The patchwork hologram spun lazily above the super projector. Territorial markers no longer had defined boundaries. Instead, what used to separate different galactic provinces were now ambiguous meandering lines created by regions of emptiness: regions of space that no longer transmitted data. Consequently, what remained of the galactic map were small islands of blue light, housing tiny white dots inside them and each one separated by varying distances of space. These distances ranged from the relatively mundane, a couple of parsecs or so, to immense stretches of space spanning across the entire galaxy. The spots of blue moved lazily as the image revolved, barely having any resemblance to the spiral arms that used to be displayed.
Uolix looked down on the image from one of the walkways over the super projector, deep in thought. Her Arcane-Manipulators were slung over the railing, claws dangling idly. Of the rows of computers below, several were without anyone operating them, most of their monitors dark and offline. The few that were still on flickered, the information scrutinized by the few analysts on duty. She sighed softly and shook her head. The Galactic Situation Observatory was a lot more vacant as of late, ever since the collapse of the Thymal Republic. In fact, a lot of the Peace Corps’ standings in the galaxy were understaffed, if not destroyed entirely.
“And this is just the first week…” she said to herself.
She recalled the shock she felt on the first day of the deathless tide; she was studying the galactic display and watched as the formerly allied ships jumped in between the star systems of the galaxy. Each system started to redden, to her great horror. So many systems were under attack at once that she couldn’t have had the projector focused on just one star. Instead, she could only imagine what went on during the initial raid before the Harmony’s patrol drones were systematically wiped out, thereby denying monitoring centers of any information. Many of the Peace Corps’ outposts were eliminated along with the drones in the following days, leaving only a paltry few facilities scattered across the stars and a galactic map that did not qualify to be called anything of the sort.
“What will become of the galaxy by the end of the month… the year?”
She put her head down on the railing and rolled it from side to side, the true weight of the crisis bearing down on her. In addition to the original enemy, former Harmony ships were seeking out the bastions they used to protect to destroy them. The only reason why facilities like the G.S.O remained was that they warped out of their original positions to take refuge elsewhere. Other nebulas, asteroid fields, barren planets and moons among other places protected them from the hunters prowling through space, and a strict silence in between the remaining bodies of the Peace Corps was established so that communications could not be traced to individual strongholds. Other forms of data such as that which contributed to the super projector’s hologram were transmitted sporadically and encrypted with tight security that took some time to unlock. As a result, the data shown was not up to date more often than not.
Knowing this made Uolix wish she wasn’t the one-time commander of the Harmony. It was her call, after all, that brought about the catastrophe that ensued. It was why she was watching from high above her usual position, alone. She found it nigh impossible to face the few that remained on the G.S.O. How could she, when the subjugation of the galaxy could be traced back to the decision she made? She continued rolling her head on the railing, finding herself suddenly overcome with despair. If this was not the beginning of the end for all life in the galaxy, then it was the beginning of the second Age of Strife: the second galactic war, more centuries of bloodshed and misery. This time however, the foes were also old friends.
“And this is only the first week…” her soft distorted voice sounded brittle, afflicted with a temblor as she spoke to herself. “Only the first week and we are already at the brink…” She started shivering as she cried silently far above her post, the hologram spinning, the analysts typing away at their terminals, her metal limbs hanging over the edge. “Forgive me, my friends. I’ve failed everyone.”
***
A week of living on some cast aside backwater world would normally have wrecked someone’s spirits. Especially when resources were running out and dependence on the local bounty was increasing daily, at that. But in spite of it, the officer sat back against a medium sized log at ease, his helmet resting on it off to his side. He had his arms crossed behind his head and his feet kicked up on a smooth, moss covered rock, basking in front of a large campfire that several other refugees were gathered around. The yellow light fell on his flat naked face, warming his blue-gray scales. It danced in his amber colored eyes, his pupils dilated to tiny slits that ran horizontally across, bisecting them. The shadows were absent from beneath the pronounced bony ridges that protruded slightly over the ranger’s eyes.
He was an oddity among the group of displaced people. Most of them looked lost and shaken, huddled up together around the fire. Others stayed at the ships that served as housing, a short walk through the alien forest to the treeline. The officer did not care either way, though. To him, life itself was ending, though he hadn’t died yet. While he always thought that, should he lose his teammates, he would feel some drive to avenge their deaths somehow, he didn’t. He only felt void left by their lack of presence. They were gone and no righteous crusade was going to bring them back. No quest for revenge was going to bring anyone back, or reverse the damage done.
It was a week since the defeat at Thymal, and the officer’s resolve was to go quietly into the great beyond. He fought to no good end. The only thing left for him was living out the rest of his life as happily as he could as death spread through the galaxy.
So he rested against the log, the stars stretched across the dark skies overhead, blocked by interlocking branches and broad leaves with dimly glowing, sharp edges. The officer laid his head on the log, mindful of the horns and stared up into the night.
He heard someone approaching and his eyes rolled over to the side. Emerging from the corner of his vision was a refugee in gray armor. Against the fire, most of the equine figure was in shadow save for the yellow screens covering its eyes, which defied the flames with their own distinct shine. The light created a warm outline around the pony’s form. The officer grunted, raising a scaly brow at the pony, who then sat on its haunches and looked up through the canopy.
“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve looked up at the sky like this. Since I’ve really looked at it.” The stallion chuckled. “I don’t recognize a damn thing. All the stars are in the wrong place. This isn’t the sky that I know.”
The officer glanced upwards as if to confirm. “That so?” he replied casually, not even questioning why a stranger would strike up conversation with him of all people. He had nothing but time left. He wasn’t going to spend it being confrontational.
