//------------------------------//
// Silence 
// Story: Victory at Any Cost 
// by FanNotANerd 
//------------------------------//


After the defeat of Nightmare Moon and the return of Princess Luna, Equestria found itself in a period of unparalleled scientific and magical innovation.

Within thirty years, ponykind landed on the moon, taking their first look at Luna’s prison.

Within seventy, the first vessel in history surpassed the speed of light, rendering conventional rockets completely obsolete.

Within a hundred, the equine race had colonized a large portion of the galactic arm and discovered primitive life on sixteen other planets, confirming that they weren’t alone in the universe. Yet even after all that, there was still one thing they yearned to find: advanced, intelligent life. 

When the first transmission from a far-off survey team reported a foreign ship, it triggered waves of celebration in the scientific community. When their next transmission reported their  destruction, joy turned to panic.

The war against the race that came to be known as Changelings had begun.




----------


The console beside Twilight’s bed chimed quietly. Usually, it was meant to wake her up on long journeys like this one, but she was already awake. Truth be told, she hadn’t been able to get to sleep in the first place. Anticipation had kept her awake.

As if sensing her hesitation, the console chimed again. “Captain Sparkle,” the ship AI said through it in a flat, sexless voice. “We are coming out of FTL in three minutes. Your presence is recommended on the bridge.”

Twilight sighed and slid out of her bed, hastily running a comb through her mane before tucking it under her captain’s hat. It still felt strange on her head, even after three missions on her own destroyer.

Her own destroyer. She liked the sound of that. Most captains received a frigate or the like for their first command. Even Rainbow Dash commanded a frigate — a high tonnage frigate, but a frigate nonetheless. Princess Celestia’s command to place Twilight in charge of a newly built Everfree-class destroyer raised quite a few eyebrows back home. Despite that, most ponies wisely kept their mouths shut while she christened her new ship the Canis, after her favourite group of constellations.

She hesitated a moment longer, letting her gaze drift over the small collection of models she kept on a shelf, the only vanity she allowed herself on the ship. Here was a model of her old library from Ponyville, painstakingly crafted on a three-dimensional printer, and there was a scale reproduction of the Filly Flash, missile pods and all. Far to the left was a “housewarming gift” from those on her new crew that had heard of her: a model of Celestia’s personal vessel, a monstrosity simply named Sol.

It was a marvel of engineering, no doubt. At nearly three kilometres long, Sol was the largest ship in the Equestrian fleet by a huge margin, boasting enough firepower to go hoof-to-hoof against three dreadnoughts. Instead of a kinetic railgun, its main battery was a directed energy beam that fired compressed packets of electrons down the path of a pulse laser. When it impacted, the electron packets would violently repulse from each other, chemically reducing every material within a hundred meters and effectively atomizing it. Whatever was left would be torn apart by the pulse laser.  While most ship-based weaponry required input from a complement of unicorns, Sol’s main cannon relied purely on its gargantuan reactor, which just so happened to be the only one in the fleet capable of supporting such a weapon. Although she’d never seen it in person, Twilight had heard the weapon actually created a gravitational lensing effect when fired; something to do with the gravimetric fields required to compress the electron packets. If memory served, it was in the same system Rainbow was in, overseeing fleet maneuvers and drills.

Twilight hated everything about it. She hated its flowing, elegant design, its ability to instill awe and fear in everyone who saw it, and she hated everything it stood for. It just served to remind her what she’d lost. What they’d all lost. Once the war was over, once the Changelings had either been exterminated or beaten back forever, nothing would please Twilight more than to see the massive warship scrapped.

She blinked, suddenly realizing she’d been holding the model in her magic, giving it rhythmic squeezes and watching how the flimsy plastic buckled, imagining how it would look when it shattered in her magical grip. She winced and doused her horn, carefully laying the model back on the shelf. No matter how much she hated the thing, she had to remember that the model was a gift, and should be treated as such. With a bracing breath, she turned toward the door, fixing an expression of calm authority on her face.

