“Twilight, this is getting ridiculous. I’ve defeated all your best animal challengers, when do I get to deal with a real pony?” asked Sweetie Belle.
Twilight had to admit, she was mastering psychic intrusion much faster than she had originally anticipated. While she wasn’t the first to defeat one of her pets in one day, and other students definitely did a better job of controlling their powers in doing so, Sweetie Belle was the first to defeat all of them in just one week. It was week three now, and she felt Sweetie Belle was ready for the next stage of her training. But Twilight still wasn’t convinced Sweetie Belles loyalty laid strictly to the Dominion. If she taught her too much too quickly, Sweetie Belle might decide she doesn’t need the academy anymore and seek her own path.
“Since you are so eager to test your metal against a living, breathing, fully sentient pony, I’ve decided to arrange it for you," announced Twilight. "But not until you’ve shown proficiency with your weapon of course.”
“The suit? I already know how to use it to focus my magic. What’s there left to know?” asked Sweetie Belle.
Twilight escorted her to an armory, and presented her with her with a C-10 canister rifle. It was a much smaller rifle than the gauss weapons wielded by power armor wearing infantry, so it was light enough to hold using simply ones own strength. Though as unicorns, ghost operatives used their magic to levitate the weapon and pull the trigger. What made the rifle so special was that despite its small size, it could strike with the force of the massive sized gauss weapons. The key was that it had an umbilical cord connecting the weapon to the suit. It drew on the energy provided by the psychic suit worn by all ghost operatives, giving this small rifle just as much fire power as its gauss powered counterparts.
“This is a C-10 canister rifle. There are few like it, this one isn’t yours. It belongs to the academy, you’ll get your own later," explained Twilight.
“A rifle? You spent these last two weeks training me in psychic combat to use a rifle?” complained Sweetie.
“Not just any rifle. Observe.” Twilight equipped her self with a special set of green goggles, then pointed her rifle directly at Sweetie Belle.
“Twilight… what are you doing?” Twilight fired a round directly into Sweetie Belles face. Sweetie Belle naturally flinched as she shut her eyes. Still shaking, she slowly lifted her eye lids and found that her head was still intact. “What was that?! Why’d you shoot me?!”
“Look behind you,” demanded Twilight.
Sweetie Belle turned around and saw absolutely nothing of interest. “Ok. I see a wall… and a door. But I can’t seem to see your point.”
“Follow me.” Twilight picked up a duffle bag filled with items from the armory and led her through the halls. After a few twist and turns, she showed her a broken vase shattered on a pedestal. Sweetie Belle examined the adjacent wall and discovered a bullet smashed into its side.
“How did you do that?" asked Sweetie. "There were at least three layers of wall between you and the vase.”
“Psychic energy channeled into the bullet," answered Twilight. "It can phase through solid matter and re-materialize right before it reaches its target.”
“But there is no way any ones mind can think that fast,” said Sweetie.
“You input your calculations through the goggles by thought. Since they’re hooked up to the suit, the suit sends the calculations to the rifle which is also hooked to the suit. All you have to do is focus on when you want the bullet to phase in and out, and the equipment does the rest,” explained Twilight.
“That sounds like it would take a lot of focus. Can you really do that while someone is shooting at you?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“Well it’s impractical in most fire fights," admitted Twilight. "It’s mostly for picking off people silently. But if you do your job right, you shouldn’t be involved in any shoot outs.”
“About that… what can I be expected to do once I complete my training? The job you are describing doesn’t seem very… friendly," complained Sweetie. "I don’t think I’d feel comfortable killing people for a living.”
“Do your job right and you won’t have to. Your job is to observe and report. Leave the fighting to the trigger happy idiots in the power armor,” replied Twilight.
“But wouldn’t I be helping those trigger happy idiots kill other people?” asked Sweetie Belle.
“We’ll talk about this later. For now, you need to practice your marksman ship,” Twilight stated before escorting Sweetie Belle to a firing range, and instructed her on proper use and maintenance of the weapon. For the longest time Sweetie Belle never even fired the weapon. She was instead instructed to assemble and disassemble the weapon blind folded before she was ever given live ammunition. Finally the time came for Sweetie Belle to fire her first shot. Twilight hooked the rifles umbilical cord to Sweetie Belles armor, and she began firing.
Like just about everyone else who had never fired a weapon before, Sweetie Belles aim was more than a little lacking. Twilight lent her student her goggles, and Sweetie Belle tried again. The goggles seemed to almost do the job for her. They told her when her aim was off, how to adjust, and when to pull the trigger. Since everything happened at the speed and accuracy of thought, rather than the clumsy limitations of physical dexterity, Sweetie Belle was quick to master her marksmanship.
