Special Circumstances #6

        You awake to a vague noise outside your door. As you lift your head off the dense pillow the noise gains immediate clarity; Lyra is calling your name. You’re going to have to get used to this half-deaf thing.

 

        The unicorn sounds pretty excited. You grope for your earbud on the nightstand and pop it in, subvocalizing to Mous “Can you see what she wants already?”

 

        “You have a visitor waiting outside” Mous immediately replies. “Missile watching them now. The faster you could go meet them the better, but at least look presentable” the drone says while you dress yourself hurriedly.

 

You finish and pop out your bedroom door, almost falling on top of the mint-colored unicorn who still hasn’t stopped calling your name. “All right, all right, I’m here. We have company?”

 

        “Yes! C’mon lets head outside, this is so exciting!” Lyra was as frustratingly vague as Mous as to the identity of the guest, though probably not by design like you suspected of the latter. You follow Lyra and Mous down the stairs at a brisk pace, your longer gait getting you to the front door before the pony. Opening it you’re surprised to see the visitor eye-level with you; only her companions were as diminutive as you were expecting.

 

        “Princess Celestia,” you say as you bow, “To what do I owe the honor?”

 

        “I figured I’d stop by early so we could get a head start.” The Princess replies. Her eyes twinkle with hidden laughter as you give her a bewildered expression, “When I told you that you’d have a new home, I meant it. We’ve provided lodging for you in Canterlot.”

 

        “National capital,” Mous helpfully supplies over your private channel.

 

        The princess draws her head up- she’s slightly taller than you, around two meters to the top of her head you notice now- when the confusion leaves your face, the twinkle still in her eyes. You wonder to yourself how a monarch can be as light-hearted about the minute details of the world as you’ve seen Celestia to be. A definite improvement over the aloof stuffiness you usually encounter.

 

        You look back to Lyra, whose expression has become a battlefield between the forces of elation and sorrow. “We have room for Lyra and Bon Bon too, if they wish to accompany you,” you hear with stilted quality from your right side. Turning to your left you recoil when you see Celestia has  poked her head inside the doorframe, mere inches from your face. The Princess smiles at you, “Can I come in?”

 

        “Sure!” Lyra answers for you, and then turns to the back of the house. “Bon Bon, quick, let’s get packing!”

 

        “I’m not going.” Bon Bon says. You look to your left again and see Celestia has pulled her head back from the door and has in fact stepped away from the house. You think you know what’s about to happen, and follow suit, exiting the building and stepping to the left. You nod politely at the pegasus guard that shuffles out of your way as Mous follows you out the door. When you look to the drone, you notice one of its two missiles is missing from underneath its tail plates.

 

        “Got an ear inside?” you subvocalize.

 

        “Of course. Patching it through.”

 

        “I’m not going,” Bon Bon repeated in an authoritative tone, replying to something you missed, “And neither are you.” You lean against the doorframe outside, able to peer in while still looking casual and minimizing your chance to be seen in return. Not that there was much of a chance of that; while Bon Bon is looking in your direction, she’s staring at Lyra with an intensity that would set a smaller creature on fire. Her voice, though hostile, is firm and steady. The earth pony’s stance radiates unadulterated rage, her ears flattened against the back of her head such a degree that they are buried and lost among the curls of her mane.

 

        Lyra for her part is paralyzed in the awkward, stiff stance you remember from her conniption a few days ago. You can only see the back of her head but her voice gives everything away. The unicorn is barely articulate when she speaks, and her pitch fluctuates wildly in her quickly building alarm. “Whuh… why not? We’ve been invited by Celestia herself, Bon Bon!”

       

        “I’m tired of your sick fascination, and I’m tired of trying to convince you to leave it. So you’re staying here and it’s leaving you instead.”

 

        “If this is about my playing, love,” Lyra uses a pet name for the first time since you’ve arrived, “I could get back into it, imagine the venues-“

 

        “No, it’s not!” Bon Bon shouts over the frantic unicorn, and then returns to her fierce but moderated tone, “I’ve long since given up any hope of you appreciating your own damned talent. Gryphons above, who would have guessed a pony could lose their own reason to be?! But no, it’s not about that. It’s about your pursuit of conspiracies and lunacy! If you wanted to destroy the culture you’ve spent your life practicing and chronicling at least do it in a manner that you don’t have to hide in a basement! I haven’t seen a quarter of my house in two years!”