“Not that I expected it to look anything like the sky I knew,” said the pony. “I’m a long ways away from where the stars would have matched what I remember.”
“I would imagine,” the officer replied. “You have any family that long ways away?”
The pony didn’t answer for a short moment. When he spoke again, he said, “I don’t have much of anything to call a family anywhere.”
The officer grunted. “You’re lucky then. Far better off than most of our little group here.”
“What a way to look at it,” the stallion said before chuckling again. It wasn’t an amused chuckle. It was more like one of disbelief, as if the notion of him being luckier than anyone was ridiculous.
“When you’re standing before the end, you can afford to look at things a bit differently,” the ranger replied.
The stallion scoffed. “At the end, huh?” he asked. “I suppose that answers my question.”
“Question?” the officer inquired.
“Yeah, ‘just why the hell do you seem so relaxed about all this?’ Makes sense if you’ve given up already. Found your peace and all that, I take it?”
The ranger sat up. “Do I detect a bit of anger in that tone of yours, stranger?”
“Why would I be angry?” the pony said. He shrugged and added: “It’s not like the galaxy’s falling apart or anything, and needs people fighting for it. If not for the sake of those who can’t fight, then for the sake of sending the bastards who decided it’d be a good idea to lay waste to everything packing!”
“I’ve fought as much as I’m able to fight, stranger. This armor I’m wearing?” The ranger pointed to his red suit and white plating with both hands. “In case you didn’t recognize it like your stars, it’s G.P.C issued equipment. I was fighting for the Harmony since it was founded, and all I’ve gotten since was people telling us to fuck off and dead friends. It’s been a week since I’ve stopped fighting and it feels nice to be able to say that, even with the galaxy ‘falling apart’.”
It was the ranger’s turn to scoff. “I wonder how many of them changed their minds about the Harmony as their precious towers fell and cities burned-“
Before he knew it, the officer found himself pinned to the log, a sharp pain shooting through the back of his head. The pony had a front hoof pressed up against his neck, putting a surprising amount of strength into the hold and keeping him down against the log.
“… Mind… the horns…” the officer rasped.
The pony’s impassive stare was unreadable. A few others eyed him warily, but made no move to intervene. Typical, the officer thought. After a few moments though, the pony relented. He stepped backwards a few paces and the ranger sat up, rubbing his throat with a hand.
“So much for my week without fighting.”
“It isn’t nice to speak badly about the dead.” The pony looked off into the wilderness.
“Who said I was talking about the dead?” The officer responded. He shot a few quick glances at the civilians around the campfire.
“Why did you fight at all?” the pony asked suddenly.
“… What?” the ranger replied, understandably confused.
“You fought to keep peace, right? Even if others did not approve, that was your motivation, right? That was what the Harmony was all about?”
“Sure but… things changed. There is no peace to keep now. Just a war we’re all losing,” said the officer.
“It isn’t a war if there is no opposing side. No, what’s going on out there?” The pony pointed up to the heavens. “That’s not a war. That’s what I call a slaughter.”
“Keep in mind what I said earlier about looking at things differently, stranger.”
“You’re seeing things from the perspective of someone who’s given up hope,” the pony said with rising intensity. “If you did that when the Hoof-Talons were still around, would you even be alive right now?”
“Who are you anyway? And what does it mean to you that I fight, anyway?” the ranger shot back.
“My name is Phineas Startrot, but you can just call me Federation pony. Everyone else does. And what it means to me that you fight?” The stallion approached the ranger until his masked face was inches away from the officer’s. “It means that I know that I can’t go about this on my own. I’ve been thinking this over for a while now, and I know I’ll need help. We can’t just hide on this planet. We need to start working on a counterattack.”
“You asking for help from others is a request for them to relinquish their life,” said the ranger unflinchingly.
“What’s the point of living if you’ve got nothing to live for?” Phineas asked.
“What’s the point of fighting when you’ve got nothing left to fight for?” the officer retorted.
Phineas grabbed the ranger and shouted, “You’re still alive aren’t you!? Isn’t that reason enough to fight!? To fight for your life and to make them pay for ending the lives of countless others!?”
Now everyone was staring at the episode playing out before their eyes.
“To fight is to die! There is no meaning in that! No greater good! I’ve seen it happen with my own damned eyes! I watched my whole squad die for nothing!” the ranger shouted back. “I saw them get gunned down fighting!”
“But they didn’t die for nothing! You’re still alive! You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them,” said Phineas. “And now you owe them this last service. Because they didn’t just die, they didn’t lay down in surrender. They wouldn’t want you to do what they didn’t!”
Phineas let go of the ranger and stepped back again. He was panting; these passionate speeches always took a lot out of him! After catching his breath again, he asked, “So what do you say?”
“Why me? Why me out of everyone else here?” the ranger asked.
“Because you were the only one who looked like he was okay with this shit,” Phineas said bluntly. “And that doesn’t fly with me.”
The officer looked around, seeing that the others were getting up, sensing a fire in them in how they stood with purpose. Clearly, something the pony said reignited some flame in them. He looked to the ground, thinking about his squad. How they stuck together against the undead, making sure that the survivors of the Triterion survived the onslaught.
“And what if we all end up dying doing this?”
“Then we best make sure there are others who can finish the fight,” said Phineas.
The ranger sighed, reached for his helmet and put it on. He stood up, towering over the pony a good five feet. “Space Ranger, Alikir, reporting back for duty, Federation pony.”
“It’s good to have you back, Space Ranger,” Phineas replied, saluting. He turned around to face the others, who were also saluting. Smiling underneath his helmet, the silver stallion thought: “I can’t believe this melodramatic shit actually worked out!”