Starlight, Starbright, the Brightest Star I see tonight.

by Hope

Ch.1 - I can't remember

Starlight Glimmer had worked in the computer core of the Equestria for most of her life. She could say "most of her life" now, because she'd passed her thirty-fifth birthday, and she'd started working there when she was seventeen. On the grand spaceship called the Equestria, there were many jobs that a unicorn with her attention to detail could have excelled at: maintenance, crafting artisanal products, gem growth and refinement, management, historical studies, and many more. But while she'd been interested in most of those paths, the ship's primary computer had assigned her the Mark of a Programmer. A purple spark, signifying data, and a wisp of magic above it, signifying creation. On a starship run on and by computers, to have that mark inscribed onto her was an honor that she took seriously.

That honor brought benefits with it, as well. Starlight lived in a cabin that was nestled high in the central habitation bubble. Out of her skylight, she saw the endless stars of space spread out above her. Out of her windows, she saw the immense Everfree Park.

It was full of centuries old trees, gnarled and yearning for the artificial sun suspended above them. Wild plants, as wild as any plant could be, sprouted up in the shadows and underbrush.

In her opinion, it was one of the most beautiful places in the entirety of the Equestria.

But every morning, when the sun brightened outside of her window and she looked out at the forest, she felt like she was missing something.

Something that was hard to describe but was as essential to her as air.

It hadn't killed her yet, however, and so she continued on through each day.

"Good morning, Celestia," she sighed as she set her coffee down on her desk and used her magic to open a holographic interface displaying the routes and variables in the program she was currently working on.

The computer core, capable of carrying on over a million conversations simultaneously with all of the ponies of the Equestria, still responded to her in a personal way.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” she sighed happily.

Her voice, projected from speakers embedded into the walls, was a gentle and calm tone. It shifted quickly into a more playful one, however.

“Or are any mornings good for you, Starlight? You don’t seem to like the sunlight much.”

“Why do you say that, Celestia?” Starlight asked, barely paying attention to the conversation as she started pulling up Luna, the computer core that was used for testing.

“Well, every morning you seem so grim. It isn’t until the evening that you smile.”

Starlight paused, as Luna finished generating a report of every activity she’d taken during the night.

Luna, due to the more straightforward programming she utilized and the extra focus she gave each task, had a much more pragmatic interaction with the ponies of the Equestria. She generated reports, directly made the changes needed, and she generated a holographic representation of herself whenever she had to speak. But Celestia had a lighter touch, and a way of hinting or prodding at things over time.

Starlight could even list off the tip of her horn the programming that would cause Celestia to pay so much attention to her happiness. It was the controversial “Harmony pursuit,” a program that ran at all times, seeking ways to pick up on the troubles of ponies before they might express them verbally.

It was designed to pay five times as much attention to ponies who were in the “isolated” category, which Starlight obviously was, as she had fewer than ten acquaintances that she enjoyed interacting with, or fewer than five friends, or fewer than two significant friends.

In fact, Starlight knew quite easily that she had exactly one friend, and everyone else she just put up with.

“That’s because in the evening I get to see Sunburst,” she said as she skimmed Luna’s report and set aside test programs that needed more attention.

“You’re happier in the evening, even when Sunburst is busy,” Celestia commented. “I thought it might have been because you just didn’t enjoy working so early, but yesterday you started work late, and you still seemed almost grim when you arrived.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re worried about me not being satisfied with my work,” Starlight sighed as she set the report aside entirely.

When a computer ran the entirety of the ship you lived on, and helped administer all health matters, you took her concerns seriously.

But instead of Celestia replying, Luna manifested herself in the office space.

She was nearly half again as tall as Starlight, a deep blue colored alicorn with a flowing cloud of stars for a mane, and a similar one for a tail. Her eyes, a soft teal, had an intensity that was hard to differentiate from a living pony.

“I believe what my sister is saying, in her own roundabout way, is that you have reassigned every other programmer to sub-projects and interact with us more often than other flesh and blood ponies. There is no doubt that we cannot provide the physical comforts and—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘pleasures,’ princess, I may just turn off the speakers,” Starlight said quickly.

Luna’s expression did not grow sour, but the corner of her mouth turned up a bit in a wry smile.

“I was on the verge of saying ‘magical auras’ but I see now where your mind has ventured.”

Starlight felt her cheeks burn, and she hunched her shoulders to focus on the report.

“Nothing in that report is going to fix your loneliness, Starlight,” Luna said bluntly. “You need coworkers. You are happier in the evenings when you are out among your kind. You may think that to be here alone is more productive, but I disagree.”

“And you know better, because you’re a neural web superimposed on top of the second most powerful quantum supercomputer ever made,” Starlight said sarcastically.

“I would debate whether size alone is the measure of power,” Luna said casually, getting a soft laugh from Celestia. “But yes. In fact, my lack of physical form does not make it harder for me to evaluate the effects those things have on those with them. So, Starlight, shall I put ultimatums upon you to spur action, or are you going to isolate yourself even further?”

Starlight glared at her before clearing her throat.

“I would like to have some privacy,” she said, voice dripping with venom.

“Of course,” Luna said, and Starlight could swear she saw a knowing smile on her face before she vanished.

The sisters were both programmed to respect privacy, so Starlight knew she had a few hours of it, at least until she called them back. But she had plenty of work to do without their help.

Several hours later, after finishing a remarkable amount of work, Starlight found herself repeating Celestia’s words out loud.

“I’m happier in the evening. Well. Maybe I am,” she muttered. “I get to see Sunburst, or I get to be alone, and other ponies are exhausting.”

She slid a container of sensor boards onto a shelf, putting on a mocking tone to imitate Luna.

“Perhaps you seek your own company precisely because you are inexperienced with the behaviors of others. Bah. Maybe I’m just naturally like this.”

She paused.

How would she verify that, if she wanted to? She didn’t have a second Starlight to compare, a baseline that would indicate if she was uniquely cursed with loneliness.

But she could make one.