TiMETImEE: UNKNOWN
LLLLlLLloOcCation: UNKNNNNNNNNNNN~~~~~~
The universe screamed. Ice teeth burned through flesh and synapse and bone. Masticating. Macerating.
Great Journey swayed in her bonds, her head throbbing at the feeling. The Core sang to her, in all its horrific sweetness, a song of time, and space, and overwhelming light.
She ground her teeth and tried not to scream. She failed.
Masterpiece was at her side. He spoke, his voice indistinct, asking her something.
Hyperspace was at her side. It spoke, its voice indistinct, promising her something.
She could feel her skull splitting open like an eyelid, exposing her deepest self to a maelstrom of indescribable brilliance. Too much! Too much! A song played too loudly, light shone too brightly! She could feel her raw material being scoured away, skin peeling, eyes popping, heart exploding, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Something whispered to her, trying to soothe the pain. For a moment, the feeling ebbed, and Great Journey felt her breath once again reach her chest. She looked up at her savior—
_ CA_'T H_L_ H_M F_RE__R Y_U M_S_ BR__K T__ L_NK.
And everything was pain again. A scream ripped itself out past her teeth as the fire burned out her eyes, threatened to consume her whole. The light raced up her optic nerves, into her brain to set her soul ablaze. Everything. She could see everything.
H_ _S TR__N_ _O K__L YO_ WI_H Y_U_ O_N P__ER. E__RY SEC_N_ H_ _R_WS S__ON_E_. __U H_V_ T_ B_E_K T_E LINK!
She was a wanderer in the fields, looking up at a golden crescent. She was a ruler clad in gold, watching her kingdom unravel. She was a prisoner, stepping towards the executioner’s block. She was a god. She was a speck. An infinite space compressed into a single point and asked to sing the stars to their rest.
H_'S F__ND M_. HE'_ US__G _E T_ G__ T_ Y_U. B____ __E L_N_! BR__K IT!
She was everything, in all its glory.
“Journey! Great Journey!”
And in all its AGONYAGONYAGONYAGONYAGONY—
“Cadance!”
And then it was over, like a light switched off.
Date: 1/22/1216 KDS.
Time: 9:03 A.M. Mothership Standard Time.
Mothership Position: Hyperspace Transit to Hoorsuk Orbit.
ETA: Approximately three hours.
Location: Mothership Control Room.
She shook her head, feeling the familiar sting of the wires. “Masterpiece.”
The relief in his voice was palpable. “Thank goodness. You were…”
Screaming. He didn't say it, but somehow, she knew. The pain lingered in her memory, buzzed at the back of her consciousness. And that voice…
“What did you do?” she asked. Her throat stung at the words.
“The Hyperspace Core was causing feedback of some kind. We had to isolate it from the rest of the interface, reverting to the manual inputs.”
She nodded.
“Madam Journey, you’re shaking.”
“I’m alright, Masterpiece.” Empty words. What she’d felt… that was hyperspace? “Madness,” she murmured.
“Madam?”
“Madness. Chaos incarnate. That’s what it is, what we’re tampering with.”
“You mean the Core?”
She shook her head. Her senses were coming back, now, both mundane and mechanical. The air smelled like sweat and sulfur, and the prickling at the back of her neck was more intense than before. Boiling ice swam at the edges of her senses as cold fire washed over her second skin.
“Sands,” she muttered. “This is not an experience I am going to relish.”
Masterpiece sighed. “You had me terribly frightened, Madam Journey, but I’m glad you've managed to return to yourself.”
She nodded, letting her eyes unfocus. For the first time since she’d been hooked up to the machine, she actually felt tired. Nonetheless, she scanned her senses, observing the ship. Everything seemed to be in order. Even the Core, made distant by the disconnect, seemed to be operating as expected.
“Why?” she wondered aloud. “What could have caused a reaction like that?”
“I cannot say, Madam. The monitoring staff detected faint traces of magical energy connecting you to the Core, but neither them nor I have any idea what it could have meant.” Masterpiece paused, just for a moment. “What did you see, Madam?”
“I’m not sure,” Journey replied. It was truth; already the visions were fading like dreams. “It was like being blinded and deafened. Overstimulated, through all of my senses at once. Too much information to sort through.” A frown crossed her face. “And… there was also… a voice, I think, or perhaps... two?” She shook her head. “It must be some problem with the linkages, allowing energy from the Core to seep back into the system. We’ll have to examine it more closely, during our stopover at the Scaffold.”
