Let Node run the ships 81%
It really was a no-brainer for Twilight. Of course, she didn’t want to leave Spike feeling like he wasn’t getting his opinions respected, but ultimately practicality had to trump all else.
“You’ll be there,” Twilight said flatly. “Your help has been instrumental in getting us this far. Won’t we be using a Signaler technology to reach a Signaler fleet?”
“Well…” she shrugged, a gesture that somehow still made sense even with all those arms. “Yes. Assuming your sails keep working, we’re not likely to run into anything other than the problems we bring with us. Highway destroys anything that gets too close, that’s the entire point. A few grams at relativistic speed can take out a starship without a shield. A few kilograms, and there aren’t many shields I know of that can survive more than one hit. Trusting to the Highway for protection is a given. It will keep your ships supplied with as much energy as you want. It’s up to us to somehow turn that into stability over the long-term.”
“We slept the last time we took a long trip,” Twilight muttered, pawing unhappily at her desk. “Maybe we should do that again. But my sense from talking to the ponies of Canterlot is they don’t want to go anywhere near one. I know my friends don’t. Their lives are right here, right now. We’ve been frozen long enough, and the last time we almost missed the end of the world. There’s no promise that we ever even wake up if we build more caskets now.”
Node rose, pocketing the little device from the table. “I’m not qualified to tell you ponies how to run your lives. You’ll have to find your own way, or… maybe explode before we get to the Flotilla. Anything’s possible.”
Twilight groaned. Hopefully Spike doesn’t explode when I tell him the bad news.
Can Spike react professionally to the news? Critical yes.
As it turned out, Twilight’s real mistake was in trusting Node’s interpretation of Spike’s attitude. “Yeah, I had a feeling you were going to want her to take the job,” Spike said, as soon as Node was gone. “I’d rather it be me, but… her reasons are better than mine. Though you should know, Node isn’t really built to run a station. Whatever happened to me was an… amalgamation of the Equinox’s purpose, and my own brain. Node is an individual, and nothing will change that.
There was nothing fast about transferring Node over—apparently, she had to build an entire system to let her control the other ships, since she couldn’t trust anything from the ruins not to have ‘suspect programming through centuries of cosmic ray exposure and vacuum rot.’ Eventually one of their tugboats brought something big enough and structurally intact enough to hold atmosphere, and Node declared it the ‘core’ of her new station.
Weeks of construction passed, and Twilight awaited reports from Fluttershy with grim certainty of their results. Ponies were getting weaker all the time; it was only a matter of time before they lost somepony.
Do ponies die in the meantime? Critical yes.
That time came just a few days later. Fluttershy floated into her office wearing a threadbare jacket smelling sharply of antiseptic, and Twilight knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.
“You should know how many lives your decision cost, Captain,” she said flatly, pushing a clipboard towards her. Twilight took it in her magic, looking grim.
It was even worse news than she’d been expecting. Not one death over the last week, but twenty-nine. A smattering of those were shiprats, the rest newly awakened creatures who hadn’t been able to regain their strength. “You didn’t mention this sooner?” She kept her voice as neutral as she could. “You didn’t need to wait for our weekly report, Fluttershy. My office is always open for something this important.”
“Is it?” Fluttershy retreated a few steps, glancing once at the door. “I already told you we had to leave now, what else could I say? I didn’t have time to waste on something that wouldn’t help them. Speaking of which… there are eight ponies in critical condition right now. You might be interested in their names.”
You should’ve told me this sooner. Twilight’s attention was focused mostly on gathering materials for their sister station, along with every supply her miners could bring back. She really should’ve kept a closer eye on this.
Twilight flipped to the next page and found one name standing out from all the others.
Is Sunset Shimmer one of the dead?
She rose from her desk. “We don’t have enough magical experts like her. Equestria can’t afford to lose her.”
“It’s too late to leave,” Fluttershy said grimly. “Even if we were in the highway right now, the effects are too gradual. We’re talking whole-body immune failure, captain. That kind of damage doesn’t just heal, even for strong earth ponies. Unicorns don’t stand a chance”
Twilight stomped past her, simulating enough gravity to walk. It was still second nature, even somewhere she’d never had to do it before. “You’ve been offering the alternate treatment method to these ponies?” she asked. “All twenty-nine?”
“They all refused,” Fluttershy said. She kept up, drifting through the air like a ghost on pale yellow wings. “I gave them all the information to make informed consent.”
It took them twenty minutes or so to reach medical, and another few more for Twilight to find what she was looking for. Tucked away in one of the storage closets was the ‘biohazard isolation’, where samples floated in little magical fields instead of resting on cubbies. Twilight snatched one in her magic, already tearing at the seal.
“What are you doing?” Fluttershy asked, though of course she must’ve known exactly what it was for.
Twilight stomped along the hallway, searching for the door with a familiar name, then practically kicked it down.
There was the unicorn in question, with a dozen tubes connected to her body and implants in ways that looked downright agonizing.
She twitched as Twilight came in, turning her head slightly to face the door. To Twilight’s surprise, she even managed to speak—a low croak that she could barely understand. “Come to say your… goodbyes?” Sunset asked. “I don’t… blame you, Twilight. I… saw the same models. Must… prepare for the trip. Equestria matters more than… saving any one of us.”
…No.
“It does,” Twilight agreed. Fluttershy made to stop her, and Twilight answered with a withering glare. She tore the protective cap off one of Sunset’s IVs—it didn’t really matter which one. This wasn’t medicine, exactly. She gripped it firmly, then injected the sample. “You might feel some discomfort, Sunset. Expect it to last… for a while. But Equestria isn’t finished with you yet.”
1. “Treatment is no longer optional for any of the other critical patients either. Save them, Fluttershy. That’s an order.”
2. “And you’ll be the last pony who has to go through this. We’re suspending all mining operations and preparing to leave.”