Twilight walked out of her quarters, nodding sagely at the pony standing outside her door, and made her way to the personnel lift. The corridors were fairly well lit and spacious for a destroyer; most had corridors barely wide enough for two ponies to squeeze through. The Everfree class employed a new design, sacrificing a small amount of armour plating to accommodate larger corridors, which also served to reduce its tonnage and increase maneuverability. It still didn’t handle like a frigate, but it was a stinging wasp in comparison to the other destroyers in the Equestrian fleet.

The stings themselves consisted of four pulse cannons on each side of the ship, powered by a combination of magic and conventional laser optics, coupled with twelve rocket pods with varying payloads and the central-mounted kinetic railgun common to almost all ships in the Equestrian fleet. Not that it really mattered much; she had yet to order so much as a warning shot except in training exercises.

She walked onto the command deck, acknowledging the salutes of her crew with more nods. Up ahead, the viewscreen was still filled with the odd bluish mosaic of a starfield blueshifted by FTL travel. “Status report,” she said, mentally congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice. Just a month ago she’d been standing beside another ship’s captain, waiting for that exact command.

“Drive core nominal,” her pilot said, calling up a readout on the holographic display and sending it to Twilight’s with a wave of a hoof. “Output steady at seventy-two gigawatts. Beacon distance eighty astronomical units at the last ping. We’ll be arriving in about forty seconds, Captain.”

“Excellent work, Nimbus,” Twilight said. “All crew, prepare for deceleration.”

The order was a purely unnecessary one, more protocol than anything else. Redundant safety measures hardwired into the ship’s drive core prevented unexpected transition to realspace. Besides, if a ship unexpectedly decelerated from FTL speeds, bracing would be a token gesture at best. Still, she had every intention of running her ship by the book.

“Approaching the beacon in three… two… one…” The blue mosaic morphed into starlines, and then into a close view of Equus and its single moon. The comm board lit up with conventional comms from twenty-six other military and observer craft in orbit around the planet, watching for suspicious ships. A few months back, some scientist had suggested sending a series of satellites into orbit to create some kind of laser detection grid for the same purpose, but the estimated cost was so astronomically high that it was dismissed out of hand. Twilight glanced over the ship names, disappointed to find none she recognized.

“Commencing prograde burn,” Nimbus announced, his hooves flickering over the controls. His wings quivered in excitement; even if it wasn’t technically in atmosphere, pegasi loved to fly.

“Check in with Command,” Twilight said. “Request an orbit somewhere in the fifty-five hundred kilometer range. I’ll contact Command once we—”

Proximity alarms suddenly blared through the bridge, cutting her off. “What in Tartarus?” she yelled, scanning the viewscreen. Had another ship ignored safety protocols and jumped in at the same beacon before they’d cleared the perimeter? A moment later her question was answered as a dark, jagged mass tumbled past the Canis’ bow.

Twilight fell silent, watching the derelict ship pass by. She recognized it as an Equestrian vessel, scarred by the plasma shrapnel favoured by the Changelings.

“Scan complete,” the ship AI chimed. “Vessel identified as the Osprey. Last known engagement: Changeling assault on Equus four months and thirteen days ago. Status: missing, presumed lost with all crew.”

Twilight swallowed. There wasn’t much to presume any more. Equus’ orbit was littered with such hulks, both Equestrian and Changeling, that hadn’t yet been de-orbited. Most had had their orbits charted for the sake of civilian traffic, but every now and then a new one turned up.

There was a brief pause from the ship’s computer. “Database updated with new ship status,” it said. “Orbit logged. In response to the orbit’s proximity to the FTL beacon’s, a proposal has been submitted to launch a salvage and removal operation.”

Twilight barely registered the computer’s words. She’d known a couple of the Osprey’s crew. Ever since the cruiser had vanished from scopes, she’d assumed it had been destroyed, but a small part of her had hoped. A quick glance around revealed she wasn’t the only one visibly shaken by the wreck’s appearance. For some it was facing stark proof that comrades, friends, maybe even family were dead. For most, it was a simple reminder that they were at war.