She looked up at Masterpiece for the first time. He was immaculate as always, despite knit brows and wide eyes.
I wonder what I look like.
She could see it instantly, of course. There were several cameras in the chamber, and all of them revealed the same thing—a wretched creature with bloodshot eyes and sweat-drenched coat.
“Could you…” she began, not sure how to phrase the request. “Please, Masterpiece?”
He didn't smile. “Of course, madam.” He understood, of course. He was good at that: understanding other ponies.
She’d never been sure how to feel around him. She’d thought she’d loved him, once, but that had passed. They were close, but… that wasn't the way to describe it. They trusted each other, but didn't understand each other. Sometimes they were friends, sometimes closer, and sometimes he was her servant, and she his master.
He returned with a cloth, and began to clean away the sweat from her coat. She winced at every touch, but he was gentle, and his hoof never strayed or lingered.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Celestia, I feel like an invalid.” She chuckled, a little, to show him she wasn’t fully serious.
A smile crossed his face as well. “You are certainly far more than that, Madam Journey.”
“Before,” Journey said. “You used my name. My old one.”
“Ah yes,” Masterpiece’s eye shifted away sheepishly. “My apologies, Madam. I thought that perhaps that would reach you, if nothing else could.”
She smiled, bowing her head and letting herself relax. “I don’t mind. It’s just been a long time since I've heard it.” She smirked. “Goodness, ‘Great Journey’ is quite pretentious, isn't it? Why did I ever acquiesce to taking such a name?”
“It serves as a wondrous symbol,” Masterpiece said. “And an inspiring one, as well. A thing is only pretentious when it affects greater importance than it truly has… and you have no lack of importance.”
“Perhaps, perhaps.” With a thought, Journey called up the screen in front of her. It flashed to life, revealing hyperspace itself.
And what a revelation! A sky more blue than any atmosphere’s illusion, crossed by bands of white lightning which slowly danced across an infinite space. Hyperspace pulsed with alien light, and impossible stars of many colors stared back like the eyes of countless, unnamed gods. It was blinding in its brilliance, but it was also…
“Beautiful,” Journey said. “It really is.” She looked to Masterpiece. “Keep the Core sealed off, and do not worry the rest of the crew with my reaction. So long as everything else remains in proper shape, this is a negligible problem.”
Masterpiece nodded, and for a while the two of them sat in silence, watching the currents of hyperspace flow past their great ship.
“Someday,” Journey said. “I wonder if another pony will experience what I just did. Somepony stronger than me, or working with a greater understanding of these forces.”
Masterpiece nodded. “That would be an interesting day indeed.”
“I hope I live to see it.” Great Journey looked out at hyperspace, and sighed. “As much as it hurt, it… was beautiful, as well. I couldn't see it, not fully, but there was something incredible there, just out of reach. Wonderful and twisted. Beautiful and obscene.”
“Something that can be harnessed?” Masterpiece asked.
Journey smirked. Always the pragmatist. “No,” she replied, closing her eyes. “But something that should at least be known.”
Time: 9:36
Location: Docking Terminal RC-02
The resource collector hung before the dock, its L-shaped frame stolid and stern. Its hull was crusted with dust, pocked with dents from rocks little too big to trigger the dust barrier, painted over maybe a dozen times, maybe a thousand. Parts of it were close to new, but most of the outer hull was easily half a century old. Some parts were older than the Mothership itself. That bridge, staring resolutely forward, had watched a golden age roll on by, and it’d probably see another, pretty soon.
And despite the best efforts of the folks in nice clothing, it still flew. Just too reliable to be replaced.
Looking at it from the outside, there was just something charming about its chipped yellow paint and hard angles. It had a confidence to it, a rugged defiance towards the rest of the universe that cared so little for its safety or the lives of those ponies who relied on its worn old hull for protection.
It reminded Macintosh of his sister, oddly enough.
“What’s happened to you, Mac? I know you got a thing for this space stuff, but…”
He tore his eyes away from the window, bringing them back down to the book in his hooves. They hadn’t let him take much: just a few books, his one good suit, and a pair of saddlebags emblazoned with the Somtaaw teardrop-and-star.
But out of all that, the book in his hooves was the closest thing he had to a treasure.
“What’s the matter, big guy?”
