//------------------------------//
// Chapter Five: Bonds 
// Story: Leaves on the Wind 
// by Mickey Dubs 
//------------------------------//

Chapter Five: Bonds

Space has a nasty habit of creating the worst possible thing out of anypony. 

Nine sets of eyes will look at a sprawling and destroyed wreck, and each of them will see different things. Some might see salvage and scraps: worthless part by part, but the larger mass a tidy fortune. Others might smell the scent of treasure lying dormant in the capsule, waiting for the right pony to come along and recover it towards whatever end. Some might see salvation, some the horrors of their past, and some might not even see it all, so lost are they in the surrounding blackness that nothing, not even the promise of a better life, can shake them from their daydreams.
Or their nightmares.
Bastion’s crew was one such amalgamation. The individual members of his ramshackle crew, including the ones who was reluctant to call ‘crew’ but bound with them nonetheless, all had their individual aims and goals, aspirations and motives...histories they have made together or have sequestered apart from the whole. Their strengths were emboldened and their weaknesses mitigated by the actions of the others, and only together were they truly powerful.
This was something Shadow knew, something he told himself every time he needed to rally them against a common enemy or fight for their take on a deal-gone-bad. His crew was his ticket to a better life, and he was theirs. As long as everypony pulled their weight, everything would be fine. It had always been this way, and Shadow knew it always would be.
However, there was one more pressing matter which was to be held at the forefront of any action as long as they called this ship their home or him their Captain. Regardless of their backgrounds, despite their reservations, and superseding all other responsibilities to kin and kind was the one thing that, even in the exclusion or dissolution of all others, was to be their shackle and their salvation:
He was to be obeyed.
In allowing these two unicorn fugitives aboard his vessel, he had succeeded in condemning his entire crew and ensuring that, whatever came to pass, their lives would be forever haunted by the Doctor’s actions. Salve had thrust Bastion onto a path which he did not care to tread, and had the audacity to take his crew down with him. 
Foolish boy. You can never trust anyone, not with anything.
 These thoughts about his impending doom still plagued him as he awoke, his jaw sore from where he had been resting it in the table. Groaning as the light streamed in as he opened his eyes, he shook his head to cast off the familiar throbbing from a night spent drinking. He lifted his head to find his candle hadn’t been knocked over to burn a hole in their table with its little remaining ember and, most thankfully, hadn’t set fire to any drink the two might have spilled.
Two.
There were two of us...
He looked to his side only to gaze on an empty chair. Its occupant had vanished as if the drink had conjured her up from nothing and, with its passing, took her with it. He felt his side, and recoiled slightly when the skin beneath was ice-cold. She had left several hours ago, if not more.
 He looked at the table and found a few stray purple hairs, the only evidence of her existence, gracing the table right by where his hoof used to be. A few hairs fell onto the floor, but he was too busy cleaning the table and wiping spirits from the finish to notice.With a nearby rag, he scrubbed what alcohol had spilled and took special care not to topple the candle, rubbing his table until it shone like new. When he was finished, he swept the glasses and empty bottle to his chest with one hoof and made his way towards the kitchen, smiling as he walked as best he could on three legs.
She was here. It wasn’t a dream…
Placing his glasses in the sink and the empty bottle in the trash, he plodded to the table to push in their chairs. He looked again at the mahogany surface, making sure it was as clean as he could make it before trotting to the doorframe and clicking on the lights. Even though the nearest star's light shone through the windows above to signal the start of a new day, his internal clock was off. 
He needed rest. He needed a lot of rest.
As the lights flickered to life, the edges of the silver ingot on the table caught his eye.The light played over the surface almost as if inviting his touch, and before he could force himself otherwise he found himself walking back towards his table, drawn by some invisible thread of curiosity. Rubbing his hoof over the top of the silver ingot, he watched as its upper facet remained dull and devoid of any luster as his hoof lingered. It was a curious thing, and it scared him to think that within the confines of this mysterious ingot lay something so horrifying that the Alliance was willing to slaughter his crew to reclaim it. 
What reasoning could there have been for something so abstract, an object so vapid and devoid of intention, that was the focus of so much malicious intent? What lay within which would provoke the most powerful force in the system to engage them for its possession? It was meaningless to Shadow, and yet it meant the world to someone hell-bent on his destruction. 
There was no choice but to find out...but they had little money, no understanding of their cargo, and a job to uphold. Regardless of what was to be done, there were accords which needed to be honored. Everything would come about in due time and, soon, all would be revealed...
...Hopefully.
With a shudder, he made his way from the dining room towards his own quarters, stumbling and swaying a little on his healing leg as down the hall he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rise and shine, honey…” came a fragile whisper over the whirring of the ventilation, the edges of Chamomile’s voice seemingly lined with honey.
“…I don’t wanna…”
“C’mon Rippy...it’s time to get moving…”
“…No…just a few more minutes...”
“…Riptide?”
That was a tone Riptide had never heard from her before, and it shocked her out of her sleep. Riptide opened her eyes to find herself laying inside the curve of the yellow mare’s spine, their stomachs on the floor as she played little spoon to Chamomile. The mechanic’s white hair fell disheveled around her face, and as the light from the overhead lamps got brighter her hair shimmered like a heavenly aura. With a few hoof-brushes she had gotten it somewhat tamed, but a few stray hairs betrayed both her remaining dirtiness and her lack of sleep.
“…Do I have to get up?” Riptide begged, her eyes pleading for a few more minutes of sleep...a few more minutes without the scratching of the demon at the door.
“I’m sorry Sweetie, but the Captain needs us all in the kitchen…” was the mechanic’s response, her usually calm and deep eyes lined with a twinge of hesitation. “I’m feeling good enough to walk, which means I need to go. I don’t want to leave you down here alone...

~~~

 ...Will you come with me, Riptide?”
He offered his hoof, white lab coat trailing on the ground as she regarded it with no small amount of disinclination, his yellow eyes placid...seditious...
“I don’t think I want to anymore…” she whispered, shaking her head and mane as his hoof gave a little flicker towards her.
“It’s virtually painless, Miss Breakwater. Nothing to fear…”
“But what happened to my classmates? They came back to class all banged up and bruised, and Vector and Sigil never came back at all, and…”
“Nothing to fear, Riptide. A little pinch and it will all be over. Nothing to fear...”
His hoof shook a little. He was persistent. She was timid. 
She took it without further questioning. 
She grunted with a dull pain as the straps on her legs tightened…

~~~

“…so will you, Rippy?”
Chamomile, her hoof extended as an offering before her, regarded Riptide in confusion: where a fragile, shy, sleepy, but happy mare had been present with her in the room not ten seconds before, the one who stared back at her now, eyes wide with fear and misunderstanding, couldn’t have been the same mare. The hybrid had gone from caressing her stomach to recoiling in terror from her hoof in an instant! This little mare cowering in fear before her now was only a little mental shove away from a full emotional meltdown, and it forced Chamomile to do as she had learned to do with her brothers: make things simple.
“Riptide…do you want to come with me to the meeting in the kitchen?”
Chamomile knelt down and kept eye contact as best she could as Riptide retreated against the wall, scrambling to hide her face from the advancing mare as if expecting an attack. 
“Rippy…please…” Chamomile choked out, her hooves reaching out to hold the mare again, thinking her touch might soothe the little unicorn like it had last night. The only thing it made Riptide do was sink further into the wall, holding her head in pain and worry as she avoided Chamomile’s touch. It was as if some sadist was attempting to brand her: a external mark of shame and exclusion to match the internal bastardization which held her body intact.
“Rippy, please...I’m not going to hurt you...I would never hurt you...”
Riptide could only crawl further against the wall, watching that yellow hoof with terror in her eyes, shaking her head as tears slipped down her face.
There was nothing Chamomile could do. She was at an utter loss.
“…Okay, dear…”
Brushing away a tear of frustration as she got to her hooves, Chamomile looked sideways at the little mare as she made her way to the door. She watched her as Riptide continued staring straight forward, not even acknowledging the mechanic’s presence. It took every ounce of will she had just to take the first step towards the kitchen, and with every passing moment her entire body screamed in protest. 
Riptide was alone.She was shaking uncontrollably. She was afraid...no, terrified! Chamomile should be there to protect her, shield her, hold her when the nightmares came! But now, Riptide was more afraid of her than she was of those demons that had crawled in and set up camp. Everything in her nature told her to just take a few steps to her side and hold that trembling dragon-pony, and she almost found herself moving to do it...
But despite every reason she would require some assistance, this particular little mare was the last soul in the ‘Verse to whom pity should be given. She was above pity, for pity implied a weakness which the little unicorn, both in structure and in will, did not seem to have. She was the strongest thing Chamomile had ever seen. Even as Riptide's eyes stung with tears, her pupils, dragon and equine alike, flickered with rage. Even as she pawed the ground, slipping on the tiles as she struggled to blend into the wall itself in an effort to hide herself from the monsters, her nostrils flared with an angry fire.
Chamomile had never thought she would see so much in a mare so little.
“Just…just stay here and get some sleep…okay?” Chamomile whispered, even though her target was too lost in shaking her head and biting her lip to notice. Giving one last smile of comfort, Chamomile closed the door behind her as Riptide gave no sign of acknowledgement, no effort to even look the mechanic in the eyes as she went away. 
How could I have thought I would be able to come so far with her, Chamomile thought, and barely even know her name? I can’t save her world in a day…
Hurrying to make up for lost time, she left the door in her wake as she walked as best she could to the kitchen above. Watching the hybrid cry through a nearby window, Chamomile shook her mane and reaffirmed herself to her task. Gazing upwards towards her destination, she had only taken a few steps on the metal stairs leading to the kitchen before she heard a little chuckle from inside the medical bay.

She froze.

That chuckle didn't belong to Riptide.

