Cold was still with her, wasn’t he? He said he would be with her all the way through. The murmur of the morning bustle came low. She looked left and right; the crowd had thickened since her earlier outing. The ponies were short and squat compared to her—she towered a hoof above them—yet she couldn’t make out any signs of the kirin. Had Cold lost her?
A hoof roped over her withers, and pulled her close. It pushed her forward lightly, urging her to keep walking. With her weight, she could have tossed the limb easily, but she followed through on the request. Her breathing gave way.
“Let’s try and stick together from now on.” His voice was terse, but kind.
“Yes,” she replied. Thank Celestia.
Cold let his hoof down, and this time, he stayed by her side.
For some reason, she felt worse walking through the city streets with company. Maybe it was the fact that Cold wasn’t quite as capable as her, or maybe it was because she’d pushed their already limited time by having him sleep. Still, the kirin seemed keen on staying with her: it was the small comforts that made the city worth crossing.
Marching into the commercial district, she kept close to Cold. His eyes swept around in search, and she did the same for the sky. Experience made it a safe bet that the retrieval unit would be much more discreet in their next approach, but she could never be too sure. Those operators always had their own tricks to play, but once she’d seen the same deck of cards hundreds of times, it was easier to pick out their strategies. But in the unseen world, it only took one good hoof to change everything.
Luckily, she had two.
Cold tapped his hoof in proclamation. “This way.”
She followed him to the front of a small concrete building. The ponies set-up in this zone tended to share the same commerical outlet, but this one stood alone. There was a panel of foggy acrylic glass. A dark interior flooded the other side. A simple sign that read ‘Electronics’ had been placed on the flat roof’s lip, and it was the only indication that the building was a business of any kind. Despite that, Fokienia could see the outline of a pony inside, albeit hazy; they were barely moving.
As they entered the store through the pneumatic door, the dust threatened to smoke Fokienia. It was dark, but only because of the poor lighting: the inset lights above glowed sleepily. Across the room, a unicorn sat at a chair behind the counter. She stared into a small blue square that set her red muzzle ablaze with white. Occasionally, her horn lit with crimson, but only to operate the device. Both of her ears swiveled their way, but she didn’t act.
“Do ponies not come here?” Fokienia whispered to Cold.
He puffed at his own dusty cloud. “Some, maybe. Ponies working the industrial sectors aren’t the most well-off. Tech isn’t cheap.”
There were metal shelves that formed aisles, and some that sat against the walls. All manner of devices, components, and tools were laid out. Cold broke off from the door and started looking. She went with him, maintaining security with her eyes and ears. It didn’t take Cold long to find a section dedicated to his heralded PDAs, all of them decidedly non-smoking. He stayed there, glancing along the display case, but grunted.
Fokienia tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”
“Nah, just…” He turned away. “You got any better PDAs?” he called out.
The mare behind the counter yelled back. “Yeah, so long as you’re willing to pay extra.” Fokienia had been keeping an eye on her, and the pony hadn’t even so much as looked up from her device.
Cold rubbed a hoof at his head, just below his horn. “Figures,” he grumbled, motioning with his neck. “I know this type, so let me talk.”
She’d been planning on it, so she nodded.
The red unicorn looked up as they approached. She was left mostly nonplussed by Fokienia’s appearance—she tightened ever-so slightly—but as she shifted to Cold, her look went from a piercing gaze to wide-eyed shock. “Woah! Are you the real deal?”
Cold rolled his eyes. “Cypress just figure out illusions last month? Yeah, of course I’m real.”
Fokienia blinked. “Illusions?”
The mare started to answer, but Cold waved a hoof. “Just some fad from the Core Worlds.” That only made Fokienia’s confusion grow, but he just kept going. “I need a solid PDA. Industry standard if you can. Last one… busted on me.”
“Aw yeah, yeah, sure!” The mare slid her PDA under the counter, and hopped from her chair. “I think I’ve got a few of ‘em in the back, here. Hang tight.”
The mare trot off through a doorway in the back, and Fokienia kept careful watch. Sure enough, the mare began fumbling with what appeared to be a container of some kind, tilting it this way and that as she rummaged with her hoof. From the counter, the two could hear the shifting of bits and metal. Cold idly looked around while that happened.
Fokienia prodded him lightly with her hoof. “Illusions? The Core Worlds?”
He rubbed at his neck and gave her a strange look. “You didn’t read up about the Core Worlds?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “It’s where most of the Equestrian-controlled star systems are. The original colonies, the homeworld. You know, where most history’s been made.” He laughed darkly.
