Hours after Sereneighty left Deadwood, most of the crew could finally relax. It would be days before they reached their next destination, and most of them were looking forward to a few days of peacefully drifting through the black.
Most of the crew was ready to turn in and get some sleep, but a few still had work to do. Derpy was finishing some routine maintenance on the ship’s compression coils; one of them had nearly shaken loose on takeoff. She would be up for a while yet.
Thunderlane had wandered back to his bed after Octavia let him out of the airlock. He insisted that getting stuck inside was purely an accident. He finished off the last of the fancy brandy, toyed with his guitar, and then buried his head under his pillow.
Octavia had retired only after convincing Vinyl to leave the ship’s computer. The DJ had recently finished mixing another song, and it was getting terrific reviews on the Cortex. It took a lot to coax her away from the endless stream of positive comments on her media page, but the cellist wasn’t without her methods.
Bon Bon was troubled. The Companion had noticed that Lyra was very upset about something, but knew better than to ask what it was. Instead, as she had done several times before when something was bothering her, she sought out the Shepherd for a long talk that lasted late into the evening. They both wondered at great length what might be bothering the Captain, but neither had a satisfying answer. When Bon Bon finally returned to her shuttle for a good night’s sleep, Mac decided to keep Derpy company in the engine room.
Although the danger had passed, Lyra couldn’t relax. She knew that she should get some rest, especially since Tick Tock had insisted that it was necessary in her condition, but she was so upset that she knew she would only lie awake in bed. Thunderlane’s betrayal had shaken her more than she let on, and she still didn’t know if she had been right in letting him stay. She sat in her chair on the bridge, plucking her lyre and moodily watching the stars.
The only other pony awake was the ship’s doctor. Tick Tock had spent hours researching drugs that could alter behavior, and had eventually begun toying with the idea of magic inhibitors. When he finally exhausted himself with study, he was annoyed to find that he still couldn’t sleep. He had settled for a different kind of work instead, and sketched a rudimentary design for a simple clock.
Once the ship had been quiet for long enough, something stirred in the cargo hold. An electronic whine sounded from inside one of the tea crates, and small blasts of superheated plasma ripped through the metal hinges securing the crate’s lid.
Moments later, the crate flew open and an extremely disoriented pony in a red space suit tumbled out onto the floor. He got shakily to his hooves, removed his helmet, and shook his head to clear it. A perfectly manicured hoof smoothed back his blue mane.
A cursory check of his oxygen tank revealed that it hadn’t lasted nearly as long as he had hoped. He saw several empty space suits hanging in a cargo locker, and hurriedly replenished his tank. “Dreadful business,” Horte Cuisine complained quietly. “Next time I’m putting air holes in the box.”