//------------------------------//
// II - Galars 
// Story: The Spark 
// by GMBlackjack 
//------------------------------//


II - Galars


It had taken a couple of days, but at last, the Enterprise was ready to leave Deep Space Nine. Despite the tremendous size of the docking clamps and the huge machines required to release the ship, the crew of the Enterprise wouldn’t have known it had happened unless they had been at the docking bay itself. Most of the crew only knew because Picard had announced it over the intercom minutes before it happened.

Sweetie was fortunate enough to be one of the few with a front-row seat for the subsequent journey. She had been invited up to the Bridge for departure, though she didn’t have a chair—she just sat on the ground toward the back, satisfied that she had been allowed up here at all. H’roh wasn’t there, a fact she was mildly disappointed by, but she recognized that he really was just an Ensign and she was, well, the “passenger of honor.” 

She had to admit, it was a little odd to be treated with such respect. Back home she was just barely transitioning into what would be considered an adult—the mark on her flank had been there for a few years, signifying that she had found her special talent in life, and she’d even used it to great effect numerous times. It was… kind of a job, to help other ponies figure out what their destinies were, she supposed. But even when she was working in an official capacity, she was still used to being treated quite a bit differently than she was now. 

They all still wanted to call her Miss Belle despite her insistence that she was Sweetie. Apparently, it just felt weird to them for some reason she couldn’t quite put her hoof on.

As the Enterprise moved away from Deep Space Nine, Sweetie took a look around the bridge. She saw a fair number of the Senior Staff there and at their posts. Picard, of course, took the central Captain’s chair, while Riker sat at his right hand. Worf stood to the side of both of them at a standing console filled with colors and lights that Sweetie had been told were indicators of tactical data. Speaking of Data, the android sat in front of the Captain at one of the forward consoles, continually pressing buttons and occasionally cracking a slight smile at something apparently amusing found within the numbers. 

There was a woman to the left of Picard that Sweetie didn’t recognize—she had dark wild hair and a smooth, wise smile. Sweetie had to think for a moment. Let’s see… H’roh said there were some other members of the Senior Staff… his boss, La Forge, runs Engineering… Doctor Crusher is in sickbay… this woman must be… Counselor Troi! Satisfied that she had identified the woman, Sweetie turned her gaze to the main viewscreen.

It currently just showed space, and not very interesting space at that. Stars slowly drifted across the view as the Enterprise turned toward its destination.

“Course laid in for the Gamma Quadrant,” Data reported, turning around to face Picard.

Picard pushed his hand forward in a gesture of confirmation. “Engage.”

A soft, barely audible hum came from somewhere in the back of the ship as its engines fired, pushing the Enterprise forward. Sweetie couldn’t even tell they were moving—the screen showed only stars, and they remained in the same place they had been a moment ago.

“Approaching the Bajoran Wormhole,” Data said, pressing a few buttons. “Readings normal.”

“Let’s see if those inertial dampeners are really all they’re cracked up to be,” Riker said with a wry smile.

“Inertial dampeners…?” Sweetie asked. 

“They make it so you don’t go flying into a wall when the ship suddenly changes speed,” Riker explained. “They usually make it so you don’t feel anything at all, and the Enterprise’s are state of the art. But I hear the Wormhole’s ride is a little bumpy.”

“Should I hold onto something?”

“It is likely unnecessary,” Data said. “Though I would avoid dancing around during transit.”

“Gotcha.”

“Entering now,” Data reported.

The Wormhole was so much more impressive up close. One moment there was nothing but stars in front of them, the next space itself erupted in a flash of swirling cosmic blue around a yellow glow that might well have been a star. The vortex quickly calmed from its violent appearance, becoming a warm, almost welcoming hole into the unknown. 

The Enterprise poked through the cosmic shortcut, its rounded saucer section first, followed quickly by the glowing nacelles. The view changed rather drastically to the Wormhole’s interior—a dancing show of bright lights and twisting tendrils of energy. Most of the interior was blue and crackled with sparks reminiscent of lightning hidden deep within clouds. 

Sweetie felt the ground tremble, jostling everyone around slightly.

“Inertial dampeners work like a charm,” Riker said with a smirk. 

“They are not as effective as my predictions suggested,” Data said, tilting his head to the side. “There is a half-percent deviation.”

“Maybe it’s just extra stormy today,” Sweetie said.

“Can it even be stormy?” Troi wondered aloud. “Much of it supposedly exists outside of time.”

“…How does that work?” Sweetie asked.

“Good question,” Picard said. “One that has been driving Federation scientists up a wall since it was first discovered.”

“Ah. A good old-fashioned mystery, then.”

“It is both old and new and everything in-between,” Data added. “By the way, we are emerging out the other side, now.”

Suddenly, they flew out of a cosmic swirl into another field of stars. It was a little hard for Sweetie to tell, but she knew the stars weren’t in the same arrangement they had been when they entered. There were no signs of any ships nearby, though there was a little brown dot on the screen—a small probe that sat on this side of the wormhole to continually monitor it. 

“Everyone…” Picard said, standing up from his chair and adjusting his uniform. “Welcome to the Gamma Quadrant.”

Sweetie stamped her front hooves on the ground in excitement. “Where are we going next?”

“Galars,” Riker said. “A Federation research outpost not too far from here.”

“The journey will take a couple of hours,” Picard said, returning to his chair. “Lay in a course. Send out a quick burst, let them know we’re coming. Everyone, as you were.”


[~~+]


“So, let me get this straight,” Sweetie said, setting her milkshake down on the bar. “This place is called Ten Forward because, on the previous Enterprise, there was a place on deck ten near the forward part of the ship that everyone liked to come to in order to relax and socialize. But now that there’s a new ship, and this place isn’t on deck ten or in the front of the ship… you still call it Ten Forward.”

“That about sums it up, yes,” the dark-skinned woman who ran the establishment said. She wore a rather large and ridiculous hat with a flat top and her deep eyes told many stories without needing to rely on any words. “You have a clever one here, H’roh.”

H’roh was sitting on a stool next to Sweetie, twiddling his thumbs.

“What are you so nervous about?” Sweetie asked, slurping on her milkshake. “This is a lounge, a place to relax and enjoy yourself, right?”