Twilight clenched her teeth. In the past, despite repeated Changeling atrocities, they’d tried diplomacy. Communication. Appeasement. Anything. It took months to finally realize that the Changelings had no reason to attack them, except for the simple reason that they existed. The cost of those months had been unbelievable. Dozens of worlds, hundreds of ships, millions of lives. 

Twilight swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Nimbus, give me a burn on vector three by seven by negative one. I don’t want to stay anywhere near that thing.”

Her pilot didn’t say anything, but she felt a slight rumble beneath her hooves as the Canis’ three engines deepened in pitch. A glance over revealed that he was holding a small figurine of a tree, his lips moving silently. Twilight furrowed her eyebrows. She always found praying for the dead a useless gesture — they were dead, after all. What did they care? — but chose not to push the issue. Some ponies needed something more to hold on to.

For what felt like the hundredth time, she wished her friends were with her. It would be just like old times, back in Ponyville. Back before the war.

But, of course, it couldn’t be that way. Rainbow Dash was parsecs away in the Filly Flash, Fluttershy and Applejack were managing agricultural infrastructure on one of the few remaining colonies, Rarity was probably in a war room somewhere, Pinkie was keeping up morale down on Equus, and Spike was...

She forced her mind away from that topic. Focus on the now, she told herself. Not yesterday or tomorrow, but now. That’s all that matters.

Nimbus suddenly reached up to touch his ear, carefully laying the tree figurine down beside him. “Captain, I have clearance from Command for a fifty-seven thousand kilometre orbit.” His voice shook only slightly. “They’re also telling me that a recovery team is being prepared for the Osprey as we speak.”

“Excellent work,” Twilight said to Nimbus. She looked up and took in all seven crewmembers on the bridge. “That goes to the rest of you, too. Even after three missions, I can tell we’re going to make one hell of a team.” She paused. I wish this wasn’t just shore leave, she thought. I wish we could just… go home. Aloud, “I’m proud to call you my crew.”

She touched her console to make a ship-wide announcement. “As you may have noticed by looking out the viewports,” she said, “We’re home. We’ll have a full day to perform standard maintenance operations, and then we’ll dock with the Phoenix defense platform for transfer to the surface for two weeks of shore leave.” Even though it was a one-way comm, she could almost hear the cheering from the bridge. “Don’t spend the whole time drinking,” she said. “I recommend admiring the scenery for at least ten seconds.”

She paused and glanced up at Nimbus, arching an eyebrow. Nimbus gave a slight shrug. Decent, but not great, the shrug said. Keep trying.

Twilight frowned and keyed the comm again. “Captain Sparkle out.” She turned to Nimbus. “I thought that was a good attempt.”

“With all due respect, Captain, you get an A for effort. At least you’re trying. I served under a captain who wouldn’t so much as crack a smile unless you—”

“Hold that thought,” Twilight said, pointing at a dark spot silhouetted against Equus. “That wasn’t there a minute ago, was it?”

Nimbus frowned at the spot. “No,” he said carefully. “It wasn’t.”

Twilight’s heart skipped a few beats. “Command: magnify object of interest and run black body emission scans.”

“Magnifying,” the AI said. After a pause of about a second, the viewscreen flickered, and the object came into sharp focus. Twilight scanned it frantically, her heart pounding. Nothing else had that profile. Nothing else had that kind of chitinous armour.

“Scans inconclusive,” the AI said. “No black body emissions detected in any wavelength. Attempting to match profile to known vessels.”

“Captain, the vessel has turned and it vectoring toward us,” Nimbus announced.

“Infrared emissions detected at regular intervals along the hull. Deduction: they are charging weaponry. Profile matches that of a Changeling destroyer.”

“Red alert!” Twilight said into the all-comm. “Battle stations! This is not a drill!”

The Changeling destroyer shut off its engines and fired maneuvering thrusters, bringing it broadside to the Canis. Twilight glanced at the orbital calculation at the bottom corner of the viewscreen. The Changelings would drift within ten kilometres of the Canis, close enough for their weaponry to be miserably effective, and would keep Equus behind them the entire time. Unless…

“Fire forward thrusters,” Twilight ordered. “Drop our periapsis to forty thousand kilometres.”