Mac started, and the book nearly fell from his hooves. A clumsy juggling act followed, before he finally caught it again.
Behind him, leaning over the row of seats, a young mare giggled. “Whoa there, Mac! Sorry didn't realize you were busy.”
Mac suppressed a smile as he craned his neck towards her. The mare who’d spoken was a recent acquaintance. A coat the color of cream wrapped around a small, lithe body, and a mane the color of her name bounced atop her head, bobbed shorter than most of the Somtaaw fillies Mac’d met. Around her neck swung a pendant—an eight-tipped Celestial Sigil, cast from Somtaaw steel.
He’d asked her about it once. She told him it was her dad’s. They’d both understood each other a bit better, since that day.
“Sorry Rose, didn't hear you.”
“Eh, my momma always told me I was too good at creepin’ up on folks.” She leaned in a little closer, shifting a bit to see past his head. “What’s that?”
Mac looked back down at the book in his hooves. Its age showed plainly in the creases of its jacketless cover. It’d been sterilized like the rest of his things, but Mac fancied a little sand still hid between the pages.
“Just an old textbook,” he said. “First book I ever… owned.”
Mac knew she must have caught the hesitation, but Rose didn't remark on it. “Yeah? Never figured you for the bookish type, Mac.”
“I wasn't, before this one.”
Rose settled into the chair, still leaning over the row. The scent of some kind of soap reached Mac’s nose. Something floral, maybe even her namesake. “Sounds like a story,” she said.
Mac nodded. “It was a present. My aunt was a librarian.”
“You mean Crabapple?” Rose cocked her head. “That’s right, you’re one a’ them Apples. I remember you folks from when I was a kid. Seemed like you were all over the place. Wasn't the last Kiith’sa one of your aunts, or something?”
Mac smiled, glad for a break from the subject of his book. “Granny, actually.”
“Old Smith’s your granny?” Rose laughed—a good sound. “Well, that’s sure something. Gotta say, wouldn't have pegged you as a royal, Mac.”
“We both know that’s not how it works,” Mac said, chuckling. "I'm no more special than any other pony."
Rose sighed, letting the joke fall away. “So, why do you hold that book like it’s worth so much?”
Mac sighed. “Like I said, it was a gift. Eventually.”
Rose did that little head tilt again. “How does a gift get to be a gift ‘eventually?’”
“Well… as it started out, I stole it.”
Rose blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s a bit of a hot pepper.”
“I was twelve. It was a dare.” Mac shrugged. “Just a colt thing.”
“Steal a book from your aunt?” Rose’s big green eyes widened a bit. “Oh yeah. I remember Crabapple now. She had that ruler, and… ah, I see why that might’a been a thing.”
“Yeah, she was just about the scariest mare in the valley.” Mac sighed.
“So how’d it ‘eventually’ turn into a gift?”
“Well, I tried to give it back,” Mac said. “Once I’d taken the dare, y’know? But I didn't want to get caught. Tried a few times, but she was watching the shelves like a hawk. Eventually, I just tried to get rid of it. Bury it in the fields and stop worrying over it.”
Rose had lost her smile, but she nodded.
“Almost did that,” Mac continued, eyes focusing on some distant point. “But then I got this funny thought. ‘What’s the big deal with this bunch’a papers,’ y’know? So I read it, and I liked it.
“The next day, I decided I had to give it back, face my aunt, but the thing is, she’d already put in an order for another copy. When I brought it back, she just asked me if I liked it. When I told her yes, I did, she just gave me this funny smile, then told me I could keep it.”
Rose didn't seem to know how to answer. Her eventual response was soft. “It got a name?”
Wordlessly, Mac held up the book so she could see the spine, and the words inlaid in gold: The Pale Brown Dot.
“Huh. You said it was a textbook? Astronomy, then?”
“Eeyup,” Mac said, eliciting a giggle from Rose. “Something funny?”
“The way you say that. Eeeeyup,” Rose continued giggling. “What’s that all about?”
“Dunno,” Mac said with a smile and a shrug. “Always said it like that.”
“Well, I like it,” Rose said, speaking with all the authority of a judge. She tapped his shoulder gently. “I think it’s a better reason than most have—to come up here, I mean.”
Mac hesitated, then let out a long sigh. “So, I guess that means everypony’s heard about it.”
