• Published 19th Sep 2012
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Homeworld: Equestria - hiigaran



Finding himself in an uncharted system, the Captain of a military vessel ends up on a strange planet

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9: Prophecy

Several long hours had passed since Captain Soban barricaded himself in his quarters. The excruciating sting of events prior had left the normally stoic and level-headed officer in a broken heap, slumped over the side of his bed, with his head in his hands and a pool at his feet.

Desperately trying to figure out how the Kadeshi battle could have played out differently, Soban’s cocktail of misery and anger had risen, and found an outlet in the once smooth metal wall, which now held a perfect imprint of a fist.

Prepared for the onslaught of concerned ponies, the Captain had immediately locked his door, and secured the grating over his quarters’ air vent, shouting off Pinkie until he was satisfied she had truly disappeared. Rainbow Dash had been the next visitor. After multiple failed attempts at knocking and opening, though not necessarily in that order, she too had relented. Neither Nova, nor Firelance had any luck, either, with Soban merely ignoring anything they had to say.

Of course, there was one other who had yet to approach the Captain’s quarters, but as he sat there, alone on his bed where he could stare at the eternal flames of hyperspace for answers that would never come, a familiar ‘POOF’ resounded in the confines of his dim bedroom, and he felt his mattress sag a little more with the weight of the lavender unicorn sitting beside him.

Neither of them uttered a single word. For countless minutes, Soban and Twilight sat in silence and focused on the light show outside. The multi-toned blue wisps that enveloped Harmony in a cocoon. The stationary pinpricks of light that represented other galaxies. The streaks of blurred lines that were the stars, nebulae and globules, whizzing past at incalculable speeds.

Twilight attempted to break the silence first. “It’s easy to see why you cherish your time out here.”

Soban grunted in response.

“Funny how, umm … Something so beautiful could be so dangerous.”

Another grunt.

“Come on, Captain”—Twilight placed a hoof on Soban’s shoulder—“I’m trying to help here. The least you could do is give me a coherent sentence or two.”

“Help?” Soban whispered dryly, shrugging Twilight off. “What could you possibly do to help someone who is responsible for—for what I did? Do you fail to see the severity of my crime?” he continued, the agitation in his voice rising. “I may have killed thousands over my many years of service, and don’t think that has absolutely no impact on me at all, but I have never, wiped out an entire race! It—iiit’s unthinkable!”

“But you—”

“And if that wasn’t enough”—Soban finally met Twilight’s eyes with an unsettling, dead look—“I murdered my own people. Right now, I feel worse than the Hiigarans who started the war ending with our exile to Kharak. Worse than the filthy Taiidani who set Kharak’s very air on fire, or almost set loose a deadly plague on our galaxy. Why? Because I managed to accomplish, as one person, what entire races could not. Genocide, Twilight. Genocide! Excuse the cliché expression, but these were not the actions of a Captain, but of a monster. So go ahead”—the Captain leaned back and hit the bed with a mild thump—“Help me if you can.”

Twilight looked down at Soban. “I guess you’re right. I can’t help you. The only one who can help you is, well, you. However, while I would never in a thousand years consider solving an issue with such violence, I know it was justified, and you had no other choice,” she paused, contemplating as she stared out into space again. “Heh, I guess that’s why I’m not in the military.”

“Really, Twilight? Really?” Soban growled, causing Twilight to flinch. “Are you seriously trying to justify the extermination of a race?”

“I—well, not exactly—uhh,” Twilight fumbled for words, before sighing in defeat. “I guess I am. But that’s not how I would have worded it. Like I said, I’m not too fond of the idea of kil—taking lives, but they were the aggressors, were they not? You made multiple attempts at peaceful resolutions, did you not? You did everything in your power to preserve life aboard their ships, even as they continued attacking us, and you retaliated with only what was necessary to keep us safe. Do those sound like the actions of a monster to you?”

“That’s not—”

“It’s a simple yes or no, Captain. Do those sound like the actions of a monster?”

“… No.”

“No it does not. If they were, you wouldn’t have the respect and admiration of those around you.”

“You still don’t understand, Twilight. Let me think of an analogy that can relate to your simpler lifestyle … Alright, suppose you agreed to help Pinkie Pie set up an event, but you had to cancel at the last second. Pinkie sets up the venue on her own. Suddenly she slips off a ladder and injures herself. How would you feel about it? How would you feel, knowing things could have been different if you had been there? Her injury may not be your fault directly, but you still feel guilty, and wonder what you could have done to prevent it. That’s how I feel, but on a much larger scale,” Soban finished, and turned over to lie face-first on his bed.