The little hybrid's mouth moved, but the sound she released was artificial...impossible. The mare’s voice slipped away as an imperceptibly viscious and quiet giggling grew louder and louder. Riptide's eyes scanned the room in terror, looking to find some surce of that infernal laughter only to find her own throat moving to create that demonic sound. Her demon could have been right beside her, playing with her mane, slicing open her cheeks with its claws, chuckling all the while.
She’s leaving you, Riptide. How does that make you feel? Hmm?
“…Why won’t you go away?” she stuttered before her voice slipped into an unnatural hiss.
Now now, Riptide...that’s no way to treat your guests...
“Guests are invited!” she barked, stamping her hoof on the tiles below. “I never wanted you here!”
But didn’t you invite that scientist in? You just took his hoof and let him defile you, didn’t you? Are you really so naive, Riptide? Did you honestly think he wanted to help you? Or was the prospect of someone touching you...stroking you...tasting you...just too good to pass on? He could have done it, Riptide: you were passed out on the table...and he was all alone...
“Stop!” she screamed at the ceiling, wincing as the imagination of her demon played out before her eyes, the images flashing on the blank canvas of the ceiling. She sat alone, shaking...crying...
...Not noticing when a flash of yellow reversed itself and made its way back towards the door.
“Please, just stop!" She screamed as she held her head away from the ceiling. "Why do you do this to me?! I don’t deserve this! I never invited you inside my head!”
Well, you did take his hoof, didn’t you? Looks like an open door to me...and I do what I want because I can. Your mind is my playground...I could destroy you if I wanted...
“…Please, don’t hurt me…”
Oh no my dear, I would never dream of hurting you! You are my vessel! Besides, I need you to be alive when we eat them...
“DON’T YOU TOUCH THEM YOU…you…” the little mare screamed at the wall, the tears pouring down her face mixing with the blood trickling from her bleeding lips where her teeth had ripped them open.
What? The little voice whispered through the mare’s clenched teeth which ground with a steel-crushing force. ...A monster? Is that what I am?
“…Yes…”
Oh, darling, you of all ponies should know: it’s you…you’re the monster…
“YOU’RE THE MONSTER! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” she bellowed at the floor, her hooves slipping on the smooth floor as she fought for a little room to breathe, an inch of friendly ground... 
But none came.
You ruined your brother, you know…he could be living his dream right now if it hadn’t been for you...
“…Stop…”
You ruined him, and you will be the death of him.
“…Please…please, just stop...” she whispered, rocking herself as she shook her head in refusal of her demon’s lies, audibly reaffirming herself to those truths she knew to exist.
He will never love a freak like you.
“…He loves me…he loves me…he’s my brother, he has to love me…”
Oh no no no...he doesn’t have to love you. In fact, he despises you. You’re nothing but a burden to him...someone he has to waste his time on...someone who gets in the way…
“…He loves me…he loves me…he loves me…”
Wake up, you little bitch! He will never love you. The mechanic will never love you either.
“…He loves me…he loves me...she loves me too...everything is fine...”
You brought this on yourself, you know. If you hadn’t been weak, you wouldn’t be an abomination...but because you’re stupid, you took his hoof and let him destroy you...and now look what you’ve become?
“I’m just fine,” she whispered, rocking herself as she imagined Chamomile’s smiling face. She could almost feel her there, holding her close, her warmth staving off the frigidity of her demon’s presence. Even if those hooves she felt cradling her were her own, Chamomile was still there...still holding on...
Aww...how touching...you’ve taken a shine to the mechanic, have you? How appropriate: she is as worthless as you are stupid. It must have been destiny...‘birds of a feather’ and all that...
“She’s not worthless!” Riptide screamed at the floor, her eyes aflare as she lashed out at her apparition. “She’s nice to me, unlike you! She cares! SHE WON’T LEAVE ME!”
 My my my...you truly are a foolish little girl. Do you not think she won’t abandon you just as soon as she realizes what you are? How dangerous you are? How emotionless and empty you are? No, Riptide...she will find out the truth of things when you try and kill her. You are going to kill her, you know...somewhere down the road, Chamomile Calm will die. Your brother will die. Everyone you know will die. Just like Daddy, and just like Mommy. You will watch them die one by one under your hoof, and when all is said and done...then, and only then, will I make you swallow your tongue...
“He loves me…he loves me…Mommy’s not dead…she’s fine...just fine…everything is just fine…breathe in, Rippy…breathe in, and breathe out…”
Swallowing your tongue is a little too much effort, don’t you think? How about I just make you smash your horn right into your brain? I could do it right after I’m done ripping the yellow one’s face off and making a hat out of it…that sounds like more fun…
“…Please…not them…not Chamomile…” she stammered, her heartbeats forcing her breath to shudder as her chest began to clench in terror.
You really adore that little yellow slut, don’t you? You know, with you out of the picture she might finally get some ‘alone time’ with your brother. Celestia knows she wants it…
“…Don’t hurt her…please…I will do anything…”
Did you feel how her heart raced when he walked in? Did you feel her clenching when he touched her...stroked her shoulder...looked her deep in those eyes of hers? I know I did. Boy, did she tingle...it felt good, didn’t it? You felt it too, didn’t you? You slept by her all night Riptide, and I am right here inside your head. You have a filthy imagination, by the way. I always thought your brother wouldn’t last more than a few minutes, but evidently you didn’t…
“…Take me instead of her…please…”
He’s thought about it you know...he dreams of the moment when he can finally get you out of the picture and sample her body for himself...all alone. She’s always been so nice...she won’t be able to refuse him for long, not that she would. She’s been begging to get slammed every since he stepped on board. I wonder where they’ll go at it first...in the engine room perhaps? I bet the heat from that stupid engine would soften her up real good...cover up her screams and begs for more...
“STOP TALKING ABOUT CHAMOMILE LIKE THAT!” the little hybrid screamed, slamming her hoof on the ground even as visions of the mechanic’s yellow body arcing in ecstacy flashed through her mind, compliments of the demon now howling with laughter.
As you wish, you little freak! You’ve always been a freak! Your teacher’s never liked you, Riptide...your classmates never played with you, did they? They just ignored you because that’s all you deserve: to be forgotten! It must be hard being a freak: a freak with a brother who hates her, a freak who has no friends. Your father didn’t even love you enough to stick around; he thought death was preferable to knowing you…holding you…loving you. He didn’t want to ever know what an abomination his seed had created, so he killed himself. Your brother lied to you, Riptide. Your father didn’t die in the factory: he sliced open his neck with a sardine can lid. Ironic, isn’t it?
Riptide could do little more than stare at the floor. It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true! Salve had always told her he’d been injured...that he died peacefully...
...That he loved her, even if he’d never had the chance to hold her.
Her demon lied! It was all just lies! Why wouldnt he just stop?!
How can I make him stop? she wondered for a moment before alighting on her answer in a flash of understanding. Hugging Chamomile's ethereal arms around her chest as she cradled herself on the wall, she closed her eyes.
“…Kill me…” she begged, whispering to her chest as she tried in vain to shut out the sounds of her demon cackling in mirth. “Please, just kill me...just stop...”
Do you really wish for death, you little bitch? Do you honestly think death will spare you from your torment? Do you think I am anywhere near finished with you? Oh no…no no no Riptide…we’re just getting started! You’re alone in space and no one is here to hold you, to save you, to make you feel at home because you have no home anymore. You decided to leave everyone behind and abandon them. You killed your father, you killed your mother, you will kill your brother and that little whore of a mechanic...and then you will be alone in space with no one to save you. The only thing you will have to enjoy is my lovely voice rocking you to sleep every night. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, YOU LITTLE FREAK?! YOU LITTLE DRAGON-PONY ABOMINATION?! YOU WILL KILL THEM ALL BECAUSE YOU’RE A FREAK AND NO ONE LOVES YOU! THEY CAN’T STAND TO BE AROUND YOU! EVERYONE IS BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU! YOUR BROTHER COULD BE PLOWING THAT YELLOW SLUT TO WITHIN AN INCH OF HER LIFE IF YOU WOULD JUST DIE ALREADY! YOU CAN SAVE THEM ALL IF YOU JUST DIE! SWALLOW YOUR TONGUE AND BE DONE WITH IT! SWALLOW YOUR FUCKING TONGUE! DO IT! DO IT NOW!
“PLEASE JUST LET ME DIEEEE!” she wailed, her mouth almost touching the ground as she bent over and screamed her heart out. She emptied every last ounce of air in her possession into her rattling throat, and as she did her screams slammed into every surface in the little medical bay. 
Her mane flipped around her face as a little surge of wind fluttered her bangs. Her hooves slid as she was pulled forward from the wall, still screaming all the while. She was screaming even when her voice couldn’t penetrate the yellow fur which kept it contained against a beating heart, the organ pumping away even when hers was breaking. She kept screaming as the rocking of her captor increased. She kept screaming through everything Chamomile could do, but she could do nothing but wait patiently as her little charge screamed, and screamed, and screamed some more. Chamomile sat still, stroking Riptide's hair and allowing her to scream, her own tears mixing with Riptide’s mane as she held her close.

She never made it to her meeting. Some things were more important.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We should call it, Captain. She won’t be conscious enough to even think of coming” the mercenary chipped in, trying to find some way to get his Captain to quit destroying the few quiet moments in the morning when the coffee was fresh, which was coincidentally the only time the schnapps would have the best flavor. He’d be damned if it went to waste. Fortunately, the Captain obliged, closing the door of the kitchen as he walked to his usual position at the table.
“You’re right, she’s probably still asleep with…Riptide, right?”
He glanced back quizzically at the Doctor at the edge of the table who nodded his head in affirmation before drinking down more of his tea, his magic holding the cup carefully as the ship adjusted to their local planet’s gravitational pull. Bastion looked around, surveyed the members of his crew which were present, and took his usual seat.
“Besides, those two need a break, and we don’t need them for today’s itinerary, especially not Riptide: she’s been through enough.”
The Captain’s extent of an olive branch to the little mare in their medical bay put a small smile on Violet’s face as she wrapped a deep emerald-green knitted shawl tightly around her shoulders, staving off the cold of the morning shadows. Though the planet they orbited (from where they were) was shrouded in the darkness of twilight, Wind Dancer had adjusted the internal ships clocks to coincide with the time of their specific destination which happened to currently be around 4 a.m. Their meeting, plus the amount of time it would take to get there and landed safely and securely, would allow their contact, the crew, and the ship to all be calibrated at the lovely morning time of 10 a.m.
The Captain glanced at the clock on the wall and consulted his mental scheduling.They were five minutes behind, but a little skirting around the details should be enough to get them on time.
“Alright everypony: grab something to eat, then get settled and listen up…Windy, could you bring the coffee to the table? It will be a little more convenient.”
He gave his crew a few seconds to compose themselves as he organized his thoughts and tried his best to make sure that everyone had a job that was suited to his needs and each pony's individual strengths. Golden Sun and Wind Dancer carried stacks of pastries, protein bars, and various coffees and juices as the rest of the crew gathered what they could.  With magic and hooves alike, the crew took what food they wanted as everyone found their places around the table, Violet and Salve using their respective magics to pour beverages to the crew. Little porcelain tea cups, wooden mugs, and pitchers of orange juice and golden-brown apple cider floated through the air held by nothing but the shimmers of white and green light as the two unicorns worked.
“Now, back to business…” The Captain said deftly, placing his front hooves on the table as his crew (and the one medically-inclined passenger) took their seats and began to eat and drink. They held their attention on the Captain all the while as he spoke.
“Dextra and I have made contact with an old friend of ours. His name is Trenta Argento, and he is responsible for a somewhat large underground trading operation which is headquartered in his hometown on this planet. His planet, to be exact: his company is pretty much the sole merchant enterprise, and he has spent a decade and millions of bits to get himself where he is now. Battlebeak left us with a package to deliver and word that our contact has a job for us, and we are going to need the money if we want to keep flying, so you will be on your BEST behavior…”
His gaze circled the room, landing on each of them in turn before falling on the one pony who, even if no one else was even listening, was the one pony who needed to hear it. As he expected, the mercenary wasn’t listening but was instead measuring out a perfect shot of peppermint schnapps and pouring it slowly into his coffee. A little cough from the Captain and the presence of every eye made the mercenary jump with shock, nudging his glass and causing a little of his precious morning fluid to spill on the table. 
Just as Bastion predicted, the mercenary didn’t believe in napkins: using his long and frighteningly strong tongue, he licked up the schnapps without a word or a glance to any of them. A thump! on the table from the Captain’s hoof was enough to make Wildfire stop, his tongue still fully pressed to the table as he looked up sheepishly, a little smile tempting the corners of his mouth.
If the Captain’s look couldn’t curdle milk, Wildfire didn’t know what. Sucking his tongue back into his mouth he sat at the table without a word, gazing longingly at his spilled schnapps as a very giddy pegasus pilot held his stomach clenched, holding his lips shut with his hoof as he struggled against his inner child, knowing fierce retribution would befall him should he surrender to his own laughter. Luckily for all of them, he controlled himself enough to allow the Captain to shake his head at them both before continuing his message to those who would listen.
“…your VERY best behavior. He is an old friend of Dextra and I and one of Battlebeak’s toughest merchant rivals, so we will naturally be meeting with him to ensure everything goes smooth. Wildfire: you and Cammy will be responsible for getting us any spare parts that we need from the city nearby. She can point them out, but you need to be around to protect her and make sure she’s okay. I don’t care if you have to carry her, just get it done.”
Wildfire nodded bashfully at the Captain’s words. Then, with a small amount of hesitation, he raised his cup of coffee to his mouth with his hooves using a technique which made Violet ogle in surprise, almost dropping her own cup in shock at his impeccably delicate and refined etiquette as Bastion continued.
“Wind Dancer, Golden Sun: I would like you both to restock on fuel and supplies, but be on alert. If you see any hint of an Alliance presence, hightail it back here and get the ship prepped. I don’t want any unfriendly noses poking around the hold. Understand?”
Wind Dancer nodded his assent, but the priest looked on, utterly bewildered. He raised his hoof, a highly unnecessary move given the crew’s more Socratic approach to meetings, before being recognized by the Captain, standing up slowly as he spoke.
“Captain, excuse me for asking this…I have nothing against your crew and the…work…you’re about to do, but I have already paid my fare and I don’t believe you or your crew require the services of a priest. I must ask: why do you assume that I will partake in your schemes? I mean this with all due respect of course…”
He sat down to stunned silence. This was the first time anyone had seen a passenger talk back to the Captain, and though they expected Bastion to be as shocked as they were, the Captain was completely serene as he gave his rebuttal.
“Golden, you mistake my request for a command. I know you are a passenger, and I know that your debt is paid. I am one who honors those debts...but you know, as well as I, that the circumstances have changed.”
Golden Sun hung his head slightly in shame as the Captain continued without his usual hint of malice, his words sincere and untainted with rage.
“You spoke with the zealot, you saw what was chasing us…you understand, probably more than I do, the type of trouble we are in. I need your help. I am asking you to do this because we need everyone to pitch in if we are all to get through this. If you will not help, I will understand…but I will also ask you to find another ship to continue your travels.” 
The silence which followed was only broken by the Captain’s kind, but firm ultimatum as he nodded at the priest, bidding him to listen:
 “You can either be a member of my crew and live on this ship until this is all over, or you will leave when we make port. I leave the decision to you.”
This was a first: an ultimatum from the Captain which did not end in bloodshed or violence from either party. Violet noticed Bastion’s eyes were soft but unyielding as he looked at the priest on the other side of the table, a priest who chewed his lip as he considered his options. Her thoughts from the previous night came back to her in a rush, and everything she had believed to be a lie in the morning as the alcohol faded finally reasserted itself. 
She had been right...he had changed...
Was this stubborn but gentle Captain before her the same stallion she had taken verbal abuse from so willingly? Hugged so violently? Played and drank and flirted with so carelessly and coolly? It couldn’t be…it wasn’t…and yet here they all were, staring in amazement as the gruff, commanding, and stubborn Captain they had rallied to became someone so understanding and forgiving, even in the face of contention or in the prospect of the dissolution of his crew. He had been so strict in the past...so heartless and mean. But now, even with the Alliance on his tail...he was unafraid, gentle...kind.
What had happened in the years she had been gone to make him so different, still a little cold and unrelenting but now gentle and loving? What force in the ‘Verse had corrupted him and now, upon the dawn of a new peril, decided to retreat and leave shreds of itself behind for the stallion she had hated and loved for so long to come poking through?
Had she been the enemy? Had every word she had said in malice lingered in the stallion’s brain, shaping his actions, forcing his will towards an end which would inevitably bring them back face to face, yelling and drinking, fighting and apologizing, crying in both merriment and abyssmal sadness, maybe at odds but ultimately...together?
She watched them both apprehensively before the priest’s head rose. Golden Sun wore a grin of acceptance, and at once the Captain bowed his head in thanks. He had the priest’s support, and with the priest’s submission to his deal came a shared smile from their crew. They looked at each other in victory, sharing in a general feeling of intense camaraderie, happy that they were all bound together, come hell or high water, with the Captain at the helm. 
They smiled in glee, but their celebration paled in comparison to the beaming magenta mare and her radiant smile as she sat at the Captain’s side. 
She smiled silently into her coffee, a little grin on the outside hiding her jubilations as she lost composure, ushering in little daydreams and soft candlelit fantasies, remembering days long dead and hours long wasted with a younger Captain...
...Her younger Captain. 
And now, with a bow of respect, her old Shadow had returned. He had pulled himself from the precipice of his angry self-loathings and reaffirmed that he was just the same, strong, honest, hard-working, and proud stallion she had known all those years ago.
 Sipping her coffee was all she could do to hold herself at bay.
 “I will do what I can, though I don’t have much experience with combat or firearms. If anyone needs a good moral thrashing, however,” Golden Sun said confidently, stamping his hoof a little on the floor as he raised his head fully, “…I’m at your disposal.”
“…Thank you Golden…” Bastion  said quietly before turning his gaze to the crew again. “...And thank you, everypony: I know we’ve been given the short end of the stick with our fortunes lately, but we just have to push through a little more. Just a little more, and we will be in calm water again…”
“What about Chamomile?” came a heavy grunt from Wildfire across the table. He spun the point of his knife on the table and gave it little flicks with his hoofpoint to keep it spinning as he glowered at the Captain and Salve in turn. “Are we just going to forget that the ‘good’ doctor here almost killed us with his little stunt? He led that crazy religious bat-pony nutjob here, got Cammy shot, and then almost killed her when he acted like a little bitch and refused to help! WHY THE HELL IS HE STILL HERE?!”
He shook with rage and exertion, pointing to the doctor with an accusatory hoof as he stared at the Captain in disbelief. Whatever sense of shared glee and victory the crew had shared had flown right out the window at Wildfire’s words, and everyone knew he had spoken the truth. Everyone, even Salve, had pondered the question as they slept, and now it was all coming to a boil. 
Why was Salve still here? Hadn’t his breach of both personal oath and communal rules of conduct afforded him a one-way ticket out the airlock?
Bastion rose again, making his comment firmly towards Wildfire, though his tone betrayed its actual target. Both Wildfire and Salve listened intently as the Captain made his proclamation:

