//------------------------------//
// Chapter Three - Pyramid Power 
// Story: Sufficiently Advanced 
// by Lord Of Dorkness 
//------------------------------//

???





The woman’s neck broke with a sharp crack, her head almost turning one-eighty from the force I had used. A death rattle pierced the air; nothing would move in her lungs again.

I wasted no time, pilfering the would-be pirate’s gun. The cheaply printed pistol felt oddly heavy in my hands. I briefly wondered how many of my comrades, or, for that matter, civilians, had died to the flimsy little thing.

By chance I looked towards the corpse. To my mortified fascination, the woman was using her jaw to scoot her head towards me, just enough to almost bite me as one last act of defiance.

In response, I put her out of her misery.

“Good work, Chrissy!” a male voice shouted, making me curse that I’d opted to use the gun. “Found a straggler, eh?”

I pressed myself into the shadows, the soot and smoke obscuring me almost as well as the automatic camo from the smart-fibre of my uniform.

“...Chrissy?” A man stepped out of a corner, looking tense. Tears started streaming down his cheeks as soon as he saw the girl.

He barely had time to cry out before I put a bullet between his eyes. He fell to the floor spasming.

I waited long enough to be certain that there were no more coming around the corner before I snuck over and patted them both down.

Two combat knives, a spare gun, and five extra clips of ammo was my price. I took a few tense moments to check the magazines and pool the ammo. It seemed the girl had been busy, because most of her ammo had been spent. In the end, I had three full clips extra, twelve shots loaded into the gun.

And what pieces of work these guns were. Cheap plastic, rubbish metal, and the powder smelled as if they’d lifted it from a fireworks factory…  But somebody on the pirate’s side had half a brain, and about negative two hearts, because the bullets were hollow-points. Perfect—though completely illegal—tools for dealing with a training ship of raw recruits. Heck, they even lessened the risk of a hull breach. Utterly rubbish against armor of course, but it made no difference when most of us had simple uniforms.

I swore under my breath. Dammit, why did the armory have to be on the other side of the ship? All I had on this end was—

A wicked grin came to me. I must have looked like some sort of twisted Cheshire cat, the rest of me hidden in the gloom from emergency lights and my features darkened by soot.

With renewed purpose, I started sneaking towards the docking bay. I took it slow and carefully. I had no illusions about what would happen to me, if I got caught.

Several agonizingly long minutes later, this belief was sadly validated as I came upon some poor bastard’s last stand. 

I didn’t recognize him as more than a face from the mess, but the lieutenant had gone down fighting. One stiff hand still held a gun, the other clutched at the poor kid’s abdomen. From the look of things, one of the five bastards laying around him got lucky with a gut shot. I closed his eyes, pocketing his PDA and his tags. I wanted to get the gun as well, but he was clutching it so hard, I would have needed to… break his fingers.

I moved on.

The two I’d gotten by surprise must have been a rear guard, because I didn’t even hear any more. I arrived at the small docking bay without resistance. 

The SGTS Glorious Dawn was a small vessel, mostly for giving raw ensigns a taste of space; the dock mostly contained a couple of rows of training drones. With dismay, I noticed that most of them still hung in their cradles. Since they were only training drones, they weren’t armed, but they might have served as mobile bombs at the very least.

How the hell had they taken us so completely by surprise?

I’d been between shifts and heading back to my bunk after a shower, when the sirens started blaring and the chaos started. Almost as soon as I’d gotten my uniform on and activated the camo, some bloodcrazed bastard wearing a Jolly Roger t-shirt had jumped me.

I’m not certain how many drugs the meathead had in his system, but it was almost like fighting a angry slab of beef. He barely flinched at my punches, right until I managed to get both my thumbs in his eyes. I fought back a giggle, mostly from the adrenaline. Then he reacted, alright.

I rubbed at my wrist where my PDA still hung, broken and useless, before doing the same with my swelling left eye and split lip. That victory had cost me.

My eyes fell on one of two training shuttles, meant to give pilot trainees some non-simulated flight time. Just what I needed.

I chose the nearest, quickly opening the airlock. Right now, an alarm would be going off on the bridge, signaling that somebody was accessing the shuttle without prior go ahead. I gave a unhappy grunt. If the bastards had taken the bridge… But there really wasn’t much I could do about it. I would just have to press on.

As soon as the door opened, a pale fist filled my vision. It stopped only inches away from my face, close enough that I could see individual hairs in its pelt, as well as several streaks of blood.

“Sorry!” the owner of the hand whispered, drawing my gaze to the strange horse-shaped head of ensign Shining Armor. “Get in!” 

He practically dragged me in; I stumbled over the threshold. I sank down past the second door, panting with sudden exhaustion as I realized that if this hidey hole was claimed, then it must be clear. Shining’s close call with making me a friendly fire statistic had sent my heart into my throat, which might have helped as well.

He yanked the door shut as if it was a normal door instead of a heavy airlock, not bothering with even the mechanical closing system. I took a moment to look him over.

I hadn’t spent much time with him before, but he had given me a decent impression. The whole chalk-white horse-head and blue mane thing was weird, but hardly the strangest design I’d seen. Heck, walking down the streets of London was enough nowadays to almost forget that we humans were still alone in the universe.

I’d seen him eating by himself more than once, though. There were a decent amount of transhumans in Sol Guard, but many regular recruits were wary of them anyway. Well, the ones that flaunted it like Shining, at least. 

Call me cynical, but few seemed to care quite as much about the Greek god wannabes with pecs on their pecs, compared to those who had seen Disney’s Robin Hood one too many times growing up, or those who were a bit too into unicorns, as the case might be with Mr. Armor. Although I had to admit, he hardly looked comical or endearing at the moment. He was nearly covered in blood, and I saw what might have been bits of brain smeared on his knuckles. Long gashes had been cut from both his uniform and him. They were probably due to panic fire from pirates that hadn’t expected a transhuman in such close quarters.

Most of the damage was superficial, the artificial skin torn and revealing subdermal armor, but he had a horrible gash on his face, where something had barely missed his eye. I saw the gleam of scratched metal bone, and black artificial muscle twitched and sparked in the wound.

“...You alright?” I managed to pant out.

He snuck over and sank down beside me. “No,” he said, carefully feeling the wound on his cheek. He turned to me, looking a bit shellshocked. “How bad is it?”

I shook my head, in turn a bit shaken by how shaken he had sounded. I’d seen him move at some of the drills, and while many of the others had grumbled about cheating, I was mostly just happy he was on our side. Seeing someth— somebody mostly human-shaped do an obstacle course at a nearly literal gallop had been illuminating. I almost felt bad for the pirates that had gone up against him.

My eyes darted down to his bloody fists. Shining followed my eyes. His face twitched, and he forced himself to look away. He looked both disgusted and guilty, before finally hiding them behind his back.

“I’m sorry, it looks bad, but I simply don’t know. I’m not—” I wasn’t certain if I should have said the next words, but honesty won out. “—a mechanic.” I finished, trying to sound as kind as I could.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting out a resigned sigh. “Thanks anyway… and for being honest.”

“No problem,” I told him. “But have you seen anybody else?”

He fought back a sob. “...Nobody left.”

I grunted in acknowledgement, before I held up the looted PDA. “Slightest chance you’ve got hacking systems? I know a thing or two, but not enough to do what I was planning without triggering every damn alarm on the ship.”

He ran his hands through his mane, smearing it with various fluids. I grimaced, but he probably needed the chance to calm down more than the hygiene. “Dammit, I just signed up to try being a bit more like the real—” He took a deep breath and glared at me. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

I gave him a tired look. “Kid, I killed three people to get here. I assure you, I’m not likely to get anything more than adrenaline giggles anytime soon… And I have no idea what you're talking about, anyway.”

“Really?” he said, sounding both relieved and disappointed. He let out a tittering laugh that made me worry for his mental health. “Oh, and I got jumped by six—” Then he buried his head in his hands and started sobbing.

I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore what else I was putting it into. “Mr. Armor, I need to know if you have any hacking systems, or if I’m going to have to do this myself.”

He took a dozen shuddering breaths to regain his composure. “Fine, tell me this plan of yours… and call me Shining.”

I extended a hand. He hesitated for a moment, before smiling and grabbing it. I gave him a smile of my own in turn. “Blake Gregory, a pleasure.”

My smile turned a bit forced, as I noticed how… squishy his grip was. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning away from me.

I took a deep breath, and very carefully didn’t look down. “Would you be terribly offended if I wiped my hand?”

A smile twitched into life on his equine face, making a few sparks fly from his facial  wound. “Not at all, but thanks for asking.”

I needed no more encouragement to wipe my hand on the floor. 

“Seriously,” he continued, “It means a lot. I’ve done my best, but I haven’t exactly felt welcome in the Guard. Somebody treating me like a person again feels nice.”

He slowly swept his arm over the putrescent room. “Even if I would have prefered better circumstances.”

I bit back a laugh. “Likewise, but…?” I held up the PDA.

With a grunt, he shook his head. “Sorry, my big brother Dusk Shine is the computer guy in the family.” He tapped his horn. “I’ve mostly spent my time learning this baby.”

I filed the odd name away, deciding to ask later why they both had such strange names, but now was not the time. I looked at the pristine HORN, meant to actually look like a, well, a fluted unicorn horn. “How come you needed to use your fists?”

Shining gritted his teeth. “Ensigns aren't trusted to use even built-in weapons, unless the Captain gives a order to do so.” He tapped his forearm, looking extremely irritated. “I’ve actually got emergency bayonets in these, for all the good they’ve done while being locked in their sheaths.”

“Shouldn’t the red alert have done that automatically?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking dejected. “When I got jumped, it was only a yellow alert.” He gestured to his head wound. “For all I know, something might have… broken.”

I felt around in my uniform, before presenting him the knives. “Here, I think you might get more use out of these than I would.”

Hesitating, he reached out and took them. He gave me a grim nod, securing them on his belt.

I nodded back, jabbing a thumb towards the controls. “Alright, here’s the plan.”

He leaned in, studying the PDA. 

“Worst case scenario: the ship is completely taken over, and the moment I do anything with this, the bastards will know, so we have to maximise our chances of survival. We can’t let them get away with the Glorious Dawn. Even if it’s outdated, who knows what they might do with it?”

He tensed a little. “…You want to flee?”

