//------------------------------//
// Chapter 99 
// Story: Voyage of the Equinox 
// by Starscribe 
//------------------------------//



Gather camp first. 77% 



After everything that had happened, Twilight couldn’t imagine leaving Proximus B with every one of their turrets and other automatic weapons behind. She sent Rainbow, Apple Bloom, and Pinkie back down to get everything packed, while she set her engineers loose on the remaining damage Cozy Glow had done to the Equinox.

Or is it even the Equinox anymore? Did they damage Spike instead? But those thoughts hurt her brain, so she banished them quickly enough. Just like she banished all the stories her crew gave her of the time they’d spent in the Contingency. Over a year, apparently, living in pastural conditions that responded to their whims.

On Spike’s insistence, she sat down with Node to discuss a few pressing details. “You’re going to tell her,” Spike said over the speakers. “Or I will. She’s your captain and mine, Node.”

The robotic pony shifted uncomfortably under the pressure, an organic simulation so striking that Twilight almost didn’t believe it was happening. Finally, she looked up, and spoke in Starlight Glimmer’s voice.

More than ever before, it sounded like a real pony. “The ones you call the ‘Signalers’—they built this contingency for your species. They hoped that you would find it and be able to flee into it. We were guilty that we couldn’t… that we weren’t successful, with your species. Didn’t want to leave you to die.”

Twilight occupied herself organizing the pens on the table between them, straightening them into an orderly line. Node’s words were absurd, yet she spoke them with absolute sincerity.

Finally, Twilight looked up. “You created us, is that what you’re saying?”

Node nodded. “Your species and many others. All were attempts to solve the same question… all failures. You were the last.”

“Do you have any, uh…” she cleared her throat. “I believe you’re sincere, Node. But you’re making quite an extraordinarily claim. Where’s the evidence of this?”

“In the Monument,” she answered. “Many of our creations were stored down there. Previous iterations. All of you have a similar genetic heritage—ours. Each increasingly divergent, but the meaningful similarities are there. With time, I could adapt your computer to display stored genetic data.”

“I could,” Spike cut in from overhead. “No one is modifying me. I may not understand much about this, but I know those computers are my brain. No one goes in there but Twilight.”

Twilight waved a dismissive wing. Node clearly understood the gesture, as she might not have before, because she stopped arguing. “Assume I believe that for the time being. We don’t really have the luxury of detailed investigations and debates about history that… might predate all of civilization. We’ve got a trip that’s several months long coming up, we can table this until then.” She turned towards the distant window, where Proximus B was even now visible beneath them. “When you went into the Contingency, you regained your memories, am I understanding this right?”

Node nodded. “I was distilled down into a dewdrop and a hair’s breadth. My culture was—less concerned about what you might call ‘continuity of consciousness.’ In case that wasn’t immediately clear form the contingency itself. I had to be small enough to meet you when you arrived.”

“To do what?” Twilight turned back, watching her closely. But there was no missing the obvious signs of intelligence from Node that hadn’t been there before. She had mastered their culture with long effort, but now she remembered her own as well. Those eyes moved in strange ways, and she fidgeted constantly in her seat as a living creature might do, though her body needed no adjustment. “What was your mission?”

“I was the watchman on the wall,” she answered. “The voice of the eclipse. I would penetrate your systems and adapt myself until I was small enough for you to understand. Then I would make myself understood. Warn you.”

“Did you… speak with any of us before?” Twilight asked. “Sunset Shimmer—the other captain, I think she might’ve beat us here? I get fuzzy on the timelines honestly. But she seems to know some of this.”

Node shook her head. “I detected another vessel some time ago, but it refused my messages and did not construct the necessary hardware. I don’t know if it understood what I asked.”

“I did,” Spike said proudly. “And we did.”

“Yes,” Twilight agreed. “Is there any part of your warning you didn’t deliver?”

Node pushed back her chair. She drifted slightly across the room, but not far. Her hooves had magnets, apparently, because she held herself down well enough. She stood straight, looking Twilight square in the eye. “You are not immune to Ḩ̣͉̩̘̠͈̀ͅU̮̫̱ͬ̏͆̅N̵̩͇̙͓̝G̸̭̫͖ͭͦ͒̃Ę̦̪̥͉̪͒̈́̂ͧ̊R̐̄̔ͪ͆. If it reaches your civilization, your organic bodies will fray and wither. If it draws closer, it will tear your minds from you and into itself. Nothing living will remain in the space it leaves behind. You must convert yourselves into a more enduring form—but even then, there are… limits.”