“I will deal with him.”

Wildfire grinned with contempt and a twinge of sick pleasure at the doctor as Salve lowered his head towards the table. 
Salve had done everything he could for Chamomile, and that was all that mattered: not his initial refusal, not his blackmail, not his problems which had made themselves manifest in the eyes of a raging demon assassin. Nothing mattered to him but his patients below...patients he had damaged through his negligence, but patients he had brought back to fight another day.
They both lived. They were healthy enough to no longer require his aid, and their bodies were strong enough to heal those wounds he’d help make on their own...
And just like that, he no longer had purpose. The Captain no longer needed his service, as Chamomile was well. Salve had eliminated his last bargaining chip the second he drew the needle from her arm.
And with that, he knew one thing was destined to happen. That day, that week, or even within the next few moments, there was one thing which the Doctor took a few deep breaths and prepared himself for as he sat in his chair and hid his face from the world.

Dr. Salve Breakwater was going to die.

As Bastion dismissed the crew, allowing them to take their coffee with them as they went, he restrained the doctor with a calm yet very firm hoof on Salve’s shoulder as the rest of the crew walked out into the walkways and avenues of the surrounding ship. Some of them were destined to catch a little more sleep in their dorms. Some of them went to wash up and confront the day ahead. One of them went to clean and polish his many guns, eager to make a good first impression to any other mercenary or lusty mare he might encounter. 
When all had left, Bastion made his way to the open doors of the kitchen, closing them tightly one by one. He took a little time to pour himself another cup of coffee, mixing in sugar and cream until it met his specifications. He didn’t douse the lights: Salve knew Bastion wanted to watch his prey before he finally sentenced him to his fate. 
He was that kind of madpony.
Salve closed his eyes as the Captain sat across the table from him, rolling his cup in his front hooves and tapping the floor with his hind leg as he thought in silence for a moment. Salve looked back towards the Captain, looking for any sign of his emotions which might hold some key as to his punishment.
The Captain held the cup between his two hooves as he raised his coffee to his lips, downing the entire thing in a single gulp before slamming the cup back on the table with an audible thunk!
“You have betrayed this crew,” Bastion began, pouring himself another cup as he thought about his beratement and the ultimate fate of the doctor before him. “You have allowed multiple members of this crew to come to harm, one of them being me by your own hooves, and you have not only refused to honor your own personal oaths of medical action but the rules which you agreed to when signing on with this ship. Do you deny anything which I have said?”
Salve shook his head silently, stray hairs alighting on his face as he did. The Captain took another sip as he thought about his next words. 
“You have also brought aboard this ship an unauthorized and illegally transported pony that has been taken from an Alliance facility without their express permission. I do not care if she is your sister: you broke into an Alliance-run hospital to get her out and in doing so have broken the Alliance’s laws. Transportation of any living being through post is expressly forbidden, and the transportation of their stolen cargo through my ship is enough to sentence me and my crew to death.”
Salve nodded, as silent as the grave he imagined he’d be thrown into as the Captain took another sip of his coffee, grinning slightly.
“I thought that you breaking her out was the best part, to be honest…” the Captain said surreptitiously into his coffee cup. "That takes some balls..."
Salve picked up his head a little. Maybe it won’t be so bad…
He had raised his hopes prematurely.
“What you’ve done,” the Captain continued, “has been inexcusable. I should have killed you immediately when you broke your contract and brought your sister on this ship. Do you want to know why I didn’t?”
Salve paused for a moment and then shook his head, but he didn’t truly have any desire to know. He knew that whatever end became of him would be a just punishment for his actions. He only hoped that nothing would befall his sister. It was a hope which kept him there, sitting quietly in his chair as he awaited his doom.
The Captain watched him for a few moments as Salve silently shivered, the doctor chewing his lips just like the priest had. Bastion watched him tremble slightly, the cold of the kitchen air exacerbated by his imminent punishment, and he allowed himself another sip of his coffee to hide his face temporarily as he thought.
He doesn’t need to know that Violet is responsible for saving his life. He will never need to know...
“…I haven’t killed you yet because someone told me I should offer you a second chance, and I trust this pony more than I trust you. I trust them with my life...a life which you almost took with your negligence. You will have time to ponder that, seeing as I will allow you to stay on this ship…”
Salve raised his head in shock, but Bastion raised his hoof to stop any words of thanks which might come. There were caveats, and Salve realized this all too quickly as the Captain continued.
“I will allow you to stay on ship as its Doctor...on two conditions. One: you will obey any order I give you, no matter what it is. If you do not obey, you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?” 
Salve nodded his head quickly, his enthusiasm dying away as the Captain began his second condition.
“Two: if any of my crew comes to harm based on your actions, or any of them die as a result of your negligence, you will be killed. Do you understand these conditions?”
Salve knew this condition well. This was the capstone, the one which held everything else in order. Just like a patient whose life depended on the singular success of one organ, even in the failure of everything else, his life depended on the fulfillment of this one condition. 
But there was one little thing which still nagged him about the Captain's statement...
"Why don't you just shoot me, Captain?" Salve queried. "You've threatened to kill me in the past...why don't you just shoot me and be done with it? You can find other doctors who don’t have the same baggage I do..."
"You don't know me," Bastion began, sipping his coffee nonchalantly as he watched the table, moving to Salve's face only when he had thought everything over. "...So I will say this just once: if I ever decide to kill you, you will be awake...you will be facing me...and you will be armed. No exceptions."
Despite his reservations, Salve now knew the conditions on which his life now teetered, along with what to expect should he deviate from them. His own life would be the price he would pay to make sure that his sister wouldn’t die based on his actions, and Bastion's conditions would extend that same medical emphasis to the crew. The conditions given to him would be simple enough to uphold, and his punishment for disobedience was in some respects fair...though weighted in Bastion's favor. They were conditions he could live with, if only for his sister.
They were conditions he accepted as he raised his hoof and offered it to the Captain. Bastion touched the hoof with his own, his coffee still piping up steam as he rose.
“Go on, Doctor. One of my crew needs your help. If you fail her, you fail me. Get moving.”
His laconic command was all Salve needed to pull himself out of his reverie and get himself moving out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the medical bay, his hooves clicking against the floor a little more quickly than usual. It could have been fear of the Captain which quickened his pace. It might have been surprise at the conditions he would need to think about constantly as his life and the life of his sister hung in the balance. But the foremost emotion which propelled him to his task was a selfish but relaxing rush of calm. He was safe, at least for a little while.
And if he was safe on the ship, then so was Riptide.
The Captain sat himself back down at the table, not even turning his head as the opposite door opened on the far side of the room. He didn’t watch as a purple mare made her way towards him, hooves clicking on the carpet despite her efforts to keep herself silent. 
“You’re wearing those shoes again, Violet…” Bastion grunted, eying the bottom of his cup as he drained the dregs from his mug.
She smiled demurely as she tiptoed just behind his shoulder. Damn those ears of his…
“…Thank you Shadow…” she whispered behind his head as she stood but a few feet off, green shawl still wrapped tightly around her neck. “Thank you for listening to me last night.” 
“I didn’t do it for you, Violet,” he growled, his head still reeling from the aftereffects of the whiskey which still lingered in his body. “We need a medic, he knows his trade, and Chamomile is stable. I would be a fool to throw him away so unnecessarily.”
“Still," she whispered, "you listened…that was honestly more than I thought you would be capable of, especially when the idea came from me.” 
She grinned a little, trying to introduce some light-heartedness, just a little sliver of levity as a wedge between their respective silences, hoping that a little light might break through the cracks.
“It was a sound suggestion…” he offered. His back had never turned, his coffee on his lips as he drank, this time alone, at the table.
She knew his pride was stretched thin as it was, so she left him alone. She wouldn’t get anywhere prodding him when he had already taken such huge steps towards re-establishing his credibility with both her and his crew. As quiet as she came, she walked out from the room and closed the door behind her, cursing her shoes for being so damn loud despite her best efforts to pad them. He had been right: these shoes had no place on the ship. 
He had been right about a lot of things. 
As Violet Satine walked down the hallway to get herself prepared for both the day and her contract on the planet below, she hoped she might be proven right about the changes she’d seen in Shadow. She dreamed that he might just be hiding from the ‘Verse behind some tortured visage, that was still there...but there was something she needed to prepare for.
Those dreams would have to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is everyone prepared, Dextra?” Bastion grunted, his leg still awkwardly stiff as cast collided with skin on his hind leg. There was no chance of running with his leg damaged the way it was: if something were to happen, they would all be humped. There was still some question on this point, as well as what to expect from their old acquaintance, and thus the Captain and Dextra were taking every necessary precaution to smooth things over with their contact before they were due to arrive. 
They conversed with their old friend over the radio in the hopes that their confidence might assuage any hesitation about their activities with Battlebeak. The two soldiers hovered around the relay, their contact on the other end hanging on their every word. They knew they had to be swift if they were to keep to their schedule. The Captain’s bum leg made made keeping that schedule even worse, and it certainly did nothing for his temper.
“Everyone is prepared, Captain” Dextra whispered to her side and the stallion who lingered there. Turning to address the radio, she raised her voice and made a point to enunciate her words so that nothing would be missed. 
“We should be there in about an hour, Trenta, and we will more than ready to deliver the goods when we arrive. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes and then we will be out of your mane and off your world.”
“Excellent!” came a melodious voice from the other end, the speakers’ tinny rattle detracting from his timbre as he laid down some rules. “I will require that my security team confiscates your firearms when you arrive...and don’t worry about getting out of my hair so soon, my dear! I would like to show you some of the work we do, just so you understand what I have at stake if this job goes south. After that, I will have to ask you to leave. It’s not that I don’t want you on my planet, but I have shipments coming in and not a lot of room at my docks. I hope you understand…”
“Of course,Trenta...you know how we operate” Bastion said calmly, his hoof applying a little more pressure than necessary on the relay button as his Lieutenant watched on, listening for any clues which might betray even a modicum of fear or hesitation coming from the other end. As expected for a merchant of his caliber, his deals were honest and his words concise.
“Indeed I do, Captain. I will see you when you arrive. Over and out.”
The connection clicked off as Bastion flipped a switch, killing the ship’s power to the radio as Dextra looked on, relieved. 
“Short, simple, and to the point…well, everything besides the little tour at least. I don’t think things are going to be so bad!” Dextra grinned to her Captain, a little less on-edge than when this whole thing had been proposed by Battlebeak a few weeks ago. 