I nodded towards his bloody hands, making him cringe. “Would you prefer going from room to room until they get lucky?” I tapped the side of the tiny computer again for emphasis. “Besides, running is the last resort, now let me finish.”

Shining gulped, then nodded slowly.

“I’ve always had a knack with technology—” I let out a nervous laugh. “—and I haven’t exactly been squeaky clean about it. I know some hacking tricks. I might be able to do some actual damage with the permissions in this thing, but it’s more or less going to give away our position.”

Shining’s ears folded back at the wannabe hacker bit, and it only got worse from there. “Just what are you planning?”

I nodded towards the doors. “You know how the bulkheads may be automatically closed in case of a breach? I was thinking about forcing them shut—and turning off the oxygen to those rooms.”

He winced. “That’s a horrible way to go.” His face turned just as hard figuratively as it was literally. “Do it, but make sure they aren’t taking hostages. I’ll start the shuttle. I’m no pilot, but I should be able to point this tub towards Earth.” He got to his feet.

I pointed to the docking port on the instrument panel. “Do you have a—?”

He got into the seat and buckled himself in. A hiss came from his neck, answering my query. His head popped off and scuttled down on what looked like strands of smart-fibre, but thicker, then pressed a button near the docking port and got in. With another hiss, he was locked in place and the instruments started lighting up. “Strap in, we might need to leave in a hurry.”

I got up and did so. I started the PDA, the holographic screen flickering alive in front of me. “Try the radio, we might get a warning out, at least.”

I gained access to the Glorious Dawn’s internal servers and winced. There was a long list of people confirmed KIA, but some fighting was still ongoing. People had barricaded themselves in the bridge, the mess, and the armory.

Shining grunted. “No can do, they have a jammer.”

There were survivors listed. Not many, but they were alive. I did a quick count. Eleven people, hidden or wounded in the same rooms as the hostiles where currently in. Shining was looking at me with a neutral expression. Whether it was due to my face or to the readings I didn’t know, but comparing the neutralization of the majority of the boarders to saving most of the remaining crew… I shook my head. They couldn’t be allowed to get away with the ship, with all that they could do with it.

The calculus was as grim as it was easy. Eleven lives, compared to an untold but certainly higher number? There was no comparison.

I searched through recent activity. Somebody had, quite clumsily, declared the fire warnings a false alarm, and forced the doors to unlock… One ‘Major Dick.’ I grunted irritably at the utter lack of class. Well, it seemed quite possible they simply didn’t care about leaving trails. What was the point in being neat if you were stealing the crime-scene as well?

I gently removed the extra memory from my own PDA, and slotted it into the one I had looted. I was relieved when the computer recognized it, proving that it survived my scuffle. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. This would have been a lot harder without my tools.

Shining sucked in a breath, seeing the folder that popped up. “Dude, why do you have a hidden memory stick full of hacking software?”

“Because a non-hidden one would have been confiscated,” I answered primly. “Now, let me work.”

It seemed a bit nonsensical, but the white would-be unicorn paled even further. Still he did as I asked, and within a few moments, I had the thing up to my exacting standards. I got to work on the ship’s security, trying the classic brute-force attack first. I sighed, irritated.

“Shining?”

“...Yes?” he hesitantly answered.

“When we both get dragged before a tribunal over this, remind me to cuss out whichever moron served as system administrator on this tub. The password is fucking ‘admin.’”

Shining let out a nervous laugh, but made no other comment.

With disturbing ease, I changed the password to 987654321Altruism123456789Sacrifice112233445566778899. Hardly my best work, but I was pressed for time, and the sheer bulk of digits would slow down any counterattacks. I quickly made a note of it in the blood beside me, just in case. I wiped my finger off on my pants and got back to work.

I got rid of the block on the fire alarms with a simple reboot, after leaving a few surprises in the system, of course.

With a thud we felt through the floor, the blast doors to the bridge slammed shut.

Almost immediately somebody tried to counter, logging back on to the ‘Major Dick’ account. I grinned. Such a pity somebody just laced that account with enough viruses to make a computer melt…

Literally.

With a song in my heart, and humming a merry tune, I flicked through the security cameras. “Dude,” Shining said, sounding worried. “you are creeping me out. And for the record? I got the phylactery upgrade back when it required manual removal and reattachment.”

I nodded absently, finding the camera I was looking for. I held up the image of a man clutching a burned forearm and screaming, as his computer lay in front of him smoking. “Always remove wearable computers when hacking. It’s just begging for someone with a nasty streak to overclock the thing a couple of orders of magnitude otherwise.”

Shining gulped, and muttered something like, “...I’m so glad Rarity is paranoid about computer security…”

I ignored the comment. Instead, I opted to gain access to the PA system.

I cleared my throat, as the PDA started to broadcast my grim face to every display on board.

“This is Ensign Blake Gregory. I now have root access to the Glorious Dawn’s computer systems. To the pirates aboard I have the following message: Yield, or I will kill you all...”





Present Day. 





I woke in a cold sweat, struggling against the buckles of my seat before I remembered where I was.

I started taking slow breaths to calm myself, ignoring the odd looks I was getting from some of the plane’s other passengers.

“...You all right, boss?” #431 asked, giving me a concerned look.

I pressed the stop button on my PDA, ending the looping playback of ‘Suited For Success.’ Decent episode from what I saw before sleep claimed me, but my day had simply caught up with me. I tugged my earbuds out and leaned back in my seat.

“Nightmare, nothing more,” I managed. “Just bad memories that haven’t cared to fade yet…”

“You need to talk about it?” she asked.

I gave her a sharp shake of my head. 

#431 countered by putting a hand atop my own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I sucked in a breath, realizing where this was going… and truth be told, it didn’t sound like that bad an idea. “I was back on the Glorious Dawn. I was just about to…” The words ‘exterminate them’ caught in my throat. “Well, you know. Again.”

#431 winced.

A shiver swept me. I countered it by sweeping up what was left of a now warm and flat soda.

I half expected mutterings and gasps, but I only got a few curious glances. I hummed thoughtfully as I placed the empty can on the tray. “I guess it’s starting to be forgotten.”

#431 gave me a nervous smile. “Well, it was almost sixty years ago.”

I nodded. There wasn’t much more to add than that…

I gave the unicorn next to me a sideways glance. “Slightest chance you know a guy called Shining A—”

#431 interrupted me, looking a bit wide eyed. “Damn, you're the ‘scary little ensign’ that gave Shining nightmares for months? Small world!”

I smiled nervously at her. “I must admit, I thought we struck up a better accord than that…”

#431 patted me on the hand. “Oh, he likes you alright…” #431 threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “You just scared the bejesus out of him as well!”

I had to bark out a laugh of my own at that. “So, anyway, how is the old geek? I’ve haven’t heard much from him since he got promoted.”

#431 shrugged. “Me and mom neither. The other admirals are keeping him busy.”

I nodded, and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Well, I feel a bit better that there’s an admiral who isn’t a brown-nosing nimrod or a complete bastard, at least.”

#431 shifted her weight uncomfortably, although that might have been the seat. They were decent, but hardly amazonian-sized. I’d tried not to notice, but her hips did look a bit squished together…

What can I say? I strive to be a gentleman, but certain things catch the eye, do they not?

But I had to admit, she did looking striking in that frame and uniform together. I also had to admit to being one of those men who barely get the why of high heels… but a slightly uncomfortable seat seemed a small sacrifice for curves like that.

I fought back a smile. I hadn’t even been looking for it, but I still saw almost two dozen women seemingly trying to kill #431 with their sheer hatred, judging from the glares…

And judging from the wide grin that had barely left #431’s face since we’d left Echidna, she’d most certainly noticed as well.

She wasn’t smiling now.

I let out a sigh. “Is this about Arun?”

She hesitated for a moment, but nodded, looking uncharacteristically grim.

“Fine…” I sighed again. “He’s a brown-nosing weasel of a politician. And every time I actually do something, he’s there to point out how it hurts his career or his plans.” I gripped my armrests, making the wounds on my palms ache again. “Like today, in fact.”

“...Nothing more?” #431 hesitated again, before vaguely waving an arm. “Because honestly, you looked like you were minutes away from strangling him with his own intestines or something.”

“He’s been doing it my whole bloo–” I quickly bit off the swear. That wasn’t a pun I wanted to say, even unintentionally. “My entire career. And somehow I keep ending up at low risk positions… as far out of the way as possible. Usually with crap gear and washouts, just so I couldn’t do anything even if I had the chance.” 

I bit back a laugh. Sadly for Arun, I must have pissed on Lady Luck’s grave in a past life. I instead held a hand flat over my head, as high as my arm would extend. “Simply put, I’ve had it up to here.”

“...You're certain he’s not just looking out for you?”

I barely resisted the urge to grit my teeth. “I don’t want a nanny. I want him to get out of my way and never get into it ever again. He burned all bridges between us years ago.” I fought down a sigh as memories of happier times danced through my head; my brother was once so much less of a dick. ”Why he still insists on defiling the ashes is beyond me.” I took a deep breath, calming myself. “The Maria was the last straw.”

“Sorry, boss.” #431 shifted uncomfortably again. For some reason, her hair had turned straight. “I’ve seen enough families over the years to know that the blood and water thing is complete crap, but I still don’t like seeing it.”

“You know?” I said, trying to switch the subject. “You should let your hair down like that more often. It looks really nice when you do.”

I must have said something wrong; her face went carefully blank. Then her hair coiled up, fell down, coiled up, fell down, coiled up, fell down…

Just as I was starting to worry I’d done some sort of permanent damage, she smacked herself, hard. Then she smiled a bit as her hair started braiding itself. “Thank you for the compliment.” She held it up to examine just as the end tied itself into a knot. “I guess it’s high time I should try branching out from the family standard.”

“Family standard?”

“Sorry, inside joke.” She let out a small laugh, as she put the braid behind her back again. “Basically there isn’t one, since almost all of us experiment until we find a look we like, but Mom still prefers the classic Pinkie look, so…”

“Ah, a matter of one’s… roots, so to speak?”

She nodded slowly, studying her flexing hand. “Yeah.”

I patted her other hand softly. It wasn’t like #431 to miss such an obvious pun; whatever was on her mind must be eating at her badly. “Any reason for this bout of introspection?”