“Y-yes… I just… prefer the holodecks.” 

Sweetie raised an eyebrow, turning to the woman again. “What do you think, Guinan?”

“I think he prefers to sit in the back where there aren’t people watching him,” Guinan said. 

H’roh didn’t respond to this.

“But I also think it’s very courageous of him to come up here just to sit by you and keep you company.”

Sweeite nodded, fixing H’roh with a warm smile. “Thanks! I’d offer to go sit where you want, but, well…” She glanced at all the chairs designed for humanoids throughout Ten Forward—really, only the stools were right for her. “Maybe one of the really big chairs…”

H’roh forced a smile. “It’s… all good. It’s probably better for me to be out and about anyway. Actually talk to the crew…”

“You were so much more confident on Deep Space Nine,” Sweetie said. “What happened?”

“I’m a Starfleet Officer, there. That… means something, even if it’s less than I thought. Here… we’re all Starfleet officers.”

“I’m not.”

H’roh chuckled. “But you’re the VIP.”

“I’m still your friend though.”

“And you have more friends than you realize,” Guinan said, setting a plate in front of H’roh.

H’roh furrowed his brow. “…I didn’t order anything.”

“You looked like you could use some waffles.”

H’roh looked down at the syrupy pastry in front of him. “…Waffles…” Something predatory within him kicked in and he began ravenously devouring the food.

Sweetie chuckled, letting him enjoy his meal. She found her gaze drawn back to the huge window that dominated the back wall of Ten Forward. 

The stars outside were moving by so fast they left streaks across her vision. 

Sweetie had asked how the warp drive worked, and after Data had explained it to her, she still didn’t understand. Something about traveling faster than light being impossible without warping space and keying the reference frame and dilithium and antimatter and other stuff that sounded like things Twilight Sparkle would yammer on about when she got too excited. The simple version was that it let them go really, really, really fast, so fast that entire star systems whipped by every few seconds. 

She just thought it looked pretty, how the stars streaked across the window. 

As she was watching, though, the streaks slowed until at last coming to a stop—the Enterprise had dropped out of warp. Slowly, a reddish-brown sphere with a few patches of green drifted into view—a planet. A whole new world.

My whole life I’ve only known Equestria, and now I’m about to set hoof on my third planet. Sweetie broke out into a grin. This is going to be amazing!

As they neared the planet, Sweetie noted that there were two other ships in orbit—a small, rounded, white craft that looked like a miniature, squashed version of the Enterprise and a green winged craft with an elongated neck and a rounded head.

“Hey, what’s that green one?”

H’roh turned to the window, syrup dripping down his fur. He tensed. “Oh boy… Klingons.”

Guinan shook her head. “Don’t let Worf hear you say it like that.”

H’roh shivered at the thought.

“I don’t know much, but aren’t the Klingons our allies?” Sweetie asked.

“They are,” H’roh said. “But they also like… battle. And violence. And being really loud.”

“Hmm…” Sweetie scratched her chin. “I think I’ll decide what I think of them when I see them.”

“Probably best,” Guinan said. “Also, you might want to finish that milkshake.”

“Why?”

The voice of Picard suddenly rang throughout the ship. “Sweetie Belle, Commander Worf, Commander Data, please report to transporter room two.”

“Oh,” Sweetie said. “I probably should have expected that. Um.” She paused. “Which way is transporter room two?”

Guinan pressed her fingers to one of the screens behind her, prompting a yellow arrow to appear, gesturing at the door. “Just follow the arrows.”

“Thanks! Bye, H’roh, see you soon!” Sweetie scrambled off.

“The young are so full of life, aren’t they?” Guinan asked H’roh.

“…I’m not exactly old, Guinan…”

“True, but she’s much younger than you.”

“You can tell her age?”

Guinan nodded. “She still thinks of herself as a child, and carries herself as such, but has the intelligence and wisdom to hold her own. It’s hard to pin down precisely where she is compared to others of her species, but she’s definitely young compared to you.”

H’roh knitted his brow, looking down at his empty plate.

“More?”

“Yes, please.”


[~~+]


Sweetie, Picard, Data, and Riker were the chosen “away team” to go down to the surface, even though as this was an official visit to a Federation outpost the moniker wasn’t technically correct. They were simply to be the first to arrive and perform introductions—after which the rest of the Enterprise crew would be free to come down and those on the surface to come up so long as space and time allowed. 

The four of them beamed down from the Enterprise’s transporter pad, appearing on a nearly identical pad on the planet’s surface—though this one wasn’t inside of a room, but was instead exposed to the elements. A slight, dry breeze blew through Sweetie’s hair, and she already felt thirsty, despite having just drunk almost an entire milkshake. She’d been told the planet was a dry one, but this felt a little ridiculous.

The outpost itself was rather simple, but still impressive to Sweetie, who had very little experiences of space travel to go off of. Of the few dozen buildings, most of them were made out of some kind of white polymer that somehow managed not to get dusty in the dry climate. Most of these structures were devoid of decoration, but a few had signs out front, and some of the larger ones had giant dishes or other glowing technological devices Sweetie couldn’t hope to identify. The Federation’s symbol was plastered everywhere—a blue circle filled with stars and surrounded by a laurel wreath. 

Three people were there to meet them—two in Starfleet uniforms, and one in a somewhat dirty trench coat. The human man in the lead wore a yellow Starfleet uniform and greeted them with a warm smile and a very loud voice. “Hello Everyone! I’m Commander Fischbach, and may I be the first to welcome you to the Gamma Alpha Listening and Research Station!” He thrust his hands out wide and grinned with pride. “But we all just call it Galars. So welcome… to Galars.” He extended his hand to Picard.

Picard shook it. “Well met. As you are no doubt aware, I am Captain Picard. This is my second officer Lieutenant-Commander Data, my security officer Lieutenant-Commander Worf, and our special passenger we messaged you about, Miss Sweetie Belle.”

“Just call me Sweetie,” Sweetie said, extending a hoof to shake Fischbach’s hand.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest little thing!”

Sweetie beamed. “Thank you!”