Nimbus grinned and did as he was told. While it made their orbit more eccentric than many would like, the maneuver would put the Changeling destroyer on an angle at which they wouldn’t risk bombarding the planet.

“Alert. Incoming projectiles. Temperature estimated at fifteen thousand Kelvin.” The AI paused. “Firing solution for main battery acquired.”

“This is Captain Sparkle to gunnery crews,” Twilight said. “Fire at will. Nimbus, execute combat maneuver set 47A.”

The lights dimmed slightly as power was diverted to the Canis’ railgun. Inside, a pair of superconducting electromagnetic rails accelerated a five-kilogram tungsten slug to six percent the speed of light. The slug crossed the distance between the two ships in less than a second, impacting the Changeling destroyer high on the port side. An instant later, the viewscreen was filled with starbursts of bright green as eight fragmentation missiles detonated into hundreds of magnetically contained “shards” of plasma.

Nimbus touched a symbol on his console, and three emergency thrusters detonated on the Canis’ port side, forcing the bow over. Several of the starbursts went wide, but Twilight physically felt the impact as the ship’s systems automatically channeled magic from every unicorn on board to block the others. They slammed against an invisible wall a hundred meters away from the ship, exploding harmlessly in a blaze of green light.

This was the dangerous part of ship-to-ship combat: to save mass by reducing the size of the ship’s fusion reactor, most of the weapons and defensive systems required magical input from unicorns. Some of the weapons would function for a time on capacitors, but in long battles, it wasn’t uncommon for a third of the crew to become magically exhausted, after which combat capabilities would be cut nearly in half.

“Arm port pulse batteries and lock rocket pods one through three!” Twilight ordered, ignoring the fatigue that suddenly washed through her. “Fire rockets one second after pulse batteries.”

Again she felt that sensation of magical strain as the Canis’ systems automatically siphoned magic out of her. On the viewscreen, the Changeling ship was rolling over, bringing their more heavily armed starboard side to bear. The railgun’s impact was visible as a jagged hole just before the midline that went through the entire ship; unfortunately, it didn’t look like it had hit anything important.

The Canis rocked slightly as the pulse batteries opened up, sending four blood-red beams of energized particles, magic and plain old low-wavelength radiation toward the Changeling ship. All four beams impacted at different points and tore their way across the ship, carving across the side and reducing the destroyer’s chitinous armour to slag. Inside, any Changeling not instantly reduced to ash would have been shredded at a cellular level by gamma radiation. Still, the Changelings’ weapons roared in response: particle beams of their own and more plasma starbursts.

The unicorns on board could stop the plasma starbursts, but the particle beams they couldn’t do anything about. And so all Twilight could do was grit her teeth and feel the ship shudder under her hooves as they tore across her hull. “Damage report!” she barked.

“No hull breaches detected. Port armour holding. Rocket pods two and four disabled.”

Twilight gritted her teeth. Belatedly, twenty-four rockets launched from pods one and three, targeting the trenches left by the pulse batteries. The gunnery crew had probably delayed launching the rockets to brace against the Changeling weaponry. Smart, but it had cost them a third of the salvo.

Again, the Changeling ship rolled, just in time for the rockets to impact on its relatively undamaged side. The destroyer briefly vanished behind a curtain of flame as the incendiary warheads detonated, then ploughed through it, sporting large pits in its hull. 

“Bring the main battery to bear,” Twilight ordered. “Target their stern, just ahead of the engines. See if we can take out their reactor.” Belatedly, “And contact the other ships in the area. Notify them that we’re under attack.”

The main battery roared again, drowning out what the ensign to her right had to say. “Come again?” Twilight said.

“I said we’ve been jammed on all channels. Official, unofficial and emergency. Our only chance to get the word out is if someone sees the fireworks.”

Twilight glanced toward the Changeling destroyer, expecting to see a cloud of dust and atmosphere spraying out from the slug’s impact. She blinked. “Did we miss?”

“They anticipated the shot,” Nimbus replied. “Detonated emergency thrusters an instant before we fired.”