Within hours she was already shooting down fast moving targets. She quickly learned firing from awkward poses, such as hanging upside down from an air duct, or leaning sideways off a chair. She even learned how to fire bending over backwards.
“Well, it seems like you’ve mastered marksmanship with the help of the goggles, now take them off,” ordered Twilight.
“Why would I ever fire without them? They do all the work for me,” argued Sweetie Belle.
“You might not always have them. And like the suit, they didn’t really do the work for you. All they did was help focus your psychic awareness. You’ll eventually learn how to do so passively. Now take them off, and do it again.”
Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes under her goggles before removing them. Again she tried firing. Her accuracy was still spot on, but her rate of fire had drastically decreased. Without the goggles, she had to rely on her own coordination. But even without wearing them, the goggles had left a lasting impression on her psyche. She could just “feel” whenever her weapon was pointed spot on, as if the goggles were still guiding her line of fire. It took several hours, but she eventually was able to fire just as quickly as she was with the goggles on. It felt as if she had still been wearing them the whole time.
But like the seemly pointless physical training exercises, the task quickly became trivial. Whatever thrill Sweetie Belle may have initially had was quickly depleted. “Well… that got boring fast. Can we go back to focusing on training that matters now?” Sweetie Belle really had no interest in firearms. What she valued more was learning how to control her magic. With that knowledge, she might be able to unlock whatever secrets still lay buried in her memories.
“The day is almost over Sweetie. But I suppose if you really want to test what you’ve learned so far against another living pony...” said Twilight.
“Yes!” said Sweetie Belle filled with excitement.
Twilight led her student to another room. To her left behind glass, there were three fillies in another room. In front of Sweetie Belle and Twilight there was a crying colt holding a teddy.
“Umm… I don’t get it? Is he supposed to be my opponent? I don’t quite feel right picking on kids,” said Sweetie Belle.
“Adorable bunnies are fine, but crying orphan cancer patient children are where you draw the line?” asked Twilight.
“Please don’t kill me!” shouted the colt.
“What? I’m not going to kill you,” replied Sweetie Belle.
“Well you are holding a gun, and no one is going to miss him. Did I mention he was an orphan?" asked Twilight. "So yeah, you are going to kill him.”
“What?!” shouted Sweetie Belle in horror. “I’m not killing an orphaned cancer patient!”
“He has cancer; he’s already half way there," teased Twilight. "Just a quick squeeze of the trigger and…”
“I want to go home!” shouted the colt.
“Shut up! You don’t have a home!” shouted Twilight.
“I’m not going to kill him!” shouted Sweetie Belle. “How does this hold any relevance to my training?!”
“Well you will be called upon to kill people more than likely. This is practice for that. It’ll help prepare you for the mental trauma of taking another person's life. Experience is a good teacher, not a kind one.”
Sweetie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Especially after Twilight just told her she wouldn't have to kill anyone earlier that day. “But you said-”
“You knew what this was! But I’ll make it easier on you.” Twilight pointed to the room with the three fillies which began to fill with gas. “Oh noes! It would appear that those three non-orphaned, non-cancer infected children are going to die soon if that gas isn’t shut off.”
“Shut it off!” shouted Sweetie Belle pointing her rifle at the psychotic mare.
“Sweetie Belle I’m disappointed. You didn’t count your rounds. You only have one bullet left," informed Twilight. "Now you can either kill that terminally ill nobody, which will cause the gas to shut off, or you can waste it on me. "Of course if you do that, you'll be letting those three innocent fillies, with parents and a potential future, die along side me and the orphan who is going to be dead in a few months anyway.”
Sweetie Belle didn’t know what to do. She looked back at the three fillies; they were crying and looked like they were in great pain from the gas. “The clock is ticking Sweetie! THE CLOCK IS TICKING!” Twilight now had a smile from ear to ear, and a facial expression that suggested her sanity had reached its end.
The three fillies were now unconscious, they didn’t have long. Seeing no other choice, she pointed her rifle over to the orphan. There was nothing she could do for him, but those three fillies could still be saved. “I’m sorry!” she yelled, her eyes filled with tears.
The colt squeezed his teddy tighter. “I don’t want to die! I… want… my… MOMMY!”