“Okay, we’ve established you are not at fault,” Twilight spoke softly, setting herself down beside the Captain. “If I was faced with the situation in your analogy, I would feel exactly the way you described it. The most important thing will be how you choose to deal with those events. There was nothing you could have done, because you couldn’t have predicted the events that followed. In your case, while you may have expected a fight, were you aware they were the remnants of their race? Well?”

A muffled ‘no’ was Soban’s response.

“There you go. So now you must ask yourself what you are going to do now. Are you going to feel sorry for yourself and dwell on the ‘what if’s, or are you going to work through it? Nopony expects you to just get up and shake it off, like nothing ever happened, but your crew still look to you for guidance.”

“You—You’re right, Twilight. I just”—the Captain lifted his head with a sigh—“If it’s all the same, I’d rather take some time off, anyway. Midnight and the others can handle getting us back home. I think I’m just going to—hey wait, what are you—”

“Take all the time you need,” Twilight interrupted, wrapping her hooves around Soban. “Once we’re back home, you can take a much-needed holiday.”

“But I don’t like holi—”

“That’s an order, Captain!”

Soban grumbled, and eventually drifted off to sleep, still wrapped in the fuzzy, purple hooves of the concerned mare. Twilight had followed suit, dozing off shortly after wrapping the covers around Soban and herself.


Soban and Twilight were jolted awake several hours later, as Harmony lurched violently enough to launch the pair off the bed, and on to the metal floor with a clang. The Captain groaned as he picked himself up, then proceeded to assist Twilight, who had somehow managed to get herself tangled in her own limbs.

“Wha—? Wuzzat noise?” Twilight managed to say, disoriented and distracted by a loud, ship-wide alarm, the meaning of which she did not know, aside from the obvious ‘something bad has happened’.

Without another word, the Captain burst open his quarters’ door and sprinted for the bridge, barely keeping his balance as Harmony continued to shudder and throw itself about in increasingly violent waves, while Twilight barely kept up.

“Captain!” Midnight Oil exclaimed in relief, as Soban stumbled into the bridge. “Glad you’re here. Where have you—”

“Later, Midnight! What’s going o—ARRGH!” Soban cried in pain, as a particularly nasty lurch sent him face-first into a wall. “I’m fine, I’m f—get off me, Twilight, it’s just a cut. Status report!”

“It appears to be a hyperdrive malfunction, Captain! The quantum waveform is collapsing. Inertial dampening systems can’t compensate for these motions, either!”

“Out of the way, now!” Soban yanked the surprised Midnight Oil from the Captain’s seat and hit the comms. “All crew to full combat alert! Stand by for an emergency hyperspace exit!”

A quick check of the short-range sensors confirmed the rest of the fleet was intact, as they exited hyperspace and found themselves in deep space, within the vicinity of nothing more than a pair of pure-white binary pulsar stars, flashing regularly at a safe distance.

“I want to know what happened, and I want to know in the next five minutes,” Soban demanded. “That includes crew status.”

Zenith ran her hoof down a list on her console. “Chief medic reports twenty-three injuries so far. Nothing serious. A few sprains, but that’s the worst of it. Engineering is already investigating the cause of the malfunction, but … Huh. You might want to take a look at this. Sensors detect an anomalous field at these coordinates. The source appears to be a large vessel within it, larger than ours in mass, though sensor distortion here makes it impossible to identify. Several ships are surrounding it, but they all appear to be inactive. No life signs detected as far as I can tell. Recommend we send a probe to investigate.”

The Captain nodded. “Agreed. Construction, respond.”

“Spanner here. What’s up?”

“You alright over there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Gas tank hit me on the head, but I’ve been hit by worse!”

“That explains a lot …” Soban muttered to himself. “Ahh, anyway, do you have any probes available?”

“Oh, we doing some good old-fashioned probing, huh?” Firelance appeared in the rear section of the bridge, wearing a sly grin. “I nominate Zenith first!”

“What in Equestria are you talk— … Arrgh!” Zenith yelled, after a quick wiggle of Firelance’s rump filled in the blanks. “Have you always had a dirty mind, or did you have to work at it? No, forget that, I don’t want to know. Shouldn’t you be at your station?”