“Anyway,” Fischbach cleared his throat. “We’re not as organized as you out here on the frontier, so you’ll have to excuse me. To my left here is Lieutenant T’ora, the woman who keeps almost everything running around here, and the mad scientist with the glasses is Doctor Pines. He knows the most about those signals you guys are so interested in!”

Sweetie looked up at Pines, tilting her head to the side. There was something… different about him, and not in the way that the different species were different from each other. He was human, clearly, and the glasses were a bit odd but not crazy, and—

Oh. The six fingers. That was probably it.

He must have seen her staring because he lifted up his hand and flexed his fingers. “Yes, they’re real.”

Sweetie blinked. “I didn’t think they weren’t.”

Pines clearly hadn’t been expecting this response, because he raised an eyebrow—and smiled. “Six fingers must not seem very strange to you at all. Any number of fingers must be out there.”

“Not really, there are lots of creatures with fingers from my home. Just not us ponies!”

“I would love to hear so much about your home…” Pines said, adjusting his glasses. “But first, I believe we have a more large-scale mission to discuss. These… unusual signals.”

“Naturally,” Picard said. “Though there is no rush.”

“Nonsense, there’s always a rush if you want there to be!” Fischbach pointed his hand into the sky. “Let’s get this show on the ro—”

Fischbach’s comm badge beeped. “Commander! Fred just blew out a pylon and is screaming bloody murder!”

“Be right there!” Fischbach tapped the communicator. “Give me an hour, I’ll have this sorted out. They don’t call me the Commander Engineer for nothing!” He took off at high speed, leaving T’ora and Pines alone with the Enterprise team.

T’ora cleared her throat. “I will let your ship know it is okay to begin transporting down, if that is alright with you, sir.”

Picard nodded.

“In that case, welcome to Galars. I’m afraid there’s not much to do here that your ship doesn’t already offer, and your presence will be more of a vacation for us than for you. But please, make yourself at home. The Commander is regularly off handling one broken machine or another, so if he is ever unavailable, you may call me at any time.”

“Thank you,” Picard said. “Is there, by chance, a tour we could take?”

“It isn’t much, but I can do one myself.”

A message came through her communicator. “Lieutenant… sensors just detected a Dominion ship entering the system.”

“…What!?” Worf shouted.


[~~+]


Riker stared at the dark, flat ship with purple highlights that vaguely reminded him of some kind of flying insect. It was quickly growing larger on the screen. It was one of the smaller ships—no match for the Enterprise even on a bad day—but still, it was concerning that they were here at all.

“…Hail them,” Riker ordered. “Let’s see what they’re after.”

A moment later, the screen replaced the view of the Dominion ship with a face—one of a species Riker recognized but had never actually met in person. Humanoid, but with long ears that ran down to the jaw with numerous lines within that gave the earlobe a stratified appearance. This was a Vorta, the managerial species of the Dominion, the ones designated to be commanders and politicians, not warriors. They were below only the Founders themselves. 

This particular Vorta was one of unusually pale complexion with sunken eyes, wiry hair, and a large exposed forehead. He was attempting to smile pleasantly, but his face was not one that could look pleasant. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Riker asked.

“Jumping ahead of the greetings, are we?” the Vorta asked, lifting his chin up ever so slightly. 

“Some consider me a man of action,” Riker said. “But since you aren’t being aggressive… I’m Commander William Riker, currently in command of the Federation starship Enterprise. You?”

“This ship has no name, as we generally do not assign value to any individual craft over another, but I myself am Girweym.” He leaned in a little closer, making his head fill much of the view screen. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Commander.”

Riker glanced at the rest of the crew on the bridge. Most were part of the secondary crew, as much of the Senior Staff was away on the planet or off doing something else. Every last one of them looked nervous, like they expected something to explode at any moment.

Riker was not these people. If things were going to explode they either would have already or were going to explode much, much later. His confident, slightly amused expression did much to calm their nerves.

“Assuming you harbor no ill-intent,” Riker eventually said, “then it is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mister Girweym. So… what brings you to a distant Federation research outpost?”

“Curiosity.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Namely? What out here is so interesting that the Federation is willing to send one of its prized possessions out into… dangerous territory.”

Riker took a step forward. “The Enterprise is not a ship of war; it is a ship of exploration. We have detected numerous anomalies in this sector of space that require an advanced starship to investigate. Our mission is not classified, you can look it up yourself, though I suspect you already have.”

“That is indeed the case…” Girweym took a few steps back from the screen, clearly not having gotten what he wanted out of this conversation, whatever that may have been. “It just so happens that we, too, detected signs of the same series of anomalies and are quite curious ourselves as to what it all means. Though, we were not granted a vessel as advanced as yours for this purpose.”

“The Federation places great value in furthering scientific knowledge, and our Captain chose this assignment specifically.”

“Indeed…” Girweym folded his hands together. “Regardless, I have a… minor request, as well as an offer.”

“Oh?” Riker lifted his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“We wish to know what you have uncovered about the signals. In return, we will share what we have uncovered.”

Riker was more than a little surprised by this offer, and it must have showed.

“We are aware there was a single signal near Bajor, one we were not able to detect as well as the others. However, we have many more listening posts than you on this side of the Galaxy.”

“I’ll have to discuss things with Captain Picard, but something tells me he’ll honor your request.”

“Good. Let me know.” With that, Girweym cut the connection. 

Riker let out a breath. “Well, things just got interesting… they want to work with us.” Riker turned to a Lieutenant. “Hail the Captain.”

“Aye, sir.”


[~~+]


Picard did, in fact, grant Girweym’s request, though only after clearing it with Commander Fischbach first. This was to the immense displeasure of the Klingon commander in orbit, Ko’hen, but he was an old Klingon whose ire quickly died out. He came to the meeting with the rest of the leaders, but almost immediately he was asleep in his chair—fortunately not snoring, otherwise someone would have to wake him up, and nobody wanted to wake up an old Klingon captain.

Picard and Fischbach sat representing the Federation, though they both knew that was more Picard’s job—Fischbach was to have more of the role of mediator, and representative of Galars. Girweym came only with one guard who would remain silent the entire time. Said guard was a tall, muscular being with blue scales and numerous small horns known as a Jem’hadar, the Dominion’s soldier class. He was so still and silent that people continually forgot he was there until they glanced in his direction.