She flashed me a smile, before scratching her head. “I guess... I’ve been away from the Farm too long. Seeing that many of them again was great, don’t get me wrong, but,” she pointed to her face. “I’ve just gotten used to sticking out. Suddenly not sticking out made me think a bit, that’s all.”

I gave her a smile of my own. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pulling off the ‘Pony-headed Egyptian Goddess of Parties and Paperwork’ look quite well.”

She bit her lip, before her braid undid itself. “Parties and paperwork, eh?” Her hair rose in a cloud around her head and she said in a deep, booming version of her normal voice: “Hark, brief mortal! Your improper usage of party favors has angered the goddess! Take heed, or I shall make you… fill out form thirty-six-epsilon-b!”

I threw an arm up in front of me, giving off a gasp using the full power of bad acting. “Ah! Not form thirty-six-epsilon-b! You fiend!”

“In triplicate!” Then she threw her head back and let out an evil laugh.

“No~o…!”

“…I’m glad you two are having fun…” a sleepy-sounding man from further up the plane said. “But some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry!”

“Sorry!”

The man grumbled something, before getting comfy again.

I took the opportunity to crack open my briefcase and drag out the folder with what I now recognized as Trixie’s cuti—… c—… cutie mark. Ugh.

“You know, I actually get the special talent thing. It’s a nifty idea for something to make a magic-based society a bit more, ah… unique…” I drifted off, looking for the words to phrase my displeasure at the cutesy name without insult.

#431 had a knowing smile, her hair still in ‘goddess’ mode. “Let me guess… the name?”

I just nodded. 

#431 waved a hand vaguely at me. “Eh, it kinda grows on you. I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous the first few times, but after a while you get used to it.”

My eyes drifted to where I knew #431’s marks should be, to her barely hidden amusement. “What’s it like to actually have one of those on your hips?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s more than a pretty picture. Besides…” Her colors changed, melting away like frost on a pane of glass. Soon, shades of pink had been replaced with blacks and blues, and fake stars glimmered all over her hair. “I can change mine, if I want.”

I gave a round of quiet applause at the Nightmare Moon look #431 had taken on. Her eyes looked the same and her face was a bit too full for the look, but otherwise it was almost dead on. “Neat trick, how long have you been able to do that?”

She turned her grinning head, and tapped her chin with an equally black hand. “Technically all my life, but I didn’t have the software for on-the-fly color change before today.” She frowned slightly, and rested her head on a hand, as she began to change back. “Sadly, my head is a bit outdated. Echidna gave me a bunch of upgrades to go with my new licences, but I won’t be using most of it until I can get some of the hardware needed.”

I gave her a sagely nod. “I take it I just saw the reason you need a licence for camo and cloaking in action? Even though this is a bit more benign than most such demonstrations?”

#431 let out a laugh without much humor in it. “Yeah, leave it for the buttholes to ruin nifty things for the rest of us.” Her colors changed again—this time to a much softer pink—and her hair looked almost like the aurora borealis. 

“Well,” she said, waving a hand at her Celestia-looking self. “do I even need to say it? Talk about exploitable. And then I’m a bad example because of the whole pony-shaped head thing…”

I gave her a nod. “I get it.”

She tapped one of her (still blue) eyes, making me twitch involuntarily. “Yeah, and I can’t do the eyes.”

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Some passengers were giving us odd looks, but most were just curious. The rest were from people just a bit weirded out, nothing more. I scratched my chin in thought. It was easy to forget, considering what impact those bastards were currently having, but the Order of Lud was a tiny minority—the military offshoot even more so.

The public at large had mostly made peace with the idea of bumping elbows with ‘klingons’, seeing ‘dragons’ fly overhead, and getting irritated at the people who still thought sparkling ‘vampires’ were the best thing evar.

But seeing #431 all but change her body structure with a thought? I didn’t agree with the sentiment, but I could understand why some would consider that too much power for one person.

“...Hmm, I wonder what it would look like if I put on a human skin-texture instead of just a color change…” #431 muttered.

I was overcome by a sense of doom, and immediately looked away.

A few retching sounds and a sudden quiet from the other passengers told me everything I needed to know.

“Eww, my fur has pores,” #431 said, sounding—shockingly enough—disgusted. “And what are the eyes doing there?”

I took a deep breath. “#431, may I recommend saving any experiments until later?”

A few more ‘ew’s erupted from the morbidly fascinated crowd.

“Hey, speaking of which, I found the folder with eyes!” A hand covered in flat, but otherwise quite detailed eyeballs was thrust in front of my face, and they all blinked at me. “I know what my next Halloween costume is going to be!”

I let out a sigh, because I sadly recognized roughly where this was heading. “#431, please don’t do anything blood or zombie related, please?”

She just snorted at me, and withdrew the arm. “On a crowded plane? I’m not that clueless. And I don’t have the textures for that, anyway.”

“Small favors,” I muttered.

#431 was lost in her own weird, weird world and just ignored me. “Oh! I found some weird stuff!”

“...Do I dare ask?” I asked, risking giving her a look.

”Sadly weird and dull.” She held up a plaid-plated hand, looking bored. “I mean, come on. Plaid? Where am I supposed to blend in with this, a lumberjack convention?”

With a sigh, I left #431 to her own—no pun intended—devices. I opened the folder and began to read.

Born twenty eighteen, doctorate in quantum physics, part of the Venus expedition of—my heart skipped a beat, but then I saw it was the wrong one. One of the terraforming missions, not the type I was looking for. A pity.

A jab in my shoulder broke my concentration. I looked up to see that #431 had changed back to her original colors. “Come on, boss. How about an alternative to that dreary folder?”

I bit back a smile and waved it at her. “I thought you wrote this. Didn’t you?”

#431 made the uniform proud by treating it with the dignity and respect it so deserved. In other words, she blew a raspberry at me. “But seriously…” #431 said after her display of maturity had passed. “I have a series of interviews saved with those, might give you an inkling about them without all those dates and numbers.”

I put the folder back and waved vaguely at my PDA. A soft ding from my earbuds told me it wanted to know if I approved of the file transfer. I put them back in my ears, and fished my glasses out of my pockets.

I pressed the button on their frame, and they began to boot up with a soft click. In a few seconds my vision was filled with outlines, as the cameras in them scanned my surroundings and started filtering the available information to my preferences. Closest exits, sniper positions, ambush positions, threat assessment, translation software… All that and more started flickering online, almost too fast to follow with the naked eye, as the onboard computer filtered away any unnecessary info.

I held up a hand, making the classic pistol pose. A virtual laser sight with a crosshair where it impacted sprung out of my index finger.

I let the ‘hammer’ fall, and my glasses reported that I had suffered a gun malfunction and was out of ammo.

I nodded to myself, satisfied with the results of the quick calibration. I held a hand out in front of my face, making a virtual console spring forth, and changed the settings on the marksman software back to my standard pistol.

“...Wow,” #431 said, sounding more then a bit amused at what she saw. “Aren’t those preferences a bit paranoid, boss?”

I turned to her, noting with interest that my glasses immediately outlined her in a deep red. Several warnings begun flashing as well. I used the physical controls on the frame on the glasses to mark her as a friendly for my IFF app. Without any further ado, the outline turned green.

“#431, I’ve gotten jumped by nearly every shade of scum in the solar system, usually when I least expect it—” I leaned back, switching the glasses to movie theater mode. My vision of the seat in front of me was replaced with that of an old-timey… well, movie theater. I contemplated ‘switching seats’ from the middle one I had as standard, but laziness won out. “—and it’s hardly paranoia in that case.”

#431 hummed thoughtfully. “No offence, boss. But considering half the stuff you’ve survived, well, I’m honestly surprised you’re still baseline. Just saying.”

I winced, as a whole slew of bad memories tried to resurface. Most of them were painful, except the times they had been bad enough not to be. “Yeah, I’m glad they figured out how to fix scar tissue, let me say that much.”

My left arm drifted to my right, as I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t gone. Not anymore.

#431 let out an embarrassed cough. “...Sorry, I should have put that better.”

I turned to where I knew she was sitting, my avatar in the theater doing the same. I only saw an empty seat with the glasses on, but it was the principal of the matter. I flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry, I know you meant it as a compliment.”

To my interest, she didn’t answer immediately. Instead, a pop-up appeared near the bottom of my vision, asking me to confirm a request to enter the virtual room. 

Intrigued, I leaned back and okayed it.

#431 surprised me, by shouting “Hi!” in my earbuds. Intrigued, I temporarily switched the virtual cam to manual control and steered it around one-eighty using the small trackpad on the side of my PDA.

#431’s virtual avatar stood next to the entrances, waving at me. It was a bit flat and simplistic, but she was ‘back’ to her Pinkie Pie shaped body. 

With a fluidity of motion that clearly told anybody who cared to notice that she wasn’t bothering with a controller of any type, she trotted up and sat down next to me… On my left instead of the side she was on in real life, just to be contrary.

Curious, I lifted the glasses and took a peek. Aside from the drumming of her fingers on the armrest, it looked for all the world as if she was asleep.

“Hello~o! You still there, boss?” I vaguely saw something pink flash across the screens of my glasses, before the real #431 cracked open a eye and snorted at me. “Ah,” her body and avatar then said in perfect unison, both smiling at me. “couldn’t resist a peek behind the curtains, could you?”

“Just curious.” With a smile I leaned back, and put the glasses down over my eyes again. “And a most impressive bit of multitasking.”

“...Not really,” #431’s avatar reluctantly admitted, looking a bit introspective. She gave me a slightly sad smile, before poking her own head. “It’s just the trade off for all the existential philosophy and, um, sleepless nights, if you follow.”

I cracked open the protective cover on my PDA’s physical keyboard and texted, “Sorry.”

#431 blinked at the text that appeared in a box in front of her chest, before giggling at me. “You don’t have to text me, silly. I’m just speaking through my avatar to make it a little less jarring.”

I continued using the chat function, “I thought it might have been something you wanted kept private… But perhaps we should carry on like this? We might need to discuss things about Trixie, and this way it should be a bit more discreet.”

#431 grinned at me after I sent my message. “Got it, boss!” Then her avatar blurred as a new preference loaded. Her form stayed the same, but she was now wearing some manner of blue tactical gear, and a black bandana that was billowing in a nonexistent breeze. #431 stuck her hooves in front of her as if holding an invisible gun, before taking on a mock grim expression. “Commencing virtual virtuous mission.” Then she rubbed her hooves together and giggled. “Oh, I just love the cloak and dagger stuff!”