Firelance took a moment to savour Zenith’s reaction, before replying. “My station is twenty metres away. I wanted to find out what the hay is going on here.”

Captain Soban couldn’t help but crack a small grin at his shipmates. “Come on over, ‘Lance, I’ll fill you in. Just a second … Spanner? You were saying?”

“Yeah, I got plenty of probes, sir. Where do you need them?”

Firelance couldn’t resist. “Up Zenith’s—”


“Probe away,” Zenith announced, perfectly composed after sending a certain pegasus away with a hoof imprint on his face. “Estimated time until visual range is two minutes and thirty-four seconds.”

Soban remained lost in thought. “Hmm.”

“Is— … Is something the matter, sir?”

“I don’t know, Zenith. Something about this doesn’t feel right. This is oddly familiar, yet I have no clue what is going on. Do we have any information on our malfunction, yet?”

“Uhh, not a full report, but a preliminary analysis indicates everything is working as it should. Assuming that is true, the cause must have been external, and in my opinion, everything so far seems to be too great a coincidence to dismiss whatever that object is as the source.”

“Can we enter hyperspace if need be?”

“Barring the need to recharge, I have no idea, sir. I don’t have that information for you.”

“Very well. Launch our strike-craft and get them into a defensive formation around us. We play this safe.”

As the final fighter entered the spherical formation around Harmony, the probe approached its final destination, prompting Zenith to display the visual feed on the main bridge display. Soban and the bridge crew leaned forward and squinted, trying to make out the objects that grew larger as the probe drew nearer. The angle at which the probe approached placed one of the larger inactive vessels in the way of the central vessel, but despite the lack of visual on the central vessel, the sight of the one blocking the way made Captain Soban rise to approach the display, in case his eyes fooled him.

“That can’t be what I think it is …” he whispered.

Little over one and a half kilometres in length, covered in runic symbols and filled with decaying holes, the probe captured top-down images of a U-shaped, light-brown vessel, which drifted idly while a gold glow within it flickered almost pitifully. To each side of its rear, a pair of thin, tail-like protrusions stuck out. It was a tradeship. A Bentusi tradeship.

“Wow, it has been a very long time since I last saw one of those,” Soban commented to nopony in particular. “Of course, back then, they were alive.”

“You might just get the chance to greet one again, Captain,” Zenith spoke up. “The ship you are referring to appears to be powering up.”

“Wha—that’s impossible! The last of the Bentusi died almost a year ago!”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, sir, but it looks like it is transmitting audio. Stand by.”

The once deep, gentle voice associated with every Bentusi vessel had instead echoed through the bridge with a most unhealthy, raspy sound, as the Bentusi vessel barely managed to string together a sentence. “Hiig—Hiigarans? Y—you Hiigarans? Please! Please help us! Come t—to us!”

At the exchange of nods between the Captain, Zenith established the audio link between the two vessels.

“This is Captain Soban aboard the— … Zenith”—the Captain made a gesture to cut the communications link—“something isn’t right here. Look at the other inactive vessels. That’s a strange assortment of ships.”

Floating around near the Bentusi vessel were several smaller ships of varying designs. Some had familiar profiles and markings, such as the black and yellow-striped carriers of the Vaygr, the lopsided design of ancient Taiidani resourcing vessels, and even a pair of pre-exile era Hiigaran heavy cruisers. Others had exotic or primitive profiles of unknown origin, bearing signs of incalculable age, yet uncharacteristic of Progenitor designs.

“Lightning-two,” Soban addressed an interceptor squadron. “Move up and investigate, but keep your distance. Corvettes and bombers, remain with us.”

Leaving the fleet behind in their twin engine trails, the interceptors sped towards the multicultural cluster of ships. Captain Soban tapped a finger on his armrest, still unsure if he had been in a similar situation to that which he now found himself in.

“Lightning-two-one approaching target and slowing to fifteen metres per second,” the lead interceptor pilot reported. “Distance to nearest vessel closing on five kilometres. Adjusting heading to— … That’s strange. I appear to be slowing down.”

“Lightning-two-four confirms.”

“Two-two, have the same issue here. What the hay?”

“Two-three, confirmed. Systems are compensating, but I’m noting a gradual rise in engine output to maintain velocity.”