Rose gave a sympathetic smile. “Mac, you two had a shoutin’ match in the middle of the concourse. Plus, Feldspar knew your sister. He was pretty frightened for his own head, once he saw how nearly yours got taken off.”
Mac’s spirits fell a bit. “Eeyup.”
“Don’t be like that.” Rose put a hoof on his shoulder, gently. “She’ll come around. It might be a while, but I’m sure this won’t be the last you’ll see of her.”
Mac didn't answer. Rose was right—AJ probably would come around, eventually, but it wasn't her she was really all that worried about. For a long time, they’d been all Apple Bloom had. She might have been one of his supporters, but still, he couldn't deny the look he’d seen in her eyes as they parted.
It was that, more than anything, that convinced Mac he had to come back, some day.
Rose straightened up, stepping off the chair and doing a whimsical little twirl. “We should be celebratin’, Mac! Some of the Sobani are throwin’ a party, and they sent word to Harvest that we’re all invited! Why don’t you come along? It’ll do you good to hang out with some other ponies.”
Mac sighed, and put on a smile that he wasn't sure he felt. “Okay, Rose.”
“Great!” Rose exclaimed. “You’ll love it, Mac! Already, there’s so many amazing folks here, and more are gonna be coming on tomorrow!”
Mac stood, taking one last look at the ship outside. Yellow. It even had her color, didn't it?
“Amazing folks,” he said, with a nod, and let Rose lead him away, paying half his attention to their small-talk.
But he promised himself something, then. I’ll come back, sis. For all the amazing folks we’re leaving behind.
Time: Long Ago.
Location: The Shore of the Majiirian Sea.
She stands in silence before the casket. The water around her legs chills her to the bone.
The priestess is reciting the Prayer of the Soldier, speaking it in the ancient tongue. Her words flow out into the water, rippling from the hooves of the procession. Candles burn against the falling night, like feeble stars desperate to hold the darkness back. The wind is still.
She stands in silence before the casket. She holds up a match in one hoof.
It is tradition that the progeny send off their progenitor, off to paradise to stand with the Goddesses. This end was not her father’s wish; he would have preferred to burn in battle, scattered by the guns and swords of the Gaalsien like his chosen brothers. The Sobani are too kind, however. Knowing the traditions of his people, they sent his body home.
She stands in silence before the casket. It’s beautiful, carved with glyphs and sigils. Family signs, dating back to the Great Pilgrimage itself. She’s never cared for them. History is boring, after all, just the empty stories of people long dead.
She dares not look inside. She remembers him as he was when he left, and she doesn't want to taint that memory. It isn't that he’d been happy then, but he’d been strong. Unshakable and unbreakable.
He’d promised he’d come back one day. After ten years, he finally had.
She lets the match fall, her tears following soon behind. She plants her hooves upon the casket and pushes, sending it off into the Majiirian Sea, a beacon, burning upon the waters of life.
She remembers something, then, something he told her long ago. “Dust. That’s what you are, what we all are. Dust and water, breathed to life. Some of us grow up to be stronger—bigger, faster, smarter, doesn't matter how—but better than the rest. We’re all made of dust, but some of us go further, become more than the sum of our parts. Some get there because they were born that way, some get there because they worked and slaved and struggled every day, but everypony can get there.
“That’s why I named you Lightning Dust. So you’d remember what you are… and what you can be.”
Her father was the same as her. Just dust and water, in the end. And he’d failed, hadn't he? He’d met somepony bigger, faster, smarter, and they’d beaten him back down.
She bites her lip as the casket drifts off into the dark. She decides it, then and there.
She won’t fall. She’ll be more than her dust. She’ll be the strongest, fastest, smartest of them all. She will be the lightning.
…
She stands tall. Unshakable. Unbreakable.
The stallion at the booth looks her over. “You’re a bit young, for a flyer.”
“I’m faster than anypony else you've got, sir,” she says. It’s more truth than boast, but the boast is there, obvious in the smile at the edge of her lips.
The stallion gives her an unimpressed look. “Family connections?”
“None, sir.”
“I see.” He pushes up his glasses, looking at her with old eyes. “Well, you’re well within the selection brackets and your scores in the test flights are exemplary. No combat experience, but that’s not a deal-breaker, especially for somepony your age.” He lifts a stamp, but hesitates, catching sight of her smirk.
“You’re sure about this, miss? Frankly, you don’t strike me as the type. You’re at the point of no return, but you can still back out.”