“While being bright pink?” I texted, biting back a smile out of old habit.

“Hey, I can be stealthy if I want too!” Another blur, and a cardboard box was sitting next to me.

It was bright pink, and had neon balloons all over. 

I saw the blue eyes of #431 inside the carry hole, sparkling with barely contained humor. “See? Totally invisible!” she bellowed.

I gave a slow clap, while #431 changed back to her original appearance. I more or less recognised by now when a reference to something flew over my head, but I could still appreciate when they were well executed.

I was just about to press the play button when #431 pulled out a tub of popcorn from behind her back and started munching down on it. The sight caught me by enough surprise that I asked “Can you actually taste that?” out loud.

“Yeah, its almost as if I’m an android or something.” She gave me a wide grin, while I filed what she had identified as for later. “Seriously, boss. Everybody has a few moments of weakness like that, right? It’s part of being alive; we synthetics just get a different flavor of existential crisis.” She shook the paper bucket for emphasis. “Besides, it was all so worth it!  Living in the future is awesome!”

“All of it?” I asked, still out loud.

Her grin faded away, just like the popcorn. She looked down on her virtual hooves. She took a long time to speak, but eventually said, “Is it alright if I use ‘I,’ instead of ‘Mom?’ I want to say something, without having to pause and correct myself everytime.”

I reached over, and patted her hand. Both of her flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, but her avatar quickly grinned at me and continued.

“Well… I’m going to be blunt. I had to burn a lot of bridges and see many people I cared about just… fade away, to get this far.” she began, her eyes distant but the smile still in place. “I know I don’t exactly act it most of the time, but I’m actually only twenty years younger than Dashie. Well, mentally that is. I’m forty two; the whole fork thing makes it a bit more complicated…”

“How come there are so few people your age left, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She gestured to her virtual face. “Ever heard about the uncanny valley?” She physically tapped my right arm. “Just as cybernetics started getting somewhere, stem cells, regenerative medicine, and cloning tech made enough leaps to be practical.” Her avatar gave a weary shrug. “Rainbow, Rarity, Trixie, Lyra, AJ, Flutters, Twilight, and I are basically the ones among the old guard that pressed on, even when a more pleasant-looking alternative presented itself.”

She waved a hoof towards the screen. It flickered to show a vid of what I first thought was a mannequin. Then I realized it was an old model of phylactery. It had skin, nose, hair, a mouth… but they all looked just a bit too fake and plastic.

Then it spoke, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gree-things hu-man!”

#431 nodded towards the screen. “We all looked like that for awhile at one time or another. The fact that even the early ones drastically raised your life expectancy just didn’t do much for people, and back then, it was more or less permanent.”

“So why do it then?”

#431 gave me a manic grin. “For science!”

I raised my glasses and gave the real #431 a bemused look.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Put the glasses back on. I was being serious.”

I must admit, I thought it a bit farfetched, but I complied.

The thi—face, went away, replaced by a picture I recognized as Venus before terraformation. Nothing but a giant ball of swirling clouds. Pretty, but utterly barren.

“This pic always brings me back…” She actually had a nostalgic smile when she continued. “The international Venus expedition of 2130. We couldn’t actually land on the boiling piece of crap. We had to sit in orbit, until we could build that overblown blimp to sit a bit further down in orbit. Mom was brought in for more or less the same reason you want her, her expertise in 3D printing and similar tech.” Her eyes grew even more distant, and her smile widened a bit. “Anyway, that’s actually how I met most of the other girls. Flutters and I knew each other from before, and I think there were a few similar links... but that expedition was what brought us all together.”

I just blinked at hearing that. Oh my. I didn’t see that coming.

Another pic, this time of the ‘overblown blimp.’ A giant torus-shaped balloon, with what almost looked like a giant metal house underneath. Tanks and solar panels were spread across its surface, and I even saw a few observation balconies. Most were covered in big airtight domes, but a few went without.

I recognized the craft. Near instantly, even. “That’s the Laputa, right? I saw it in the Shangri-La Science Museum when…” I gave my companion a look, reevaluating her. “When I was a kid. It’s actually what made me decide I wanted to do something with space when I grew up.”

She gave me a smile that squeaked in stereo, thanks to her placements. #431’s avatar started blushing and she scratched the back of her head. “Aw, shucks… I never quite know what to say when somebody tells me something like that.”

“I take it the name Pinkie came later?” I asked diplomatically. “Because I’m fairly certain I would have recognized that name, even then.”

#431 let out a nervous laugh and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “...Yeah.”

“So...?”

#431 let out a weary sigh, and gave me a light glare of warning. “My slash mom’s original name is Francisco-Javier Vargas. Yes, that is a Spanish dude’s name. Yes, I used to be male, a long, long time ago. Will that be a problem?!”

My mind took a few moments to actually absorb what #431 just had told me. “Huh.”

“...Well?” #431 asked, voice stern… and with something just barely glimmering in her eyes, visible even in the gloom.

I carefully took off my glasses, folded them on my tray, and turned to the right. #431 in real life looked just as tense as her avatar… including the barely held back tears.

I gently lifted her hand in mine, and equally gently brushed my lips against her knuckles. Then I looked up into her wide eyes. “Not at all, milady… and even if trouble should arrive, your favor would be worth it.”

#431 froze for several moments… then a coy grin, so radiant it nearly lit the cabin of the plane, spread over her face. “My, my…” she murmured, her voice so low and sensual it was nearly a purr. “The would-be gentleman walks the walk as well. How absolutely fascinating…”

I let go of her hand, a slight blush warming my cheeks. “…Ahem, although I must admit I am most pleased with your reaction, perhaps we should get back on track? I would hate for there to be a scandal…”

I ignored the snickers from the rest of the passengers… even if I felt the tips of my ears start heating up.

#431 barked out a laugh, wearing a grin that was positively lecherous. “Oh, please. You don’t think I’ve seen a scandal or two? You smile, wait, and soon they’re nothing but yesterday’s boring gossip. Unless, of course, you make things interesting enough that the public starts cheering you on...” She leaned in towards me, a fire in her eyes that made my stomach quiver slightly. “And what, pray tell, if I think a much better introduction to what kind of woman I am would be to drag you to the nearest hotel and shatter any illusion that you’ve found a lady…”

I leaned back, trying to ignore both the burning in my cheeks and the oohing of the crowd. “Well, unfortunately for such a plan, you have found a gentleman…” I flashed her a warm and platonic smile, just to get her goat. “I guess you will simply have to deal with being courted for a while.”

She growled suggestively at me, before relenting and waving a hand at my glasses. “Fine, you tease… But how about you let this old woman continue her story time?”

I quickly had them over my eyes again, secretly relieved, if a shade disappointed as well.

The picture on the screen had changed, this time showing a phylactery only a Mk or two higher, but looking like Pinkie. 

It was still very artificial looking, with fur and eyes just a bit too shiny, but it wasn’t as jarring as the other one. It was a far cry from #431’s current appearance, but I could still see more than a few similarities. The only big difference, aside from quality, was the lack of a HORN on its head.

“Would you believe me if I told you it started as a joke?” she said, her avatar waving a foreleg at the head on the screen. “Rarity had a vague idea about just ignoring making the face look human until the tech was right… and then Dash cracked a comment that went roughly: ‘Ha! So, you want to turn us into non-humans, huh? Why not just make us look like the Mane Six and be done with it?!’”

“Mane Six?” I asked, confused. “I thought your group called itself the Mane Eight…”

A bit of guilt mixed with pride flashed across her face. “You have no idea how conflicted I feel whenever I hear that people have started to forget that the names we use started as references…” Most of the guilt vanished, letting the pride glow all the fiercer. “But that we’ve actually managed to make them ours? I have no regrets about that.”

Then it clicked. “Oh, the main six characters of the show?” I let out a snort. “That’s a horrible pun.”

She waved me off. “Anyway, the more we thought about it, the more we liked the idea. By then, the designs were in the public domain, so why not? It sure beat looking like we’d escaped from a carnival, let me tell you.”

“I take it that such a thing caused quite the stir?”

#431 just laughed. “Oh man, you have no idea!” She waved her hoof at the screen, making it shift again.

An old newspaper headline: “HEROES OF VENUS TURN THEMSELVES INTO MLP PONIES.” Underneath was a group photo of the smiling and equine-headed group, minus Lyra and Trixie. “HAS THE CYBERNETIC CRAZE GONE TOO FAR?”

#431’s avatar let out another laugh. “There were hearings, near endless debates, psych evaluations, people that accused us of trying to corrupt the impressionable youth…” Her smile turned a bit bitter. “I’ve heard that living long and well is the best revenge, but I would have preferred if more had joined us instead.”

“What exactly happened to them?”

#431 gave a tiny shrug. “Time. Time and Lady Luck.” She tapped her head again, a metallic clank added for effect. “If I get into a accident, I’ll probably be on my feet slash hooves within the day. Heck, I can sit on a shelf and whistle, completely content, while my body’s going through a woodchipper. A person who’s held off the reaper with just anti-aging treatments though? Not so much.” 

She gave me a odd look, before continuing. She looked a bit apologetic, but adamant at the same time. “I’m going to be honest with you, Blake. If we start to actually date, I’m probably going to be more than a bit nagging with you about the idea of getting at least a few upgrades. Just a heads up.”

I fought down a shiver. “…I understand, you just want to see a friend live as long and happy a life as possible. I can respect that.”

She flashed me a smile, before waving at the screen again. This time, it was what I recognized as one of the uncovered observational balconies on the Laputa. You couldn’t see much except the balcony itself. Other than that, it was just rolling clouds and fog as far as the eye could see.

#431 let out a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I think its completely awesome we actually managed a terraform, but I kinda miss the old Venus, sometimes. There was just something special about going out on that balcony and knowing that you’re fifty kilometers up…”

“You didn’t need a suit of any type? I remember seeing both space and environmental ones at the museum.”

#431 grinned, before just bonking her head again. “The whole point of us getting these things, and the Laputa. We only needed O2 tanks at that altitude. The suits were for the squishier members of the expedition.” She stroked her chin, and hummed thoughtfully. “Lyra told me once that she was a bit jealous about that… She was stuck as our main tech and medic and barely got to step out there, even with all the safety gear, just because she was so mission critical.”