She frowned. “And illusions?”
Cold laid a hoof on the counter and started tapping. “Old breed of magic given some new life. Changeling in origin, I think. Ponies like playing dress-up, so some genius figured ‘dresses and creatures aren’t so different.’ Next thing you know, every major hub in the ECW is lit with illusory magic, and plenty of bits flying left and right.” His tone grew low. “You’re a big CEO and you want to hit the street incognito? You’re a nobody’s business griffon, now. Want a horn to go with those wings you’ve got? Sure, but don’t expect to be treated like royalty. You want to be young again, without the other benefits? Okay, go ahead.” He tapped one final time. “It’s a fad. Too much nonsense in the mix.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad,” Fokienia said simply. “Ponies get to change and become whatever they want. It’s magic, so it’s temporary, right?”
“Magic doesn’t imply temporary, Fokienia.” He rolled his withers. “Some ponies go for a permanent change, but that’s not illusions, that’s a whole different territory. If a pony wants a permanent change, that’s their business. Illusions? No respect to it. It’s a selfish indulgence for the affluent, and another avenue for the age-old business of fillies and faux princesshood.”
Fokienia saw the mare finishing up. “It doesn’t help that ponies don’t immediately recognize you as an actual kirin… does it?”
Cold was quiet for a moment. She looked at him: he was staring deep into the wall across the way. “No. It doesn’t.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m wrong about it, but I don’t like it. There are better uses for that magic.”
Fokienia shuffled on her hooves.
The mare came around the corner levitating a stocky, dark gray PDA. “Just the one left. A little out-of-date, but it’s industry standard, alright.” She set it down, and waved a monitor on the counter to life. “And yes, it’s unsigned. I’m not a thief.”
“I understand,” Cold chuckled. “I recognize the model. It’ll work.”
“Great.” She lit her horn, and navigated swiftly through the monitor. “That all you need?”
“Yeah.” He coughed. “Listen… I hope you accept net-auth transactions, because I’m down a link.”
She laughed. “You’re not the first pony to pay through station services.” After passing a few more screens on the monitor, she looked to Cold and nodded. “Go for it.”
Fokienia listened to Cold ramble off a string of numbers. The two were going through some kind of payment authorization process—it was different from bartering by leagues. Despite the novelty of the experience, she quickly lost interest. Her eyes went back to the store walls, and she stepped away to retrieve the implant scanner from her bag. It went on. The lone blip ticked away.
The mare behind the counter hummed. “Oh wow, you’re a platinum-insured pilot?”
“Cargo. Passenger and courier.”
“Huh! I knew you kirins were cool, but that’s awesome.”
“Of course I’m cool,” Cold quipped. “It’s in my name.”
Both the mare and Fokienia failed to hold back groans. Fokienia filed the scanner and trot back over. Cold was seeing if the PDA fit in his jacket, and the mare was still working away at the monitor.
“You’re clean, captain. Real clean. Cleanest customer in Cupresso, I’d wager.”
A boisterous laugh was the last thing Fokienia expected from Cold. “Yeah right.” He didn’t build upon the act, and neither did the mare. It was a strong divergence for a pony she’d taken to be usually mellow. He carried the conversation by setting the PDA on the counter and turning it on. “Let me hook this up real quick. Gonna make sure your bits don’t bounce.”
The mare beamed. “I’d appreciate that, captain.”
Fokienia resumed her vanguard role with some thought. Cold may not have been wealthy or politically-inclined, but he carried respect; he’d easily broken the tension below the mare’s coat with just his physical appearance, and the title he wore. She wondered what a pony would have thought if she’d introduced herself as ‘cyborg and operator’, instead of his ‘kirin and captain’. Where Cold generated respect, Fokienia commanded fear. Venerable versus voracious. They both eked out an existence above the average pony, but on opposing sides. Again, she focused on Cold, and wondered why he of all ponies had chosen to help her, his natural enemy.
Or unnatural, as the case stood.
“Huh.” He bunched up and squinted. “Weird.”
The salesmare frowned. “Something wrong?”
His magic swept across the interface. “Maybe… but nothing to do with you.” He made a tsk between clenched teeth. With a flick, he levitated the PDA into the interior pocket of his jacket. “You’ve got your bits, ma’am. Net-auth comes through for once.”
The mare smiled again. “Yeah, right? I appreciate your business.”
“And thank you for finding the PDA.” He nodded. “Have a good one.”
“Fly safe out there.” As they started away from the counter, the mare yelled after them. “And tell all the other haulers to come visit Cypress! The embargoes were lifted a while ago!”