She scoffs. “I’m strong. I’m fast. I've got magic in my wings. More than that, I've got skill. I’ll make top ten out of any thousand pilots you toss me in with, number one against anybody with my age and experience. You've seen my records. You know what I can do.”
He stares at her, and for a moment—just a moment—she feels fear.
He’s seen through me. I’m not strong enough yet.
But he shrugs. “Very well. I hope you’re ready, miss Lightning Dust. Your application for acceptance into the Scaffold Pilot Training Academy has been approved.”
He gives her an ID card and shakes her hoof. She steps out into the hall, a smirk on her face.
“Next! Rainbow Dash, please come in…”
…
Her scores aren't at the top of the board this time. Speechless, she stares at the glaring number next to her name. “2.”
“Hey, great job, Dash! You hit the top!” Soarin. That worthless little moron, sucking up to the mare of the bucking hour.
It’s okay, though. It’s just one little scoreboard. She’ll top it again. She’ll just work extra hard.
…
“Hey, Dust.”
The rival. That’s what she is, now. That’s all she can be. Still, they’re not really on bad terms. “Dash? Hey, what’s up?”
“Look, I know it’s silly, but Cloud Kicker wanted me to… damn, I’m already bucking it up.”
“Wh—”
“LD, would you like to… y’know, catch a movie some time? Dinner and a show, that sort of thing?”
It doesn't register at first. “What?”
“I mean… it’s just that you’re really awesome, and I—”
But when it does, old, ingrained biases ignite, fueled by buried resentment. “WHAT?”
“Uh—”
It’s a lie, in a way. Lightning Dust doesn't really care about all that stuff. It doesn't even really bother her that Rainbow Dash just asked her out. But it’s the tipping point. This mare, this fillyfooler, can’t be better than her. “Get away from me you bucking sicko!”
She storms off. She knows, now, that she’s the better one. That her rival is inferior. She knows she can win, now.
…
But she doesn’t. Time and time again, her name is second on the scoreboards. It wears down on her, until her composure is held together only by her own neuroses. She can’t be weak. She can’t be weak. She can’t be just dust. She has to be the lightning.
…
“Good job, squad. Form up back into Delta and get ready for test number two.”
She sweats. She’s the best. She’s the best there is, and there’s no way that damn fillyfooling bitch can take that away from her. Always being so bucking confident, smiling, taking shit easy. She never had to work for anything. Probably the daughter of some CEO or something, drugging herself up so she’d fly better than the rest. Did… did they even have drugs that did that to a pony?
…Could she get some?
Her hooves are shaking, her wings twitching in the harness. It’s all she can do to keep flying straight.
All her fault. Lightning Dust was the best, she’d always been the best.
She can’t stop now. She can’t fall behind.
She hits the boost. For a moment, she is lightning. Dust no more. She laughs, cackling as she flies the course better than she ever has before. She can see it now, her name atop that stupid scoreboard, finally at her rightful place!
For the first time in months, Lightning Dust feels happy.
Minutes later, Lightning Dust dies.
Time: 9:51 A.M.
Location: Medbay-6
Mothership Position: Hyperspace
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Her eyes opened slowly, a gargantuan effort, even then. Antiseptic smell, dim lighting. Something stuck in her foreleg—an IV needle. Definitely a medbay.
Everything felt heavy. Dulled. The white ceiling oozed at the corners of her vision, and the sheets were filled with lead. Lightning Dust had been on enough pain meds to recognize the really nasty ones, so this didn't particularly surprise her. Vague irritation was the most she could muster, anyway, through the accompanying mental fog.
But more than that, there was… something wrong. Something Lightning Dust couldn't quite place. She didn't have a word for the feeling. It was a tightness in her chest, an echoing in her ears, an absence of… something that had always been. Like she’d lost a sense she never knew she had. Whatever it was… she wanted it back. She needed that nameless non-sensation, just as much as she needed to breathe.
But as empty as she was, death didn't come. Lightning Dust lay there, staring up at a blank ceiling, listening to a machine count out her heartbeats.
“Buck—” she croaked, then coughed against her dry throat. “Buck. Me.”
A sound of hooves on carpeted floor, getting closer. “Incredible,” said the voice of a somewhat older mare. “You’re awake already.”
Lightning dust tried to look, but just turning her head was sent a dull ache down her spine. “Doc,” she groaned. “You’re a doc, right?”