 

        “But this could be my chance, Bon Bon,” Lyra pleads. “I could get my old life back, an invitation by the Princess has to mean something to the Ministry!”

 

        “Zecora told me you may have brought Anon here yourself, from your findings. She’s the perfect replacement, isn’t she? You’ve brought her here because this insane pursuit has even consumed what used to be love for me, and you’ve found a freak of a girl to take my place! No, you’re going to stay, and she won’t be able to influence you, and now that your crazy little theories have all lined up and you’ve proven your point, you can revel in your triumph of idiocy, drop it, and finally live a normal life!”

 

        Though you still can’t see Lyra’s face, you can tell through the silence that something’s changed. Bon Bon must have noticed it too, while her stance remains defiant you could see her eyes widen slightly, her jaw unclench. Lyra’s tail flicks once before she said in a tone that almost matched Bon Bon’s, “I’m tired too, Bon Bon. Tired of you trying to force me, tired of you trying to run my life, tired of you disparaging what I choose to do with my life. I want my old life back, and that life doesn’t have to include you; it didn’t before. I’m going back to Canterlot. Whether or not you want to join me is up to you.”

 

        The two ponies stare each other down for quite awhile. Bon Bon is initially shocked but recovers her composure quickly, and the two look as if they are trying to sear each other’s souls, brand their will on the other directly. You look to Celestia, who stood a couple meters further back. The Princess’ lips are pressed in a thin line, but her eyes relay sadness instead of irritation. She looks at you in return. “I’ll give you three hours to pack. We’ll set the accommodations for three instead of four,” Celestia say in a quiet tone. The alicorn turns to leave and the guards flanking the door take up position behind.

 

        “Then I’ll leave you to pack. Make sure you take everything, I’m not going to send anything after you go and you’re no longer welcome in my house.” you hear through your earbud. You look back inside but your quick movement must have drawn Bon Bon’s attention; the earth pony looks to you with supernova intensity. “GET OUT!” she screams, then quickly turns and marches out the door, her hooves stamping on the floor hard enough you fear she may crack one or the other. Moments later you hear the slamming of the back door.

 

 “Bon Bon’s heading out to the forest again. Probably back to Zecora’s,” Mous reports in the deafening silence that follows. “Six days in and we’re already changing lives.”

 

        “Who is Zecora?” you ask, ignoring the sarcastic remark following the observation.

 

        “Lives deep in the forest, the Everfree according to what I’ve been able to dig up. When I tailed Bon Bon after she made us lunch the second day that’s where she went, I figure she was getting whatever information she’s making her decision now on.”

 

        “I thought I said leave her. You had the missile follow her anyway?”

 

        “I saw no harm in it. Either way, I can’t really get a figure on what Zecora is. Some shamanistic figure, looks to be either an Earth Pony of a different culture or a closely related, separate race. While you were-”

 

        “It shouldn’t be important if we’re leaving this place anyway,” you interrupt. “We’re already set, I guess we just wait.”You turn back inside to inform Lyra of your plans.

 

        Lyra is standing exactly where she was before, staring through the hallway intersection into the kitchen at the back door. “Lyra, Celestia gave us three hours. Need any help?”

 

        “N-no…” the unicorn stutters out. “Go away,” she demands with greater force after a pause. The mint pony doesn’t spare you the slightest glance.

 

        You turn to walk back outside without saying another word. “I’m leaving the missile here to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or her work.” Mous says privately to you as it follows. “I’m going to speak to Twilight again, you want to come?”

 

        “Nah, I’m going to find some quiet place and wait it out.”

 

        “Alright, I’ll let you know when it’s time to come back.” Mous responds, and drops the second missile off before it flies away. The missile floats slowly to your face, pointing at you as if staring. Sometimes you wonder what goes on in the excuse for a primitive brain it carries and relies on when not directly controlled by Mous. Drones may be AI but at least they’re sentient AI and to a basic degree not inscrutable. Missiles you’ve always thought of as eager, loyal pets. Wondering what goes through a missile’s ‘head’ is like wondering what a goldfish does in its spare time.

 

        “Come on,” you say to it, projecting your idle musings. “Let’s find a nice place to relax.”

