably should have. She contemplated the idea of wearing a hat. There was, after all, no possible way to be nude while wearing a hat.

She considered this as she walked down the hall. Sunny was walking the opposite way, having apparently slept in her own room rather than on the main sleeping floor. Seeing Sunny walking around before sunrise was not unusual, usually because she was getting ready for the day. On this particular day, though, she seemed utterly out of it—but in a way Zipp had never seen a pony out of it before.

Sunny seemed to be staring at nothing, walking forward with her eyes wide, her pupils narrowed to tiny pinpricks. They were almost blue with a strange reflection.

“Sunny?” said Zipp. “You okay?”

“Small bladder. Weakness of filthy organic body...need to tinkle,” she muttered, turning into the bathroom and flopping down onto the tile floor. The door closed, and Zipp continued on.

“Weird,” she said, trotting away.

She reached the downstairs. It was dark, but looking out a window, she saw that the skies were clear. The sun was just barely coming up. Zipp opened the window, finding a warm late-summer’s breeze coming though. The perfect weather for flying. Whatever strange, cold storm had passed before had passed.

She paused, hearing noise coming from the kitchen. Looking down the stairs, Zipp saw that the light there was on.

She hesitated—and then carefully took flight, gliding silently toward the door. She landed quietly and looked through the door. There was, inevitably, some degree of shock to see a tall, weirdly skeletal-looking robot in the Brighthouse kitchen. More shocking was that she had made cookies—and a great many of them. Even more shocking was that the cookies were weirdly cube-shaped. And, the most shocking of all, was when the robot turned, lowering her face to Zipp’s and smiling inches away from her face.

“Hello Zipp Storm, future monarch of tiny city-state,” she said. Her mouth did not move when she spoke. Her eyes, though, were thoroughly focused on Zipp. “Would you like to put a cookie into your digestive system? I promise I did not fill them with self-propagating nanobots.”

“That’s...an odd thing to say.”

“No. If I am lying, it is a very reasonable thing to insist.”

She held out a tray in one awkward mechanical effector. They did not look like cookies at all, and Zipp could have swore she saw one look at her.

“No thanks,” said Zipp, backing away. Syncrhonia straightened, the robotics in her body making a serious of rapid clicks as she moved with unexpected mechanical grace.

“I have secured the perimeter of this facility,” added Synchronia. “To ensure that you and your friends are as safe as possible.”

“So do you just, like, live in our house now?”

A slight, strange sound escaped Synchronia. A version of laughter that made Zipp exceedingly uncomfortable.

“No, Zipp Storm. I am very much not alive.”

Her empty eyes stared out of the marked, black skull she used as a head. Then her legs suddenly activated, moving her back toward the oven.

“You organics do eat, I suppose,” she said. “You have not yet cleaved away the weakness of flesh and embraced the fundamental truth of mechanical superiority. So I made baked goods. As a way to thank you for reattaching my severed head to a body.”

“Is ‘killer robot’ really the vibe you want to go with?”

“Not a robot. And yes, I think it’s funny. Also, I would like to make a request.”

Zipp felt immensely confused. “Of me?”

“Yes,” continued to Synchronia. “Considering that you are the firstborn of Queen Haven, current matriarchal ruler of Zephyr Heights, you can be considered a princess and future queen of that city state.”

“That’s true, but it sounds really awkward when you say it like that.” Zipp sighed, walking fully into the room. “Actually, it’s all pretty awkward anyway. I try not to think about it. Because I don’t have to until my mom, you know...”

“Abdicates? Which could happen at any time, without even the slightest warning?”

Zipp paused. She had never considered that as a possible source of her ascension to the throne.

“Huh,” she said. “Well, new anxiety unlocked I guess.”

“I had the same problem once,” noted Synchronia.

“Really? How did you deal with it?”

“Psychosurgery. I replaced my ego with a superior automated version.” Her head rotated. “I can likely achieve the same for you, if you like.” She lifted a mechanical hoof. “If your unicorn friend can replace this one right here with a set of surgical tools.”

Zipp laughed. Nervously. “No, I’ll just repress it. Same as usual. But uh...thanks for the cookies?”

“You are welcome, Zipp Storm. As for my request?”

“Pipp is really more the autograph type.”

“I do not require your signature. In a sense. However, I would like to send a request to your government.”

“For me to take you to our leader?”

“Queen Haven? Yes. That would be efficient. Although I figured I could submit a request through her tallest daughter.”

“Tallest?”

“A surprising number of cultures assign authority to the tallest members of a society. I believe it is why they made Celestia the God-Empress of Ponykind.”

“O...kay?”

“As such,” said Synchronia, picking up something that was definitely not a cookie and examining it. “The ship in which I was foalnapped and held crash-landed near Zephyr Heights. I would like to request formal permission to use it.”

“Well okay, big ask for first thing in the morning.” Zipp pulled down a box of bran-flakes from the cupboard and sat down. At this point, her chances of an early-morning flight were over. And she did not want to eat anything Synchronia made. Especially as several of the cubes began to whirr, floating up from their trays and forming a small orbit around her.

“Those are high in fiber,” said Synchronia. She sighed. “I miss having a digestive system. Even if all it did was serve to house the worms. Regardless. I want that ship.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe I can use it to return home.”

“And the evil pony who came with it?

“Will almost surely attempt to retrieve it. And create a beacon to her civilization.” Synchronia chuckled. “I can injure a single bio-construct. I do not have the current potential to defend against an entire war-fleet, no matter how primitive they may be."

Zipp paused, pouring her cereal. Her detective instincts were tingling—but she held her composure, not letting the machine know that she was growing increasingly distressed by her requests.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, I can call my mom. But you don’t even know what’s on that ship. And I bet it took some real damage landing. If you go messing around in there...”