Twilight scowled. “Turn to port and fire the starboard pulse batteries. Brace for a return volley.”

“Captain," the comm officer said, "we’re being hailed.”

Twilight frowned and glanced at her comms officer. “What?”

The stallion shrugged. “The Changeling craft is hailing us. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“And they seem to be powering down weapons,” Nimbus added,  confusion present in his tone.

Twilight blinked. Was it surrendering? By Equestrian standards, the ship had taken horrendous damage, but by Changeling standards it would barely need repairs. 

“Captain,” her navigation officer said. “With all due respect, I advise we take this opportunity to finish them off.”

“No,” Twilight replied. “Protocol dictates that we answer all hails, especially if the craft in question seems to be surrendering. Patch it through.”

The viewscreen flickered for a moment. What appeared on there next made Twilight hiss in alarm.

“Twilight?” Spike asked, looking just as shocked as she did. “Twilight! It’s really you!”

“Spike, I don’t… you can’t… I thought you were dead!”

Spike ignored her. “They tell me that you’re trying to kill us,” he said, his voice cracking with fear. “There’s more of us on here! Just stop!”

Panic flared in Twilight’s chest. “Power down all weapons!” she barked. “Now!”

Spike sighed in relief. “Thank you,” he said. 

Twilight stepped closer. “It’s been almost a year,” she said quietly. “How? How did you survive?”

“They only destroyed the ship after they offloaded us,” Spike said. “Most of us, at least. They left a few, to make it look real. Then they just…” He shuddered. “I thought they’d feed on us. But they didn’t. Not like the others. They kept us alive, feeding on our anger, sadness, hope…”

There was sudden movement behind him. Alarm flickered across Spike’s face. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell her.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “They want to propose an exchange. Me and everyone else on board for… for you and your crew.”

Twilight’s breath caught. “How many?” she whispered, ignoring Nimbus’ hoof jabbing into her thigh, out of the camera’s field of view. 

“Including me, there’s sixty-eight prisoners. There were more, but they… died during the fight.”

The crew of the Canis numbered fifty-two. Numerically, it was a more than fair exchange. But… “Spike,” Twilight said helplessly. “I can’t ask my crew to do that. Not even for you.”

“Damn it, Twilight” Spike snapped, tears of anger forming in his eyes. “They’re going to kill us!”

Twilight gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Bring weapons back online. Fire at will.”

She blinked in surprise when Spike laughed. “Oh, Twilight,” he said. “You’re colder than I thought.” 

What? Twilight glanced up at the viewscreen again, shocked to see that Spike had adopted a horrible, toothy grin. “For a moment,” Spike said, “I really thought you’d give in.”

Twilight’s mouth curled in sudden hatred. “You’re not Spike,” she said evenly.

Not-Spike’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating. “Oh, what anger,” he said. “Such hate. Delicious.”

The Canis’ main battery roared. This time, its aim was true, and the slug hammered through the hull at a sharp angle before the stern.  Not-Spike lurched under the impact, laughing. “Tell me,” he said. “How did it feel? Seeing your dear friend brought back from the dead?”

Both sets of pulse batteries tore across the side of the Changeling ship, breaching the armour and setting the interior of the ship ablaze. “You really want to know?” Twilight growled, stalking closer. “Let me ask you something in response. How does it feel, knowing you just sacrificed your life, and the lives of your crew, to taunt me?”

“New targets sighted at the FTL beacon. Profile matches that of Changeling cruisers, destroyers, frigates…”

“I sacrificed nothing.” Not-Spike replied, grinning. “My death bought time for yours to arrive.”

“... fighters, carriers, battlecruisers…”

“Captain, the board’s gone red with hostiles! It looks like an entire fleet jumped in behind us!”

The jamming, Twilight thought. If I hadn’t stopped to parley, I would have destroyed the ship and had time to get a message out!

“They’ll tell stories about me, you know,” Not-Spike mused. “The one who killed Twilight Sparkle. I’ll be remembered as a hero. You will be remembered as a failure.”

“Kill him!” Twilight screamed.