 

A short hike later and you find yourself beneath a lonely tree on a hill overlooking the town. You’re still trying to process what just happened. Love was a casual thing in the Culture; romantic commitment rarely permanent but lived to its fullest while it lasted. When it no longer worked the two halves (or three thirds, four quarters) went their separate ways on amiable terms. You’ve never had to deal with such a dramatic breakup personally, even if they did still crop up here and there amongst a couple friends of friends every decade or three. The experience was not unlike having the mental ground eroded from beneath you by waves of emotion, and it shook you.

 

        You look to the skies above the town and stimulate your body’s drug glands to pump a relaxant. You focus on the strange feeling planetary skies always give you to help drive the experience away. You’ve been on the surface of dozens of planets- most Culture citizens see maybe one or two in their lifetimes if they’re heavy travelers- yet you can never get used to how empty the sky looks. Growing up on an Orbital you spent your early life with the comforting ‘other half’, the band across the sky where the giant artificial ring continues around in a great loop. In shipboard agricultural parks, especially the smaller ones such as aboard the GCU ‘Check your Gravitas’ before you got sent here, there was a slight disturbance at the field boundary where the atmosphere met space, barely visible from the ground. The unbroken skies here are in their own special way alien.

 

        Through the reminiscence, contemplation, and mild drug effects, the time passes very quickly.

 

 

You’re roused from your relaxed state by Mous’ synthetic voice in your ear. “Incoming.” You look up, and see a bright chariot pulled by pegasi land at the foot of the hill. At its front is Celestia, and nestled in the back is Lyra. She has very few bags with her and her head is hung low, sulking. Mous comes out of the sky much closer to you, “You looked so peaceful, I figured I’d bring our ride to you.”

 

        “Thanks,” you say aloud. “What did Twilight say?”

 

        “She just said she’s happy for us and she’ll try to visit sometime,” the drone responds in kind. Then, directly into your ear, “She wants us to take care of Lyra too, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

 

        “Well you’ve been the one hanging with Twilight lately, so I’ll leave those details to you,” you say, and move to climb into the chariot. You sit beside Lyra, who doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. The unicorn is staring intently at the back of the seat in front of her, with a mildly upset expression. You wonder just how much an understatement said expression represents.

 

        “Bring us home, please,” you hear Celestia say from the front, and with a mighty lurch the chariot becomes airborne again. Mous takes up a position next to you outside the chariot, flying alongside. Celestia’s command marks the last time any occupant makes a sound for the majority of the trip. This silence along with the rhythmic motions of the chariot in flight lull you back into a half-sleep.

 

 

        A gentle series of chimes rouses you back to alertness. Before the flying chariot stands a city built into the side of a mountain, and on top of a plateau wrapping partway around it. A walled complex comprises its heart; one of the many towers inside this complex supports a landing pad which is your destination. The chariot touches down much more gently than you’d expect on the stone surface, and you, Celestia and Lyra disembark easily. Despite the dainty, almost airy quality the exposed structure of the palace suggests, the suspended platform doesn’t even flex under the added weight. You resist the urge to adopt an exaggerated, bouncy gait to test it.

 

        The four guards who pulled the chariot fly off to another part of the palace. Two guards in front of the pad exit part to admit the four of you, and close the large door behind you as you enter. The ambient noise of the city was nothing compared to some of the locales you’ve been to, but even that is completely shut out once the door swings shut. In the silence that follows only the hoof beats and footsteps of your progress down the large spiral staircase can be heard, and you can almost convince yourself that you’re inside an isolated rural retreat far away from anything approaching a capital city. The view outside the windows of a stunning valley landscape as the plateau drops away from the side of the palace complex reinforces this impression.

 

        “Please follow me, we’ll take you to the main hall before we see you to your room,” Celestia asks, a mere formality as far as requests go seeing as you’re already following her into a large passage. “I’m sure the architecture here is very different from what you’re used to; Twilight tells me Humans all live aboard great ships at sea?” The Princess turns to smile at you, eyes glittering with curiosity, “I think that’s fascinating, and I’d love to hear about it some time.”