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Dextra. We haven’t seen him since right after the war. We haven’t run any jobs for or with him since then, and now, all of the sudden, his rival sends him a package and he suddenly has work for the two ponies he hasn't seen in a decade?” 
Bastion shook his head, staring at the radio as if suddenly expecting it to come back to life. 
“Something just feels…off…”
“You would feel that way Captain,” she began, making her way towards the door to make a final check of all of her things, “mainly because that’s how any ship’s Captain looking for work while being chased by a corrupt government and a religious extremist would feel. We have an opportunity to make some money, Sir. Doesn’t that cheer you up a little?”
“It does, Dex. You know it does…” he stammered, his leg itching under his brace as he tried to move it.
“Well then, no time to waste!” Dex piped up as she gave a flick of her mane and stepped carefully over the threshold leading to the hallway beyond, a little happier than Bastion had known her to be in the past...a little too excited to undertake a job which was shrouded in so much mystery. 
She had always been too trusting, but he had always been too reserved and protective of her to let her come to any harm. Maybe that was it: he was just too protective of her, his crew, maybe himself. It might have been his reticence which had put them at odds with many of the more lucrative merchants and their more clandestine but productive career opportunities, but whatever kept them flying in safety had always been the top priority. What was the point in flying if you were to die the next day? What kind of Captain would he be if he risked the lives of his crew to make himself more money?
“Don’t take too long, Dex. I want to see you in the shuttle in five minutes” he called out after her, her pace quickening as she trotted to her quarters.
“Aye-aye!” she called back, her voice echoing off the walls of the spiral stairs leading down to her room like a voice in the darkness calling out from the inside of some great tunnel.
He watched her as she went. She didn't progress down the hall filled with the same trepidation he led his life by since the war had ended: that was a stage in her life which she had accepted, struggled against, and forgot about...nothing more. 
She was not plagued at night by visions of dying stallions and mares, griffons cloven in two by heavy machinegun fire, spiraling downwards as their wings caught the air, flipping them around almost comically before their bones crunched on the ground below. 
She had not been fully affected by Battlebeak’s punishment, though she had seen the aftermath and she knew of the heavy toll it had on Bastion's wellbeing. The full weight of his sentence had been meted out by visions such as those, the screams of his soldiers echoing in his mind with every decision he made. Every memory he conjured up caused him to regress to a time when he was still young and foolish...a firebrand...not aware of how his decisions would impact anyone other than himself and maybe, after a little time and a few brushes with death, Dextra. 
It was these few moments when all was underway and almost ready that he would close his eyes and remember everything. Every gruesome detail came back into light as he replayed those battles in his head, and as his eyes closed tighter the visions became more and more lifelike. They would be forevermore the reminder of what would happen should he fail his crew.
Shadow knew now what Battlebeak had finally figured out all those years ago, when that griffon had taught himself how to fight and how to disregard his own pain after every campaign. With every new scar and every fallen soldier, Battlebeak’s resolve for the cause only grew...and he had earned a reputation for his ‘heroism’ even though many died under his command. Even when superior officers would pin medals to his uniform and laud him with kind words about his character, his bravery, and his combat prowess, Battlebeak knew the true fate of a soldier: 
To be haunted by the past...regardless of the future. 
Battlebeak had distracted himself from the outcome of the war by creating a large underground trading enterprise which held monopolies on everything from little china dolls with heads that wobbled to the most destructive of firearms listed just below warship cannons in the ranks of pure devastating power. He had lived in sin and squalor not by choice, but through necessity. He used what money he could to feed himself and pay his bodyguards, and invested the rest in the Black Market and whatever willing strumpet he could lure away into his den. Escapes from reality were rarely afforded to the losers of war, but when they came, they were to be taken advantage of. 
Dextra had found this out the hard way.
His vision began to cloud over with white as that old memory tickled his conscious mind, but he shook those visions away. Now was not the time to fall. Now was the time to reaffirm himself.
I need this job. They need this job. Who am I to deny them happiness?
He opened his eyes and sighed: the needs of his crew would always surpass his own, and they would be safe just as long as he was vigilant.
With a whirl of his trailing coat and a check of his firearm, he was prepared. There was nothing more he needed than his Lieutenant and his crew, especially now when the way was cloudiest. His hesitation would be needed for another time, but for now, when things were still peaceful, he relaxed a little. 
She’s right…nothing will go wrong…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Memories were a hard thing to come by so far out in The Black. The trade and exchange of memories had long been banned by the Alliance after a certain cadre of scientists had abused the knowledge of relaying brainwaves into auditory and visual projections. It was originally hailed as a psychological breakthrough: clinicians, both under military or private employ, could use memories as a way to analyze long-forgotten visual and auditory experiences from their patients, and the military could extract memories from captured soldiers to look for any knowledge of secret plans or troop movements, even if the soldier in question was unaware of what they knew. Any little thing could swing the locus of power during their time of war, and the trade of battle plans locked away in the minds of the average grunt was a hot commodity.
Like any new technology, the method of capturing memories started with massive machines which required equally massive amounts of energy, both magical and otherwise, to power. As time went on, the machines required became smaller, more streamlined, requiring less energy until nothing but a large enough battery pack and enough magic could get them running. And just like any new and promising technology: the more they refined the technique...the more interested the military became. 
The scandal which followed was monumental and provided a huge spark for the cause of the Rebels, for what good was a government who participated in spying, torture, and the refusal of civil rights? What loving and supposed peaceful government would condone such an action? Brownbard recruiting skyrocketed, and the Alliance spent millions covering up their memory misuse. The ponies responsible for torturing innocent soldiers were shamed forevermore, and the sale and distribution of the memory-capturing devices was halted and all but completely eradicated. 
But this would never halt the use of the machines, and even Celestia and Luna themselves could never have stopped the Black Market influx of memory extracting equipment. Any smart captain, merchant, or government official bought into the memory craze when the going was good, and if there was one thing which could be said about Alliance tech, it was that it would last for a very long time. The trade of memories of government officials or merchants was a practice which had turned the tides in business and in war in the past, and was still going strong throughout every corner of the system.
It was these same disks, hundreds of them all categorized with little cards with names, dates, and summaries of the enclosed information which graced their free shuttle as it rocketed towards the massive complex just now peeking out over the horizon. Had the crew known they would have refused outright, but regardless of their discontent Bastion would have ignored them. There was a pecking order established, and the crew’s place was often replaced by those few military compatriots of theirs who poked up around the system. Regardless of the trouble, they were dealt with first.
As the years passed, their numbers grew thinner. Death came in myriad forms: murder, conflict, suicide, illness...all of them wrapped in silence to take those soldiers away from their self-supposed failures. They had endured the most terrible war in recent memory, and had gone back from the battlefield to be oppressed yet again as the Alliance reared its ugly head and laughed at their wasted lives. 
They would come first, for the blood of a soldier is tainted with an immortal honor and brand of loyalty which no crewmember save Shadow and Dextra would ever understand.
If you can’t run, you crawl… 
Battlebeak’s final request to them had been strange and more than a little illegal , but they would do it for him because they had to. It was not a need driven by a sense of responsibility to follow their former superior’s orders, but one fueled by a twisted love they had for their old, dying, disgusting, but incredible superior officer:
...A griffon who, much to Bastion’s chagrin and pride, was their mentor and surrogate father.
As their shuttle’s autopilot did what it did best, they rested their hooves. Dextra leaned back in her plush chair at the helm, looking for any signs of trouble while the Captain rested. It was times like these that he did what he could to alleviate his already heavy mind. It was times like these that he was happy, his troubles silenced by the soft drone of sleep.
Dextra was watching over him, and they still had a little while before they arrived. He wouldn’t be needed…

~~~

The steam from his mug whorled its way upwards as lazily as it could, whipping itself around in the cool night air as Bastion stared through it, gazing over the city below them. The snores of his fellow squad mates were barely audible over the muffled din of continued gunfire, and every few minutes a rattling BOOM! would shake the air, threatening to tip his coffee as the wooden structure beneath him shook. He couldn’t care less if some Alliance prick had thrown a grenade directly on his squad mates lying but fifty yards away, he would be damned before someone spilled his coffee. He cradled it between his hooves as the rumbling died down, sighing when it was all over. 
Another cup saved.
He watched the falling snow as it silently fluttered down on the barricades, mounting on the wall like a frigid,  puffy cloud as his watch progressed. The only other sound was the crackling of shrinking metal and creaking timbers as the cold permeated its way into everything it could find, wrapping everything in frost. The city which glittered in the valley below was encased in the soft glow of fire, tanks and bodies from the day’s battle resisting the frigid cold as they slowly burned. They had done well that day, for their body count was lower than their enemy’s and a few Alliance tanks had been eliminated. Major Battlebeak himself had taken the first watch in celebration, allowing his soldiers a few more hours rest than usual along with a healthy dose of coffee and whiskey which Bastion, being on watch, got to savor alone and free from competition.
Turning to check on the tent city thrown together behind him, he was not at all surprised to find it completely devoid of activity. His comrades slept through the cold and fatigue of a well-earned night’s rest with no sound but the rustling of tents flaps. The wind picked up, casting shadows like moving hooves across the spaces between the canvas tents. He sipped his coffee as he smiled and watched the snow fall, but as the cup drained he reached the dregs of the pot. Somepony had done a shitty job filtering... 
“Needs more sugar” he whispered to himself, casting a glare of whipped-up steam to flood over his regulation goggles. He waited to let the steam die down as he continued his watch over the camp, and was about to  turn his back on the tents to re-examine the city some miles away when a sound caught his attention.
It sounded like the twang of a bow string, and was accompanied by a moving object which stumbled slightly in the camp, catching itself before it hit the ground. Bastion watched as the object grew in size, its dark shadow elongating as it came between the growing snow and the moon. Its number increased, growing from one to two and then slowly to three as the shadows...stallions judging by their size and structure...made their way between the tents and stopped as a group before one of them, door flaps rustling slightly in the frigid wind.
He knew whose tent that was...and it wasn't theirs...

