Rarity only truly realized how much she disliked her spacesuit when faced with the length of time she might need to be wearing it.
“It might be several…” She trailed off, feeling the warm stickiness of her breath as it filled the helmet. “Erm. It might be several days before the atmosphere is breathable. Just because it’s beginning to look right doesn’t make it safe. Understood?”
Rainbow gave a sloppy faux salute, and Pinkie double-checked the seal between her helmet and the rest of her suit.
“Alright.” Rarity took another deep breath. Her voice echoed back in a way that was so utterly oppressive she could scream. “That said, we’re all going to team up to get the atmosphere in place as quickly and efficiently as possible. Anything for one minute less in this suit.”
Rainbow made a face at that.
As a pegasus (or, perhaps more importantly, as a pegasus needing use of her wings), Rainbow was strapped into a ridiculous contraption that turned her natural, agile wings into awkward things more closely resembling sails on a boat. This meant that, unfortunately, she could not fold her wings the way she was used to—she had to leave them unfurled, hanging down at her sides like the wings of a soggy paper airplane.
This was considerably worse than merely having an itch one could not scratch. Even a unicorn knew that.
Before Rarity could amend her faux pas, though, there came a small bloom of radio static in her ear.
“I like the sound of that,” Twilight said. Her voice crackled in Rarity’s ear, a sudden but not unwelcome sound that sent a chill down her spine.
Twilight was the last off the ship, striding down the platform with a sense of balance and poise that made the rest of them look like amateurs. The gravity on this little bit of rock was next to nothing, and yet Twilight seemed to swim, to glide gracefully towards them with perfectly executed strokes of her lengthy legs. Even with her wings stuck out at odd angles on her sides, she seemed elegant. Regal.
Rarity cleared her throat with a small squeak. “Right,” she said with a firm nod. “Rainbow and Twilight will be doing the actual atmospheric condensing, and Pinkie and myself will be dispensing chemicals from our pressurized stores. Everypony absolutely must remain in communication at all times. You all know how to use your comms?”
Another bright and sudden crackle as all three ponies answered the affirmative, and all four winced at the volume.
Pinkie tapped on the side of her helmet as one might ap on a fishbowl.
“Perhaps not all at once,” Rarity advised softly.
The three mares nodded in understanding.
“Good,” Rarity said. “Good. Any questions?”
Rainbow raised one hoof.
“Yes?”
“Uh, yeah.” Rainbow tried to scratch at her head, but was blocked by her helmet. “I thought this asteroid was supposed to be magical? Why does it look like a blown-out wasteland?”
Perhaps that was a fair question.
It was true—the planet wasn’t anything much to look at. It was mostly barren, pocked by the occasional rock formation which rose above the flat brown rock below. It didn’t help that the lack of atmosphere eliminated the one barrier between themselves and the rest of the universe. It was hard not to feel exposed in a place like this.
“It is,” was all Rarity could think to say. “Despite its appearance, this asteroid is magical. It carries a stronger signature that I promise I will tell you more about once we’ve done a bit of study.”
Pinkie leaned closer to Rainbow and, in history’s greatest stage whisper, hissed directly into the mic: “don’t worry. It’ll look way better with some trees.”
Rarity coughed, and Pinkie snapped back at attention. “Any other questions?”
Rainbow and Pinkie shook their heads in practically perfect unison.
Twilight, however, did not respond.
“Twilight?”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?” Rarity asked.
She blinked. “Yes. Of course,” she said. “Um. I’ll help Rainbow get started, but I’m afraid I’m not the strongest flier.”
“No problem,” Rainbow said, giving her a hearty smack on the shoulder. “I totally got this.”
Rarity sucked in a small breath. “Yes. Yes, of course. But let’s stick with the plan, alright?”
Rainbow sighed lightly. “Okay. Sure.”
“Excellent.” Rarity puffed out her chest, and the motion only served to remind her of the constricting fabric of the suit. “Let’s begin, then.”
Rainbow, without hesitation, leapt off the ground. While flight on another planet looked almost nothing like it did on Equus, Rainbow was a champion of the technique, and managed to get airborne without much trouble.
“Give a shout when you release the kernels, ‘kay?” she asked, an adrenaline edge already creeping over her words.
“You got it, Dashie!” Pinkie agreed, bounding off to manage the air tanks.
Rainbow just flew. Back and forth and upside down, perhaps getting a feel for what flight was like in a place like this.
Though Rarity knew very little about the details of the mechanics, it was still a sight to behold; Rainbow swam through the air like the sleekest and most agile of dolphins, a slight flare of a rainbow in her wake everywhere she went.
She must have gone completely slack-jawed. Not a good look for a lady. Even a worse look when Twilight noticed it.
“She’s really good,” Twilight commented softly.