Sweetie Belle was shaking uncontrollably now. “You’ll see her soon” said Sweetie Belle with a sobbing voice. “No more pain, I promise.” Sweetie Belle slowly started to squeeze the trigger. “I’M SORRY!” She closed her eyes and fired. The room was filled with a silence. The only thing Sweetie Belle could hear was the sound of her breathing. She didn’t move, she didn’t say anything, she only held still with her eyes closed. Then she heard a voice.
“Great job on learning how to cry on demand!” said Twilight.
“Yeah, it took forever, but I think it really adds to the experience. So you’ll call me next time you need an ‘orphaned cancer patient’ right?” asked the colt. Sweetie Belle opened her eyes to see him shaking hooves with her mentor.
“How could I say no to my favorite little actor? Here is a recommendation though. Next time hold a puppy and a picture of your dead parents.”
“Good idea. See you around Twilight,” said the colt as he left the room.
Twilight looked over at the three unconscious fillies in the room filled with gas. “You’re free to go too girls.”
The three unconscious fillies in the other room got back on all fours and headed for a door. “See you around Twilight” one of them said as she left.
Once again, Sweetie Belle didn’t move. She didn’t talk. She just sat staring at floor where the colt sat moments ago, her left eye twitching uncontrollably.
“I replaced your magazine with a single blank," explained Twilight. "You didn’t really think I was going to make you kill an orphan did you? We clone and resoc those things, we don’t waste them on target practice. Well that’s enough for today. Get something to eat; we’ll continue same time tomorrow." Twilight headed for the exit, but Sweetie Belle didn’t follow. She just stood there with the same confused expression on her face, her eye still twitching. “Well, it looks like you need some time to reflect. Don’t stay up too late.”
Twilight Sparkle left the room and made her way down the hall. Seconds later she, and perhaps the entire academy, heard an ear splitting scream coming from the room she had just left.
“You can’t be my dad!” shouted Scootaloo. “Mom said you… he was dead.”
“Your mother is a liar and a whore,” said the warden. There was no anger in his voice. He was just stating what he thought was a fact.
“Don’t talk that way about her! I don’t have to listen to this!” shouted Scootaloo.
Scootaloo got up for just a second before she was stopped with, “Inmate. Take a seat.”
Scootaloo was angry with the stallion, but he was still the warden. She complied and sat down again. “If you are who you say you are, then why didn’t mom ever tell me about you?”
“When you were still a foal, I walked in on your mother with another stallion. So I beat him senselessly while your mother screamed for me to stop. She called the militia; I was arrested and sentenced to resoc. Like you, I was immune. I guess it runs in the family. Apparently your mother thought it would be easier to just tell you I was dead,” he explained.
“Mom would have told me about that. She wouldn’t keep that from me,” responded Scootaloo.
Warden Iron Feather ignored her comment and continued. “Of course, I wasn’t sure it was really you. I had two other versions of you come through these gates. Apparently they were prone to acts of violence. I only recently became warden, and there were a good number of other versions of you who came in during the time of the previous warden. I was hoping it was just a side effect of the cloning, but if you’re here, then it might just be you. Maybe you just take after me?”
“Wait? What cloning!?” asked Scootaloo.
“Ah, another secret your mother kept from you,” the warden stepped over to a small TV and played some footage. It was Scootaloo running the obstacle course from the first day. She was grabbed by a zergling and ripped to pieces.
“That’s not… that can’t be right!” said Scootaloo.
“I’m sorry Scootaloo. Your mother and I had no choice. There were health complications when you were born. We didn’t come from rich families, so we couldn’t afford to take care of you. It was either we gave up your DNA for cloning to help pay the bills, or watch you die as a foal.”
Scootaloo sat speechless at the sight of her “sister” being ripped to pieces. Finally she spoke. “How many copies did they make?”
“I honestly don’t know. Like I said, I’ve seen two make their way through this prison personally. The old warden didn't really keep track, so I have no idea how many prior,” he explained.
“What happened to the other one? Did you try to help them?” asked Scootaloo.
“I gave them all the same opportunities you had, but it was still up to them to make it through. The second Scootaloo completed her training, and died in the field roughly… four months ago,” said the warden.
“So… what happens with me then… sir?” asked Scootaloo.
“You continue as you have been. You complete the training, you deploy on missions, you serve your time, or you die,” he responded. “What was your crime?”
“I didn’t do it,” she replied.
The warden let out a laugh at the cliché. “Are you really going to try that here? Even I can admit to my murder.”