“Yes.” The voice was flat, professional. “Redheart. Already know who you are, of course.”
“Right…” Lightning Dust relaxed, letting her head sink into the pillow. “The show. I… bucked up, didn't I?”
“You could say that, yes,” Redheart said. “You need to rest, but your being awake and lucid is helpful right now. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Lightning Dust’s eyes grew watery, and she let out a sick little laugh. “Yeah, why not? I’m not going anywhere.”
Redheart was silent for a moment. “Lightning Dust, does your family have a history of magic-affecting disorders?”
Lightning’s eyes widened. “Uh, no. Not that I know of. Why?”
“Later. Did you experience any uncontrolled magical flare-ups past the age of five?”
“No, not at all. Why are you asking me about magic, doc?”
“Focus, please, this is important. Have you ever, to your knowledge been exposed to magical radiation?”
“No!” Lightning tried to sit up. “Doc, what—”
Her back shifted against the bed. Her bare back.
The world froze.
Dust’s head turned, slowly, until she locked eyes with the doctor.
“My wings,” she said.
The doctor met her gaze without flinching. “You were dying. Your wings were pulling magic through your body and burning it off at a dangerous rate. We could keep it suppressed with drugs for the first few hours, but after that… it just wouldn’t stop. You were at risk of serious brain damage, so I made the call.”
Dust swallowed with a dry throat. “You should have let me die, doc.”
Redheart sighed. “I have to disagree on that point. You still have plenty of life ahead of you, Lightning Dust. I can see about getting you prosthetics, new wings, just as real as your old ones. Give it a few years, some conditioning, and you won’t remember the difference. It’s not pretty… but the fact is, ponies have suffered much worse than this and gone on to live happy lives.”
The words were hot wind in Dust’s ears. Her eyes were dull, her expression flat. She lay back down, cringing at what wasn’t there. The bed welcomed her sweetly, with the same saccharine allure as a rat trap.
“Do you need anything?” Redheart asked.
“No,” answered somepony’s voice.
“I’ll be in the next room. Don’t hesitate if there’s anything I can do.”
“Right.”
The doc left.
A mare lay in a hospital bed. Eventually, consciousness escaped her.
She dreamed she was falling.
Time: 12:42 P.M.
Location: Research Ship XR-01 Stargazer, Planning Area.
Hyperspace.
Even cynical as she’d become, Amethyst Star had to admit, it was beautiful. The shapes, the patterns, the scale of it—currents of molten light as wide as solar systems, threads of burning ice linking points too distant to make out, or maybe just touching the edges of the universe itself.
Hard to say, really. Twilight might understand what was out there, but Amethyst’s focus was on the mundane, not the magical. Give her something to shoot, and she could build a gun to do it.
Was she okay with that? Yeah, yeah she was. She’d had ponies proselytize to her before about how terrible she was. “Arms dealers are scum.” “Accessory to murder.”
She didn't smirk at them and dismiss their barbs. She could have been a person like that—pretty easily, in fact. But she wasn't.
See, the thing people didn't get about Amethyst Star? She knew what she was doing. When she built a rifle that’d vaporize an unarmored pony? She didn't make it because she needed a better way to kill hoof soldiers or civilians.
She made that gun because she’d seen what the Gaalsien brought to the table.
Years ago, sitting in the burning ruins of the tent she’d shared with half-a-dozen other students, huddled in the sand, mortars falling all around her, ponies screaming and dying and fighting, fighting until their bodies broke and their blood drained through the hot sand… she’d seen them. The twisted freaks, towering abominations that had once been living ponies, transformed by that strange super-science the Gaalsien had pulled out of the relics. Beasts of steel and silicon, armored like fortresses and carrying enough firepower to wipe out cities. And that was without the bucking flying tanks.
She’d seen an army—Sobani mares and stallions in primitive powered-armor, with nothing but rifles and grenades—fight ceaselessly just to hold them back, just to buy time to get her and the other students out of the kill-zone. She’d watched from the evacuation shuttle as they were pounded to mulch beneath the metal hooves of the war machines.
She blinked, coming back to the now. Hyperspace seemed to look back at her, but Amethyst Star was not afraid. She’d made peace with herself and her actions. If her weapons gave those soldiers a better shot against the monsters they battled? She’d gladly become accessory to a murder or five. The world wasn't so simple that you could do something huge and expect only good or bad to come from it. In the end? She was okay with her legacy. Soban might not be winning, but they had a chance now, as small as it was. She couldn’t say some of that wasn't her doing.