Node pointed down at the table, at a photograph of the contingency resting there. “Whatever form you choose must be low-energy enough that it cannot be detected except but vigorous investigation. We have observed systems as they fall, and machines that are too active are targeted and dismantled as well.”

All this time, and you’re finally talking straight to me. I should’ve taken you to the contingency sooner.

“She said that was what she wants for us,” Spike explained. “Everypony who ever lived, into the contingency.”

“Not me,” she spun on the nearest speaker, glaring at it. “The Ancients wished to share their methods with you, their lastborn. You would have the least time to prepare, and it seemed… unfair.” Were those tears? They couldn’t be—Node wasn’t capable of crying. She sounded distraught, anyway. 

“That doesn’t seem like something many ponies would like,” Twilight said. “And apparently it wasn’t, because this Ḩ̣͉̩̘̠͈̀ͅU̮̫̱ͬ̏͆̅N̵̩͇̙͓̝G̸̭̫͖ͭͦ͒̃Ę̦̪̥͉̪͒̈́̂ͧ̊R̐̄̔ͪ͆ already came to Equestria. We chose to flee from it instead. Possibly to this system.”

“There is no chance a species as primitive as yours could reach the Great Fleet,” Node said. “We could have, but we chose not to take the risk. You would surely die in the attempt.”

Twilight gritted her teeth together, biting back a retort. She didn’t want to respond to honesty from Node with anger, or else she might never get information so freely again. “We’ll see,” she said.

Her radio rang a few minutes later, and she headed down to the docking bay. There she found an argument already in progress.

Several crates of cargo had already been unloaded, and Rainbow perched protectively atop them like a nesting bird, shooing away Applejack with a stick. Meanwhile Sunset sat not far away, with a clipboard beside her covered in damage reports and frustration on her face.

“Alright, I’m here,” Twilight said. “Explain this, quickly.”

“Rainbow here thinks she knows better than the Equinox’s chief engineer. And that stranger captain sure ain’t helpin’.” Applejack glared at them both. “Twi, you trust me to know what’s best for the Equinox, don’t ya?”

Two more pairs of eyes settled on her. There was no right answer to that question.

“Here’s the short of it, captain,” Sunset cut in, her tone neutral. She’d been in command—she wasn’t taking this personally like the others were. “We’ve salvaged enough parts from down below to make a single major repair to the Equinox.

“And I’ve been telling them we need our bucking guns back!” Rainbow interrupted, shoving Applejack away again. “She wants to use these parts for… something stupid, I don’t even know.”

“And that’s why I’m chief engineer,” Applejack interrupted. Then she turned on Twilight. “Captain, I’ve discovered a minor but potentially… well, damn near catastrophic—flaw in the reactor. All these explosions tearing us apart, they’ve opened microfractures inside the containment cell. There’s a chance—real small chance, but it’s our buckin’ reactor—that we might not be able to start her up again. Every time we lose power and start it up again, we could fracture the whole shell. And there ain’t a way in Tartarus we make a new one out here.”

“She said it was 10%,” Rainbow said. “I’m okay with those odds. But you know what this mission taught me? There’s a 100% chance somepony is going to try to buckin’ kill me. I want weapons, captain.” 

“Or—” Sunset interrupted, casually. “We could strip it all down for scrap to make future repairs—no, not to the reactor. Don’t even say it, engineer, I know. But your ship isn’t in the best shape, captain. You’re running low on feedstock for ever fabricator aboard. In my experience, it’s always the little things that go wrong. The reactor isn’t going to blow—but the plumbing might. Eventually that kills your hydroponics, and nopony eats. Or something like that, you get the idea.”

Twilight hesitated. It would be a long trip, and once she made her decision, there wouldn’t be time to change it.

1. Repair the Equinox’s Weapons.
2. Reinforce the Reactor. [or suffer a 10% chance of permanent failure on each activation. Note: As this is a fusion reactor, the Equinox will not be physically destroyed by this failure]
3. Strip it down for generic spare parts

(certainty 200 required)