Scootaloo sighed. She was hoping at least her own father would believe her. “I came home to my friend’s house. Her parents were dead. Militia showed up, I got blamed. They didn’t seem to care they were murdered with a high frequency blade. Where would I even get one of those?”
“So two life sentences huh? I was lucky just to survive one,” he responded.
“If you completed your sentence, why didn’t you try to contact us?” asked Scootaloo.
“The old warden was going to retire. Like me, and his predecessor, he was a reaper who completed his sentence. He wanted another reaper to take his place. Granted it meant I couldn’t come home, but let’s face it, who would hire me if I did? Not to mention your mother probably wouldn’t have been very happy to see me. I assume she had remarried by then. Anyway I knew I wouldn’t ever be allowed to return to my old life. The pay was good, so I took the job and have been sending money to your ungrateful mother ever since to keep you fed.”
“Dad… I mean… sir. I understand why you’re angry with her but… she honestly did do the best she could raising me alone. She never remarried. I think she felt guilty about what she did. She never talked bad about you once, and I can’t remember her bringing home another stallion. Maybe you could forgive her?” asked Scootaloo.
“Can she give me back all the time I spent hanging on for my life in the reaper corps? Can she give me back all the time I never got to spend with my daughter?” he replied.
Scootaloo had to accept the possibility he would hold a grudge against her mother for the rest of his life. Her father had been through a living hell ever since that day. As if being separated from his family wasn’t bad enough, but then being sent to the ice house and having to go through all of… this. It seemed too much for most people to bear. Even so, she held onto hope that in time they could be a family once again. “I… understand. Thanks for the meal. I guess I should be getting ready for the next training regiment. Meet in the dojo as usual right?”
“We got some time before that begins. I’d like to know what you’ve been up to since… the last seventeen years of your life. I noticed you seemed to have a knack for most of the evening events during the first two weeks. Where’d you learn to do all of that?”
“It was my time in the CMC. We did a lot of crazy things,” answered Scootaloo.
“Colonial Marine Corps? Looks like they train them well in Mar Sara,” said her father.
Scootaloo laughed at his assumption. “It’s going to take a while to explain.”
“I've got nothing but time” he replied.
Scootaloo and her father would spend the next few hours trying to make up for lost time. They were at it so long she missed her morning exercises, not that she needed them. For the first time since showing up to the ice house, both Scootaloo and her father could both say they felt truly happy.
It felt so relaxing to lie in a proper bed. Rainbow Dash still being in her reaper armor couldn’t quite enjoy the experience, but Jet Stream couldn’t remember the last time she slept that well. Both of them were happy to get a home cooked meal, complements of the Apple family.
They were only able to spend one night, knowing the prison ship was scheduled to leave evening the next day, but they were extremely grateful for the Apple families’ hospitality. Granted the Apples were a bit shocked at first about the whole Scootaloo clone thing, but ultimately didn’t make a big deal about it. After saying their thanks and good byes, the sisters made their way back into the colony with hopes of checking off another item from Jet Streams to do list.
Rainbow Dash made her way back to the ship, while Jet Stream followed Apple Bloom to Scootaloo's house. The two now stood in front of the house. All that was needed was for them to knock on the door.
“You nervous?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Very nervous,” said Jet Stream. “I’m still worried she might not like me. Or her mom might not let me see her at all.”
“You’ll be fine. You two have so much in common. Just wait a bit until you bring up which Star-Trek captain you think was the best. No need to start things off with an argument,” suggested Apple Bloom.
“Got it… ok… here I go…” Jet Stream took a deep breath before raising her hoof to the door. She was sweating all over. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea! I could come back later… in a year… or five…”
Before she could protest any further, Apple Bloom quickly knocked on the door for her. They only heard the sound of a “GO AWAY!” come from Mrs. Iron Feather.
“Mrs. Iron Feather. We just want to talk to Scootaloo,” yelled Apple Bloom.
“Is that a sick joke? She’s not here, now go away!” she yelled back.
“She sounds upset. Maybe this isn’t a good time?” suggested Jet Stream.
“You might not get another chance for a while Jet Stream. And we agreed we’d ask her mothers permission first. Since Scootaloo isn’t here right now, this works well with our original plan.” Apple Bloom knocked on the door again and shouted, “Mrs. Iron Feather please, we really have to talk.”
The door opened and Mrs. Iron Feather met the two young mares, her eyes filled with sorrow and anger. “I told you! She’s…” Mrs. Iron Feather looked towards Jet Stream. Her lips formed a smile and her eyes filled with tears as she wrapped her hooves around her. “Scootaloo! You’re still here. When they took you away, I thought I’d never see you again!”