“Two-five, yep, it’s definitely not our ships’ fault. Should we teleport closer in, Lieutenant?”

“Negative, two-five,” the squadron leader replied. “Continue on heading three-two-three mark zero-three-niner.”

Captain Soban furrowed his brow. “Two-one, do you have a visual on the central vessel yet?”

“Almost got it. Aaaaaannnnd, there you go. Ugh, it’s not exactly the sort of thing you would find on the cover of a Photo Finish magazine.”

The image of the eroded block of grey metal displayed on Harmony’s view-screen had jostled Captain Soban’s memory. He remembered reading mission reports of a large vessel, essentially a massive engine block joined to an orb-like fore-hull and covered in thick armour-plating. A wide, flat dorsal and ventral array positioned along the centre section worked in conjunction with a long rod antenna protruding from the front-left, to create a dangerous field that would subvert and take control of anything larger than a frigate, that wandered too close.

The only other such vessel encountered was the one in the mission report that outlined a hyperdrive malfunction aboard the mothership of the Hiigaran exiles, a few months prior to the liberation of their homeworld. Dubbed the ‘Ghost Ship’, it had been assumed that the vessel, dated over several million years old, had been the only one of its kind.

“That explains everything. All these vessels must have been drawn in out of curiosity, and trapped for … Who knows how long? I doubt anyone is alive on those other vessels. But the Bentusi ship … ?” Soban paused in thought. “Zenith, is there any data on the field being projected?”

“One moment, sir. No, not really. The only information I have for you is data from our probe, indicating an unknown energy field with a five-point-two kilometre radius, give or take a hundred metres.”

“That’s exactly what I was looking for. We should be able to set up the destroyers well beyond the control field limits, and disable the central vessel safely. Timberwolf, Ursa Major, new orders …”


“I hope you know what you are asking of us,” Timberwolf’s Captain replied. “Our artillery turrets might have good range, but holding us at seven kilometres from the target is pushing it. Our rounds have one-point-two degree variations in trajectory. At this distance, we could be as far off as almost a hundred-and-fifty metres. What if we hit the Bentusi ship?”

“It’s a risk we are going to have to take. Besides, Bentusi vessels are tough, even when they look as bad as this one. Now, are you two in position, yet?”

“Just about.”

“Give it all you got, guys.”

Given the technological advantage of almost a hundred and sixteen years since the first Ghost Ship encounter, the Equestrian fleet had managed to avoid the lengthy and dangerous operations the Hiigaran exiles faced. The effective range of the artillery weapons each destroyer boasted had allowed the fleet to destroy the control field projected by the enigmatic vessel in mere minutes, without resorting to sending in strike-craft, which, while immune to the Ghost Ship’s influence, would have fallen under attack by the other ships it controlled.

“Probe data suggests the energy field has been shut down,” Zenith informed Soban.

The Captain nodded, and attempted communication with the Bentusi vessel. “This is Captain Soban aboard the Equestrian flagship Harmony. Bentusi Tradeship, we are willing to offer any assistance necessary.”

Static was the only response.

“Bentusi Tradeship, please respond.”

“It appears the Bentusi find themselves once again in the debt of the Hiigarans,” the Tradeship replied, its voice quivering with weakness. “Yes, we are aware of your collaboration with the Equestrian race.”

“Are you in need of any assistance?” Soban repeated.

“No, there is nothing you can do for us. We are already dying.”

“I’m sorry, dying?”

“This ancient control ship has held us for far too long. Systems deemed unimportant by this ship have been neglected. Despite our life support degradation, we longed for death from the moment we fell under this vessel’s influence. Unable to move, unable to call for help, we were trapped within ourselves and played like puppets, to the downfall of those you see around us. It was the result of one simple, foolish mistake, but such is fate. It has been foretold one of us would be left behind to facilitate the fulfilment of your destiny.”

“Destiny? This doesn’t have anything to do with the prophecy, or any—”

“Alright, I’ve been hearing about this so-called prophecy for a while now,” Twilight interjected with a huff. “Not that I would for one second believe in a predetermined fate for anything, but do you mind explaining this ‘prophecy’ in its entirety?” she finished, catching the Captain’s eye. “Oh, sorry Captain, I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“You must be the curious scholar,” the Tradeship addressed Twilight. “The one foretold to lead fleets to the discovery of many great wonders. It is not every day we have the pleasure of meeting one who possesses such an outstanding mind, and yet remains Bound. You are of course correct in your assumption that we do not follow a single, straight path throughout our lives. The journey is filled with twists and turns, and of course, many crossroads. Yet in the midst of these complexities, lie predictions, vague by nature, yet fixed points in time, that reveal the general direction in which events may unfold. Behold …”

Once again, Harmony’s bridge crew leaned forward, as a projection of lights appeared just ahead of the Tradeship.