~~~

A gentle nudge from his zebra comrade shook him awake; he had not been asleep for long, but the shock of reflected light gleaming from a nearby tower...and the contents of his dream...drew him back to reality in an instant. That dream...that nightmare...it was a night he had thought he had forgotten, but at the same time it was one he could never truly forget; 
It was the night he had met Dextra.
That selfsame zebra sat by his side, adjusting her duster to better accommodate her carbine even though she would never think of using or brazenly displaying her prize weapon as an affront to their old friend. As far as the both of them knew, there was no reason for alarm...only mild suspicion and constant vigilance. Bastion had slept prepared, as he always did, and was able to get up and ready with only mild irritation in his legs. 
He would never have told him to his face, but Salve was an excellent medic: Bastion’s leg had patched up nicely, and the cast was, at this point, superfluous. While he would never dare run on it, he had taken worse and lived. At least the pain reminded him he was capable of feeling something.
Bastion and Dextra shared a nod, a pre-job mental acknowledgement of preparedness which had always been their trademark. No team still flying could ever be as connected as the two aging soldiers, and they knew it. It was half the reason they were still in business. The other half was their impeccable aim and sheer combat prowess, though they would never brag about it. 
Not openly, at least.
With a glance to the door now firmly locked to the adjacent airlock of their contact’s compound, Dextra followed in the steps of her Captain as they made their way towards their contact and the job which awaited with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, we might make better time if you weren’t so damn cautious…” Wildfire grunted at his diminutive mechanic companion as she made her way through the market square. While their Captain and Dextra had launched their free shuttle towards the administrative portion of the sprawling city, the crew had landed in the docks which, much like Hoovesdown, were accented by the presence of a bustling marketplace. The square teemed with ponies and other races along with a plethora of wares and goods, much of them illegal or knockoffs. 
This was a fact which Chamomile knew all too well: it was places like these which could, and often did, kill both engines and the crews which maintained them. Wind Dancer and Golden Sun had made off with the wagon again, and Wildfire sighed in exasperation as the mechanic perused not only for engine components, but any sign of Alliance presence.
Their task, which should only have taken an hour at most, was trailing on longer than the temperamental stallion would have liked. His nerves had taken more than a few shocks taking care of Chamomile, and he had lost track of the number of times she had jumped at a loud noise or lurked around a corner in fear. She slowed her walk as she thoroughly inspected every nook and cranny of the marketplace, slowly making her way through the square with Wildfire at her heel.
“If I don’t do this right, Wildfire, we could all die. I think a few minutes comparing and dealing with all this junk is a little bit better than getting sucked through a pinhole into space when the hull breaks apart, don’t you?”
"Geez, cranky much?!" He scoffed, trading a few of his bits for an apple at a nearby vendor. "I mean, I understand why you're hesitant, but this...this is just downright ridiculous! We've been at this for a hell of a lot longer than you said!"
"Things change, Wildfire..."
"I know they do, but not by an hour! An hour you wasted by being so freaked out! Do you seriously need to be this skittish? Isn't that my sole purpose for being here: to take care of you?"
"Take care of me!?" she chortled, swiping a few color-coded fuses into her awaiting saddlebags after sliding a few bits to the grinning salespony. "I don't need to be coddled like a baby, no matter what the Captain says...I'm just worried is all."
"What's there to be worried about?" Wildfire snapped as he looked around the square. "There's no Alliance here or any creepy-ass assassins trying to murder you! The only thing I find murderous about this trip is how agonizingly long you're taking to find some simple parts!"
"I am doing the best I can...cut me some slack, alright?!"
“Fine, ‘Camshaft’! Do your deal, but make it snappy!” he grunted back, reeling a little from her abrasiveness. 
Who shoved a cactus up her ass?
“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me instead of being a rude, insensitive jackass?” she shot back, a modicum of very-uncharacteristic rage building up behind her eyes. 
“Jackass?! What the hell did I do to piss you off?” he growled, stepping towards her a little as she recoiled. “You’ve been acting like a scared little filly the whole time we’ve been down here, Cammy! We both know there isn’t anything to hurt us down here, so what’s with the little act?”
“Act?” she barked, reeling a little from his insults but nonetheless affirmed to her argument. “Do you think me being cautious is an act? Do you honestly think I want the attention? I’m getting enough of it with these stupid wrappings on my chest! I look like I’m half-mummified!”
She placed her hoof on her chest as she spoke, her bandages darkening slightly as they depressed to soak up some untouched blood. She had elected to undertake her Captain’s assignment despite her injury and against the advice of Salve. She had told herself that the ship was her responsibility, that their lives were placed squarely in her hooves’ ability to keep the ship in repair with only the best parts. It was one of the only reasons that kept her moving.
The other most definable motive she had to continue despite their advice was that she had failed: in letting herself come to harm to defend Salve, she had left the ship without a skilled mechanic. It was her job to tend to the ship's health just like Salve looked after hers, but in her absence she had left them all without the ability to make repairs. She had told herself that would never happen, but it had...and in her mind, she had broken her one promise to the ship. 
She refused to break it again.
The bullet which had been extracted from her chest left a dull aching pain as she inhaled. Shrugging off the pain and the stallion's words, she allowed herself a few deep breaths to cast away the pain still lingering in her breast.
It’s not a bullet…it's a reminder…it’s your purpose…
“Look, Wildfire: I’m trying to make sure you and I have no reason to be attacked, and I have to do that while looking for the parts I need. There is too much here that is cheap and fake, and I'm having a hard enough time sorting that out without you yelling at me! I’m a little stressed right now, so please don’t tell me to hurry up!”
“But we don’t have a reason to be shot!” he yelled back, catching her off-guard as the last vestiges of his patience melted away. “We’ve been attacked, we killed that freak, and no one is following us! The only thing we have to fear is not getting back to the ship on time, and you’re acting like there is a whole Alliance battalion with an itchy trigger just waiting to rip apart a certain yellow mechanic on some piece-of-shit ship!”
“Don’t you DARE insult that ship!” she screamed as one of her hoofs slammed into his chest, causing him to balk slightly as his muscled chest absorbed the blow. It didn’t do much, but it made him reel nonetheless. 
“That ship is what keeps us flying, keeps us safe, and it keeps YOUR ungrateful ass paid! She's all you've got, and she's our home! I NEVER want to hear you badmouthing her again: she's more dependable than you ever were!”
 “THAT ship!?" he retaliated, turning a few heads as his free hoof gestured away from the pair and towards the helm of their vessel which glinted in the midday sun. "That ship has been nothing but a disappointment, and I can't understand why you and the Captain love it so much! It's slow, just like you are now! I’m only telling you to hurry up so we can get out of here and back on the ship where there isn't all these ponies around!" 
"What, does being social make you nervous?" she scoffed, rounding on him as her saddlebags clicked. "Can't stand being around others, huh? What a weak thing to be afraid of..."
"Don't you call me weak!" he shouted, causing a few more ponies to watch the pair as they took turns advancing on one another. "I take bullets for you, Chamomile! I put myself in harms way so Bastion can get his money, so Windy can play with his little toys...so you can play all doe-eyed for the Doctor!"
The slap which followed echoed around the square and bounced around the metal shipping container near where they stood. Wildfire's cheek grew redder, but his head had never moved even as Chamomile's hoof arced through the air between them and slammed his cheek with far more power she'd ever used before. His thin lips curled as he stared the mechanic down, never relenting even as her tiny frame hugged the ground.
"...Now listen here," he began, his growl held back with a great and clearly audible effort. "That will be the only time...the ONLY time...that you ever hit me. I am here to keep you safe, Cammy...and if I need you to move your ass, then you'd better fucking do it! The longer we stay out here, the longer somepony might recognize us and the sooner we might get shot! THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT RIGHT NOW, RIGHT?! TO NOT GET SHOT AGAIN? DID IT NOT HURT ENOUGH THE FIRST TIME?!”
He lost himself in his rage as his voice tore through the square, but as his voice died down it took him a few moments, and a few of her tears, to realize what he had done.
Damnit Wildfire…you’re a moron...
He stepped back a little, giving her space as she stood her ground, still staring at him as a few silent tears slid down her cheeks, caressing the underside of her chin as she held her breathing steady. Wildfire, unused to dealing with emotions, especially her emotions, dug the dirt with his hoof, completely at a loss. The wound hadn’t even fully healed and he was already tearing another hole in the little mechanic. 
“…I’m sorry, Cammy…I didn’t want to be mean, but…” he whispered, the words more tumbling than flowing out from his mouth as she stood silently in front of him, nearby ponies looking on briefly in confusion as the massive mercenary apologized to the brave, steadfast little mare who had commanded his bearing with a glance. 
“…It’s just…you don’t know what it’s really like to…”
“To what...be shot?!” she snapped, breaking her silence as she advanced on the stallion, earning her a few surprised looks from passers-by. “Please, tell me what it’s like, Wildfire! What’s it like to be shot point-blank in the chest? Enlighten me with every single gruesome fucking detail of what it feels like to have a bullet rip your chest apart and destroy your internal organs! Did you have to urinate through a hole in your leg because a red-hot shard of metal burrowed its way into your liver, because I did! And it hurt! A lot!”
At this point she had backed him up against a wall, beads of sweat trickling from his brow as the little mare stood her ground, her eyes wide open in rage.
“Whoa, listen, Cammy, I didn’t put that bullet there! I’m just saying that you’re kind of over…”
“I’m...what?! I’m overreacting!? Don’t you DARE tell me that I’m overreacting!!! I’m not overreacting! I almost died, not that you would care, you selfish PRICK!”
"Chamomile, listen to yourself...this isn't you!" he stammered, hiding his face from the onlooking ponies as he frantically backed away from the tempestuous mare before him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?! I didn't mean it...let's just go back to the ship and talk this over, okay?"
"We ARE talking this over," she bellowed, "right here...right now! You've been nothing but selfish ever since you came on this ship, and I'm sick of it! All you do is piss and moan about how little money you have, but you know what? None of us care! No one cares, Wildfire! The Captain doesn't care, Dextra doesn't care...I sure as shit don't care! The only one who cares is YOU!"
“Simmer down, Cammy…” he whispered at the little mare, her eyes glazed over in rage, the bandage wrapped around her middle turning red as her anger caused her strong little heart to keep pumping. Her legs shifted in agitation, threatening equicide.
“STOP…CALLING…ME…CAMMY!” she screamed, punctuating her words by beating her little hooves against the mountainous stallion’s chest, her eyes closed tightly as they squeezed out a few more tears. "YOU DON'T GET TO CALL ME THAT! ONLY MY FRIENDS CAN CALL ME THAT, AND YOU ARE NOT...MY...FRIEND!!!"
Slamming her hoof into his chest with each of her final words, she closed her eyes and pummeled his bandoliers as she continued her verbal thrashing.
"FRIENDS HELP ONE ANOTHER! FRIENDS SUPPORT EACH OTHER! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT YOURSELF! YOU DIDN'T CARE WHEN I GOT SHOT! YOU DIDN'T CARE THAT I ALMOST DIED! YOU PROBABLY WENT THROUGH THAT...THAT...THING'S POCKETS WHILE THAT DOCTOR YOU HATE SO MUCH SAVED ME! YOU DIDN'T LIFT A HOOF TO MAKE SURE I WAS OKAY, BUT EVERYONE ELSE DID BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT SELFISH ASSHOLES LIKE YOU!!!"
Every eye in the little square was turned to her as her sudden outburst ripped through the hustle and bustle of the marketplace like a knife through warm butter. She slumped to her hindquarters, her hooves still firmly embedded in the stallion’s chest as she raked and pummeled his breast. She screamed at him, punctuating each of her accusations with a little pound from her hoof, her face lined with tears as she berated him...
...even as he pulled her into a firm embrace. 
She screamed and struggled at first, reaffirming her desire to pummel his non-existent heart right out of his chest...but the more she struggled to break free, the firmer his embrace became. 
There was a reason he was called Wildfire: his temper was a legend in his clan, and he was not known for his patience or his inability to give anything less than 110% to anything he wanted. But this hold...this embrace...this was a skill his mother had used on him, and so he knew just what to do.

The trick was to never let go.