Rarity prickled at the sudden sound in her ear.
“Sorry,” Twilight apologized, a chuckle hidden in her voice. “I just—well, there’s no air resistance at all. She must only be using magic to stay in the air like that.”
Rarity cocked her head slightly. “Is that how it works? I admit, all they tell us in classes is that the pegasi can do it. They tend to gloss over the how.”
“Really?” Twilight shook her head. “I guess this is why they wanted to set you up with a mentor so bad, huh?”
Rarity snickered at that. “Perhaps.”
Twilight nodded sagely, then turned her gaze to the soon-to-be skies to watch Rainbow cross them in that strange, slow dance. “Even on Equus, pegasi flight is physically impossible. Their wings are too small to get enough lift—it’s mostly directional, both for magic and for steering. There’s a little power boost to be had, but not much.”
That certainly seemed to be true. Rainbow could hardly move her wings up and down in that ridiculous suit, let alone truly flap them the way she would if she were in the nude. Rather, she seemed to lean into her turns slightly, angling the sails at her sides just so, allowing other things to power her flight.
“But flight works based upon principles of air resistance,” Twilight continued. “Imagine trying to swim through air. You wouldn’t have any way to propel yourself, right?”
Rarity nodded. “I see. So, when there isn’t any air resistance, she loses even that?”
“Exactly.” Twilight looked down at Rarity and smiled. “It takes a lot of skill to fly without air. A lot of raw magical power. It’s the sort of thing you’ll be able to do when you get your wings.”
Rarity scoffed, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “The sort of thing I might be able to do,” she corrected. “If I get my wings.”
Twilight shrugged. “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
The pair was silent for a long moment, watching as Rainbow’s bright form passed across the darkness of space over and over. The light of the sun was strong enough that it reflected off the surface of the asteroid and illuminated the fine hairs on her stomach, turning them nearly white.
There then came a sudden burst of static in Rarity’s ear.
“Uh.” Pinkie’s voice. “You know I’ve never done this part before, right?”
Twilight and Rarity shared a look.
“I’d better get up there,” Twilight said.
“I’d better go prevent a disaster,” Rarity agreed.
They parted ways, Twilight leaping into the vacuum of space and Rarity taking long, graceless strides over the surface of the asteroid.
Of Eventide, she reminded herself.
“It’s nothing, really,” Rarity assured Pinkie over the comms. “Just like rock farming.”
She pushed off from the ground again, making good progress over the dusty terrain towards the ship. Pinkie quickly became visible past a small rock formation, and waved excitedly (or perhaps in distress—it could sometimes be difficult to tell).
“Uh… no offense, Rares, but this doesn’t look even a little bit like rock farming,” she said.
“It is!” Rarity insisted, a little bit of a giggle creeping into her voice. “Rock farming is all about teaching the soil how to make gems, correct? A little kernel of the target, a little earth pony magic to coax it in the right direction…?”
Pinkie scoffed. “I mean, there’s a lot more—”
“I promise you’ll have plenty of time to tell me the details,” Rarity cut in. “But we need to do this quickly. Atmospheric compression is exactly the same process: we release a kernel of air from home, and the pegasi use their magic to grow it into a whole new atmosphere.”
“That’s what’s in these tanks?” Pinkie asked. “Just… air?”
“Well, this one is air,” Rarity said, patting a tank labeled ‘kernel’. “We also bring along pure nitrogen and pure oxygen, in case there are defects and the balance needs to be corrected.”
“Ohhh.” Pinkie nodded. “Just like lime deposits!”
Rarity blinked. “Erm. Yes,” she said, though she hardly knew if they were similar in the least. “Sure.”
“Got it!” Pinkie agreed.
“Wonderful,” Rarity said, giving her a polite pat on the shoulder. “If you’d like to release the kernel, I’ll keep an eye on our chemical gauges to make sure our ratios are stable. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds great!” Pinkie came skidding to a halt before the tanks strapped to the side of the ship. “Just say ‘when’!”
Rarity quickly sat down, lifting one hoof to her face as she navigated to the chemical gauge readout on her televox. As expected, it currently registered next to nothing in the air itself, with the exception of some dust particles floating around.
“When!” Rarity instructed.
Pinkie twisted the dial on the side of the tank.
Despite the still silence which followed, Rarity saw the numbers on her chemical gauge begin to slowly climb.
Confused by the lack of… well, anything, Pinkie leaned forward and tapped the dial on the tank. After a moment of thought and a look of frustrated confusion, she laughed. “Oh, right!” she said. “No sound in space!”
Rarity only smiled and shook her head. “Rainbow, we’ve released the kernel,” she informed her friend over the comm.
“Right!” Triumphant, if already slightly out of breath. “This is the lowest gravity I’ve ever flown in!”