The only other person in the room was Doctor Pines, but he wasn’t there as a representative. He… was a scientist.

He gestured at the main screen with a laser pointer. “…And you can see here all the locations we have pinpointed of the subspace signals. We have their relative locations pinned down to within half a light-year in the worst case, and the timing of all of them is nearly the same—if not exactly so, for all but one case.”

“The case in the Alpha Quadrant,” Girweym said, folding his hands together.

“Exactly!” Pines declared. It seemed as though he couldn’t care less that he was talking to a representative of a galactic superpower that had slaughtered millions in very recent memory—everyone else had the wherewithal to be pensive and guarded, but not Pines. He was a man of science and here was someone who showed interest that was, if not genuine, then at the very least heavily motivated. “The signal on Bajor occurred after all the others. Even within our error bars, we are certain of this. Now, if the rest of the signals were simultaneous or not, that is still up for debate.”

“Not on our end,” Girweym said, taking out a purple disc and placing it on the table, projecting a holographic representation of the sector block. “We were able to triangulate from dozens of listening outposts and narrow down the timing to the microsecond. Every last one within this sector occurred at exactly the same time, though the duration of some of the signals were longer than others.”

“…Can you transfer this data to our computers?” Pines asked, staring at the hologram like it was the holy grail.

“Naturally.”

“After a security check is run,” Picard said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Girweym said with a wry smile. “In fact, we will be doing the same to any data you send us.”

“Understood.”

“Glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

Pines cleared his throat. “Anyway, I myself have spent most of my life studying subspace phenomena, poking at the fabric of reality so to speak, and these last few weeks I have absolutely poured over all this information. I went out to investigate the closest signal, hardly two light-years from here, but gained little information.” He flicked his wrist and the computer screen switched to show a dull watery planet. “This world, G-98-J, is where the closest signal occurred. An ocean world with a handful of islands and no life more complicated than a microbe, though they’ve done a good job of oxygenating the atmosphere. We gathered exact location data only a day after the event itself occurred, and have… well, learned a lot of things about the nature of subspace I’m sure will make great waves in the field of physics for decades to come, but you’re not here for that.”

“No, but do continue,” Picard said.

Pines nodded, flipping through several slides of complicated graphs and spacetime diagrams. “…Anyway, besides that, we have noticed a few odd similarities to the two events we have managed to observe up close, G-98-J, and Bajor, have a few curious similarities. First of all, both are M-class worlds with near-standard gravity, and even more curiously, both of the signals appeared roughly two meters off the ground. Over land.” He returned to a picture of G-98-J. “The chances of finding land randomly on this planet are rather slim; yet find it these signals did. Even with just two data points, the odds are not in favor of this being a truly random phenomenon.”

“An intelligence?” Picard suggested.

“Impossible to say,” Pines said with a shrug. “We only have two data points, and while there are striking similarities, there are also differences. The location, for one, is much further away, unless you count the Wormhole as a direct passage. The timings are different. And then, of course… there’s Sweetie.”

Girweym grinned. “I was wondering if you were going to tell us about her. I was wondering why I didn’t see her here…”

“This is not her place,” Picard said, flatly. “She is simply a lost traveler looking for her way home.”

“Plus, this would probably bore her,” Pines added. 

“Fair enough,” Girweym said, leaning back. “Though, tell me, what exactly does she have to say about this whole affair?”

“She claims to have been whisked away from her homeworld to Bajor by a white portal,” Picard said. “Unfortunately, there was no one else to see this, and she admits her recollection of the event is rather muddled.” He narrowed his eyes at Girweym. “Since you seem to know of her… do you know of her species?”

“There are no records of ‘unicorns’ in the Dominion databanks,” Girweym said. “And we did some rather serious searching, you understand.”

“Could there be some in the Sector Block among all these signals?”

Girweym nodded. “We have barely charted that region of space ourselves with distant probes. Why, our charts of this very system are horribly out of date and incorrect. We have not detected any signs of active interstellar civilizations in the region, however, and that is something we actively look for.”

“Neither have we!” Fischbach declared. “We point our dishes up there and listen and don’t hear anything rippling through subspace! Well, aside from those nomads who passed through a while back, they were nice. And then all this went down and all our alarm bells went off woo-eee lots of stuff broke down that day.”

“The current working theory is that these are micro-wormholes,” Pines said. “Though what would appear as the White Sweetie described is unknown.”

“Perhaps each signal was one end of a portal opening?” Picard suggested.

“Yes, that is precisely what I believe.”

“So they likely connected to each other, a series of tunnels.”

“That is certainly possible, but we have no way to tell. As you can see here…” He flipped through some slides. “Our surveys of G-89-J didn’t turn up anything unusual aside from the signal itself.”

“Perhaps nothing came through… or perhaps something left,” Girweym suggested. 

“Theories abound, but information does not,” Pines said. “That is why it is imperative we go deep into Sector Block 3120 and perform detailed scans on all the signal locations in order to draw connections. If they are truly wormholes or portals of some kind, we should be able to map them out. If not, the correlations will lead us to further conclusions.”

“To what end?”

Pines blinked. “I’m… not sure what you mean?”

“What is the end goal of this investigation, what do we hope to accomplish?”

Pines frowned. “To… uncover the secrets of the universe?”

Picard wasn’t sure why, but Pines had suddenly become nervous—which would not have been odd save for the fact that he had been completely calm up until that moment. Perhaps he feels as though the validity of his field is being threatened.

“Really? Do you see… nothing else coming from this?”

Picard cut in to Pines’ rescue. “He may not, and there need not be a lofty end goal for research. However, I myself see many end goals. These portals seem at least partially deliberate, which means they may be controllable, which opens up a potential for faster interstellar travel. Subspace itself is a rather mysterious undercurrent to us, even though we rely on it excessively to move almost every starship in the galaxy. And furthermore, this Sector Block is unexplored and devoid of any advanced civilizations, so far as we can tell, so more detailed surveys will open up new colony opportunities.”

“Colonies!?” This, at last, got a rise out of Girweym—but the outburst did not wake Ko’hen. 