Her muscles tensed in time with her heart as she clutched herself to his chest, screaming in pain and terror as she released everything she had into his coat. Every pent-up rage, every fear, every last shred of hatred, anger, or despair which she had saved up over the last few weeks came pouring out as she howled in agony. 
...Every memory of an angry assassin and his bullet, every drop of blood she watched stain her coat and drench her hooves as she held her gut, crying as she tried to keep her skin from splitting...
...Every time she had gone under the knife with the warm embrace of the tranquilizers even when she had thought she would never again reawaken, only to find herself out of place in time and with a few more scars on her chest...
...Every nightmare she shared with the little hybrid as they slept, Riptide’s inner tormentors becoming reality as she shriveled in fear against the little mechanic’s chest, Chamomile stroking her hair and cooing soft words of comfort even when the little unicorn in her hooves kicked and screamed in pain as her little monster tore holes in her brain...
...Every word she couldn’t help but overhear outside the medical bay, her ear pressed firmly to the door as the little angry beast inside Riptide’s head fought to wrest control of her consciousness while the little mare struggled in vain...
...Every slithering hiss as the demon played out Chamomile's gruesome death in a thousand different ways for Riptide to watch with lidless eyes, unable to cry and unable to move as the images flashed in her mind...
With every passing moment she ejected more and more of her store of emotions, and her mind and heart, along with her body, slackened as they passed. Wildfire could feel as the blood from her chest began to soak his own as her brave little heart beat on, encouraged to new speed as she buckled in anguish. Her chest convulsed as she struggled for air against her rebelling lungs. 
Wildfire gave her a little squeeze and rubbed her spine with a free hoof. It was the least he could do to calm the little mare who had taken on so much so far from home, so alone in the Black, and yet strong enough to shoulder everything that had been thrown at her. 
They remained there, the massive stallion unmoving as the yellow mare in his hooves slowly but surely calmed herself down, her chest still shuddering as she sucked down rattling breaths which, very slowly, become more and more controlled. She kept her eyes firmly closed, not in rage and anguish as they had been but in profound exhaustion. She could feel the cold air wick the tears from her cheeks, and she relished the sensation. It was enough to shock her system back to reality and allow herself to open her eyes. 
She panted in exhaustion, struggling to match the stallion’s inhalations with her own as he unknowingly mimicked her favorite calming tactics. In just a few shared breaths, she was back on pace with his breathing patterns. They sat there for a few more moments, breathing in time, before his gruff voice punched through the calm. 
“Listen…I’m sorry…I didn't know you felt that way. I didn't mean what I said...and I'm just as scared as you are about all this...”
She smiled. The apology was unnecessary, but she enjoyed the fact that she, out of all the crew, was alone in the knowledge that Wildfire was capable of being truly remorseful. It made her a little happy, and that happiness was the engine which allowed her to release herself from his chest, wiping a few stray tears with a free hoof before looking up to match his gaze.
“I know you are…and I’m sorry too…” she whispered, her voice still shaking.
He looked at her in confusion, for she had done nothing wrong as far as he was concerned. His look of bewilderment was evident enough to cause her to place her hoof on his chest. He looked down to find that a large patch of her blood had matted his coat. Her bandages had utterly failed: both his chest and her wrappings were completely soaked with the fluid, the dressing contrasting heavily with her own yellow coat. 
"It's no big deal," he whispered, brushing off a few flakes of her blood from his chest. "Nothing a shower won't fix..."
She couldn't help but grin, wiping a tear from her eye as she nodded in understanding.
"I could really use one of those right about now," she whispered, chuckling slightly as Wildfire grinned.
“C’mon…” he said quietly, his voice cracking a little as he worked to stay quiet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I will get the rest of the parts you need later, but you need more rest.”
Without a word he knelt down on his front hooves, exposing his back as he nodded in its direction. Wiping the last of her tears from her face, she curled up on his back as best she could as he made his way back to the ship. As he made his way back her eyes landed on her flanks, and she couldn't help but admire the image which shone back happily at her. It was even more successful at calming her down than her breathing tactics were.
Her little teacups were still in place on her sides, sending off little whorls of steam as they sat silently on their little plates. Giving the closest one a little stroke, she reeled slightly when some of her blood streaked her sides and matted her cutie mark in red. With a few more brushes she able to clean herself off, but some lingering streaks of red remained.
He’s right, she thought, her head bobbing in time with his movements as she slowly willed herself to sleep, watching her cutie mark slowly fade away as she slipped into her long-deferred rest. 
This little teacup needs some time to cool down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The large metal door in front of them whizzed open and the air from their shuttle escaped, blowing their manes as it was replaced with the cool air of the airlock they had docked to. As they walked down the tunnel and into the room beyond, they prepared themselves to be searched. They knew the drill: cargo in front with hooves and weapons visible for the security team to check. They wasted no time following protocol as three officers, their barding stamped with a large yellow SECURITY stamp on either side, examined both the Captain and Dextra before getting a hold of the cargo. Two of them pushed it away and out of sight on a little dolly cart, while another similarly-clad female unicorn holding a gun in her magic pointed her firearm squarely at Bastion’s chest. When she was comfortable with their compliance and knew their cargo was securely within their stores, she lowered her rifle and clicked a button on an arm-mounted computer, bringing it to her mouth as she spoke:
“Sir, the Captain and his escort are here.”
“Thank you, Pinochle. I will be there in a moment…” came a familiar crackling voice.
The pony lowered both her hoof and her rifle, nodding in the direction of the door on the far side of the room. Dextra wasted no time in making her way towards it, the Captain following her slowly as he tested his legs’ capabilities, sizing up the white Security-mare as he passed.
I could take her, he thought to himself as they passed one another by, the Security-mare's amber eyes following him as he walked away.
 As they made their way towards the door, their contact arrived. The door opened with a whirr of cold air which tossed his longish mane a bit, rustling the tip of his fiery orange goatee. His faded orange skin had been tighter, his wings more firm and more feathered, yes, but he still bulged with hard-earned muscle in the places which hadn’t suffered from his inactivity. The weight of years coupled with his enterprises was visibly denoted by his old bones, weary muscles, and the scarring which years of bullet holes and shrapnel gashes had exacted during his time in service. Regardless, his demeanor was kind and his face beaming when he saw his two old compatriots, a feeling which Dextra was the first to acknowledge.
“Hey there, Trenta!” she chirped, giving him a tender hug which he, as best he could given his frailty, reciprocated.
“Hey now, Dextra! I’m your employer now, we’ve got to set some boundaries!” he nudged her playfully before giving her a little nod and a warm smile, his eyes glazing over as he waxed nostalgic. “It’s very good to see you…the both of you. How long has it been since we last saw each other? Ten years?”
A curt nod from Bastion was both his answer and his greeting, a nod which was cordially returned by Trenta. The orange pegasus looked at them both again with pride and surprise.
“Bastion…you haven’t changed a bit. Neither have you, my dearest Dextra! It seems like the war succeeded in shaping us up to conquer the galaxy, huh? Me running an enterprise with you keeping those machines of industry greased and running smoothly! It looks like that fuzzball Major of ours succeeded in his mission,” he said gruffly, casting a sideways glance at the floor. “...Even if he is trying to nudge me out…”
Bastion took a few steps forward, momentarily glancing at the room where his package had been whisked away before returning his gaze to the pegasus. 
“I hope you’re aware that carrying his little gift has put me into a bad situation, Trenta. Things have become a little tighter, security-wise, on my vessel.”
“Oh?” the orange stallion replied quickly. “Are you unable to fulfill my contract, Captain? Please speak now: I don’t want to find out you’ve snuck out on a job and left me hanging, I would be a little disappointed…”
Bastion knew damn well what ‘disappointed’ meant to the grizzled merchant, but he knew he was still in the right. Shaking his head, he assuaged his employer’s worries. 
“No, Trenta. We will be prepared, come what may. You can always count on us.”
“Excellent!” the pegasus exclaimed, his hooves tapping the ground in excitement. “I’m glad you’re willing to take on my shipment: there are not many who would undergo something like this. But you two...you two have always been trustworthy! If things go smoothly, I have no doubt you can count on more work from my friends and I!”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
That was all the response the orange stallion required from his old friend, and he looked at both his old comrades with a nostalgic glaze before coming back to the subject at hoof.
“Well, I promised you an explanation about my work...I think it’s time I give you one!” 
He limped quickly to the door, the shuddering of his legs barely noticeable as his joints warmed up. How he had ever been in the military given his physical state Bastion never knew, but it seemed that clouds had replaced the uneven earth for those select few pegasus snipers, and during their time with the Brownbards Trenta’s life had been a little easier than theirs. But now the weight of years and newfound mercantile hardships had rammed him full force. Bastion was surprised he was still standing, but as the pegasus increased his pace to a near trot, Bastion smiled as he fell into step behind him. 
One, two, three, four…
Trenta placed his hoof gently on a hoofpad by the door, his legs shaking a little as they adjusted to more weight. The doors slid open and little vents above blew their manes and tails free of pesky dust with a warm vapor. When the mist receded and they had all taken a few steps forward, Bastion and Dextra’s jaws dropped as they entered the largest warehouse either soldier had ever seen.
A vast cavernous room of solid steel girders and concrete loomed out around them, so far reaching in sheer size and height that Bastion sat stunned, wondering how something so gargantuan hadn’t been seen from space. Tracks laid out in massive curling assembly lines, moving so slowly that even Trenta could beat their paces, trundled slowly through the expanse below them. Workers and technicians ran to and fro assembling and tending to massive robotic arms which swung sheets of metal around with some haste, and as the trio of retired soldiers got closer, the popping of welding torches and the shrill whine of riveters punched through the echoing din. 
As they passed along their catwalk, suspended by such tiny gossamer threads compared to the massive cables which held ships and cargo alike above them, Bastion could make out towers of shipping containers and crates bearing foreign insignias and alphabets. The little colt still present somewhere in that soldier’s heart bounced around with excitement, though he made a concerted effort to not translate that to actual movement.
They had made their way about halfway to their destination, a concrete rectangular office building nestled high in the corner of the massive warehouse, when Argento stopped. Dextra and Bastion followed suit, puzzling a little before noticing that the walkway before them, which had previously been parallel to the concrete floors so very far below, was slowly rising. Gears and pulleys, as slowly as they could, pulled the walkway out from its resting position and slid the entire thing upwards. As they stared in amazement a massive forklift, almost as tall as the towers of crates it tended to, lumbered across the gap bearing what appeared to be tons of wheels, wrapped in plastic and held tightly to the forklift by straps and cables. The wheels themselves, encased in waxes of hundreds of different colors and designs, stuck out from the rest of the monumental steel structure like a sore hoof.
“Is that…?” Dextra began, awestruck not only by the size of the machine, but by its confusing cargo.
“I do believe that is…” was Bastion’s reply, his mouth still hanging open in shock by what he was seeing.
“Well, I would have to cover up my real dealings somehow.” Trenta grinned at his massive machine. “Besides, my family name still needs to be upheld...”
“Family name? Your family makes…cheese?” Dextra stared at the machine in awe even as it passed clear of the walkway, which began to lower itself quickly to accommodate Trenta and his guests.
“Well, yes! When my father was dying he stuck me with the business, which was right about the time I decided to join up with Major Battlebeak. I seem to remember us fighting and I forget who instigated it, but regardless…” he grinned, sweeping his hoof over himself,  “Here I am! I took my Dad's little dairy venture and turned it into a massive enterprise! I’ve been employing my family and any other indentured slave or shamefully unemployed laborer and craftsman I can ever since I took over.”
As the walkway returned to its original position they continued at a faster pace, Bastion and Dextra’s hooves carefully matching time with their old friend even as they made a very conscious effort to not get stuck in the catwalk’s seemingly gaping holes.
“You see,” Argento continued, talking over his shoulder slightly as they made their way to their ever-nearer destination, “I’ve never really taken a shine to the whole ‘cheese’ thing, not nearly as much as my father. When he died and I got back home after the war, I found out that my younger brothers hadn’t done anything with the veritable cash-cow my father had given them. They had wasted all of our previous investors’ money on stupid trades with foreign markets, and they had almost run the whole thing dry. As much as I hated him, I respected my father enough to make sure his little business could provide for our family.”
“And now look at it!” he said with a wide smile, resting a free hoof on the catwalk’s bannister and casting his other in a grand sweeping movement. “From a single two-story office building to the largest cheese supplier in the system in ten years flat! And not just cheese, no no! Shuttles, cargo freighters, clothing, textiles, household crockery...you name it, we make it! I’ve provided a stable living and full health coverage for thousands of families, and I’m still chugging along.”
“And how does cheese fit in with our job?" Bastion puzzled as he surveyed his old friend. "From the message and Battlebeak's offer it sounded like you were transporting something a little more…I don’t know…illegal?” 
Bastion looked both on his old friend and his friends’ creation in awe, but that nagging feeling that something was missing, his best and worst friend at times, was still gnawing at his conscious.
“Ahh…yes…the crime...” The pegasus said curtly, raising his hoof and gesturing to a set of staircases which led to his corner office. “It’s about time I filled you in. Enough ego-tripping: I have hired you for a task and I expected to see it done, but I have to give it to you first...silly me…” 
He gestured with his hoof up the staircase and bowed to Dextra. “After you, my dear.”
She took his offer and bounded up the steps as Bastion followed. Trenta looked over the balcony and yelled some orders down to a foreman in a white hat who clipped his hoof to his hat in salute before relaying the command. When he was finished Trenta fluttered his way up the staircase to hold the door open for Bastion and Dextra.
They sat themselves down on padded chairs and looked out the grand window which circled the office like a watchtower. Trenta closed and locked the door behind him before trotting to his desk, pouring them some coffee still piping hot on a little stand near his desk. Dextra took hers quickly, nudging herself comfortably in her chair before sipping it carefully between her hooves. Bastion took his as well, but waited until the pony who had offered it to him took a sip from his own cup before proceeding. 
Old habits die hard…
They exchanged small talk for a while, conversing and catching up until their coffee released enough heat to drink safely. His desk was neat and ordered, though still a little cluttered. Bastion was surprised there weren’t more file folders or storage cabinets, things which he had always associated with merchants and business ponies almost like a brand, something which was required for entrance into the mercantile class. Evidently different ponies did business differently. 
Dextra looked out again over Argento’s grand warehouse before alighting on a photograph, framed in silver, cracking a little with age and wear but still pristine enough to make out three pegasus ponies. A much younger Trenta beamed down at two smaller, younger pegasus mares, his wings spread out like a feathered shield as he encapsulated them both. The larger of the two, a dainty pink pegasus, held a small bundle in her hooves. From the little hole the swaddling clothes left open, Dextra could make out the miniature face and bold black eyes of a little pegasus baby girl, her hair a long and flowing orange like her father, yet her body was a dazzling powdery pink like her mother. 
This was his child. He had a family. 
Trenta Argento, infamous sniper of the Sons of Celestia, had a family.
“How are they?” Dextra asked, still in shock that he was a father, so very unlike how she had remembered him to be. Although strong and vibrant in his youth, his antics never screamed parenting material. Just one more change the war enacted: it made the strong ones stronger and gave the weak an opportunity to prove their worth. His face beamed with pride as he looked on the photograph. 
