Sub Sole Nihil Novum Est

Space was far from empty. Everything from microscopic dust particles to super-massive black holes drifted through the silent void, often at a relatively mind-numbing speed. Everything about the universe was in motion, a grand ballet that was just as beautiful as it was profound. Galaxies filled the unreal volume that was reality, tiny specks of light and warmth that would have made the otherwise bleak cosmos impossible to observe. Each of these little lights contained billions and billions of stars, the massive engines of hydrogen that provided the foundation for systems of smaller celestial bodies.

Many of these wondrous fusion reactors were naked, unaccompanied by satellites save a few barren rocks. Some of them were lucky enough to dance and share a tandem existence with another star, swaying and orbiting one another as they floated through the cold expanses of eternity. Others still were surrounded by a big, happy family of smaller bodies. Star systems, so aptly named by their observers, were centered around one of these massive balls of plasma that were so wondrous and powerful. Planets, asteroids, comets, everything that existed under the sun could be found relatively near a star that owned a system. Everything was relatively close when compared to the vastness of everything that wasn't currently being observed.

The planets orbiting these family-loving stars were often boring, barren, and blasted beyond beauty by belligerent brothers known as meteors, so jealous they were by their larger siblings' constant grace of attention from their affectionate plasma reactor. Some escaped the bullying by means of an atmosphere, a safety blanket of gasses that slowed and punished the approaching annoyances with fire hot enough to reduce stone of molten slag. Nitrogen, oxygen, helium, methane, and even the precious hydrogen of their celestial parents comprised the wonderful comforters. It was because of these powerful shields, with a little help from the polar nature of magnetic metals, that what was arguably the most amazing thing found in the universe to flourish. That thing, so often taken for granted, was life.

Varied and ever-changing, life itself was the universe in miniature. From tiny amoebas, which formed partnerships and began grouping together, taking on more specialized roles as their existences intertwined, adapted and grew into far larger and more-noticeable shapes. The genetic material that was so precious and needed for each of these miraculous little blobs was slightly unstable, made even more prone to damage as the forming organisms began to rely on oxygen as a means for energy production. As free radicals collided with long strands of genes, mutation took place. Many of these quirks were harmful, still others had no effect, but every now and then, the right conditions would result in a small change that improved an organism's chance at survival.

Those lucky little lives that lived on lucky worlds that orbited lucky stars were practically cradled by their loving homes, barring the occasional tantrum and meteoric bully that made it through the blanketing atmosphere. On the opposite side of that coin lived the sad, hopeless bits of life that clung to drifting bits of space junk. Anaerobic protists and bacteria, prions, viruses, and other scum of creation that either lost their original planets or never had them, called the drifting garbage piles home.

Packed in the ice of a comet was a bit of dust, older than some of the planets it passed while riding its frozen steed. Within the tiny speck lay a single cell, a unique organism that had traversed the vastness of all that was. It quite possibly the last of its kind, from a corner of its galaxy forgotten to times and the cold expanses of truth. Just as it had been lucky enough to be frozen at the time of its home's destruction, and subsequently survived its frost-bound prison's transformation into a dazzling ball of crystal that soared through eternity. The luckiest of the unlucky, as it had always been.

Traveling quickly, too fast for most living things to easily track at close range, the fragment of a destroyed world collided with another chunk of rock, roughly eighteen inches across. The two bodies were heading in opposite directions, and the glancing blow sheared off a few tons of rock and ice. It was by either the best or worst of luck that a single speck of dust was within that ice, just as it had been for eons. The rubble drifted in random directions; much of it flew into a nearby asteroid belt, along a small tendril of stones that passed perilously close to a small planet. It was one of the lucky planets that contained life, and had for billions of years.

An example of that life was pointing its purple eyes to the debris field a particular shard of ice unwillingly joined.

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“Spike, hurry up! It's almost time!” Twilight Sparkle shouted to her assistant. The purple unicorn looked at the star-filled sky in wonder, partly pondering the vastness even her knowledge could only hint at. All of the mystery in the universe, and her study of friendship only allotted her a certain amount of free time, so long as she kept to her schedule.