“No galactic power has laid claim to these worlds,” Picard pointed out. “The Federation has no interest in all of them, you are free to settle here as well.”

“You are invading our side of the galaxy…”

“This is hardly an invasion, we are far from Dominion borders, and the Treaty of Bajor permits such activities.”

Girweym was seething but remained silent.

“That said, colonies are far off, a dream for a future generation, perhaps—for both of us. Your Founders should be able to appreciate an ability to look into a future beyond the lengths of our individual lives.”

“Yes… they do,” Girweym all but hissed. 

“Then perhaps consider that future when you’re talking to us, here, today.”

Picard knew from Girweym’s silence that he’d gotten enough of the message through his thick skull to return to another topic. 

“So, shall we consider a joint mission?”

“No,” Girweym said, flatly. “The Dominion is prepared to deal in information as an exchange, not to become part of any operation with you in it.” He glanced to Pines. “Do you have anything else of interest to say?”

Pines frowned. “Not… exactly. The finer details will be in the data report.”

Girweym suddenly stood up. “Then send it to my ship. I will remain on this world until then to make sure everything runs smoothly, but once we have the data, we will leave orbit and you will be free to act however you wish… within the agreements you have signed.”

“Agreements which say essentially nothing about this area of space,” Picard reminded him.

He wasn’t sure Girweym heard him as he stormed off. 

“Friendly fella,” Fischbach noted.

“He wants to be in charge of the situation,” Picard said. “Yet as much as he tries, he cannot. He is clearly a lower Vorta, sent on this mission because he wasn’t important and was very expendable. Had the Enterprise not been present, he may have attempted to push you around. But in the current situation, he cannot, and he despises it.”

“Such a sad man,” Pines observed.

“He truly is.”


[~~+]


Sweetie stood on top of one of Galars’ buildings, letting the dusty wind blow through her mane. She had a plastic cup with a straw semi-permanently stuck to her face, constantly intaking water to offset the feeling of dryness she felt. Yet, despite this discomfort, she still felt awe. She looked out over the dry expanse of the local ecosystem, spying tremendous, curved rocks that rose into the sky with sharp points that had been wind-blasted into them. 

It truly looked like an alien world. 

“I don’t see what you see in the rocks,” H’roh admitted. “There are far more interesting formations on other worlds.”

“I’ve hardly seen any worlds!” Sweetie said. “And while Equestria has some amazing scenery, none of it quite looks like that. That’s far… sharper! More menacing, even! It’s great! Oooooh, I wish the girls were here… Scootaloo would probably try to ride her scooter right up it. Apple Bloom would probably be complaining about how dry it is out here, though…”

“Your friends?” H’roh asked.

Sweetie nodded. “Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. The three of us are inseparable! We…” She frowned. “Well… we were, anyway.”

“I’m sure you’ll get back to them eventually. That’s part of why we’re out here, isn’t it?”

“Yep! Still… I miss them. I bet they’re worried about me too, it’s been weeks. To them, one day I just went out and vanished with no explanation.” She took a long, thoughtful slurp of her water, and eventually decided it was time to go do something else. “Come on, let’s look around some more.”

H’roh was of the mind there wasn’t anything left to look around for, but he followed her anyway. 

She descended the stairs back down to ground level and had a look around. At this point, a large number of the Enterprise’s crew were walking around, mingling with the inhabitants of Galars. A lot of them were wandering around aimlessly, looking a little bored. There weren’t any restaurants on Galars, and the entertainment was largely in the holodecks, and the Enterprise had those as well—better ones, too, if Sweetie was to believe the rumors she heard. She was actually really interested to try one out for herself, but that could wait until they were in deep space without a planet to explore.

There was one group that didn’t seem all that bothered by the lack of things happening—the Klingons. There were only a few of them on the surface, but they were always easy to pick out due to their rowdy conversation and boisterous laughs. They were clearly the same species as Worf, but they wore their hair much wilder, their uniforms were darker with significantly more armor, and they openly carried bladed weapons. 

However, one Klingon in particular was standing all alone, looking rather displeased with everything.

That Klingon was Worf.

Sweetie decided he needed some cheering up.

“…What are you doing?” H’roh hissed.

“I’m going to go say hi to Worf.”

“What!?”

“You heard me.” She trotted right up to Worf, leaving H’roh behind, and cleared her throat. “Hello, Lieutenant-Commander!”

Worf looked down at her in surprise—his forward gaze had not picked up on the approach of her small form. “…Greetings, Miss Belle.”

“Sweetie, if you don’t mind.” She plopped her flank on the ground next to him. “Watcha lookin’ at?”

“My brothers and sisters of battle,” Worf said, returning his gaze to the Klingons. 

“They sure seem happy. I’m glad they’re having a good time, since it seems like a lot of people find this planet boring. I don’t.”

“This is not the time nor the place for my people to be… happy.”

“Why not?”

“Fo—”

Whatever Worf was about to say was cut off by a Klingon with disheveled armor and some kind of goblet in his hand. “Ah! Look what the Federation dragged out here, Ambassador Worf!”

“I am not currently acting as Ambassador,” Worf said, standing straighter.

“Bah! It’s how the Empire shall remember you, the brave warrior who fought for peace! Hah! Peace!” The Klingon seemed to find this funny because he chuckled to himself and lifted his goblet to his lips—annoyed to find it empty. “Geh, no more blood wine.”

“Perhaps you have had too much to drink.”

“Me? Too much? Were you another I would challenge you for that remark! You do not know the legends of Bakur, warrior of fire, master of the torpedo, and river drinker!” He let out a great belly laugh and lifted his empty goblet to his mouth again, this time seemingly not noticing that it was empty. 

“Do you not have duties to attend to with a clear mind?”

“Duties!?” Bakur scoffed. “We are a survey ship. Sent into the unknown to just… be. There is no battle out here unless the space itself decides to attack. There is no glory.”

“It is necessary work nonetheless.”

“We have all these Federation allies, why not have them do it for us?” Bakur spat. “Then all Klingons can be what Klingons should be—warriors! Slayers! Heroes! I know you see it too… you are displeased to be out here…”

“Quite the opposite. I left my position as Ambassador specifically to be here.” Worf took a step toward him and bared his teeth. “And I will take great pride in the ‘surveying’ work I am about to perform in this unknown land.”