I racked my brain. ‘Luckily,’ I’d been a bit obsessed… as a kid, of course. “That would be Zake Weaver? The medical specialist?”

#431 looked as if she didn’t know whether she would applaud me or smack me. “Wow, you actually had that in your head?”

I coughed embarrassedly into one hand. “I might have been one of the kids that had a space period, rather than one with dinosaurs…”

#431 gave me a slow clap, smiling all the while. “Wow… Had I known that, then I think I should have ‘joked’ about bribing you with autographs.”

For a moment I forgot myself, and let out a high-pitched fanboy squeal. I realized what I’d done too late, when #431’s jaw dropped and the plane went silent. I clapped both hands over my mouth, as my cheeks started burning.

#431’s avatar fell flat on her back as she started laughing like a pair of loons. 

I huddled down in my seat and waited for her to get it out of her system.

It took long enough that the speakers in the plane let out a ding before the pilot said: “This is your Captain speaking. We are now on approach to McCarran International Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts, raise any trays and get ready for landing. That is all.”

#431’s avatar faded away from the theater, and I took the opportunity to exit back to the glasses normal mode.

I felt a bit conflicted that our discussion had taken the time I could have used for that interview… but not much.

#431 was still fighting for breath, but she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and started to buckle up. 

…Vargas, huh? Oh man. Didn’t see that coming.

I followed her example, grinning as we came in for landing…





“I can’t believe this,” I said, irritated. “Honestly, my first time in Vegas and it’s raining.”

#431 shifted her overnight bag to her other shoulder before leaning her head back and giving the small blue shield over us a boost. 

I was tempted to drop both my bag and my briefcase on the sidewalk, but that would have most likely ruined them both. The waiting platform was positively drenched thanks to the weather.

Beyond the makeshift umbrella, the water formed a gray wall. The dark streets were near deserted. Just a few stragglers waiting for cabs like me and #431, or pedestrians darting back home or to cover.

“Yeah, talk about bad luck with the weather…” #431 said. “And, as usual, my trenchcoat and sunglasses are back home in my apartment. Honestly, what’s the point of being a badass android in the year 2310 if you can’t walk around in the rain and make cyberpunk jokes?”

I chuckled softly. “What, no katana?”

She tapped her forearms with a knowing smile. “Well, next best thing right here, but I think I’ll skip the demonstration. People get nervous when they realize you're packing military gear for some reason.”

I patted my uniform, straight over my holster. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

Just then the automated cab rolled up. I held my arm up to take #431’s bag, but she just snorted at me, yanked the door open with her HORN and threw her bag on the far seat. “Just get in, silly. I’m not the one who can get pneumonia.”

I was about to protest when I realized that this particular lady had a point. Manners are one thing, but not if they come at the cost of practicality. I bowed my head slightly to her, and ducked inside. “Much obliged.”

I scooted over, placing #431’s bag on the middle seat while keeping my own in my lap. Her HORN lit up once, making the energy construct collapse prematurely. It looked more or less like a soap bubble collapsing, even though few soap bubbles give off a brief light while disappearing, or make the rain burst into puffs of steam when they touch it.

The light show was impressive, though slightly lessened by how #431 got drenched in the few seconds it took to get in the car. She unceremoniously flopped down on the seat next to the door while glaring daggers at the current weather. Her hair and fur were completely plastered to her body, despite the short time in the rain. I quickly averted my eyes. The same was true for her uniform, and it was currently leaving very little to the imagination.

I waved my Sol Guard ID badge in front of the pay sensor, so that we would be away as soon as possible.

“Where to?” a vaguely synthetic sounding voice said from the panel.

#431 shivered once, before clearly stating. “The Luxor.”

“You alright?” I asked. The cab started driving away.

She made a grimace of disgust and pointed at the panel. “I know these things are basically glorified service drones, but I can’t help but be a bit disturbed.”

“A robot that speaks… but is dumber than a post?” I asked, and got a stiff nod in turn.

“Yeah.” She dragged a hand through her hair, looking distant. “I know its stupid, but a part of me just can’t help but think… What if? I mean, Mom made me as an act of love. I know that. I even have most of that memory…”

“Must be nice, knowing your purpose. And that it’s something like that.” I said softly.

She gave me a bright smile. “Yeah, I must admit it helps quite a bit when I’m feeling down.” She waved vaguely towards the panel again. “It’s just a small hangup of mine. Pay it no heed.”

“If you say so,” I said diplomatically, before changing the subject. “So, the Luxor, huh? That’s the old glass pyramid with an Egypt theme, right?”

#431 hummed in acknowledgement. “Yup. We can’t see it thanks to this blasted rain, but it’s close to the airport. One of the oldest Vegas hotels still standing, even.” 

I scratched my chin. “Isn’t that kind of real estate highly desirable? How come it’s still standing?”

#431 smiled wickedly. “Hm. It’s almost as if one of the oldest mares alive has a pet project, isn’t it?”

I was starting to realize that I had heard ‘Trixie-obsessed stage magician who used to work as a physicist’ and written her off as mostly optional… I was really starting to realize just what circles I was unknowingly diving into. “Huh. How’d she pull that off?”

Frankly, it was more exciting than worrying. I had no doubt they had the clout to destroy me, but those kind of resources weren’t something you waste on somebody that simply came by with a polite request. 

As long as I remained polite, I should be fine.

“A few patents, book royalties, investments…” #431 shrugged her shoulders. “I know it sounds a bit petty, but with enough years under one's belt you have to be a complete klutz with money not to have a nest egg or two.” She waved a hand in the direction I guessed the hotel to be. “Besides, she got it on the cheap when they were about to tear it down… 2150 something? Somewhere in that ballpark.”

“Define cheap,” I asked dryly.

#431 gave a shrug. “Eh, can’t remember. Basically, she matched what it would have cost to demolish the thing, plus a contractual obligation about bringing it back in working order before a certain date, or it would have gone back into their fold.” She chuckled with a wicked little smile on her face. “I think they underestimated her because of the whole Trixie thing and were basically hoping to have their cake and eat it too. Their loss.”

She gave me a fierce grin, positively burning with pride. “Wanna guess which eccentric family with more than a few connections gave her a hoof?” Then she fluttered her eyelashes at me. “We take care of our own.”

...Just what did I get myself into with that dinner? I thought, but managed to maintain my composure. Outwardly I said instead: “Why exactly is somebody with your connections working as a secretary?”

She wiggled her fingers in a spooky manner. “Because it amuses me~e!”

I gave her a disbelieving look. She just waved it off. “But seriously, the pay’s decent, Sol Guard does mostly good work, and it’s a line of work not many of my siblings have tried. I thought, ‘Why not?’” she finished, tapping her Lieutenant insignia. She grunted unhappily at the state of them, and gave the three silver stars a quick wipe. She pointed a finger at me. “My turn. Why the ‘Oh, woe is me. My weirdness cup runneth over’ act, if you already know Shining?”

I gave a shrug, as we rolled in front of the hotel. “I was young and naive when I met him, and I didn’t really think it over. I thought he was from a weird family.” I let out a nervous laugh, as we got out of the car. “Finding out the whole unicorn deal was due to him being part of an entire subculture just broke my brain a bit.”

#431’s jaw dropped. “What, sixty years, and he still hasn’t filled you in?”

I gave her another shrug as we dashed for the doors. “I guess he thought me uninterested. Or maybe he just wanted one normalish friend. Either way, considering we’ve kept this thing going for those sixty years we must be doing something right.”

#431 bit back a snort. “Normalish?”

“‘Know thyself, know thine enemy…’” I quoted, only half-jokingly, as we walked inside. “Besides, I have a much better reason for tearing him a new one.” My face darkened a little before I got it under control. “Sixty freaking years, and he didn’t tell me he was there. Honestly, considering the number of times I’ve waxed on the subject…”

#431 giggled mischievously as the doors slid up. “Oh boy, that family and not telling you things. They’re almost as bad as their show counterparts. Did you know it took Twi two months to actually tell the rest of us about Shining?”

“Really?” A receptionist darted to meet up with us, no doubt thanks to the uniforms.

#431 made air quotes, “Yeah, she ‘swears’ she sent an ‘email.’ About making a fork, can you believe it?”

I bit back a snort. “Well, that explains a few things about him, I guess…” I nodded towards a young lady rushing towards us on clicking claws. I first assumed she was wearing a form-fitting Greek-style anthro sphinx costume, her toga and wings flowing behind her, but I soon realized that the costume was actually a part of her.

She stopped a couple of meters away, far enough that we wouldn’t feel threatened by her fairly extensive cybernetics. She even had digitigrade legs and a tail, but I couldn’t tell if it was a frame or if she was permanently fastened to her body. 

Nevertheless, she gave us a big smile, showing large, razor sharp canines. I absently wondered how long it had taken her to learn how to talk and chew without biting herself, but the smile was warm and genuine. “Welcome to the Luxor. May I help you two?”

I started to make polite introductions and explain why we were here, pretending not to notice the cameras that had started following our every move…





I was just applying the makeup for tonight’s show when a blinking light on myHUD told me that one of my friends had arrived, unannounced, with a high-risk VIP.

Intrigued, I pushed my chair over to my computer and logged in to the security cam network. True, it being a closed network was impractical at times, but it was a boon for security, so I didn’t mind. Much.

A ding audible only to me, signaling a text message, caught my attention. WIth a thought, I focused on the program while the computer was busy connecting and exchanging security handshakes. It was from Hanna, the receptionist. 



Lionheart: Boss, one of the Pie Clan just walked in. I don’t recognize the man she’s with though. Should I run a quick face check on him?



A smile came to my lips. I’d made a really good call when I hired the girl, no doubt about it. That she had enough cybermods to fit the theme of the hotel was something of a bonus, but Hanna had more than proved herself an asset to the team.

The computer finished, and Trixie had the lobby cam on screen in moments. She didn’t recognize the girl in particular, sadly, but she could be forgiven for needing face-to-face time to do so considering the size of that brood.

I just had to let out a small whistle at who she had walked in with, though. I sent my answer to Hanna.



The Boss: Please ask politely for which Pie Clan member she is, but there’s no need for the gentleman. That’s Blake Gregory. Trixie recognizes him from all the times he’s been plastered on the news.



In the security feed, the anthropomorphic sphinx serving as receptionist, Hanna Boot, tensed up for just a moment on ‘hearing’ the name as she received my text… then she was all smiles again as she darted out to greet the odd pair.