 

        The hallway you’re now traveling down is positively colossal; easily three times your height in width, and three times its width in its own height. The interior decoration is ornate but not cluttered, with stained glass in the windows on one side and carved wooden doors and panels opposite them. Tapestries fill the space between, and a red carpet covers the lilac-tinted marble floors with marble pillars similarly adorned. You can’t wrap your head around how much stone must have been quarried to construct this palace, the entire combined structure itself like a small city-within-a-city; the rest of Canterlot occupied the plateau the Palace sat suspended over and anchored to, set apart by a large natural space.

 

        “You’ll find Canterlot is very different from Ponyville, I hope you haven’t reached any immutable conclusions about Equestria already,” Princess Celestia says as you near a set of large double-doors at the end of the hall. “How long have you been here, so far?”

 

        “A week,” Lyra replies flatly. She immediately seems to curse herself for even speaking, dropping her head even lower than it was already held.

 

        Celestia glances back at her in concern before continuing, “Ah, just enough to take in the scenery then. Good! Perhaps the change of pace will be refreshing…” the alicorn trails the question off before she brings her gaze back away from your unicorn companion.

 

        The doors stand flanked by another pair of guards, who open them to admit you into an even larger room. The way the carpet intersects with the main run and continues through suggests this intersection is the heart of the previously mentioned main hall. Confirming your suspicions, Celestia turns to the left and heads towards a large but relatively simple chair at the end of the massive chamber, sitting atop a pedestal flanked by fountains. She does not mount it, instead standing at the bottom of the ramp leading up to it, and waves that you approach.

 

When you try to bow upon arrival she stops you with a hoof against your shoulder. “You’re a foreign dignitary and a guest of honor here, but I’d like to dispense with formalities. You’ve already shown me respect; I don’t need constant reminders that demean your own position. In fact, I’m not entirely clear on what your position is. What title did you hold amongst the Culture?”

 

You examine the Princess’ thoughtful expression before you begin. You’ve been treated as if you were part of Contact proper, and can’t help but feel the Princess understands at the very least you aren’t a layperson. You need to walk a line between clarification and misdirection. Briefly the thought of the alicorn being a telepath crosses your mind, and it’s all you can do to prevent the disgust from showing on your face. Mind-reading is the worst offense the relatively anarchist Culture abhorred.

 

“I’m a sort of emissary,” you begin cautiously. “The Culture doesn’t like to… interfere much with others, but they are very interested in the greater world. There’s a special organization called Contact that exists to facilitate that. I’m not a Contact diplomat or anything like that, but I do work for them. The Culture considers it pretty prestigious work but to be honest a lot of that is plain romanticism.”

 

Celestia appears to accept this, a satisfied expression dawning. “Fortune favors me it seems, giving me just the kind of individual I’d like to hear from the most. Even if we find a way to get you home, Anon, I hope you’ll stay with us, diplomat or no. There must be so much we could learn from each other.” The Princess’ tone was warm enough to bake a tray of muffins.

 

The Princess then turns to one of the two guards beside the throne- grey unicorns instead of white pegasi, with more ornate armor- “Please see if our Emissary’s room is prepared.” The guard nods vigorously and trots to the opposite end of the cavernous hall, exiting through the main doors. Celestia looks between you and Lyra then. “We’ve prepared a single suite for the three of you, but separate rooms can be made available if you desire. Are you comfortable staying together?”

 

You look to Lyra, initially believing she’ll refuse considering the event earlier in the day. She looks back at you with still-conflicted eyes, but eventually sighs and acquiesces with a bow of her head. “One suite will be fine, thank you Your Highness.”

 

You mask your mild surprise with genuine happiness and turn to the Princess yourself, “No objections.”

 

Celestia smiles at both of you, then looks to something above and behind you. “And your curious friend agrees as well?”

 

You turn to look at what Celestia is observing, and find Mous looking at the wall decorations, almost touching the wooden panels it hovers so close. “No objections,” the drone parrots, not turning to face who it addresses. The drone finishes its descent along one column and moves on to the top of a window, seemingly paying little heed to any activity in the hall.

 

“I hope you like company, Anon,” Celestia says looking back to you, “I know there are a few ponies interested in Lyra’s stay here, she hasn’t been around since the royal wedding, and she didn’t stay long then. “

 

“I don’t mind at all,” you reply, looking to the unicorn again. Lyra is still looking at the floor, but by the set of her ears and the occasional flick of her tail she seems to have picked up a trace of irritation at the mention of the event. The unicorn remains silent.