The deck shuddered underneath her hooves in response as Canis’ main gun fired a round directly toward the source of the transmission. Twilight watched as the bulkhead behind the Changeling captain disintegrated, flinging shrapnel through the room. Not-Spike lurched forward, an odd look in his eyes, one claw reaching up toward the jagged chunk of metal sticking out of his chest. His form wavered, then vanished, replaced by a frail-looking creature with compound eyes and holes in its exoskeleton where holes shouldn’t be. In the wake of the tungsten slug, atmosphere roared out of the ship, grabbing the Changeling with invisible fingers and hurling it into the cold, black vacuum of space. The feed from the ship flickered and died.

“Captain, I’m seeing targeting pings from over three hundred different ships!” her navigation officer yelled, his voice tight with panic.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Twilight yelled. “Try to get a signal out! Tight-beam, radio, anything!”

Nimbus worked the controls, priming emergency thrusters and turning the Canis so that it faced the Changeling fleet head-on, presenting the smallest possible target. Before it could complete the maneuver, she felt a sudden, massive magical drain as what felt like dozens of plasma starbursts slammed into the shields. Her vision flickered, and she felt herself fall to her knees. A moment later, safety systems kicked in, severing the flow of magic. Then the deck lurched as three somethings struck the Canis on her port side.

Already off balance from blocking far too many projectiles, the lurch knocked Twilight onto her side. She scrambled back to her hooves, gritting her teeth in anger. The ship was brand new, damn it! “Lock weapons on the nearest Changeling frigate,” she ordered. “Take it out of…” Her words died in her throat as she saw the swarm of Changeling ships in the viewscreen.  

Three hundred ships was a poor estimate. The fleet in front of her numbered at least four. Many of those were smaller destroyers and frigates, but she immediately counted the hulking masses of twelve battlecruisers and the unmistakable profile of a kilometer-long dreadnought. 

“Brace!” Nimbus yelled. Twilight automatically grabbed hold of a rail; an instant later, every emergency thruster on the Canis’ starboard side detonated at once, flinging them to the side hard enough to make the hull creak from stress. Then the hull shrieked as a blood-red pulse beam streaked out from the closest battlecruiser, tearing through the starboard armour plating like tissue paper. Alarms began ringing throughout the cockpit, and the Canis’ AI began listing off a damage report in an absurdly calm voice.

“Return fire!” Twilight howled, ignoring the AI. The main battery and port pulse cannons fired, targeting a nearby frigate and ripping through its hull. The small ship spun away, propelled by venting atmosphere.

There was no time to feel jubilant; the Canis rocked again as a kinetic round grazed her bow, and again when a plasma starburst rammed into roughly the same spot.

“Captain,” Nimbus asked, oddly calm, as he dodged another salvo of kinetics. Canis’ weapons lashed out again, smashing into another frigate. This one stayed operational, simply rolling to present its undamaged side. “Are we going to die?”

Twilight glanced at the viewscreen. A sudden sense of purpose filled her. “No,” she said. She leaned over and keyed the all-com. “All crew, this is your captain. Proceed to the escape pods immediately. Launch into a capture trajectory, get down to the surface, and assist with any operations you are able to.” She paused. “It has been an honour to serve with you all.”

Nimbus stared at her. “You’re not coming with us,” he said.

“Captain goes down with the ship, right?” Twilight replied. “Go. I’ll hold them off.”

Nimbus hesitated. “That’s an order,” Twilight said, more sternly.

The pegasus paused a moment, then saluted. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “you were a good captain.”

Twilight watched him go, and slid into his seat. A swipe of her hoof gave full control of the weapons systems to the ship AI. Nimbus had set the reactor to slightly above the combat setting of ninety-five gigawatts; she gestured and brought it to a hundred twenty, ignoring the alert window that appeared as a result. A glance at the ship’s weapons readout showed why only the port batteries were firing; the starboard batteries were simply gone. 