Bakur stared at him in shock. “You… hah! You’re funny.” Bakur shrugged and turned around, stumbling slightly. “Hey everyone, turns out the great Ambassador’s a joker!”

Nobody, not even the other Klingons, paid him much mind.

“Geh… soft, every last one of them.” Bakur clenched his fist. “It’s like they saw battle in the war and decided they didn’t want anymore… they should be ashamed to call themselves Klingons.”

Sweetie could see Worf get angry. For the first time, she actually felt fear from being in his proximity, but she didn’t budge—and he didn’t act on his impulses. He simply let the drunken Bakur stumble away to somewhere else in Galars. 

“…What was his problem?” Sweetie asked.

“He was drunk.”

“I got that, but… geez, you think he really believed all he was saying?”

“…Unfortunately, yes,” Worf said with a shake of his head. “Too many of my people desire battle for battle’s sake, not for any purpose. To act as he does is to act without honor. To fight, to be a warrior is to take up arms for a purpose.” He turned to her, beginning to speak with more emotion. “Glory for the empire, protection of the people, claiming of territory… these and things like them are what bring honor. He should be proud to be surveying this sector, for he will battle with the unknown and provide much for the Empire. If he is not recognized for it, it should matter little—he will have served honorably.”

Sweetie pondered this. “Is… everything battle to your people?”

“We are a race of warriors,” Worf said. “It is our way.” 

Sweetie wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this, and she didn’t pry any further. However, she could tell that her interest had improved Worf’s mood somewhat, despite the run-in with Bakur. Worf was far removed from the types of people Sweetie usually met, she had to admit, but she was already beginning to see him as a potential friend. She hoped he thought the same, though she doubted it—from her experience, people out here among the stars weren’t quite as eager to make friends as back home.


[~~+]


Data pressed his finger to the ringer outside one of the Enterprise’s many doors.

“Come in!” Pines called. 

The doors slid open and Data entered. The quarters had already been converted into a small personal lab. Most of the furniture had been moved to the sides to make way for desks, computers, models, and numerous devices instrumental in the study of subspace phenomena. It was not, however, fully organized—half-unpacked boxes littered the room, and many of the devices were clearly just piled up in a corner so there was a place to put them. That said, one place was clean and tidy—the table in the center of the room whose surface was actually a screen. It was currently displaying the Federation’s map of the mysterious subspace signals.

“Do you need any assistance?” Data asked.

“Nah,” Ford said, waving a dismissive hand. “This is clean enough to get work done, I’ll have time to re-arrange in transit.” He pulled a dusty old book out of one of the boxes—a red tome with a gold-leaf design of a six-fingered hand with the number one proudly displayed on it. He shelved it with a bunch of data pads. 

“A book?” Data asked.

“Sometimes you just want physical paper,” Ford explained, going back to rummaging through the box. “It just feels different, you know?”

“…I am afraid I do not, as I am an android. Tactile sensations are quite different for you than they are for me. I prefer direct interfaces to physical ones.”

“Ah… perhaps I would as well, had I your artificial mind. Alas, I have this flesh-bag to walk around in, and it happens to like the feel of paper and pens.”

“I do paint with physical brushes, though.”

“You paint?”

Data nodded. “Prior to installing my emotion chip, I used it as an attempt to understand what it meant to be human. I am not sure it succeeded, but I continue because the habit is gratifying. Though I still do not have a great grasp on what qualifies as ‘good art.’ “

“Neither do I,” Pines admitted. “There is awe that comes from looking at a beautiful thing… but where does it come from? What drives us to perceive things that way?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will. There are many other experiments of far greater importance than those that would pin down the definition of ‘art.’ “

Data found himself agreeing with this assessment, though he said nothing further, instead turning his attention to the map of signals on the table. “This is a great mystery.”

“It’s the mystery of a lifetime, Data,” Pines said with a grin. “A series of cosmic coincidences that we know little about, but what we do know makes it all the more interesting. Portals, curious similarities, the timing… this is something special, Data.”

“It could be years before any satisfactory answers are uncovered,” Data reminded him. “We are the first investigative wave, actual answers may take decades of research.”

“That’s why I’m here. I have the knowledge and credentials to figure this out. I just need more data…” 

“And time.”

“Yes, time.”

The door beeped again.

“Come in!” Pines called

The door slid open, and Sweetie jumped back. “Woah, it just… knew I wanted it to open. I didn’t even use my magic to press the button…”

“You are very fortunate you have that telekinesis of yours, Miss Belle,” Pines said. “You are in a realm of fingered beings, hooves alone would be immensely inconvenient.”

“My size is inconvenient enough… oh, and please, it’s just Sweetie. Not Miss Belle. You’re not a Starfleet officer, right? Can you…?”

He smiled. “Of course I can put aside formalities, I’m not much of a fan of them anyway, Sweetie. You may even call me Ford!”

Sweetie beamed. “Thank you, Ford!”

“Glad to be of service.”

Data tilted his head. “Curious. Many have found her first name awkward to say aloud in regular conversation.”

Ford shrugged. “It’s just a name, not a word. Just because your name is Data doesn’t mean I think about information every time I say it.”

“I do. The definition of my name is held actively within my positronic net whenever I consider it.”

“Positronic net…?” Sweetie blinked. “What…?”

“My brain is artificial, not made out of neurons like yours or Ford’s here.”

“Artificial.” Sweetie blinked. “So you’re not just some pale-skinned species?”

“No, I was constructed.”

“Huh.” Sweetie tilted her head to the side. “I couldn’t tell.”

“My creator was very thorough in designing me.”

“But not all of us are lucky enough to have blueprints to tell us what we are.” Ford drummed his fingers on the table. “Which brings us to why you’re here, Sweetie.”

Sweetie nodded. “You wanted to see me do magic, right?”

“Exactly.” Ford pressed a button on one of the computers, prompting a soft hum to begin. “Demonstrate however you wish.”

“Should we not be doing this in a full lab?” Data asked. 

“I have access to everything I need here, including her medical records.” Ford waved his hand across the screen, revealing a report filed by Doctor Crusher the day before on Sweetie.