“Can do!” Cold replied. The front door opened, and they stepped back out into the streets of Cupresso. Dust returned to smoke.
Fokienia turned to him immediately. “What was that about?”
“What?”
She tapped his side where the PDA rested. “Problem with the PDA?”
A deep frown set across his pursed lips. He gestured with a hoof. “You lead, I’ll talk.”
Right, she needed her things, too. “The groundskeeper said it was this way.” She started at a quick trot, and Cold stayed at her pace.
“It’s about my ship.”
“Good news?”
He snorted. “Of course not. That’d be too good for me.” He shook his head. “No, station and security alerts. It got sent down to the storage bays, but picked up by station authority for ‘illegal activity.’”
Fokienia’s heart thumped. He was in trouble? “Does that mean you’re a criminal?”
“Not exactly, it could mean a lot of things. A firefight counts as illegal activity, so it could just be about… y’know.”
She lowered her head a bit. “Yes… I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s… fine, Fokienia.” It certainly wasn’t. “They’ll give it service, but it probably means they’re going to open an investigation on the ship. A lot of intelligence gathering. But more importantly, they’d load up all the information about its whereabouts and corroborate it with recorded and submitted navigation data.” He sighed. “With where I’ve been, I have a feeling it’s going to be grounded for a while.”
“Where have you been Cold?”
Cold’s frown was locked-in, and his eyes focused on the road Fokienia was leading him on. It took a long moment before his curt response. “Where I’ve needed to be.”
She abruptly straightened out. Cryptic: there was hidden information. Given the tone, it was critically important. An acceptable level of force could be used to acquire it now. A precise prod at this vulnerable moment, and the puzzle would finish itself. The new task was set. She opened her mouth, and—
She stopped. A pain wormed its way into her head.
Cold skid. He paused alongside her. “Fokienia?”
Her neurostimulator wavered. “Will it interfere with our mission?” she uttered. She snapped her mouth shut. Her teeth clicked from the force. She looked away from Cold and breathed.
“I… no, no it shouldn’t. Are you okay?”
She focused on her forelegs below. Stinging filled her veins. She relaxed. “We will proceed.” Her head swam back, slowly bringing herself to face Cold. She nodded twice. “Try not to think about it.” He gave her a look that she didn’t stop to decipher. She didn’t want to. She turned away, and started walking again. “Let’s keep moving.”
Cold didn’t speak.
It was better that he didn’t.
Fokienia hadn’t said a word to him since she’d stopped them. Cold wasn’t sure if he’d actually said something wrong. Was she upset about the idea of him being unable to fly the Waste Peddler for the time being? No, they’d already gotten over that hill. Yet she’d appeared so… unnerved. But not in the traditional sense. Still, it was all because of something he’d said concerning the ship. He resolved to not speak about the Waste Peddler for the foreseeable future. For now, he needed to see to Fokienia’s needs: she’d given him the opportunity to pick up what he needed, and now it was time to return the favor.
This district of inner Cupresso was a lot cleaner than where they’d just been. There were overall less ponies, and less smoke, but it still maintained that distinct industrial look. The ventilation systems weren’t as critical here. With his earpiece reconnected to a functioning PDA, Cold was tempted to put on some music; without the strident crowds and fans, it was quiet. The thoroughfare was wide enough to accommodate the large crowds that numbered in the hundreds, but with only a few dozen ponies nearby, things remained relatively calm. They walked at an eased pace, but Fokienia kept her eyes and ears up at all times.
As they’d slunk into the deeper streets of Cupresso, the buildings had risen. The tallest still plateaued at four floors, but the few clustered towers brought an urban atmosphere akin to the high-rises of Cypress Central. Some of the station’s public contacts housed themselves in the residential bubbles like Cupresso, and Cold always found it surprising: they were ponies with the means to operate ‘hub business’ in administration centers like Cypress Central, and yet they chose to provide for the stations’ micro-economies. While there were merits like subsidies, Concord didn’t have as strong a presence here—the streets rarely saw motorized deployment—and contractors like Cold were practically pointless. He had nothing against the ponies who worked here, in fact he respected them a great deal more than most stations’ hub contacts, but there was much more money to be made in interstellar jobs. Bits that every starship captain’s wallet guzzled to feed their hydrogen-helium reactor. Bits to maintain the artificial leylines that kept his ship teleporting between the stars. Bits that couldn’t be earned as readily in an in-system economy. These were the bits that Cold and others worked to distribute among the stars. In the crushing depths of Cypress Station, he was completely out of his element, but the rising towers reminded him of the more comfortable role he played in space-faring civilization.