“That was taken some years ago. My little girl can fly now, though Poultice is still helping her along…”
“Poultice?...wasn’t there a Poultice who worked at our field hospital? She was a medic, right?”
Argento sat a little straighter as he nodded his affirmation. “Yes, she was...and she still is, actually! She takes care of our daughter and runs our on-site clinic. Industrial injuries aren’t too different from war ones, but instead of bullets it's steel bolts and rebar she’s plucking out of ponies.”
“How did you two meet?” Dextra smiled, getting comfortable in her chair as her Captain nearby rolled his eyes and ripped open a sugar packet in his teeth.
“Well…” Trenta began, leaning a little in his chair as he thought of how best to proceed. He tapped his hoof to his chin, playing with the end of his beard a bit before hitting his chair’s arm with his hoof, creating a nice click! of inspiration.
“You remember how I was, right? Always yelling at the Alliance from behind clouds, provoking them to shoot me?”
Argento smiled at the passive Captain, but his grin was not returned as Bastion watched the intricate swirls of cream intermixing with his coffee, having just prepared himself a cup of the brew to his liking. Trenta passed his gaze back to Dextra, who leaned forward in her chair in rapt attention, emitting a little cough to clear his throat before continuing.
“Well, I was avoiding another sniper who had finally had enough of my antics. We traded off some shots, but he had the rubble and I had the clouds, so neither of us were getting anywhere. I did, however, run out of ammo before he did...and boy did he know it! He started taking potshots at me and I swept through a doorframe below to get some cover, but I clipped my wing on the frame as I came in. I sprained it pretty bad, but I was well enough that I could trot back to our doctor. As chance would have it, the doctor was out but his assistant was present. She sat me down on the bed and got my wing all fixed up and splinted.”
“She was tightening my bandages and I guess I was talking so much and going on and on about what I was doing to warrant a sprained wing that she tightened her splint a little too hard. I can't tell who how much it hurt, but you know me: can’t show a lick of pain! So I’m sitting here, holding back these tears  as she took her sweet time getting me all cleaned up!"
"I’m about ready to burst, this wing was just murder…and then, she goes up and untightens the damn thing! Turns out she knew just how to shut me up! Told me too, just winked at me and said ‘well, I think I found your off switch'...she’s still a bit cheeky like that…”
“So how does you getting your wing bashed up translate into ‘to have and to hold?’” Bastion grunted over his coffee as he watched Dextra tap her hooves in delight, the little zebra filly in her heart trying her hardest to contain herself from the romanticism Argento's story would inevitably create.
“Well,” he continued, “my wing got all healed and I got back to work, but I couldn’t forget about her. Soon, I started showing up every week for some injury or another: another sprain, a headache...one time I gave myself one hell of a splinter, just so she'd have to pull it out!
"Weekly turned into a few days every week, which eventually turned to everyday. She always knew I was just faking the whole thing, but I think she enjoyed the breaks we would take together. I would bring her lunch sometimes, and some nights she'd swipe some of the officers' wine from their mess hall. We'd share the bottle under the moon and talk about our histories..."
"And let me tell you.."  he winked coyly at the zebra teetering in her chair. "...I didn't need the wine to make her the prettiest damn thing I'd ever seen!"
Dextra's little squee! was hidden by her hooves as Bastion slurped his coffee noisily, causing Trenta to get back on track with his story, grinning as Dextra's eyes widened with his words.
"When the war ended and we spent our last moonlit night together, she made a comment...some off-handed little thought. She said that she didn’t know what she could do for work: no Alliance hospital would take her, and she wouldn’t want to work for the Alliance anyway. She was always a Brownbard at heart, even though she never got the uniform.”
“We were talking about it, and she was getting more and more distressed. She didn’t know what to do...but I knew it was my turn to take care of her like she had me. I looked her dead in the eyes, knelt down, and proposed to her on the spot...right there under the full moon, without a ring or anything to my name! She said yes,of course, and right after I got this place back on track we decided to try and have a foal. We took that photo a year later...right after Brie was born.”
 At this point, Dextra was leaning so far forward in her chair she was on the precipice of falling out of it completely. A little part of Bastion’s sadistic side wanted that to happen, but the other half was still surprised that Trenta Argento, Scourge of the Skies, had a daughter.
He had barely been able to take care of himself during the war, but it seemed that Poultice saw to that... made him a better stallion, a dedicated father. That was her doing, and with her support he had created an empire. She was his guiding star the moment she hit his 'off' switch, and Bastion smiled a little inside as he remembered what it felt like to have that kind of support...to feel that strength...
“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” Dextra squealed, her hoof clicking together in happiness. “That is adorable! Where are they?! I have to meet this wife of yours! I bet I would like her! Poultice, right? And your filly! Oh my gosh you have a filly!...”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” their grizzled friend laughed,pushing her back into her seat lest she collapse on top of his still-frail form. “Let’s not get too excited Dex! They are taking a little vacation, at a hot springs on the other side of the planet...they should be back in a few days.”
She shook herself into a more relaxed state, the icy-cold eyes of her Captain like a bucket of ice water aiding in her pacification. She always got this way when talking about children. Bastion hadn’t a clue why.
“Now…the caper…” he began, pulling himself up in his chair as he looked at them both. “I make a lot of cheese here, just like my father did, but the war taught me one thing: get to the going while the going is good. I've learned to be more persistent and deliberate, and I've learned to make my intentions known immediately. It worked for Poultice, and it worked for creating this business, so I thought hey…”
He grinned at them both mischievously, rolling his hooves over one another in anticipation.
“…Why not weapons?”
Dextra sprayed coffee all over the office, covering her mouth as best she could regardless of the dripping hot liquid which coursed down her chin.
“You're an arms dealer?” she exclaimed, her mouth on fire as Argento wiped his face a little with a free hoof where her spray had landed, proceeding with a little more caution lest he provoke her exclamatory misting yet again.
“Well, yes! Weapons are just like any other tool after all. Farming requires a good rifle and a pitchfork to feed in equal measure, so I service a clientele who require the finest in precision firearms...to ‘keep their families safe’, of course…”
“That’s a little low, Trenta…” was Bastion’s input, surprised that the normally docile yet eternally restless and reckless pegasus was capable of delving into the world of warfare as an extra-military career.
“I know, Bastion," Argento sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he did, "but morality changes with income. I learned that a long time ago, right around when my brothers squandered my family's name to live large for a while. They wasted everything, and I had no choice but to extend my reach into any and every market I could find. I regret having to resort to arms as a trade, but whatever keeps me and my family safe is something I am willing to pursue.”
His logic needed work, but his reasoning, or at least the soldier’s reasoning Bastion understood, made sense. His daughter needed protection just as much as the poor pony who would receive his weapons. The families of his clientele, as Trenta understood now, were as precious as his own. He was willing to get his hooves dirty if it meant his wife and their child could keep theirs clean. 
It was a sacrifice. Bastion and Dextra understood sacrifices. 
And thus, knowing the full severity of the transformation of their old friend, they listened in rapt attention as he filled them into his plan. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A great shaking shudder, a surge of warmth, a prolonged sigh, and the warm tingle to her extremities were the only evidence she needed to know that he was finally spent. As he relaxed, his full weight slowly pressed down on her as his head burrowed itself in the space by her neck. Both ponies breathed deep, sucking in great racking sighs, their chests heaving in unison before he finally slumped over on his side, exhausted. 
As she rolled into his waiting chest, she tickled his mane with a free hoof as beads of sweat cascaded silently down her forehead and on her breast. Controlling her breathing, she took a few moments and analyzed her temporary suitor just inches away. He was only slightly larger than herself, younger than she by a fair margin and yet already so accomplished...at least, that’s what his profile had stated. But those were always embellished, for the truth is never something somepony believes is adequate when competing against others. In the end, she had chosen him...but it was not so much the contents of his wallet or the evidence in his portfolio which swayed her decision. 
It was a combination of circumstance, honesty, and a certain compatibility of spirit.
He was silent, his breaths slow and deep as he rested at her side. Typical...they always fell asleep afterwards, but there was nothing especially wrong with that: they had both earned some rest...he most of all. She had grown to enjoy the silence, as it always gave her a little more time to relax and collect her thoughts before making her painful partings with her love-struck clients...and they always were painful. She had trained for these moments of silence and the activity which preceded them, to know how to relax a tense body and alleviate a troubled mind, and to know when and where to place oneself to maximize both comfort and pleasure. 
Her profession, the one she had trained for her whole life, was an art form akin to dancing...something in which she also excelled. It required the complete submission of both partners to each other and a certain knowledge of, but not adherence to, the decorum of their shared movements. This flexibility made some dances so personal, so fluid, and so unbearably intimate that both ponies would find themselves lost in each other, their steps wrapping and flowing around the minor hiccups like notes from some slow and somber chamber piece. 
Experience, flexibility, and some willingness to experiment...that was it. 
The stallion at her side had lacked all three, but that’s what losing your virginity is all about: knowing where you stand, where to improve, and the basic steps. He had been honest in his admission of his inexperience and, ultimately, that had been why she was drawn to him. Honesty was something a majority of her prospective clients ignored, and they would never understand how much sway it would have until she slipped from their hooves forever.
Knowing her work was done and her calling fulfilled, she rested her head against his warm chest, her nose firmly nuzzled in the space below his neck, curling delicately in his hooves as they both fell into a well-earned sleep.

~~~~~

The sunlight cracking through the curtains was enough of an alarm for them both, and the hourglass nearby which slowly counted out their remaining time was close to its expiration. Shielding her eyes from the light, she slid silently out of her bed, tiptoed across her room as silently as she could, and drew the curtains closer together to hide them from Celestia’s sun for at least for a little longer. 
As she turned, she found him sitting upright on the edge of the bed, slipping his wings into the holes which had been cut out of his tailored vest. He was having some trouble, so with a smile and a little concentration she gingerly guided his wings with her magic so that none of his feathers would get tangled with the fabric. Smiling sheepishly as she took control of his body yet again, he watched her manipulate his wings with ease, analyzing her technique as she controlled each feather and muscle in his appendage towards a more comfortable destination. Within seconds his wings were clear. He gave them a little stretch, expanding them to their full width before drawing them tightly to his sides.
“Thank you…” was all he could muster, his cheeks red as he avoided her gaze.
He was still so naive...so nervous, despite his age. The years spent waiting for love had rendered him unable to be courageous, especially when he believed himself incapable of intimacy...but that had been remedied. She sat down beside him, stroking his wings with an almost maternal tenderness as she preened them, aligning them back into shape.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, love..."
"Me!? I'm not! I'm just..." he stammered, looking at the mare before him in panic. As he turned away to hide his face, she did little more than guide it back to hers, smiling as he submitted to her touch. 
"I know it was your first time," she whispered, giving his shoulder a little kiss and a smile, "...and I do hope it wasn’t as frightening as other ponies made it out to be. I know some expect fireworks when they first make love, but those come later. It will take a little time to feel completely comfortable with it, but I know you can do it.”
“Oh no no no," he blabbed, turning to the mare resting beside him in surprise. "It wasn’t scary at all…and I appreciate the vote of confidence, I just…sort of expected to feel…y’know, different…after…”
She stroked his mane a little more, working her magic on his nerves, his collar slowly becoming less tense as she massaged his neck with her hoof point. She hit a sweet spot, and the stallion buckled as the pain in his neck subsided, his body turning on the side of the bed as he leaned into her tender massage. 
I have a few more minutes to spare, she thought as she positioned herself behind him, wrapping her hind legs around his back, kneading her forehooves into his neck and shoulders. The combination of her warmth, her proximity, and the intense pleasurable burn of her massage forced him past the brink towards utter capitulation as he gave in completely to her kneading hooves and her warm embrace.
Works like a charm…
“That’s what everypony thinks," she continued, rolling her hoof point on the base of his neck, "but while our experiences might shape our worlds, they will only be as important as you let them be. It's only in your own heart where the importance of things lies, and hopefully, now, you can understand what this moment means to you..."
"But regardless of how you remember this moment…” she crooned, sliding her head over his shoulder and along his neck, “I hope it wasn’t entirely forgettable for you.”
They rested there together again, her hooves clenching his back to her chest as they enjoyed the others' proximity, the lingering passion which, given the passing of a few minutes, would be severed, never to reform...
...Though only she knew it would be that way. 
That was the one thing she had always hated about her profession: letting go. The brief moments when she was in touch with another pony’s soul, experiences, passion, body, ambitions...those were the moments when she felt the most alive. Those were the moments when she truly felt a part of something, a cog in some great metaphysical machinery which kept the entire network of souls intact and running smoothly. 
When she was a filly she strived to change the world, to make a difference. It was only until she had to survive on her own did she realize that when one helps another: their life, and therefore every life they themselves impact, is changed. 
She had found her purpose beneath folds of silk...with the aid of scented oils, firm unyielding drive, the lingering softness of incense, and a few choice words of intimacy. 
A warm pulsing light from the hourglass was their signal: their time had expired, and her contract had been fulfilled. With nary a word she released him from her grasp, encapsulating herself in her silk sheets as he donned what parts of his uniform he felt necessary. Adjusting his hat, he walked towards the door before stopping, his eyes gazing at the door as if it was separating him from a world which hated him, a world devoid of life or meaning. She’d seen this look before, and she readied herself for her usual response as he spoke at the patch of rug at the door.
“Is there…" he stammered, watching her heartbeat pulse in the veins along her slender neck. "...Is there any chance that you might, well…it’s just I enjoyed every second I spent with you, and I don’t…I don’t want you to go, so…what if…what if you stayed with me?! I have a room you could have, bigger than this shuttle even, and you could…”
She raised her hoof, looking calmly into his eyes as she cut him off gingerly without a word of alarm, no mention of fault or blame, no indication of annoyance at his proposal. This happened most every time, but she knew how to remedy the tension.
“The time we spent together was exceptional, even for me, but I cannot stay with you. Your time with me, is only that: Time. And time must go on. I would only ask that you remember what you’ve learned from our time together because it will be a guide for making your life the best it can be in the future. Find some mare you love. Make for her the world that I could never honestly accept. Trust in her, and after a while you will forget about me and move on with your life, a life which you and your partner will create together. It will be better this way and, most importantly, it will be all your own.” 
He held his gaze on the floor. It was common: males so often found that being refused turned the eyes of their intended loves into deep dark pools where nothing but their own shortcomings and failings awaited the attention of their gaze. It was better to forget them, for they would forget you when the pain passed and their lives returned to their normal courses.
“If you’re ever around here again…” he stammered, his gaze only slightly shifting from the floor to some imaginary point somewhere near the diamond necklace she wore so delicately.
“I will be, someday…” she whispered, drawing herself upright, still wrapped in silk.
They shared another pause, sunlight beaming around the stallion as he bowed to the courtesan, uttering his final words to the purple mare still coiled in her sheets before leaving her doorframe and her life forever.