She touched the controls, vectoring toward the nearest Changeling cruiser to put it between her and the bulk of the fleet. A display in the corner started lighting up with green as escape pods began launching from the stern. Twilight calmly redirected power to the stern point-defense batteries, just in case the Changelings detected the pods. If they did, they ignored them; the small-calibre kinetics turned and fired at a pair of missiles streaking in toward the starboard side, detonating them a harmless kilometer out. A plasma starburst hurtled past her keel, missing by bare meters.

She absently wondered if any of the other ships in orbit had gotten the word out. Probably. Changeling ships defied most scans, but a fleet this size had to generate enough heat to tip off someone. The other ships in the area would probably hold out for a while, buying time for the main fleet to arrive. It wouldn’t be any help to her, if course.

As a particle beam tore across the Canis’ prow, stripping away the last of the bow plating, Twilight gestured again, overriding safety protocols and boosting the reactor’s output to a hundred fifty gigawatts. The core temperature climbed past two million degrees, approaching the critical point for lithium fusion. When it reached it, the extra burst of energy would effectively turn the destroyer’s reactor into a miniature star. The resulting fireball would utterly consume the Canis and everything around it. “Everything” would hopefully include as many Changeling ships as possible.

That done, she locked in a collision course with the cruiser she was using as a shield, timing it so the ship would impact a second or two before the reactor went critical. The Changelings seemed to sense her intention; kinetics and particle beams slammed into the hull with renewed fury, tearing the Canis to pieces. Across the bridge, a console short-circuited and exploded in a shower of sparks. Behind her, a pair of blast doors slammed shut as a missile breached the hull just behind the bridge. The pilot’s display filled with red as entire sections of the hull sheared off.

Twilight sat back in the chair, watching the Changeling cruiser grow in the viewscreen. For a moment, she allowed herself to be jealous of Nimbus. She had to stand in the center of the bridge, where everyone could see her. Nimbus had the luxury of a chair, and a very comfortable one at that.

Whatever happens, she thought, I hope Celestia and the rest get here soon. I’ve done all I can.

She blinked. Most of the Changeling ships were firing maneuvering thrusters, as if they were turning to face something. Plasma starbursts swarmed out from the fleet in deadly clouds — but none of them were directed at her. Some came close enough to scorch the Canis’ hull, but not a single one hit her.

What in the— she had time to think before massive kinetic projectiles, the type fired from battlecruisers, screamed past her and slammed into the cruiser. The impacts smashed the ship out of Twilight’s path; two more slammed into its side, breaking it in half. All around her, Changeling ships turned, firing at something behind her.

Twilight waved a hoof, calling up a rear camera feed on her display. What she saw made her blink in disbelief. An entire armada of Equestrian ships was arrayed behind her in neat formation, and more were jumping in. The bulk of Changeling salvo impacted harmlessly on a massed magical shield before dissipating into nothingness. Still, too many projectiles got through, slamming into the bows of the Equestrian cruisers before they could even get a shot off. They disintegrated under the onslaught, their last act being to frantically fire emergency thrusters to sink out of formation. In reply, missiles, kinetics and pulse beams streaked out from the Equestrian ships, targeting every Changeling ship within range. They didn’t have a chance. Twilight’s front viewscreen turned into a field of mottled reds and oranges as one ship after another exploded under repeated impacts. 

A proximity alert blared for a brief moment, making Twilight look up at the front viewscreen, and a familiar-looking frigate shot by. As it passed, it waggled briefly from side to side, before strafing a Changeling destroyer with a storm of rockets.

“This is the Filly Flash,” a confident, scratchy voice said over the local comm. “Thought you could use some help, Twilight.”

Twilight touched the controls, reducing the reactor output to a safe level and firing what was left of her braking thrusters. A trio of heavy cruisers formed a protective triangle around her, cutting down a Changeling frigate that came too close. Far to port, Sol’s unmistakable bulk lumbered forward. As Twilight watched, the stars behind the massive ship seemed to twist, multiply, and finally form into a ring of solid light. For a moment, Sol looked like the sun itself.