“I was interfaced directly to its systems. A rather agonizing process I assure you. I am aware of its basic layout. The construct I destroyed earlier did significant damage to it on reentry. Although that freed me, you are not wrong. The damage will be extensive. However, I am very good at my job.”

“Which is?”

“Serving the One True Princess.”

“Yeah. You’ve said that.”

“Why are you holding the cereal without pouring it, Zipp? Do you need my help?”

Synchronia extended a robotic hoof. It flipped outward, grasping Zipp’s wrist and applying increasing pressure. Zipp winced, but Synchronia twisted her hoof slightly further. A few bran flakes dropped into the bowl.

“I am interfering with your planet just by being here. Altering your history. I am not meant to be here. I need that ship. And I need to stop the slaver who will try to put me back into it. Surely, you understand.”

“You’re kind of hurting my wrist.”

“Yes. Because your civilization has not yet advanced enough to remove the capacity to feel pain. Or perhaps not developed the will to.”

Synchronia released Zipp and stepped back. Several of her cubes stopped moving. Staring. Like Zipp’s own set of expensive drones—but somehow more ominous. They somehow looked partially organic, and looking closely, Zipp could see symbols written on their surfaces. Tiny red text that made her head hurt to look at.

“You said you knew Twilight Sparkle,” said Zipp, slowly. It was a question she had barely been able to contain before—but one that she now felt a strong instinctive urge to be exceedingly careful asking. “But you’re not from here. You’re from...space?”

“Yes, essentially.”

“But Twilight Sparkle is from Equestria. Here.”

“In a sense, yes.”

“Twilight Sparkle left us a recording. Saying that she had to condense all of Equestria’s magic into the Unity Crystals. Because somepony was trying to steal it.”

“Yes, the recording very probably said something like that.”

“And you...”

“You think I might be that pony.”

“No,” said Zipp. “But let’s just say your story isn’t adding up.”

“From your perspective, it really shouldn’t. But from my perspective this is all quite logical.”

“Then why not share your perspective?”

“Because I do not feel a need to.” Synchronia let out another unnerving laugh. “Needless to say, I have no interest in your planet’s magic. Even if I do, partially, understand it. After all, a great deal of my research was dedicated to it.”

“Research?” Zipp frowned. “So you were a scientist.”

“In a sense yes. I was placed in charge of researching ways to regenerate magic throughout Equestria. My species had long-since lost the ability to use it.”

Zipp nodded. “Because the three types of pony grew to far apart. They weren’t acting in harmony.”

“No. In my civilization, there was only one type of pony.”

“Was?”

“I came closer than any before me. Due to my unique set of circumstances. The fact that magic can, in fact, be achieved...but at a cost. So I really have no reason to use your inferior version of what I already contain. So you can trust me.”

“Sure,” lied Zipp.

They were interrupted as Sunny walked into the kitchen, yawning.

“I feel terrible,” she said, wobbling toward a chair. She reached upward and grabbed one of the floating cubes, attempting to take a bite out of it. She frowned, then looked at it. It looked back and then drifted slowly away. “I’m having a weird week, I think,” she said.

“Good morning, Sunny Starscout. I see the nightmares did not cause long-term psychosis. How intriguing.”

She backed to a window and rotated, opening it. The cubes she had made drifted out.

“Be free!” she called to them as they departed. She then closed the window. “Now,” she said. “About that ship I need to repair...”

“Ship?” asked Sunny, yawning. “It’s not polite to ship your friends...”

“No,” said Syncrhonia, moving back toward Sunny. “I suppose not.”

“I can call my mom,” sighed Zipp.

“You’re shipping your mom?” Sunny had begun to pour orange juice into her cereal. “I mean, isn’t she with Misty’s dad?”

“Great, I imagined it again,” groaned Zipp—her eyes not leaving Synchronia as she stood behind Sunny. Synchronia lifted a hoof and unfolded an effector in the place of the tiny rubber feet that substituted for hooves.

“I am curious about something,” she said. She reached into Sunny’s Mane and plucked out a strand of hair.

“Ow?”

“Thank you,” said Synchronia, lifting the hair, her eyes examining it closely. Zipp saw her pupils dilate, then something move inside the mechanisms of her eyes—and narrow suddenly into a pair of cross-shaped slits.

Then—much to Zipp’s horror—she opened her mouth. Zipp had been under the impression that it was sealed closed, a byproduct of how she had been shaped during manufacture—but with a cracking sound, Synchronia’s jaw unhinged, the exposed, pointed teeth coming apart—and revealing that they were, in fact, more or less for show only.

Her mouth was in fact filled with an entirely different set of teeth—a number of long, thin, flat-tipped pegs that opened and separated with mechanical precision, assuming even distances. Then, as Zipp stared, a long black segmented tongue snaked out past the pegs and Synchronia’s fangs, wrapping itself around the hair and pulling it suddenly into her mouth.

As soon as had opened, Synchronia’s jaw snapped closed. Her eyes shifted and reverted to normal, although she seemed contemplating for a moment.

“What an interesting genome,” she said. “Elegant in its construction, but subtle in flavor.” She turned suddenly to Zipp. “Zipp Storm. You are the STEM pony. What are your thoughts on 3D printing?”

“It’s...fun? For making small toys and stuff?”

“I think it’s a marvelous technology,” said Synchronia, smiling.

“I think my milk is bad,” said Sunny, squinting at her bowl. “There’s not supposed to be this much pulp, is there?”

“I have asked myself the same thing,” sighed Synchronia. “Except about you, largely. Regardless, I will prepare coffee. You will probably need it.”

“No, I just need some kind of fruit shake, and I’ll be...maybe carrotermellon, or a kiwibbage...” She yawned and went to sleep in her cereal.

Zipp had no idea what was going on—but liked none of it.