 

The guard Celestia sent away enters the hall again, and strides quickly to the throne area. Such a rapid return leads you to believe that the contact, perhaps a worried official with advanced warning, was waiting around relatively close for just a query. “The room is ready, Your Highness,” the guard relays with a bow.

 

“Excellent, please escort our guests there, then. I have business I need to attend to.” Celestia glances back at you then, “Please make yourself comfortable, I will arrange for a tour for you in the evening.”

 

“This way, please,” the guard beckons, now standing near the door opposite the side you originally entered from. You bow to Celestia again as you depart, and you could swear from the corner of your vision you see her roll her eyes. You’re about to call for Mous’ attention when you find it already beside the guard by the time you look back.

 

The continuation of the prior hallway is just as grand and similarly decorated. The clopping of the guard’s horseshoes echoes through the space, masking over your quieter boots. The guard’s gait seems more mechanical; each strike spaced evenly with mechanical precision, instead of the irregular, sometimes paired beat you’ve grown accustomed to. You glance at the pony’s legs and notice that the movements remain fluid, not forced. Questions of training and military nature float through your mind as you round a corner into another hallway, this one much more reasonably scaled and decorated in darker tones of blue and purple.

 

        “You’ll be staying in room 12 here. We have been instructed to allow you access everywhere in the palace except the royal quarters’ wing, no escort required,” the guard pony intones without looking back. You silently start counting the doors and noting the character changes between each, trying to pick up the numbering system. You hit a slight hitch between the ninth and tenth, from Equestria’s base ten conflicting with the Culture’s base nine numbering system; while base ten is generally more common in the galaxy you had no idea what to expect here. You catch the pattern coming around the eleventh and task yourself to writing the characters down to practice later. If you can’t read at least you can learn their math.

 

        Outside the twelfth door stands two more guards, also grey unicorns. They bow their heads to you at your arrival but say nothing in greeting. “Please enjoy the accommodations. Just inside the door to your right is a panel that controls several functions of the room and can call for service.” The guard who escorted you here nods his head and returns to the throne room. Lyra brushes by you and enters the room first, her stuffed saddlebags barely clearing the door.

 

        Inside you’re presented with a spacious lounge area, comfortable-looking couches and chairs surrounding a table dominating the center of the space, with a kitchenette to the left and storage cabinets to the right. Two doors mark either side of the far wall, the left leading to a study area and the right to a bedroom. Lyra immediately heads for the former, shutting the door behind her upon reaching it. You glance at Mous and shrug, the drone returning the gesture with a tilt of its frame, and the two of you move to examine the bedroom.

 

        The bedroom area is a good deal smaller than you expected; room enough for a bed, nightstand, and trunk on each side of the door. Across from the entrance is a door leading to the outside. You step out onto a balcony and are confronted with a magnificent panorama of the whole of Canterlot, with the cliff-side down to the valley on your right and the start of the city proper to your left.

 

        “End of week one: we have infiltrated the civilization’s capital and are in the ruler’s good graces. We have attained an excellent position to begin the systematic destruction of their every notion of life and reality.” Mous speaks into your ear as it floats up next to you.

 

You turn to the drone and make a swatting motion in the space between. “Oh, shut up. Enjoy the view for a bit. I’m going to go try and figure out how the room controls work.”

 

“What a marvelous time to tell you I’ve already learned how to read. I can translate the labels for you.”

 

You shoot an irritated glare at your companion. “Yes, what a marvelous time. Get to it then, and feel free to help me get started on that. Y’know, whenever it strikes your fancy, at your leisure. Not like it’s a skill that would be immensely useful or of great social import or anything, no rush.”

 

You stew in irritation for a moment, Mous’ color fields sweeping a soft green of amusement across its chassis. After some thought you conclude it would probably more productive if you put off all the learning for the immediate future, in favor of getting used to the new locale. “Actually, I’ll just let you handle all that for now. In the meantime, think you can slip a missile outside the door without those guards noticing? It’d be nice to have security of our own.” Mous chimes an affirmative tone, and you return your gaze to the landscape. Your partner was right about one thing; you’ve managed to put yourself in a choice position. But looking out across the vista, you’re willing to defer your self-given assignment to make the most of the privileged status you’ve been granted. Tomorrow you think you’ll hit the town.