“Coming!” the little dragon replied as his tiny, clawed feet patted up the stairs to the balcony. Spike relished moment like these. Watching the heavens with his adoptive older sister had been something they did whenever Twilight had a problem she couldn't figure out; the two would sit together under the stars, and almost like the magic the unicorn so often worked, the answer would appear. Tonight was special, something that neither of them had ever seen. The Odysseus Comet would pass Equus very soon, closely followed by a small meteor shower. It seemed Luna was doing her best to get back in the groove of things. “I just had to make the popcorn.”

“We should still have a few seconds, come on.” Twilight barely had time to finish before the Odysseus began its arc across the sky. The blue-tailed ball of ice was followed near-instantly by almost a dozen streaks of light. Like mayflies, the small bodies burned away quickly, their trails dimming before being replaced by newer, brighter flashes. White-orange lines striped the night sky, some lasting longer than others, a hoofful even collided with one another, creating dazzling fireworks that lasted but a moment. “Look at that one!”

A large, bluish trail dashed across the heavens, before exploding brilliantly in a shower of bright sparks. It had hit nothing that could be seen by the naked eye, but a near-deafening boom echoed across Ponyville. Twilight heard rattling window shutters and shouting ponies. A small meteor shard smashed through a door across the street, swiftly mirrored by a nearby fountain's destruction.

“Twilight, we need to get inside!” Spike hadn't even finished before his surrogate sister forced him indoors. Just as they hit the wooden floor, everything seemed to calm. Spike's green eyes scanned the room for any sign of damage. There was thankfully nothing noteworthy out of place. Save for the sharp piece of iron that jutted from a wall, things were pretty normal. It wonder, the draconian neonate thought he saw the crystalline metal gleam in the library's dim light.

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Temperature? Acceptable.

Moisture? Optimal.

Salinity? Tolerable.

Nutritional requirements? Adequately met for growth.

Like a pre-flight checklist, the cell went through the motions of finding a suitable environment. There was no sense of time, no way for it to know that it had spent eons trapped in ice. It was, after all, a single unit of what was once a proud organism, and as such lacked any higher means of input. While it could not think, it knew the best way to go about acclimating itself to its new surroundings. As it had once been a single cell, it would repair would repair itself in the most efficient of ways. There were other cells around it; their membranes caught on the alien's dendrites as it drifted in the liquid. Like skilled predator, a tendril lashed out.

Unlike most unicellular organisms, the invader did not envelope its prey. It simply filtered the solids from its target and ignored the cytoplasm, but it took extra care when absorbing the strange cell's nucleus. When the dark ball of genetic information arrived in the foreign body, nothing met it with the intent to consume. A black, ovoid organelle gently brushed against the nuclear envelope. If one could place the egg-shaped micro-organ under an electron microscope, rows of razor-shape barbs would be very apparent. As a tiny incision was made, a single tendril snaked into the unraveled strands of nucleic acid. This was done as tenderly as possible, and may have been the nicest thing done by the ancient life form.

As the reader went about its task, others of its kind began their work on the other strange organelles. While the mitochondria and ribosomes were very similar to its own structures, the invader's simple programming  was stumped at the function of the other, rippled structures it found. Though there was no concept of time, three hours passed as the alien organism reviewed its obtained sample. With the encoded, genetic information at the ready, it was a simple matter for the adaptable being to optimize its chances of survival in its new host. The spent and studied organelles were broken down for nutrients to fuel the rapid changes that would soon occupy the invasive species. It had to perfectly blend into the other cells around it as it stuffed itself into the now-dead cell's place. Surface antigens altered to match the host tissue, rendering the parasite invisible to any immune response it had evolved to evade.

To any leukocytes prowling about, it appeared to just be another bit of eyelid undergoing oddly rapid mitosis.