Abruptly, the stars snapped back into place, and a beam of pure golden light burst forth from the bow, striking a nearby battlecruiser high on the prow. The hulking ship heaved under the impact, chitinous armor plating boiling away under the unyielding assault. Then, unbelievably, the beam ripped out though the ship’s stern. An instant later, the entire battlecruiser vanished in a massive fireball as its reactor detonated. When the flame burnt itself out, the battlecruiser, as well as a destroyer that had been too close, was nothing but a cloud of debris.

The action caught the attention of the massive Changeling dreadnought, which turned and fired a full broadside in Sol’s direction. Several kinetic projectiles managed to impact on the beautiful ship’s starboard side, tearing a series of ugly gouges in the armour. The rest of the Equestrian fleet immediately fired maneuvering thrusters to bring their main guns to bear on the dreadnought; the subsequent storm of kinetics shattered its port armour and ripped into its hull, exposing the ship's inner skeleton. Sol’s main gun fired again, cutting across the dreadnought’s length like the fury of a spurned god. The dreadnought’s engines flared and died, and its systems went dark. Tumbling slowly, it drifted along in its orbit, reduced to a derelict wreck.

That was enough for the Changeling fleet. The ships stopped firing and began winking out of existence one after the other, even while Equestrian weaponry blasted them into pieces. Just like that, it was over. All that remained on Twilight’s viewscreen was debris. 

Twilight jumped as a boarding walkway clanged against the port hull. A moment later, her comm crackled. “This is Captain Brightsteel of the cruiser Cerberus,” a stallion’s voice said. “Request permission to come aboard.”

“Granted,” Twilight said quietly. She suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired.

A minute later, Brightsteel walked onto the bridge and saluted her smartly. Twilight returned the salute, a bit shakily. “Welcome aboard,” she said. “Apologies for the mess.”

Brightsteel didn’t laugh, but he cracked a small smile. “This ship’s certainly seen better days,” he remarked. “I’m amazed it’s still holding together after the pounding it’s taken.”

“She’s a tough one,” Twilight said, lovingly patting the console she was seated at. She turned toward the other captain, her expression becoming serious. “What’s the word on my crew?”

“All pods were recovered just before I docked by the Hydra,” Brightsteel replied. “All thirty-eight crewmembers were alive.”

Twilight closed her eyes. “Fourteen,” she said.

Brightsteel frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Fourteen didn’t make it.”

She felt a hoof on her shoulder and opened her eyes. “They knew what they signed up for,” Brightsteel said gently. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but the fact that you saved as many as you did is a miracle in itself. So don’t beat yourself up over it. You understand me?” 

Twilight nodded, saying nothing.

Brightsteel paused. “Aren’t you going to ask how the fleet knew to come?”

“Obviously someone got the word out,” Twilight replied.

Brightsteel chuckled quietly. "Actually, no. The Changelings somehow managed to block all outgoing comms. When an entire planet goes dark, you know something's wrong." Twilight snorted. “What?” Brightsteel asked.

“It was pointless after all,” she said, shaking her head. “Who’s the failure now?”

Brightsteel reached down and helped her out of Nimbus’ chair. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot. I think you deserve a rest.”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. “Rest would be nice.”

Brightsteel led her off the ship as Equestrian ships moved forward to comb the debris for anything useful. The Canis was detached and left to join them.

Safe on board the Cerberus, Twilight watched her ship drift away on a viewscreen. Unless a salvage team took particular interest in it, the Canis would be just one more hulk in a graveyard of ships. She glanced over to another part of the debris field, at the forty Equestrian ships that hadn’t survived the fight. What would become of them? Would they be like the Osprey, forgotten until someone else stumbled across them?

Her ears perked up as she heard hoofsteps behind her. She didn’t turn. Then she felt a hoof on her shoulder, and heard a familiar voice say “Hey.”

She turned and looked at Rainbow Dash, who smiled back tentatively. One eye was milky white, framed by a long scar, but the other stared into hers, radiating concern.

Twilight didn’t say a word, but reached out to pull her friend into a hug. She allowed herself one choked sob. Just one. Then, with a shuddering breath, she drew away and beckoned for Rainbow to sit down beside her. 

They sat for a time in silence, just watching the stars.