Sweetie felt a little odd seeing a three-dimensional model of her spinning around on the screen with portions of it cut away to show organs and bones. It looked like a half-zombie pony version of her. She noticed a lot of words and arrows were pointing at her horn—not that she could read any of it.

Shaking her head, Sweetie returned her focus to the task at hoof—to demonstrate the use of magic. That was easy enough, she simply lifted a data pad off the nearby table with her telekinesis. “Tah-dah!”

One of the screens shifted to show a live feed of her horn with numerous dots flowing along the helical groove starting from the base and going to the tip.

“Fascinating…” Ford said, scratching his chin. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at.”

“Neither am I,” Data admitted.

“Though neither of us are biologists, so perhaps we should send this down to their department later.”

“Agreed.”

“You know,” Sweetie said. “I was a little concerned about how interested people were in me at first. I expected samples to be taken and a lot of needles… but, like, you guys have all these nice scanners I can’t even feel.”

“The wonders of modern technology!” Ford declared with a chuckle. “Now, can you try one of your other spells?”

Sweetie nodded, lighting her horn and accelerating herself. She zipped across the room quickly enough to create a small gust of wind. “How’s that?”

“Good…” Ford said, examining the results. “Well, I still have no idea what I’m looking at, but there is a discernible difference between the two spells. It may be possible to tell what you’re casting just by scanning your horn. I can already see how the fine-structure shape of the horn channels the magic into many different conduits… the mechanism is unknown, but the complexity is evident.”

“You don’t seem at all weirded out by calling it magic.”

“What is magic but sufficiently advanced mechanisms we do not understand?” Ford asked.

“I… am not sure!” Sweetie said with a dumb smile.

“Neither am I, for sure, but I am eager to find out! Now… what else do you know?”

“Got any kindling? I can start a campfire.”

“Let’s not test the Enterprise’s automatic sprinkler system.”

“Ooooh, yeah, good idea.”


[~~+]


Sweetie returned to Galars after she was done giving Data and Ford all the magic data they could ever want—at least, that she could give. She was no master wizard or anything, they were lucky she knew more than just basic telekinesis. Twilight Sparkle could not only have given them a lot more but also could have spoken about actual arcane theory and other stuff that Sweetie didn’t have any clue about. 

Though part of her wondered if even those simple scans would tell the Federation more about unicorn magic than anything any great Equestrian wizard had ever uncovered. She was fairly sure she’d never seen a diagram of a unicorn’s horn as detailed as the one on Ford’s screen. Their technology really was amazing, like a magic all its own.

“Sufficiently advanced mechanisms…” Sweetie said, chuckling to herself as she walked around the edge of Galars. She’d already seen all the sights—that had not taken long at all—but she couldn’t bring herself to say there was nothing left on the dry world to experience just yet. After all, they would be leaving soon, and then they probably wouldn’t come back here. She should get as much time in as she could on this alien world!

The wind blew some dust into her face and she entered a coughing fit. Once she managed to get her sputtering under control, she lifted a hoof toward the vast, dry expanse before her. “I’m not going to let you keep me from enjoying this! Go on, throw dust in my face!”

The wind did not oblige and instead started blowing perpendicular to her.

“That’s what I thought.” Sweetie turned her back to the dry expanse and trotted back to Galars itself. She thought about tracking down Worf—he was the only one she knew was still down here—but her plans were put on hold when she noticed the Dominion walking around, in the open. 

In the middle was a man she knew had to be Girweym, but all things considered, he wasn’t that interesting. It was his two guards who were absolutely fascinating—tall, purple, horned, and very aggressive looking. Unlike the Klingons, they showed no sign of joy or rowdiness; they were ordered and disciplined, never faltering from their duty.

Both of them were looking right at her, clearly thinking she could pose a threat. 

Girweym noticed her much later than his guards, and he broke out into a wide toothy smile and approached her, his guards walking in line with him. 

Sweetie considered running away; there was something about these three that she simply did not like at all. But she figured that would be unfair to them; even if they had been the bad guys, the war she’d heard about was over, they didn’t have to be bad guys anymore.

“I was wondering if I would ever get the pleasure of meeting you, Miss Belle.”

Sweetie decided correcting him was probably not wise. “Um… well, I’m here now!” She forced a smile. “Did you want anything…?”

“I would love to examine that horn of yours…”

“Doctor Pines already scanned it and performed some tests, you can ask him for the, uh, data.” 

Girweym took a step forward and Sweetie immediately took a step back. “Oh, I’m not sure he’d be willing to share with me. You see, it’s not part of our agreement, and the Federation isn’t particularly fond of us. It really is a shame…”

“Um…” Don’t say anything stupid, don’t say anything stupid, don’t say anything stupid. “W-well maybe if you prove yourself to be more trustworthy they’d be willing to help you more!”

Evidentially that was the wrong response since Girweym’s face turned into a snarl. “What do you know? You know little of the Federation and nothing of the Dominion. You have heard only their side. Had you appeared on our side of the wormhole, perhaps you would currently be asking them to be more trustworthy to us!”

You probably would have cut my horn up to figure out how it works. “M-maybe…”

“The world is one of many perspectives, and you have only been given a narrow one… enlighten yourself. See the foolishness of the Federation. See the weakness. They wander aimlessly wherever their whims guide them—in the Dominion, everyone has a purpose. Everyon—”

“Leave her alone,” Worf said, marching up to the conversation defiantly. Both of Girweym’s guards tensed.

Girweym slowly backed away from Sweetie. “And the Klingons, the Federation’s dogs. Sometimes they turn around and bite, but otherwise played like puppets on a string.”

Worf bristled but did not retaliate. “Come, Sweetie, we are leaving.” He turned and led her away. Girweym did not pursue them.

“Thanks,” Sweetie said. “That… I didn’t like that at all.”

“Neither was he fond of you.”

“All I did was… try to be helpful and optimistic.”

“Men such as him resent help the moment it is offered.”

“How sad…”

The two of them passed by Bakur, still as drunk as he was before, perhaps more so. He didn’t make eye contact with them. He was clutching a small sack to his chest so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Worf suddenly stopped moving. 

“What is it?” Sweetie asked.