I nodded to myself, pleased, as I lifted a silvery-blue tress out of my face with an azure hand. With a sigh, I was momentarily distracted, studying the flexing hand. I preferred the pony look, but my audience avowedly did not. My fans had nearly doubled since I changed from the show’s form to the Equestria Girls form. 

For just a moment, my eyes drifted down into my own cleavage. I wished it weren’t quite so easy to figure out why.

I readjusted the classic illusionist costume. Black tux, white shirt, bowtie, and top-hat, the latter resting on my hat rack at the moment, rather than my head. A bit trite, but the classics were not to be underestimated.

With another sigh, my eyes drifted to the aforementioned hat-and-coat rack. The starry purple wizzard hat and cape combo also rested there. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d worn those in public.

Granted, nothing stopped me from wearing them in privacy, but that seemed a bit pathetic to me.

I let out a giggle as I contemplated just not giving a damn and performing in that getup, along with my current anatomically correct frame. That just might cause a bit of a scandal… But I sobered up at the concept of scandal, considering what a magnet for it she had standing in her foyer at the very moment.

On an impulse, I searched my preferred news sites, and let out a low whistle at the headlines.

Mass mobilization of the Pie Clan!

Clan representatives claim their recent arming and subsequent suspicious movements are for emergency aid on the Pheidippides, but others claim differently…

I continued to skim associated news. Something about talks with the Ludz called off, something about cabbage prices in Luxembourg for some reason, and bingo!

Black Blake on the prowl for talent?

The controversial Captain Blake Gregory, aka Black Blake the Butcher, is reported to have been seen traveling with his current Lieutenant, Princess Pinkamena Diane Pie #431.

The duo were seen boarding a plane heading to Vegas, and some speculation has broken out why they would need to do so in person. 

Officially, the Captain is currently recruiting for the Pheidippides. The ship, the first full scale trial of the Farcaster drive, has suffered numerous setbacks during construction, but is slated for launch at the end of the month.

But no official comment has been released what Blake is doing in Vegas. Current rumors insist he may…

I thoughtfully stroked my shin, closing the web browser and giving the man in my foyer a second look. I had to admit, he was an intimidating man, but with a soft smile on and politely chatting away with Hanna, he hardly looked worthy of the title ‘The Butcher.’ Uniform aside, he looked more like somebody’s slightly creepy yet loving uncle.



Lionheart: They say they're here to ask you about a offer. Something about your expertise, but I don’t see why recruiting for a morale performance would need a Captain to pop up in person.



I let out a soft sigh. Hanna was a lovely girl, if a bit too sphinx obsessed.

My eyes drifted down. Down, to my blue hands. Et tu, kettle? I guessed Hanna would say the same about me. Still, there was a reason Hanna had the position she did. Wonderful with people, but just a bit too dim for anything with a leadership role.



The Boss: Please tell them that Trixie has a show starting any minute, and if it isn’t pressing, they will simply have to wait. Do invite them to partake in the show though, on the house.





Lionheart: Got it, boss.



I finished my preparations, keeping an eye on the security feed. I was half expecting trouble, but the two just thanked Hanna and got going. My genre-savvy sense started tingling. Things were going too well again.

Still, I floated over the hat, the HORNs hidden in my current frame’s arms not giving off the added safety glow. Just as designed.

Granted, making something float was hardly something that wooed a crowd nowadays, but they still allowed a wide range of parlor tricks. I made a small energy construct, just for practice. Two ‘shields’, one red, the other green. They folded, twisted, and just like that, I had a glowing rose in my hand, sparkling softly in the light. 

I dropped the delicate thing into my metal wastebasket. It shattered immediately, releasing its energy. Since it was vacuum energy, it mostly fizzled harmlessly back into nothingness, but the same effect that brought it into existence lasted long enough for the papers in the bin to catch fire. I put the lid on to quench the flames.

As an added bonus, the extra HORNs allowed such tactical flexibility, if needed, but I just had to grumble a bit. The next time I upgraded my phylactery, I would definitely go back to being a unicorn. I felt naked without that weight on my forehead.

I hesitated for just a moment before coming to a decision. Wordlessly, I floated the top hat back on to the rack, and got my proper ensemble. I fastened the cape around my shoulders and dropped the old-but-glorious wizzard hat on my head. It clashed a little with the suit, but not enough for me to care.

With a smile, I headed out the door.

If the gentleman in question had come to ask Trixie what Trixie thinks he will, then she shall put her best foot forward!





I fidgeted backstage. 

Strange, I’d done this so many times, and yet…

I bit back a snort. Heck, I didn't even have a stomach anymore. That useless thing was dust with the rest of my parts that simply weren't that important.

I couldn’t quite keep a chuckle down as a thought came to me. And yet, the butterflies still dance...

For the first time in a decade, the betrayed face of my mother danced across my inner eye. I shook my head at the memory. Also dust. Just over a kilogram more dust than myself… but a very important kilogram.

I looked down on my slender blue hands, and smiled as I opened and closed them a few times. 

In a way, we both got what we deserved in the end, but… a frown creased my face. Why, oh why, did that hag have to convince my brothers…? 

I took a moment to fight down the sadness. I looked at my hands again. Soft, feminine, responsive, flexible, limber… If not for the color, they looked just as real as the ones I left behind all those years ago. With one important caveat: they were actually prettier.

I didn’t— I couldn’t get it. Why choose sickness and death when the other path was so easy and even pleasurable? 

A image of an almost waxen face rose in my mind. I absently stroked my current face to remind myself that I shouldn’t dwell on it. That path hadn’t always been quite so easy.

My introspective mood was cut short; a subtle light at the edge of the stage told me to get ready. I did so, posing suggestively on the center of the stage, my head held high and my hands against my sides.

The curtains were pulled back…

And as always, my heart soared, higher than any cloud, at the sea of expectant faces greeting me. Chugging away at the secrets of the universe had a charm of its own, but nothing compared to the thrill of the stage.

I spread my arms, lifted by the crowd’s love. “Welcome! Welcome, one and all, to tonight’s show!” I declared, not even pretending to need a mic. After all, if your voice box is a couple of speakers anyway, why not just crank up the volume a bit? 

I flashed the throng my biggest smile, letting it linger for a few moments longer on the table in the back where the Captain and #431 sat. The duo were seated at one of the small tables in the back, no doubt as to not distract the other patrons. I made a note to thank the two for the gesture later. They were a striking sight in those uniforms, but hardly subtle.

I had to bite back a laugh. The Captain had opted for a simple coke, but #431 had this ludicrous drink in front of her. One of those novelties with almost more fruit than alcohol and enough umbrellas to mimic a tropical resort in miniature. With great ceremony, she even produced a bendy straw from a pocket, before almost literally digging in.

I risked giving them a bit of attention by taking off my hat and waving at her. It was such a glorious sight every time one of the Pinkies got serious about being unserious. Besides, it was hardly as if the girl could get drunk unless she wanted to.

…I had to admit to morbid curiosity as to how many young men and woman died trying to drink her under the table. #431 was a golden bandana, a metal bra, and a pair of shorts away from giving Wonder Woman a run for her money.

But I pushed that line of thought to the back of my mind, focusing instead on my spiel. I had a crowd to woo, after all!

With a flourish, I planted the hat back on my head. On that signal, the stage hands activated the fireworks. Real fireworks, not just lasers and pretty pictures. “And as always, what a show it is!” 

I noted with amusement that a few were wrinkling their noses at the smell, but most oohed and aahed at the semi-rare show of actual pyrotechnics. My competitors may wonder why I bother, but that glimmer of wonder in the crowd’s eyes made the hassle worth it every time.

Fucking beancounters. ‘You know that holograms are much cheaper, right?’ Those penny-pinchers wouldn’t know a real show or a true piece of showmanship if the fireworks set their toupees on fire.

I stood among the sea of colored sparks, waiting for them to die down. More than a few landed on me, but it was hardly something this frame couldn’t handle. I’d learned my lesson about remembering to fireproof my clothes after the first time that had happened, but a smile and a wave, and it just became a fun anecdote for those that… well, got a show.

I liked Trixie, the character, but if only the mare had had a tenth the patience she did talent, perhaps she wouldn’t have died in season nine. I supposed there were worse ways to go than to almost manage what only the royal sisters had done. Singlehandedly, too.

This Trixie, however, intended to live forever and a day. Parades were nice, but only if you got to be there and actually enjoy them.

I noticed a woman near the stage glaring at me, even through the smoke. 

I kept my smile going, but seriously? Why was there one in every damn crowd? There was always one sourpuss who wants the whole audience to know exactly how little they’re enjoying themselves. I may get just as much money from such a ticket, but it was the principal of the matter.

I barely had time to see the gleam of the barrel jutting out from under the table before the muzzle flashed and everything below my neck went numb.

People began screaming as I hit the floor. The woman was included, as the coil-pistol’s poor bracing broke her wrist.

Row after row of error messages started flashing in the edges of my vision. I tried to drag myself into cover, but the shooter must have hit something important. My frame was scrap now, nothing but a pretty death trap.

“You turned my daughter into a freak!” the woman bellowed at me. In the corner of my eye, I saw her switch to her other hand. “I’ll kill you!”

I activated the emergency jettison. A small charge exploding at the base of my neck broke the connector holding me to my frame. My head popped off and away like a champagne cork as a second shot rang out.

My neck was tagged again as I went flying, but I barely had time to scream. I felt my skin tear in several places as I crashed into the wall of bottles behind the bar. I bit back a curse, switching off my sense of pain.

I looked down. The green liquid I was dripping told me everything I needed to know. The crazy bitch had hit at least one of my algae-tanks, which my sensors’ alarms corroborated only moments later. Two tanks had ruptured, and I was leaking enough slurry that my systems were telling me to seek medical attention.

As the nanites lost contact with my systems, they gave off small flashes. I gulped. The slurry swirled into the alcohol puddled on the floor, but the green, glittering liquid was unmistakable to anyone who had the slightest cybernetics knowhow.

It wasn’t a lethal wound—by itself. I could run, but I couldn’t hide; I’d leave the next best thing to a blood trail until the damaged tanks ran dry.

I deployed my manipulators just as another shot rang out. A hole the size of a pencil (de)materialized only a meter from my head.