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Nurse Redheart stood outside the hospital, vigilant for anypony who may have been harmed in the explosion. As much as she wished to head into the town proper, her duties kept her at the door. The pink-haired mare had actually seen the brilliant display that cause such an ear-shattering blast, the meteorite that exploded for unknown reasons. At any moment, the royal guard would arrive and provide order and an explanation. It was times like these the nurse was thankful for the other staff members and the tight-knit community they formed within the sanctuary. Redheart waved at a passing surgeon from her post, receiving a kind wave in return.

Already, two pegasi had been brought in for head injuries. One of them had been a guardspony on duty at the nearby armory. Cloudchaser had been the other pony carried to the hospital; a bit of meteoric iron had nearly put out her eye. Thankfully, there was a skilled surgeon on call who was quite capable of repairing the damage. If two ponies made the entirety of the night's casualty list, things were on the up and up.

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There was a thick bundle of some sort of fiber, different from the muscle it had burrowed into and replace nearby. Electricity flowed through the elongated cells, as well as chemical compounds that endlessly fired from one stalk to the body of another cell. The new prey must have been the host's means of communication within its body, an oddly centralized method, but a possibly effective one. If that was the only way signals could be interpreted, then the cables were to be avoided until assimilation was farther along. While linear progress had stopped because of this odd finding, liquid carrying tubes opened a gateway for colonization.

A single infiltrator latched onto a passing, disk-like, oxygen-rich body. This method was one of the many plans coded into the primordial organism, sapience would come later, when enough biological material was under its control. Like a creeping plague, the tentacled cell detached itself as it neared a highly vascular area. The primary infection site was quite a ways away, but it would be easy to grow within the nutrient-rich environment. This new region was practically flooded by some sort of new chemicals, too complex to serve no purpose.

In a mechanical way, the alien parasite realized that if its host had a centralized nervous system, it only made sense for it to also have centralized genitalia and some form of symmetry. There was a huge amount of some unknown hormone, and preliminary analysis revealed it promoted cellular reproduction and growth. There were nerves here as well, but growing around them would be easy. In the ripe environment, the cell could divide every eighteen minutes, provided the abundant food supply and host bodies remained. If the spread to the genitals was somehow unsuccessful, many of its kind drifted through the transportation network, and would make landfall in several locations.

Muscle and most other soft tissues would be taken first, to keep the host still once the next part of assimilation began. After that, the nerves would be attacked. The process must have been painful to whatever had the misfortune of containing the parasite, and minimizing any possible vocalizations and physical cues that may show distress was necessary. Though it could not understand the concept of time, it would be one-hundred-sixty-eight hours until total control was achieved. Only then would taking the nervous system be viable.

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Caramel clutched his head, nursing a growing knot. The stallion was used to working nights, but his boss had suddenly grown a heart, and allowed him to clock out early. On his way home, the meteor started, and, naturally, the pony rested beneath a large tree to watch the spectacle. His saw a brilliant trail of blue, and the large spark as it exploded, even felt the shock in his bones. However, he did not expect a chunk of that space rock to land a few feet from him. The resulting impact sent dirt and rocks into the stallion's eyes; he barely had time to react before a large branch fell on his head.

Now Caramel had to deal with the inconveniences implicit in cranial trauma. The sturdy pony wobbled his way to the hospital, keeping one hoof on the knot as he went, giving him a hobbled, limping gait. He paused every fifty or so steps to rub his eyes in feeble, halfhearted attempts to clean them of the debris. It was more annoying than anything, hardly obscuring his vision, but the tears the dirt caused stung ore than the gritty feeling it already provided. The hospital, which was little more than a large clinic, was barely more than a mile from him.

The distance would have been easier to traverse had Caramel not been on three legs, though it wouldn't have taken more then fifteen minutes if he didn't stop to rub his eyes so often. He didn't notice Nurse Redheart until he had nearly reached the doors; he was too focused on his minor annoyances to care about the important things. The amber stallion was still thankful for the prompt attention, though he could have done without the gasp attendant.

Really, since when was a bleeding gash on one's head such a big deal?