Worf pulled out his phaser—a smooth, white weapon with a rounded handle and an angled front with a slit—and pointed it at Bakur. “Put it down, Bakur.”

Bakur froze. “So, you will keep me from fulfilling the honorable duty of all Klingons?”

“What is going on!?” Girweym demanded. 

“Stay back!” Worf called at Girweym. “He has a bomb!”

Girweym went even paler than he usually was and scrambled backward. Both of the Jem’hadar readied to defend him with their own energy weapons.

“Hehehehehh…” Bakur started chuckling. “Look at this, Worf! There is an opportunity for glorious battle!”

“We will not start a war over one drunken Klingon,” Worf said. “Now put it down.”

“I do not need a war!” Bakur spat. “I need a battle! A battle with a true enemy.”

“And a bomb will do that?”

“Oh, no, a bomb will just trigger one.” Bakur grinned. “Are you to become my enemy?” He lifted up the bag into the air with one hand, the other moving toward his phaser.

“Don’t!” Worf shouted.

“Why not!?” Bakur narrowed his eyes. “Do you fear for my life, that the Jem’hadar will shoot me in the back when they believe they can get away with it? Oh, believe me, I want them to try. Or do you fear that I will kill someone with this bomb? But where is honor without some bloodshed, Worf? Where is the battle?” Despite the fire and anger in his words, his eyes told another story—they spoke of great sorrow and inner turmoil, of a man who wanted nothing more than his purpose in life back.

“There are other battles to be fought.”

“Not for me. Not anymore.” Bakur grinned. “I have a bomb on a Federation base with visiting Dominion forces. I have crossed a line I cannot come back from. And I do not want to! So face me, Worf! Give me honorable battle!”

Worf did not budge.

“Then I will make you!” He threw the sack at Girweym. 

It landed on the ground at his feet, falling flat. There was nothing in it.

“…What?”

“You’re probably looking for this,” Sweetie said, levitating a metallic cylinder with red lights out from behind her head. “You were talking for so long I was able to levitate it out.”

“N-no…” Bakur stammered. “You... you can’t!”

“Just did,” Sweetie said. “Now you can stop all this nonsense about battle and go back t—”

Bakur whipped out his ranged weapon and pointed it at her.

Sweetie’s heart skipped a beat.

A blur of white and black rushed from the side, kicking Bakur in the chest while simultaneously chopping him across the arm, knocking the weapon out of his hands. The blur proceeded to grab the startled Klingon by the chest and suplex him over his back and onto the ground.

“FOOL!” Ko’hen shouted at his subordinate. “Were your parents targs!? Do not sully the Empire’s victory with your feelings of inadequacy!” 

“I will not have this dish—”

Ko’hen smashed his head into Bakur as hard as he could. The force was easily enough to knock Bakur out cold.

“Fool. Absolute fool.” Ko’hen grumbled. 

“W-well, I thank you, master Ko’hen,” Girweym said, clearly shaken by the entire experience.

“You are not welcome,” Ko’hen retorted as he dragged Bakur away.

“Why you…” Girweym took one look at the old Klingon’s wild eyes and shut up. Rather than engage with the aged warrior further, he turned his gaze to Sweetie. “And I believe I owe you my thanks as well.”

Sweetie allowed herself to breathe. 

This made Girweym smile. “Not prepared for the consequences of your actions? Oh, little pony… you are heading out into the unknown, where things far worse than a drunk, stupid Klingon await.” He tapped something on his wrist. “Get us out of here.” A few seconds later, they were transported back to their ship.

Worf immediately put his phaser away and leaned down to examine Sweetie. “Are you all right?”

“I’m… fine.” Sweetie blinked a few times, holding a hoof to her chest to help steady her breathing. “That was… kind of… exhilarating, actually…” She laughed nervously. “And scary, and dangerous, and… a bunch of other things…”

The slightest hint of a smile crawled up Worf’s face. “You have a warrior’s heart.”

“Oh no no no no no!” Sweetie shook her head rapidly. “I’m not a warrior! N-nope! Definitely not!”

“A warrior’s heart need not lie in a warrior, Sweetie. You acted when it was needed, and your heart pounded with the thrill of battle for perhaps the first time.” He nodded at her respectfully. “Not all of which Bakur spoke was a lie.”

“Um… thanks?” Sweetie really wasn’t sure how to respond to this—but Worf apparently didn’t need her to, for he stood up and immediately began a report to the Captain. 


[~~+]


“So, why do we need to stand on the transporter pad?” Sweetie asked as she climbed onto Galars’ pad. “You can beam in and out of anywhere.”

“Efficiency,” Data explained. “Having an origin and destination uplink is excellent and draws much less power.”

“Ah,” Sweetie said. “I guess that makes sense.”

The two of them were standing on the pad with Worf, Picard, and Ford. 

“We’re really gonna miss ya, doc!” Fischbach said, slapping Ford on the back. “Won’t be the same without you!”

“No… it won’t,” Ford said, giving him a weak smile. “Until we meet again.”

T’ora stepped forward. “I will see to all that you have left here, do not worry. Everything will remain in order.”

Ford nodded. “Thank you. I am in your debt, more than I think you realize.”

“That may be true.” She lifted up her hand and divided her fingers down the middle, two on each side. “Live long, and prosper.”

Ford attempted to give the gesture in return but with his six fingers he couldn’t figure out what to do with the middle one—take it to the left, or the right? 

This prompted a slight smile on T’ora’s face—a sight that was, for some reason, shocking to Picard and Worf.

“I startle you so,” T’ora said, lifting up her chin. “Surely you know not all Vulcans hold to logic as tightly as rumors would suggest we do.”

“My apologies,” Picard said, bowing his head. “It is simply a rarity to come across one like you, we made an assumption, perhaps one we should not have made.”

“There is no need to apologize, it is only expected, though it is… curious.” She nodded curtly to Ford. “They will do you well. Go forth into the unknown.”

“I don’t understand why they’re all saying these things,” Sweetie whispered to Data.

“I will explain later,” Data whispered back.

With these goodbyes, Picard tapped his communicator. “Picard to Enterprise. Five to beam up.”

With a swirl of blue sparkles, they left Galars behind and soon after headed out into the great unknown…