“Goodbye, Miss Satine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had only ever seen the inside of the medical bay. Her previous foray into the larger and more foreboding environment of the cargo hold was brief and very confusing, and her main locus of attention had been on her brother mere inches from her face. But now, without anyone to tell her otherwise, she snuck out of the medical bay and explored as best she could given her timidity. Her monsters lived in the medical bay, that much was for sure, and her little eyes darted to and fro around the hold looking for any stray claws or horns which might betray their presence.
Stupid girl, she thought.  My demons don’t have horns. They don’t have anything. They don’t exist.
Oh… they whispered in the silence...
But we do…
 Holding her head, she winced as the hiss grew louder before dying away entirely. As the silence grew, she looked around and realized everyone had gone. The only sound she could hear was the purr of the engine’s life support as it supplied the internal atmosphere with only mildly tainted air, rustling the little specks of dust on the metal floor. She felt them beneath her hooves and she smiled as she rolled them around, feeling their grit on the metal below.  
Rust and dust: two substances which require an iron will and a dedication to a fruitless struggle to combat, and always to no avail. 
She traced the outward sweep of the walls, admiring the latticework which paneled the interior, both useable as a storage area and decorative enough to cover up just how boring it could be. This ship had a good design, a feeling of security...it reminded her of home.
Her home...
...This isn’t my home…
Looking around, she realized just how small she truly was. She was but a little mare, trapped in a small body, alone in a tin can which would send her hurtling through space in but a few hours.There was no one nearby, and the only sounds she could hear were the light breeze of the ventilation as it fluttered her mane and the scratching of the dust below. Her brother wasn’t nearby, or he would have made himself known. She was alone in the hold for the first time, without the presence of her demons…
Oh…but you’re never alone, my sweet…
She had learned to ignore the voice by reminding herself of her brother, of Chamomile...any little thing which would distract her from her demon.  The mechanic would be so disappointed if she knew what little thoughts Riptide had allowed herself to conjure up. She couldn’t let her be disappointed. Nothing was worth that. She was the only nice pony Riptide had ever met, the only one apart from her brother and Mom who made things not so fuzzy...not so confusing or full or scary. 
Where is Mommy?
Where is Salve?
The clanking of metal shocked her out of her trance as her draconic eye swiveled along with her neck as she looked for the source of the sound. She found it almost immediately: his bright green hair was impossible to miss, as was the aroma of the sandwiches he carried in his magic’s grasp as he made his way carefully down the stairs nearby, touching down on the floor of the hold as her devil sneered at his approach.
Speak of the devil…
“…and he shall appear” she finished quietly, sitting herself on the floor hard as Salve made his way closer.
“Rippy…who are you talking to?” he asked quietly, placing the sandwiches on the ground between them as he sat down in front of his sister, only a foot away.
“It’s irrelevant…” she whispered to her food, her tongue drenched in saliva as she pondered how best to eviscerate her meal. 
"No, Riptide: everything is important," he stated worriedly, his voice lined with fear. He was never able to fully hide it, and she had always been able to sense it. "I want you to be safe, but if you're hearing things...you need to tell me, okay?"
She gave a little nod, but never moved her face upwards. She heard him sigh. She knew that sigh. It was his ‘I-give-up, Rippy-wins-this-one’ sigh. He nudged her plate closer as he gave a little smile. 
“You must be hungry, Rippy. Eat up: we have a lot to talk about, and I have no doubt you have a lot of…” 
He tried to speak, but the horrible sound of her tearing her sandwich to pieces, slurping audibly as she struggled to keep her rapidly filling mouth from overflowing, forced him to quiet himself.
“… Questions…” he whispered to himself as he smiled.
Yep, that’s my sister.
With her unspoken permission he took up his own sandwich, his eating much more controlled and by far less audible than her own. She was licking her lips, struggling to find every last piece of food she could as she looked at her brother who had just finished his first sandwich half. 
This was her time to pounce. 
Her wide, pleading, doe-like eyes were the only thing separating her from more food, and given the success rate of her previous trials she was convinced that her hypothesis would remain constant despite the years since its last repetition. He sighed audibly, looking away and covering his ears as he slid his plate closer to the hungry, hungry hybrid. He pulled back his hoof in surprise when her razor-sharp teeth nearly gouging holes in his foreleg, and couldn’t help but smile a little wider as she tore into his other half. 
…Definitely my sister…
 He allowed her to finish cleaning herself of stray bread and vegetable particles before he stacked the plates with his magic and swept them to the side. She swallowed what was left, gazing around the cargo hold as she did so.
“…Salve…where is everyone?" she whispered to the air around her, never making eye contact with her brother so closeby. "There was you and Cammy and a zebra, plus a pegasus, three earth pony stallions, and a unicorn mare. One plus one plus one…plus five…equals eight, and me makes nine...but now there is only you and me, which makes two…”
She looked around in confusion, looking for some evidence that the ponies which had been ever so present on her reawakening hadn’t been some images her demon had conjured up, some trick to whittle away her defenses, to force her into submission to its insidious nothings. Her brother guided her face back to his with a hoof, sliding it up until it caressed her cheek.
“It’s okay Rippy, they are off doing important things…things which will allow us to keep flying, and we want to keep flying. Flying means we will be safe...you want to be safe, right?”
Her eyes alone could have frozen the engine’s Hyperboom solid.
“…I’m not a baby anymore…” she growled with a caustic rage, courtesy of the little bits of dragon which swam in her bloodstream and controlled her vision.
He smiled a little, marking all the changes since he’d seen his little sister despite her terrible transformation. 
“You were a baby, the last time I saw you…”
“No, you just thought I was a baby…I wasn’t a baby then, and I’m not one now, so STOP TREATING ME LIKE I’M A FREAK!” 
She slammed her hooves into the floor, the dragon bones which held them together absorbing and releasing the energy in a fluid motion which dented the floor, almost unnoticeably but enough that she felt an indent where once it had been perfectly smooth. Removing her hooves from the surface, she saw nothing but her face reflected off the metal, contorting like a funhouse mirror as the light bent around the divot she had made. She had done that. 
Oh no…
Oh no no no no no…
Her breathing quickened and her hoofs scratched the floor as she struggled to remove herself from her environment. Anywhere but here! Anywhere where there was no evidence that she was unnatural! Anywhere but here!
I am a normal pony! I am a normal pony!
 She only barely noticed when Salve took her into his chest like he always had in the past when she couldn’t control herself. It was a feeling she missed, even when she had been small enough to fit perfectly against his belly. That time had passed...but oh how she wanted it to return, to come again as it had when Chamomile held her ever so gently in their shared sleep! She had smelled only vaguely of grease, but mostly of an open field where nothing lay in wait to harm the little hybrid.
“You’re not a freak,” he whispered quietly, accompanying his affirmation with a little squeeze. “You are my beautiful sister...you always have been, and nothing is going to change that.”
He’s going to leave you Riptide...he will abandon you for the yellow one...
She gave his chest a little nuzzle as she burrowed herself into his embrace. The words of her demon didn’t matter: he was intangible, he only existed in her mind. Salve, on the other hand existed in her dreams, in her thoughts and prayers...in her world...
He was her world.
He smelled like the sea. He always had. She could feel herself give into that long-lost friend, that reminder of home. She could smell him through the hand-me-downs she snuck out of his wardrobe right before she went to her special school, the blankets and old shirts of his that she treasured despite their condition, despite the stains and rips and holes. She could smell the roiling waves and the kelp forests, the barnacles, the drying saltwater on the jetty down the hill behind their house. She could, even now, smell the fish stink which lingered in her mother’s hair when she came home from work.
They weren’t together anymore.Why weren't they together? Hadn't she promised she'd always be there for her?
“…Where’s Mommy?...” Riptide whispered into her brother's chest ever-so-quietly.
His grip tightened, and she noticed that the fleshy shield which separated her from the cruel world outside was becoming  more firm, yet less stable. It shook a little. 
Shields didn’t shake...They don’t waver…
Salve never wavered…
“…Salve…where is Mommy?”
This was the moment he had been waiting for, but yet could never have prepared himself to face. He wished he could delay, stave it off just a litle bit longer.
But there was no refusing his sister. She needed to know. She deserved to know.
He took his sister’s face in his hooves, their foreheads locked together. He wore a pained smile, tears threatening to cast themselves over the little ledge his clenched eyes had formed as he did his best to keep her little orbs, her two deep and entrancing eyes, firmly locked with his own. His mouth opened as the first tear fell, and his voice was barely a whisper as he stroked her cheek.

“Mommy’s gone, Rippy…”

The world stood still for a moment, and the sound of the engine died as if the air itself had been stolen away. Silence reigned throughout the ship, though they didn’t really notice. Their eyes were still locked together. 
She didn’t move. She didn’t say a word. She only stared into him...through the holes his eyes rested in.
Salve only noticed something was wrong when the crate behind her head moved, slowly at first but, after a moment, more rapidly. First one, and then another..until even the dust which rested on the ground between them obscured his vision.
He looked around, breaking his eye contact with his sister, staring around the hold in amazement.

Everything was floating. 

Every crate, every mote of dust and speck of dirt, every rope’s end or free cable rested on an invisible cushion of air, drifting lazily over the heads. The packages and boxes bounced on whatever surface they collided with as if the entire ship, the whole world, had broken free from gravity’s clutches and took flight. Crates and boxes larger than the both of them and easily heavier than Wildfire and the Captain combined suspended themselves as if on invisible threads, floating through the air with wild abandon. The air above them was littered with every loose thing within a thirty-foot radius, everything held perfectly hovering in the air as the silence continued:
A silence which emanated from the little purple mare still staring at the wall...staring into the space where her brother's eyes had been but moments prior. 
Where they had been…
He’s gone…

Mommy’s gone…

 And with her little thought, every single object floating in the cargo hold exploded without a sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He opened his eyes, only to find that he could not see. The only thing which separated him from the outside world was a red sheet of fabric held tightly wrapped around his eyes, a sheet which was speckled with brown and swirling patterns of grey. 
A sheet which smelled absolutely horrid. 
Attempting to lift his hoof, he found that he was unable to do so. He knew this feeling all too well, and he knew the humming of those air conditioning units better than he knew anything else on this ship.
“Please, Chamomile…for the love of Celestia…” he struggled through the gauze and the inability to remove his horrible headwear. “Take your bandana off my eyes!”
A clattering of a pan and the tinkle of fallen calipers heralded her presence in the medical bay, and as gently as she could she pulled the free end of the knot with her teeth, freeing his eyes from their paisley prison.
“Sorry Salve, we just needed to shield your eyes for a while, and then I sort of…forgot to take it off…”
“No, Chamomile,” he added, only slightly disgruntled as he looked over her and her new bandages, bandages he hadn’t remembered changing from the last time he saw them. “I think you forgot to wash it…again…”
“Hey hey, no sassing the Doctor…”
He raised his eyes from her new wrappings to find her wearing nothing but his long white lab coat, a roll of gauze and a pan full of bloody wood at her side as she hovered above him and a large shard of wood in his chest, her teeth clenching the end of the wooden spike.
“Alright, now this might hurt a little bit, so I will pull it out on the count of three. One…two…”
She yanked her teeth back wuickly, ripping out a sliver of wood as the Doctor yelled in protest. 
“THREE! YOU SAID THREE! THAT WASN’T A THREE!”
“Oh simmer down,” she chided playfully, releasing her mouth’s grip as she added another bloody piece of wood to her collection. “You would have cried like a baby anyway…”
He looked at his chest where she had exacted such searing pain only to find it wrapped mostly in bandages which had absorbed some blood in places, making him look like one giant red and white polka-dotted ghost pony. He cringed slightly as her hoof descended on his chest, wrapped in gauze to staunch the blood. She applied some direct pressure, depressing his punctured chest a little as he grunted, adjusting to the pain. 
“Well well,” she added coyly, “…how the tables have turned…”
Her smile gave him some comfort from the pain she had exacerbated, and he found he was able to move his hooves a little more now that the sudden influx of pain had reawakened his numb limbs. He gestured his free hoof towards his coat as he turned his head, matching her easy smile.
“So, ‘Dr. Calm’…where did you get your medical degree and that fancy coat?”
His sarcasm evident, she reciprocated in kind with ease. Having snarky younger brothers would do that to anypony. 
“PSSH! This old thing?” she looked down in mock amazement, her eyes glimmering with mischief. “I’ve had this thing for years! The School of Hard Knocks has a discount on degrees and coats, so they just keep pumping them out! I think mine’s prettier than the other ones though…”
As she returned her gaze, her heart gave a little flutter...
She didn’t expect to see him smile quite so wide. She never thought his eyes could glimmer quite like they did now as he watched her smile. She would never have dreamed their positions would have changed in so short a time, in so random and terrifying and foreign a circumstance as this. Her mouth opened a little as she stared, unabashed, right back at him.
“…So I think I might just keep it…just a little while longer…if that’s okay…”
“Hey,” he chirped, his smile tightening before going slack, his gaze returning to the ceiling as silently as it had come. 
“Knock yourself out.”
She hadn’t moved a muscle, her hoof still lingering on his chest despite the clotting blood which turned from crimson to reddish-brown under her hooves. She didn’t dare do anything save speak, lest she ruin the wounds progress as it sealed itself up tight only millimeters below.
“Salve…what happened to you? Wildfire and I came back to find the whole place…” she struggled briefly, trying to find the right words to describe what horrible wreckage she had seen. Finding nothing to adequately sum up her experience, she sighed a little. 
“Well, let’s just say the Captain won’t be too happy. We did the best we could, but the cargo hold is still quite a mess…”
His eyes churned, his brain almost visible mirrored in his facial expression as he processed what she had said. 
“Cargo hold…CARGO HOLD! WHERE IS RIPTIDE?!” he yelled in alarm, raising his back to combat her hoof even as she pressed him back to his chair.
“Salve! It’s okay! Everything is just fine! We got her back to her room, she wasn’t hurt at all. She didn’t say anything…I don’t think she even knew we were there…”
She could feel his heart beating below her hoof, and she could feel it slow down only after a few moments of silence. Watching his eyes, she whispered only as loudly as she dared.
“…What happened to you two?”
Salve could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. The lights which glimmered in his vision shook slightly as he stared longer and longer, his eyes trapping what moisture they had produced, filming his eyes over. 
“She knows, Chamomile…she knows…”
It took the mechanic a moment to decrypt what he had said, but the widening of her eyes evidence enough of her understanding. He awaited her shaking head, her strict chidings for his behavior...anything...
But despite what he expected, despite what he had believed she would say, she did nothing but keep her hoof firmly planted on his chest.
“…And now she can move on…” Chamomile whispered, allowing herself one little tear and a comforting smile.
The two sat in silence. Salve shook as he tried his best to not give in to the rattling tears which he had reawakened, Chamomile holding her hoof to his chest all the while. At first, she did so to keep the blood from flowing, but soon, and ever so slowly, her hoof became a support. Just the little comfort knowing that she was there grieving as he did was enough to keep himself contained. 
Riptide knew her mother had died, and with that knowledge Salve had done what he had tried for so many years to prevent: 
He had finally cast her off. 
She would never grace his sister’s dreams as a safe haven, a place to find some solace in the emptiness of space. She would no longer be the goal to which Riptide could aspire to, her guiding star regardless of the road she would find herself on. 
Salve was her protector...but even though he would always be near, he shook with great rasping sobs silently in the surgical chair not at his mother’s death, or the sense of guilt he felt at his sister’s epiphany. 

His chest heaved and his face and eyes trembled because he had finally admitted the existence of the two immutable facts which haunted him more than his own hoof pushing his mother off into the cold salt spray could ever replicate:


 Riptide would never go home...


...and they were utterly alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~