He locked his jaw and stared into the metal sky. It reached so high, but only so. Space was always in motion, and he needed to move with it. It was his nature.
Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Fokienia; his body knew he needed a guiding hoof when his mind strayed like this. “You’ve lived in Cypress your whole life?”
Fokienia responded immediately. “Yes.”
“Do you like it here?”
Her ears twitched. Like the rest of her body’s build, each part of her was larger than what was typical for an earth pony. It was hard not to notice the emotions behind those ears. “It isn’t Containment.”
He hesitated on his next words. “How many times have you… escaped?”
“I have been involved in all four breach events in the previous ten years.” One of her metal hooves buzzed briefly—a low drone, just loud enough for Cold to hear. “I initiated the last breach.”
“Why?” Cold gave her a moment. They both focused on the road ahead.
The drone stopped. “Since reaching an operational state, I have been on standing orders to train, recuperate, and undergo modification. The last augmentations were… so much.” Her voice faltered for just a step as a more welcome warmth returned. Still, steel resonated in her tone. “It’s… protocol, leaving the integration of our augmentations to self-discovery. Each augmentation has a certain number of operational stages. We are allowed to rest for one cycle on each stage, but only as our integration limit approaches the conditional zero-state. My eyes...” Her words had grown shaky, but she continued to trot. “I woke without waking. It was dark, but no normal dark. And there was no sound. The only thing I felt was the… pain in my eyes, and it would… not… stop.” Her jaw trembled, but she clenched it quickly. “I was informed that it took seventeen hours, three minutes, and… zero seconds in order to… see again.” Her withers sagged. “After that first recuperation cycle, my coordinating agent spoke with me. It was the first time she’d spoken to me since… school, and not delivered orders. She was… afraid.”
Cold licked at his lips, though his mouth had long dried. He looked up at the mare. “Why was she afraid?”
“She told me that Cypress would be destroyed if I didn’t leave.”
Cold’s coat bristled. She looked at him. Where he’d expected tears, her yellow eyes instead glistened with unnatural blue light. Alone in the midst of the street, they stared.
Fokienia blinked, and the blue sheen slipped away. “I was created for a purpose,” she whispered. Her face curled with worry and ache. “I need to know why they chose me. Why they chose us.” She leaned close. “I need to know if they really can destroy the lives of five-hundred thousand ponies with a pony like me.”
A pathetic croak passed Cold’s lips. “Fokienia…”
She leaned away, her ears folding back. “I thought I could run. I believed that Cypress was a large military installation, not a home for so many lives.” She closed her eyes. “She said I could stop the destruction of Cypress if I left. But now I know, I have to stay. The war will be here, with or without me.”
Cold stared at Fokienia. Finally, he looked away. With his magic, he smoothed out his jacket. He shuffled on his hooves. “Thank you for answering,” he said quietly.
A pause, then the faint reply. “You’re welcome.”
Shakily, he clasped a hoof on her back, his eyes still aimed down the street. “Let’s… get some drinks before we grab those supplies, Fokienia. I could really use some water…” She said nothing, but allowed him to take the lead.
Unlike Cypress Central, there were no vending machines placed along the shopfronts, and Cold found it unlikely that they’d find any sort of food plaza. Worse yet, the fast-food and convenience stores had given way to full-service commercial enterprises: the few restaurants here would deliver the drinks he’d promised Fokienia, but he could feel the objections bubbling up; stopping at a proper establishment wasn’t an option on the table. It really wasn’t the time to stop for so long—especially since they’d eaten so recently—but his search of the wide street left him bereft of better thoughts.
Or, he could stop breeziehoofing around the mare, and just state his intent.
He turned to face Fokienia. As if anticipating the move, her eyes were already on him. His lips cracked as he put on a tilted smile. “Alright, forget that. Look, I want to talk to you more about… everything.”
She had an impeccable form to her frown. “Now?” she asked in her trademark monotone... the one not too dissimilar from his own.
He glanced around. “Today at some point, at least.”
She breathed. “Sure.” A hefty huff left her nostrils. “We’re coming up on the place.”
Cold nodded, then returned to the wake of her stride. “We’ll get those drinks one way or another.”
“Okay.”
Fokienia led him a little further up the road. They diverged from the main route, stepping into a dead-end formed by the valley of buildings. A few ponies idled along the fronts, but most were smoking or otherwise lingering about. Unlike the other ponies Cold and Fokienia had passed by on the streets, they wore formal wear, and it was a safe enough guess as to why: the buildings behind them emblazoned by corporate insignia. There was an innumerable quantity of corporations in the Equestrian economy as a whole: many large, and many more small.