“You’re doing brilliantly!” Rarity encouraged.
“I mean, I know, but—”
“Rainbow, where do you need me?” Twilight cut in, panic rising in her voice.
Rarity nickered softly and switched the pair of them from broadcast to private. They likely didn’t even notice.
It was quiet out here.
Again, the all-consuming silence wrapped Rarity up. Silence and an unobstructed view all the way to the horizon and beyond—the Solaris system falling into a rhythm in the reaches of space. The cloud of barely-there Equus air pouring silently from its pressurized home.
Nothing but her own labored breath to keep her company, struggling against the heat and humidity of the helmet.
Nothing, that is, except for Pinkie.
She stood there, her head turned upward, watching as Rainbow and Twilight zipped overhead. Though they weren’t near supersonic, the air condensed before them, giving them that ghostly dome of white where their hooves met in front of them. Pinkie watched, jaw slack, enchanted by the sight of it.
Rarity sighed. “We got stuck with the boring bit, didn’t we?”
Pinkie just shrugged. “I dunno. I could watch them all day, I think.”
Perhaps Rarity could, too.
“Say,” Pinkie said, still watching the mares overhead. “How’d you meet Twilight, anyway?”
Rarity frowned. “Um. In school. In Canterlot,” she said. “We both went to Celestia’s school for Magical Sciences.”
“Hm,” Pinkie remarked. “That’s cool.”
“How did you know that—” Rarity paused and shook her head. “I never told you that Twilight and I knew one another before. How did you know?”
Pinkie cast Rarity a sideways glance and broke into a grin. “The way you guys talk and stuff,” she said. “You knew each other. It’s super obvious. And, even if it wasn’t, Pinkie always knows!”
Rarity chuckled. “Of course, of course.”
The light of the sun flickered and flared behind the shadow of the ship. Rarity sidestepped close to it, shielding herself even for another moment from its unrelenting orange glow.
“She’s pretty awesome,” Pinkie said. “Even for an Architect.”
Rarity scoffed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Pinkie frowned, then shrugged. “Y’know.”
“I don’t.”
“She’s just, like…” Pinkie tapped one hoof on the ground thoughtfully. “Well. Y’know when somepony crazy famous goes on the radio and they just sound really super fake? Like somepony else wrote all their lines and they’re just all… empty?”
Rarity laughed. “I certainly do.”
“Twilight’s not like that,” Pinkie said. “She’s just… here. Y’know?”
Just here.
Flying overhead. The atmosphere at the tips of her hooves, the universe in her wake.
Just here.
“Hm.” Rarity looked upwards, watching the mares flying in great arcs over her head, condensing the gasses into denser and denser clouds, through which the sunlight shone a brilliant orange. “I think I do.”
There was a sloppy, loud burst of static in Rarity’s ear. She winced.
“I’m coming down,” Twilight said to her. “One second.”
“Oh,” Rarity remarked, unsure how else to respond. “Well—of course, yes. You can come check the—”
Rarity lost her voice as Twilight’s form passed over her, making a rocky landing after just barely missing her ear with one low-hanging hoof. She stumbled a bit. If the heaving of her chest was any indication, she was more than a little out of breath, though Rarity couldn’t hear the panting for herself.
She turned, one hoof pawing uselessly at her helmet. She looked pale.
“Twilight?”
Rarity didn’t wait for a response, just leapt over to her old friend and put a leg around her shoulders.
“Sorry,” Twilight wheezed.
“Are you alright?” Rarity asked, trying desperately to touch with any sort of comfort as Twilight sat locked away like an animal at the zoo. “You don’t look so good, darling.”
“I’m okay!” Twilight insisted, batting away Rarity’s hooves. “L-like I said. I’m not that strong a flier. Still learning the ropes, so to speak.”
“But—”
“I’m fine,” Twilight said, pulling away from Rarity’s grasp. “Why don’t you… sh-show me the chemical readout?”
With that, she collapsed into a sitting position on the rock, her wings still jutting out from her sides and hanging limply in the low gravity. She was panting heavily, of that Rarity was sure, but taking great care not to do so into the comms.
Rarity looked to Pinkie for help.
Pinkie made a face that communicated not only her lack of advice for this situation, but for any situation even remotely similar.
“Um. Sure,” was all Rarity said.
She came to stand beside Twilight and held out her foreleg. Her televox projected the percentages of a few key elements for Twilight to read.
Twilight skimmed them quickly, then nodded. “Everything looks good for now. We may need to add some more nitrogen tomorrow, though.”
Rarity nodded. “Right,” she said. “Should we, erm… should we call Rainbow down, as well?”
“What do you think?”
What did she think?
Rarity opened her mouth to answer, then quickly checked the numbers on her chemical gauge. Not much atmosphere to speak of just yet—her systems estimated less than five percent of what was needed to walk around without space suits on. She looked to the sky, and saw that Rainbow was still zipping happily back and forth across it in great arcs.