Jet Stream was grateful that her mother was happy to see her, but she also felt it necessary to explain her situation. “I’m sorry… mom. But I’m not Scootaloo. My name is Jet Stream.”
Mrs. Iron Feather looked into Jet Streams eyes in horror. “NO! They performed resoc didn’t they?! What did they do to you?! That did they do to my baby!”
Jet Stream looked over to Apple Bloom hoping to get a suggestion on the next course of action. Apple Bloom decided to say something. “Umm… she’s still getting reacquainted with her old life. I’m… showing her around so… she’ll remember who she was.” Jet Stream gave her a look that suggested What the hell are you doing?! “Scootaloo… this is your mother… you live with her.”
“Yes, you’re name is Scootaloo remember? This is your home sweetie. You belong here,” said the older mare.
Jet Stream didn’t know what to do. She came here to meet Scootaloo, not take her place. “Umm… can we please come in… mom?”
“Yes, yes please do. I’ll make you and your friend something to eat,” replied her mother.
Mrs. Iron Feather entered the kitchen and began to happily make her daughter and her friend some sandwiches. Jet Stream looked over to Apple Bloom and asked, “You can’t expect me to keep lying to her. She’s going to find out eventually.”
“She thinks you had your memories changed. You could say whatever you want and she wouldn’t suspect a thing. But more importantly, where is the real Scootaloo?” asked Apple Bloom.
“I don’t know but… it doesn’t feel right lying to her. I want to tell her the truth,” pleaded Jet Stream.
“You saw the condition she is in right now. For all we know she was getting ready to kill herself," warned Apple Bloom. "We have to let her down more… gently somehow. I got a plan, just follow my lead alright?”
Mrs. Iron Feather finally returned with a platter of two delicious looking hay sandwiches. “Scootaloo, we have so much to talk about. We need to get you back up to speed on… everything. I’m sorry they did this to you. But you’re my daughter, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you remember who you were, alright?” she said as she placed the platter on a small living room table.
“Actually Mrs. Iron Feather, Scootaloo has to leave. The Dominion made her a pilot and… she’ll be running shipments for them from now on," lied Apple Bloom. "She has to leave tonight.”
“She can’t leave, she just got here,” said Mrs. Iron Feather.
“I know… mom. But it’s a busy schedule. I’m sorry I can’t say longer, but I have to leave tonight. Don’t worry though; I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’ll see me again, I promise,” assured Jet Stream.
“I see… well. I guess we should enjoy the time we have left,” said her mother.
Jet Stream wasn’t sure how to approach the next question, so she was direct. “Mom… why was I resoced?”
“Hun… I don’t think we should talk about that," replied her mom. "I don’t want you to relapse.”
“How could they resoc her though? I turned in the stupid data core!" complained Apple Bloom. "The magistrate said she’d get a full pardon! I did everything I was supposed to!”
Mrs. Iron Feather took a deep breath. “Apple Bloom, can I speak to you in private?”
Apple Bloom followed Mrs. Iron Feather into the kitchen. “Dear, haven’t you heard about the Belles?”
“I’ve been on the DSP the last three days. I was giving testimony so Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle would be pardoned," explained Apple Bloom. "I don’t really know what’s been going on the last few days on the surface.”
“Dear… the Belles are dead," said Mrs. Iron Feather. "Scootaloo.... murdered them.”
“No… no no that can’t be right!" said Apple Bloom. "I know Scootaloo. She would never do that to the Belles. She would never do that to Sweetie!”
“Apple Bloom please, keep it quiet!" demanded the older mare. "I don’t want her to hear. I don’t want her to remember.”
“But she didn’t do it!" argued Apple Bloom. "Scootaloo isn’t capable of murder.”
“She was found at the scene of the crime," informed Mrs. Iron Feather. "I couldn’t believe it either but…”
Apple Bloom wasn’t willing to hear anymore of this. She left the kitchen and made her way out the door. “Jet Stream we’re leaving!” she shouted.
Jet Stream didn’t know what was going on, but followed her friend out the door. She heard the sound of Mrs. Iron Feather shouting,
“Scootaloo don’t listen to her. Don’t listen to a word she says. You’re a good girl now. Just do what the Dominion tells you to do!”
Jet Stream didn’t know what to say. She just kept walking. She asked Apple Bloom, “Are we planning on meeting Scootaloo?”
“Yes we are Jet Stream. Yes we are.”