Even though these buildings likely belonged to lighter hooves, the ponies behind and inside them certainly held significant buying power. While assumptions were easy to make, Cold’s experience in the business-side of the galaxy told it all: the dirty offices and suits were purely distilled by the breadth of work demanded by inner-station business. As opposed to what other businessponies straddled, their work revolved around an untethered line. He nodded in greeting, and to their credit, they reciprocated the motion, but their eyes stayed square on the mare with metal hooves.
Cold and Fokienia edged toward the more squat of the three buildings on the block. The building was only two stories high, but it was by no means a small place; like the ponies of the nearby offices, there was a bit of wealth behind the clean walls. The Rod of Asclopius was engraved into the concrete on either side of the pneumatic front door.
“A clinic?”
Fokienia hummed. “Yes. It was the best of the options the groundskeeper provided. If they lack the components I require, they should have most of what I require in stock, and enough equipment to synthesize the remainder.”
Cold gave the door a look. “Well, as long as they don’t pull me in for a check-up, sounds good.”
“Does that mean you’re not going in?” Her eyes scanned the door—and presumably, beyond—but her ears flicked his way.
“Well, of course I am. Somepony has to pay,” he joked.
She didn’t reply, but Cold saw the hesitation arching through her back.
The lobby of the clinic was a punishing splash of off-white; with the fluorescent lights above, the edges of the entire room glowed. The cool floor tiles clacked with each step of their hooves, and a vent above them rumbled with the far-off roar of a pumping HVAC system. It was distinctly cool as opposed to the gentle warmth of the outside, and it forced a shiver out of the kirin. He tugged at his jacket with a hoof, and stood idly by the door. Fokienia’s sharp hoofsteps roused the attention of a pale pony behind the counter. The unicorn’s horn lit, and an interface below the counter-top lit with life.
Her soft eyes swayed between the two of them. “May I help you two?” The nurse-capped mare spoke pleasantly.
“A pony assured me that I could find the chemicals I require, here.”
Cold came away from the door, but stayed a little ways behind Fokienia.
The mare looked a bit perturbed. “Chemicals…?”
Fokienia tilted her head. “Chemicals for medicinal application.”
“Oh.” She relaxed, then smiled. “In that case, of course. Our pharmacy is just down the hall to your right.” She gestured to the open hall past the counter. “Our pharmacist can assist you as needed.”
“What other chemicals would you supply beyond existing medical compounds?” Fokienia’s inquiry wasn’t demanding, but it was a bit too sharp for Cold’s tastes.
The mare ran the question across her lips once more, her face curling further. “Well… none. We primarily offer standard prescription and over-the-counter pharmaceuticals, like other facilities.”
“But your pharmacist is able to synthesize compounds beyond standard medical needs, correct?”
“…Yes. He is a licensed medical officer.”
Fokienia stopped to analyze the sinking mare. “Is something wrong?” Her words lacked their previous edge.
“I…” The mare’s ears twitched amid her silence. Then, she sighed. “No, you’re alright. I apologize for my behavior.” She adjusted her cap. “This last week has just been… less than ideal.”
“It’s alright, miss.” Cold nodded Fokienia toward the hall. “I understand what you mean. I just came in from off-station not too long ago, so take it from me that it should all be winding down, now.”
A grateful smile touched the mare’s lips. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Fokienia looked at Cold, then back at the mare. “Thank you for answering my questions.” She paused, then awkwardly bowed her head. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“No, um. You’re fine.” She fiddled with her cap again, and blew a strand of her mane out of the way. “If you need anything else, I’ll be here.”
The hall wasn’t a difficult trek in the slightest: there were a few closed doors, but the bright lights near the stairwell at the end brandished their goal. They found the pharmacy there, its front tucked away in the wall. The small indent shielded a veritable canopy of containers and covered surfaces.
Cold stepped up to the counter. He tapped loudly. A quiet clamor rose up from out of sight. Beyond the sea of shelves and cabinets, and beyond a closed door, a voice called out an incomprehensible reply.
Cold glanced at Fokienia. “What exactly are you looking for?”
She didn’t respond; the door opened, and a stallion wearing a white, sterile coat, stepped out. His eyes flit nervously. He cleared his throat and trot the rest of the way to them. “Sorry about that. How can I help?”
Fokienia squinted past him. “Are you the requisitions officer?” she asked simply.
He reeled back slightly, then blinked at her. “I… suppose?”
“Then I’m going to need you to name every stimulant you have in supply.”