“Rainbow?” Rarity said into the comm.
“What’s up?” Rainbow replied.
“We’re going to have you keep flying a while longer. You let me know if you need to rest, and we’ll make it happen,” Rarity instructed. “Let’s aim for fifteen percent of total atmosphere in place today.”
Rainbow scoffed. “I can do way better than that!”
“You don’t need to!”
“But I can!”
“But—”
“I’ll be back when I’m back!”
Rarity sighed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she might have brought someone along who was a little less… spirited? Competitive? Whatever it was that made Rainbow want to prove herself right here, right now.
But that was silly, of course.
She looked at Twilight, head hanging, chest heaving.
Rarity cleared her throat. “Let’s go inside for a while, shall we?”
With her suit off, Twilight somehow looked even more like a drowned rat.
Perhaps it was the sweat. It does get awfully sweaty and smelly in those horrible things. Even so, Twilight seemed deflated. She sunk into one of the metal chairs by the dashboard, all but putty in the warmth of the sun, melting into a puddle before Rarity’s eyes.
“Are you certain you’re alright?” Rarity pressed.
In all honesty, her mind was everywhere at once. While she wanted to be focused on Twilight, she was watching the chemical gauge from the corner of her eye, ready to react to the smallest blip or defect.
“I told you, I’m fine,” Twilight grumbled. “I’m just tired. It’s tiring work, believe it or not.”
Rarity scoffed. “Oh, darling, I believe it,” she said. “I’m making you tea. It isn’t going to be good, since I only have recycled water and powdered tea concentrate, but it’s going to make you feel better.”
Twilight sighed deeply in complete resignation and sunk even lower into the chair.
That was good enough for Rarity.
She swept off into the back of the ship near the rations and started setting up the kettle.
“I don’t want you helping Rainbow anymore,” Rarity said.
Twilight growled softly. “I can do it!” she argued. “I just—”
“You don’t need to,” Rarity cut in. “That pony is a one-mare army. She can handle the atmosphere just fine on her own.”
Twilight grumbled something else, but its details were lost on Rarity. She decided not to pursue it any further.
The electric kettle could, at the very least, sit on the countertop now. Even imagining having to boil water in zero gravity was enough to make Rarity wince. She lit her horn and reached out to grab the kettle from its spot on the shelf.
She heard a crunch.
That was odd.
Rarity’s horn popped and fizzled out in surprise, and she looked to her right to see what she may have accidentally crushed.
There, in the spot where the kettle had once been, sat a crumpled hunk of metal.
Rarity’s brows furrowed.
She stepped forward, gazing curiously at the little tin ball.
For a moment, she thought she had been the victim of one of Pinkie’s practical jokes. A tea kettle replaced with foil, maybe? Some sort of trick polymer that crumpled with a single touch?
She bit her lip.
“Rarity, I-I really don’t want any tea,” Twilight called.
Thank goodness.
Rarity feigned a frustrated sigh. “Fine, then.”
“I’m really okay,” she repeated.
Rarity pushed off from the floor and went sailing back across the room towards Twilight. “You know, I just don’t find myself believing that.”
Twilight folded her hooves over her chest (with some effort) and sunk ever lower in her chair. “The head of a mission really shouldn’t be spending this much time doting on one crew member,” Twilight pointed out. “I can take care of myself. I push myself too far, I deal with the consequences. Rainbow and Pinkie need your help.”
“No,” Rarity said, shaking her head. “It’s not that sort of mission. Not that sort of team.”
Though she looked like she wanted to, Twilight did not respond. She just went back to staring, listless, out the window.
Rarity hovered a moment, waiting patiently for Twilight to have the last word.
But Twilight said nothing.
Instead, Rarity pulled herself forward and into the chair beside her now-begrudging mentor.
The view out the window was lit by the sun at their backs. In a way, Rarity supposed it was like a shadow—evidence that something is there, looming behind you, all through a trick of the light.
That was interesting.
The sun had no shadow.
The sun’s shadow was light.
Twilight squirmed in her seat, evidently trying to get comfortable in the metal chair.
And, as Rarity looked at her, she noticed something else that she hadn’t noticed before.
There had been an undeniable feeling of power as the crew entered the system. That feeling grew and grew the longer they were there, the more planets they set into motion, the more they breathed life into their surroundings. And, of course, the surface of the asteroid felt more powerful and alive than any place Rarity had ever been before.
But Twilight…
She had been powerful. She had given off that power in the diner, and in the ship as they moved the heavens.
Now, though, that life was gone. It had been replaced by a nothingness just like the cold reaches of untouched space.
Pinkie had been wrong.
Twilight was empty, after all.