“Sol Guard! Drop your weapon!” someone bellowed. For a moment, I felt hope, but then I heard her clambering towards me.

“Never! She turned my sweet Hanna into that thing!”

I heard the woman scream following a shot from a different pistol, but the sound of her feet grew nearer.

I scrambled, trying to crawl under the tables around the bar, but the woman cut me off. She was a mess. Her left arm hung bleeding by her side, but she had switched the gun to her right. It seemed she was going to finish this even if it killed her. The worst thing were her eyes. Utterly mad, not a shred of pity.

The gun rose in the madwoman’s grip… 

#431 appeared out of the gloom on silent feet and hit the woman like a freight train. Her sleeves were rolled up completely, exposing her extended arm-blades. She swung so fast her fist whistled and cut straight through the gun like butter. It looked like something from a action movie. Then the capacitors in the gun dumped their current straight into her. #431 jerked and screamed, falling down with smoke trailing from her arm.

She hit the floor with a thud, and lay still. 

The woman screamed in incoherent triumph, before turning to me. She began to stomp, giving me personalized hate in foot form.

Now, my phylactery was capable of surviving that. Heck, with a bit of luck and the right angle I wouldn’t have had a problem with the bullets, from just a pistol at least. But you don’t think that when you're reduced to a head, and this angry, screaming banshee is standing over you trying to crush you under her feet.

Reflexively, I put my manips up to shield myself, only to have them bent to scrap. It was only then that I realized I’d been screaming since #431 hit the floor. The things you notice—or don’t—when high on artificial adrenaline.

A monster stepped up to the woman. She didn’t see him, and I wished I hadn’t.

I barely recognized Captain Blake. His face was—Well, it would have been better if it was twisted into a mask of fury. Instead, it was just off. Frankly, I had seen more lifelike faces on mannequins. He wore a very slight frown, and his eyes were fractionally wider than before, but that was where all resemblance to humanity ended.

The woman stopped mid-stomp, confused why I was staring behind her.

Captain Blake raised his gun and shot her in the back without hesitation.

She fell, seizing violently, beside me.

“Miss Lulamoon, are you alright?” he asked. There was something off about his voice. The words were kind enough, but the way he said them was stilted, as if they were assembled by someone who didn’t quite grasp their meaning. He kept the gun trained on the woman. “Forgive my tardiness. I couldn’t get a clear shot with the crowd. Do you need medical attention?”

I looked at the woman’s body, seeing a dart sticking out of the her back. She moaned.

“Nonlethal taser round. She will face due process for this.” he said.

I gulped, before giving him my best attempt at a nod. “I’m—I’m not—I’m going to, but right now I’m stable. How is #431? She fell like a sack of bricks…” 

His features nearly melted at my words. “I’ve called the local police. They should be here with paramedics at any moment.” He sounded almost normal again, but there was an undertone of barely-controlled anger that sent shivers down my spine.

“Emergency system reboot completed. Damage: Minimal. Threat calculated: Minimal. Personality reactivation will now commence,” #431 announced. Her eyes fluttered a bit before she spoke in her normal voice. “Ugh, my fucking head…”

“Are you alright, #431?” Blake asked, not taking his eyes of the groaning woman.

“Apparently, being EMP-shielded and being able to stab a capacitor are very different things. I’ll be fine; my self repair systems are just getting a workout.” #431 answered tiredly, getting to her feet.

Blake let out a relieved sigh, interestingly enough. I followed suit. I didn’t know #431 personally, but she was still a fork of my friend. Seeing her die would have been more than unpleasant.

I struggled to get back on my manips, but they were too bent and broken. Most of them could barely move. It almost worked, but I fell right back down.

#431’s eyes filled with pity. She darted over and scooped me up. “Don’t worry, Trixie. You’re safe now.” I sagged against her, too tired to even cry.

“Can you still couple?” she asked. “I could—”

Blake interrupted. “I realize she’s your friend, but we need to stick to protocol. If you give her your frame, it might be seen as arming a civilian. It might even be enough of a problem to release this woman on a technicality.”

#431 grunted unhappily, but she gave him a nod.

With expert timing as usual, Hanna burst onto the scene. #431 turned to keep an eye on her, giving me a look as well. “Mom!”

Blake didn’t even turn towards her. “Miss Hanna, your mother just assaulted Trixie. Please stay back until police arrive.”

To her credit, Hanna actually listened, backing away. “Is she—?”

“Tasered. Nothing more.”

Hanna collapsed as she relaxed her shoulders and wings. Her hackles started settling down.

A weak voice came from the floor. “Hanna?” Hanna shot Blake a hopeful look.

Blake still hadn’t taken his eyes from the woman, but he jerked his shoulders once. “Don’t try anything, but if it’ll keep her calm, I’ll allow it.”

Hanna moved in, pulling her crying mother into a hug. “Dammit mom, why?”

Hanna’s mom mumbled something about how I’d turned her into this…

Hanna gave me a horrified look. I just matched it with one of complete unamusement. I looked at her and then her mother in a meaningful fashion.

Hanna gulped. “Mom, I’m so, so sorry… But Trixie hired me after I did this to myself.”

Hanna’s mother tensed in her arms.

“I thought you would take it better if I said I needed this for the job, rather than this being something I wanted. I’m so, so sorry, mom…”

Her mom’s face crinkled like tissue paper, and then she started wailing.

I took it as a sign that my current state of consciousness was no longer necessary, and let exhaustion claim me.





When I woke up, the police had arrived.

Almost everybody ran when the woman attacked, but a few stragglers that had chosen to cower were still being debriefed by the boys in blue.

One of them came over to me when he saw my eyes flicker open, but I just nodded at the cameras hidden near the ceiling and told him I wouldn’t have any more to add than they would.

The young man gave me a nod, jotting something down in his PDA. “I’ll make sure we get copies, ma’am. But how are you feeling?”

I secretly dreaded the answer, but I had to ask. “Is… there a mirror? I want to see how bad it is.”

The officer winced. “I wouldn’t recommend it, ma’am. You’re stable, but pretty banged up.”

“How bad?”

The young man made a strange face that he smoothed out suspiciously quickly. “Bad.”

I was so out of it that I hadn’t noticed I was still in the crook of #431’s arms until she patted me on the head. “Don’t you worry, Trixie. I’ve called Mom and she’s sending somebody to pick you up. We’ll have you on a set of locomotors of your choice before you know it.”

“You know what?” I told #431. “I usually prefer the more natural look, but I think I’m going with something a little more like Dash this time…”

#431 let out a awkward little laugh. “Feeling like you want a bit more armor?”

I fought down a wince at the image of that horrible woman stomping over and over. The mangling of my manipulators, two tanks had ruptured… The realization that I was starting to hyperventilate snapped me out of it. I did my best to shake the image out of my head without falling out of #431’s arms. “Um, yeah.”

#431 gave me an understanding nod and another pat.

“You have a friend in the military?” the officer asked in polite interest.

#431 shot him a look.

The officer chuckled softly. “Sorry, one more friend in the military then?”

“Asteroid mining, actually.” #431 explained on my behalf. Normally I would be irritated, but it was a nice gesture given the circumstances. I just wasn’t feeling up to smalltalk. “Why bother with a pressure suit and oxygen when you can get a few more upgrades?”

The young man let out a nervous laugh, then darted off, silent as space.

“I think you just squicked that poor man out, #431,” I said.

“I don’t get that mindset. Why would it be okay in the line of duty, but not when done voluntarily?”

I thought it over. “Well, in the military, you might need it to survive? And there’s guaranteed removal of non-essential upgrades when you leave the service.” I offered.

#431 stared at me as if my head had fallen off. I snorted at her. “Come on. I’m a severed head holding a conversation. Which side of the debate do you think I’m really on? Just acting as devil’s advocate.”

#431’s awkward smile was interrupted by a man’s voice. “Miss Lulamoon? Are you feeling well enough to talk?”

#431 righted me, showing me Black Blake the Butcher.

Now I actually recognised the man I’d seen through the cameras. He had a subtle edge to him, but he had a soft smile on again, and he looked…

Normal.

Why the hell did that freak me out so much?

“Is there something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

I quickly straightened out my frown. “Nothing, I—” I was hesitant to say it, but honesty won out. “You’re a very intimidating man when angry, Mr. Gregory. I just… need a moment to digest that.”

“I’ve heard that before, but seldom to my face,” he gave me a nod and a toothy grin. “Thank you for the honesty; I appreciate the gesture.”

#431 gave a snort. “He’s actually a big dorky teddybear once you get to know him. Just don’t try to stab anyone when he’s watching, and you’ll be fine.” I bit back a giggle.

Blake gave his Lieutenant a long look. “I’d argue with that, but I can’t fault somebody for telling people not to stab others and doing it with a straight face.”

We shared a small laugh at that. I had to admit, it made me feel a bit better, but as the Captain sat down on what I realized was the edge of the scene, I realized that there was something else to do. “#431?”

“Yes?”

“Before we leave, I’d— I’d like to see what happened to my body.”

#431 made a face, but turned around.

It was surreal, seeing most of what I recognized as me lying there. Someone had folded my hands together on my tummy and pushed the frame onto its back. The ragged hole where my neck had been only an hour ago was even covered up with my hat.

If not for the hole in my—its sternum, it honestly looked as if somebody was just taking a nap on the stage.

“She got you straight through the spine,” #431 told me in a kind voice. “You did good, Trixie. Ejecting like that gave us enough time to interfere.”

I shivered hard enough that #431 started petting my hair again. All the surgeries, the drugs, the time, money and determination to stay alive as long as I have—almost undone by a nutjob with a grudge that wasn’t even true. “I’d like my hat back.”

#421 held me tight to her chest again, while Blake asked the officers if it was alright.

I got my answer, as both my hat and cloak floated over in the blue glow of #431’s HORN. #431 folded the latter neatly, set me down on it and put the wizzard hat on my head. I tried to get comfy in a way that would keep me upright, but my manips were too bent and mangled. Without much fanfare, I slowly tipped over and hit the back of my head on the stage. “Ow.”

#431 bit her lip and was fighting so hard her eyes teared up, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she gently fluffed my cloak into a mound around my neck, keeping my head upright and decently comfy. I gave her a thankful smile.

I tried not to think on it too much, but I must have looked absolutely pathetic, a blue showmare— showwoman and her two safety blankets…

I just couldn't find it in me to care. That altercation had nearly ended me, in my center of power, with what was probably the cheapest gun she could get her hands on. It was a humbling thought.