“What lies before you is our galaxy as it was millennia ago. It was during this time that the Great Maker Sajuuk had forged the cores and seeded life throughout the galaxy. It was a galaxy the Progenitors could call their own, teeming with life of their creation, and a ship named after Sajuuk himself was constructed to carry out this very task.”

The image of the galaxy faded, replaced by many others, each representing different living organisms of astounding variety.

“The Progenitors themselves were not of this galaxy, and in their ignorance, discovered life had already existed before they arrived. Out of sheer arrogance, the Progenitors decided to wipe the galaxy clean of foreign life. Planet killers, designed to purge planets from orbit with atmospheric deprivation missiles, and keepers, designed to eliminate space-faring targets, became the newest additions to the Progenitor fleets, and left naught but dust and echoes in their wake.”

The Tradeship paused, as each image faded away, before continuing.

“A cataclysmic event must have occurred during this era, for the Progenitors rapidly disappeared. Even the Bentusi, with a deeper understanding of the prophecy, do not know what could have caused the great Progenitor race to abandon this galaxy with such haste. Many have speculated as to the fate of the Progenitors, but when asked, we had feigned ignorance. The information we possess has never been divulged before today, to prevent mass panic, but the Progenitors had returned to the galaxy from which they came, to prepare the day of their return, and start anew.”

Captain Soban shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. If everyone in the galaxy knew this, we would be able to prepare for such an event, no? Why give us, a tiny fleet, this information exclusively?”

“You must understand that the average sentient life-form would not take the possibility of impending doom too well, especially one on this scale. Galaxy-wide panic would cause more harm than good. Even so, the combined firepower of every squadron, every armada, every fleet available within the galaxy, would be insufficient. We listened to the battle between the Pride of Hiigara’s fleet, and a single keeper. It was by pure coincidence, that a large Progenitor power core had been nearby to destroy the keeper. Had it not been there, the keeper would have obliterated your fleet, and all events that lead up to your arrival here, would have never happened. The devastation a single vessel could cause may be massive, but the devastation of ten, fifty, or even one hundred would frighten even the Bentusi.”

“What are you suggesting, then?” Soban’s voice carried a hint of impatience. “That a small fleet could achieve something that larger fleets cannot?”

“Not a smaller fleet. Your fleet. You, Captain Melarn Soban, are without doubt one of the greatest strategists of your race, and your record proves it. Your leadership, and the talents of the Equestrian race combined, would form the backbone of your journey to prevent the Progenitors’ invasion of our galaxy, before it even begins.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Oh, no pressure. Fate of an entire galaxy resting on a small group. Sounds like a bad story I read once …”

“Peace requires sacrifice,” the Tradeship continued. “Hardship may lie ahead of you, but know that strength does not lie in numbers, or in firepower. Instead, it is within ourselves, our courage, cunning, and vigour, that we find strength to face extraordinary odds. The Hiigaran exiles are perhaps the best examples in memory.”

“So that’s it, then?” Twilight asked. “That’s all this prophecy is? To tell us we are doomed if we don’t do anything?”

“There are many prophecies, young scholar, but this is the one that will apply to you. We are well into the End Times; the era that concludes with the return of the Progenitors, and the Great Maker himself. It is up to you to decide exactly how they will return, and whether they will stay.”

“I don’t suppose you have any advice on where to start, do you?” Soban asked.

“We may hear almost everything in the void, but that does not mean we know everything. Remain in contact with the fleet that had assisted you above the skies of Equestria. They may just hold a piece to the puzzle. We do not have any more information you are unaware of.”

“So … W—what? Do we just … Go? Leave you here?”

“That would be preferred, yes. We would rather spend our last moments alone, to prepare ourselves. Farewell.”

“Good—Goodbye,” Soban hesitated, a sigh barely escaping from him. “Zenith, I trust there is nothing stopping us from resuming hyperspace?”

“None that I can detect, sir.”

“Very well. Assemble the fleet.”