My eyes narrowed. I did not care for the sensation.

I focused the glare on the Captain. “Mr. Gregory, is the rumor mill correct that you are here to offer Trixie a place on the Pheidippides?”

The Captain shot #431 a knowing smile. “I see secrecy is about as useful as always.”

“Hey, at least we’ve dodged the reporters so far,” #431 quipped.

Blake made a face and went on. “Anyway, yes, we are. Your expertise in quantum manipulation tech would be vital to our mission. I’m prepared to—”

“Sounds fun. Trixie was planning on getting off Earth for a few months anyway. Sign her up.”

Blake gave me a disbelieving look, but he composed himself quickly. “I’m glad to hear it, but don’t you want to know the details first?”

I gave the man my biggest smile. I tried not to notice how I could still feel both of my cheeks creasing in new and wrong ways, despite my sense of pain being turned off. I swept my eyes meaningfully around the room.  “Does it seem like Trixie is lacking in money? Besides, it has been ages since she was last in space, especially on a scientific mission…”

Blake shrugged. “Fair enough, but there’s a part of the recruiting package you might find interesting. You wi—” His phone rang. He quickly fished it out of his pocket. “… I’m sorry, I need to take this call.”

I sighed, but nodded.

Blake got up and quickly stomped away a few meters, before putting the phone to his ear. “Hello, Your Majesty. To what do I owe this honor?”

My ears perked up out of habit. I looked at #431, who had a knowing smile on. With a bit of difficulty she fought it down, silently hushing me with a finger to her lips.

My, my… Planning a ‘party’ again, are we? 

I fought down my own smile, and instead prepared to listen to the fireworks.

“One moment,” Blake said to (most likely) Queen Pinkie. The list of ‘suspects’ with that title was quite short.

He turned to us, but hesitated as he laid eyes on me.

That bad?

“She’s stable, but quite banged up,” he said. The way he used such a soft voice was the worst bit. He listened for a moment, before continuing to come towards us. “Got it, ma’am. One moment…”

He put the phone on the ground, before darting back to the same spot he’d been sitting before. Its holo-projector lit up, showing Pinkie on her throne. 

I bit back a snort at the sight of the monstrosity my friend still insisted on for formal occasions.

The thing’s—throne’s—backrest was nearly three meters tall, towering over the mare seated. Pure platinum shaped into a sculpture of hundreds of rising balloons, with two giant blue sapphires and an enormous topaz cut into three balloons in particular.

Honestly, just because you can make something doesn’t mean that it’s in good taste to do so. I would, however, admit that the pink silk on the padding was a nice touch. It practically gleamed.

Pinkie herself was a tad underdressed. On official Queen business she usually wore this tacky princess-sized alicorn frame with a harmaline cape and enough jewelry to buy a micronation. Now she was wearing a simple earth pony frame and a platinum circlet set with a single sapphire balloon. It wasn’t quite like Pinkie to go for subtle; I couldn’t help but wonder why.

Pinkie tapped her hoof against her head as she waited for the transmission to begin on her end. Since she was only on the Farm, the light-lag wasn’t that bad, which meant I only had to wait a short while to see my friend’s hair deflate. She covered her mouth with both hooves, quite clearly trying not to cry. “Oh, Trixie…”

I gave her my biggest smile. “It was nasty, but I’m okay. It looks worse than it is.”

Pinkie nodded slowly and put on a brave face, but from how her hair stayed down, I knew it was mostly for my sake.

She took a deep breath before she forced herself to continue. “I heard from #431 about how you need assistance, and I’ve made arrangements to have you picked up. I hope that’s alright?”

I started to nod, but Blake interrupted. “Miss Trixie accepted my offer. Although I won’t stop her if she feels safer in your care, I thought I should simply add that Sol Guard may offer the same help as well. And that way, she wouldn’t have to travel quite as far.”

She stroked her chin, thinking for nearly a minute before giving her answer. “Mr. Blake, may I offer an alternative plan?”

“Sure.”

“There’s really no reason for the Pheidippides to officially cast off from Earth, right? How about you let me get the more spread out girls to the Farm? That should shave off more than a bit of travel time, and it would even give them a chance to install the shiny new upgrades you’re promising, as well.”

My ears perked up. “Upgrades? What upgrades?”

Pinkie glared at the Captain when she heard me, and he raised his arms defensively. “She agreed before I could even tell her about any compensation. She wanted the opportunity to leave Earth for a while.”

Pinkie winced and gave the Captain an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Blake just waved her off. “You were just looking out for a friend, no apology needed.” 

I cleared my throat in a meaningful manner. “Upgrades, Captain?”

“I’m planning on bribing anyone that cares to come with us with a full A-grade plus cybernetic license.”

#431, Pinkie and I nearly choked. Even a few of the police froze.

The Captain sighed. “Fine, if I must use PR words…” He made air quotes. “‘Due to recent threats against the mission and the Pheidippides, I have been forced to take more drastic measures in safeguarding my ship, my men, and the mission. I intend to procure experts in as high a regard as I may. To ensure your and their cooperation, I intend to compensate them accordingly.”

He gave the nearest officer a look. “It was a joke, and you bloody well know it.”

The tech gave a half-hearted shrug before fleeing from Blake’s gaze.

“Somebody put all their points into intimidation, didn’t they?” I quipped, mostly out of old habit.

Blake actually looked embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s always been a ‘gift’ of mine. I try not to misuse it, but it shines through when I’m angry.” He turned his head and glared at my now-cuffed assailant. She flinched slightly before Blake forced himself to look away with an irritated grunt. “I can’t stand fools, or those that harm others for petty reasons.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Strange words from a man nicknamed ‘The Butcher...’”

Blake just shrugged with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have three gifts, Miss Lulamoon. One for tech, one for anger—” He patted his holster. “—and one for violence. I know I’m somewhat higher class than most, but I’m still a thug.” He held his right hand up to his face and looked at it, unreadable. “I would like to believe I’ve made it into a truncheon of justice, instead of a sword of vengeance, but…”

Blake shook his head and let his hand fall. He gave us a sunny smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do pardon my mood. It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet. My mind wandered to a bleak place. Sorry for sharing it.”

Both #431 and her mom was giving him an odd look, but said nothing.

I forced a smile. “No problem. Besides, a bit of doubt is a healthy thing.” I glanced at Hanna’s mother. “Only zealots never question.”

“True,” Blake sighed. “Still, perhaps Echidna was on to something?”

#431’s eyes widened.

Blake chuckled. “Don’t give me that look. Just thinking out loud.”

#431 gave him a questioning look, arms folded. “I thought you loved space.”

Blake grunted, dissatisfied. “Still do. Just wondering if the guard is how I still want to experience it. For every day I’m out doing something of actual value, there seems to be fifty with mounds of paperwork, and ten with violence and death. It’s just… draining.”

Queen Pinkie cleared her throat. “The Farm is always looking for new talent…”

Blake raised his brow, some humor sneaking back into his voice. He got this boyish sparkle in his eye that actually made me at least begin to understand what #431 was seeing in him. “Oh? Such as?”

Pinkie fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Oh, I’m certain I could find some use for such a polite young man…”

Out of Blake’s sight, #431 glared at her mom and crossed her throat with her arm-blade. 

That actually made Queen Pinkie blink, if not for a reason any of us would call normal. “Sweetie, is something wrong with your arm?”

#431 coughed embarrassedly. “Oh, uh, I kinda forgot that stabbing high voltage equipment might sting a bit. I’m fine, I’m just going to need to have my arm fixed.”

I looked closer at it. It seemed that something had gone quite wrong. It wasn’t very noticeable as the long blade was such a distraction, but her fingers didn’t seem to be moving. In fact, everything below the elbow seemed to be stuck into the position of a balled fist.

#431 looked down at the mess her arm had become and sighed. “Damn it all, and this frame was barely off the press as well.”

Blake stroked his chin. “How about you act as escort for Trixie and get those hardware upgrades in the same go? Two birds, one stone?”

#431 clearly hesitated. “You sure? It’s a decent idea, don’t get me wrong, but considering how our luck has been so far, I half expect finding Rarity and Sweetie being chased by freaking mummies.”

Blake tilted his head. “Can you get a message to them? I’d rather not surprise a cybernetics specialist while she’s testing something she thought required going off the grid.”

Queen Pinkie waved him off. “Nonsense. Rarity’s many things, but she’s never irresponsible.” She leaned closer to the screen and whispered conspiratorially over one hoof. “You didn’t hear it from me, but the whole thing is a paper-thin excuse to spend time with Sweetie. She could do it all in a lab with half the time and expense, but, y’know.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, style should count for something, after all.”

Blake suddenly blinked, before narrowing his eyes and folding his arms; just glaring at Queen Pinkie for some reason. “Alright, I’ll admit it. Well played, especially pulling off the throne room like that... but who are you really?”

#431 and I exchanged glances. Just what was this about?

Oh! Clever bastard! I couldn’t believe I’d missed something so simple!

‘Queen’ Pinkie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she chuckled. She held up a hoof and winked at the glaring #431 and Blake, the fur on her fetlock turning black to spell #108. Then the letters faded and she hushed us, hoof to her lips.

#431’s mouth turned into a little O of understanding before she leaned in and whispered to Blake, “#108 is mom’s primary political double. She’s legit.” Then she muttered, mostly to herself, “So my sister tried to steal my boy instead of Mom. What an improvement.”

#108, no doubt at Earth-Sun L1, instead of L4 and the Farm proper, gave us all a soft smile and a regal wave that managed to look condescending. She whispered to Blake, “Good on you, kid. Been a few years since anybody called me on the lag being too good.”

Blake hummed thoughtfully at that and nodded. I had to admit, I felt a slight pang of jealousy. It seemed #431 had actually found somebody with some promise, and under the century mark as well! Lucky girl.

Still, one should strive to live as one teaches.

It wasn’t quite the same as my former body, but I formed my hair into a working hand. My hair was a cringeworthy mess; a few clumps stood out and were completely unresponsive, but it worked well enough that I made my intent clear.

I presented the makeshift limb to Blake. “Well, Captain? Do we have a deal?”

He blinked in surprise, but to my delight he didn’t even hesitate in reciprocating; with a smile and a nod, he shook on it.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Lulamoon.”