But hey, she’d passed on that role. Others were building the weapons for the Sobani now—younger, more inventive souls. Not that she was so old herself, but… well, her line of work wasn't one which kept a body young, to say nothing of the mind.
Now, she was going to Equestria with thousands of hopeful souls, most of whom had never been close to the battlefields back home.
And they’d need her, too. The universe was too big to lack for conflict, and the Khar-Celest proved that, at one time, ponies had traveled the stars. There was no reason others wouldn't still do the same, be they ponies or something else entirely.
A smirk darkened her face. “Never an easy job,” she muttered.
A flicker caught her attention, out in the blue. A moment later, a voice she was still getting used to boomed from the walls of the research ship. “All hooves; we are about to exit hyperspace. Prepare for Khar-Selim rendezvous.”
The smirk changed, lightening into a smile. Moondancer. Almost time, now.
The exit from hyperspace came with the same strange ringing as the entrance, like wind chimes, or a foals’ choir. Amethyst shivered as the sound passed through her, and the blue on the monitor suddenly became the familiar black, studded with stars. Off in the lower corner of the screen, mighty Hoorsuk spun, blue bands of gas forming tiny storms at their meeting points which fit behind Amethyst’s hoof—storms the size of Kharequus. Its rings hung above the ship, like a huge stormcloud.
Amethyst leaned back in the swivel chair, letting a grin spread across her face. “Well, damn. I guess Moony’s been holding back on sending me her poetry all this time, ‘cause she never mentioned all this.”
She flashed her magic across the console, and the view switched through external camera feeds. There had to be one pointed towards the Khar-Selim. It only made sense. They were supposed to emerge within a few kilometers, and it was the fixation of the mission.
So when she found herself cycling back through the cameras a second time, Amethyst began to realize something was very wrong.
Her breathing a little faster than before, Amethyst switched to raw sensor data, exchanging the flat-display she’d had floating over the table for a three dimensional sphere, showing the area directly surrounding the Mothership. Nothing. She pulled the view out, out, out…
Nothing.
“Buck…” Amethyst muttered. “We must have jumped wrong.”
She leaned back in the swivel chair, then kicked off the table and sent herself into a spin.
As she slowly twirled, a worried look crossed her face.
Twilight always thought she knew stuff, but when it came to other ponies she was almost always wrong. She thought of Moondancer in terms of “Amethyst’s marefriend” or “the physicist my cousin happens to be dating.” Roles. Archetypes. They’d barely met, and right away Twilight put together all these assumptions. It was obvious, really. Twilight was a terrible liar, and she wore her heart like a bow in her hair.
But Moondancer… really was the best mare in the world. Not just because Amethyst was in love with her—though it certainly helped—but because she got things. She didn't fuss over details, aesthetics. She wasn't the kind of mare who went for jewelry or fancy dresses, and she didn't entertain any big pretensions about her cultural identity. She was herself, and that was what counted.
Their relationship didn't really fit any archetype. They just were. Love was in there, yeah, but mainly they just worked together. Even if they hadn't been together, they would have been best friends. Moony was cool where Ammy was fiery. Amethyst was assertive where Moondancer was mellow. Yin and yang or yang and yin. Whichever way those two went.
And they were alike, too. Both smart, educated, aware of the world and its many problems. Amethyst was a pessimist—she called herself a “realist,” but she knew where she tended to stand—and Moondancer tended to be optimistic… and convincing in her optimism. She could talk about a good world and make it sound possible, always smiling up at the stars with a wistful glint in her eye, a smile on those beautiful lips—
The sound of pounding hooves shook Amethyst back to the here and now. She looked back towards the docking hatch and found Sunstone running through it.
The pilot was younger than Twilight, even, with the lanky build of a pony who’d grown up in microgravity. A slicked-back grey mane perched indecisively atop his orange-coated head, and frightened blue eyes seemed like they were about to burn holes in the far wall.
Amethyst shook herself. “Sunny!” she called. “What’s going on?”
Sunstone slowed, blinking dazedly as he recognized Amethyst’s presence. “Priority launch. FC wants us out and doing sensor sweeps.”
Amethyst felt a cold pebble drop down her throat. She nodded. “Got it. Go.”
“Roger.” Sunstone darted into the pilot cabin. A moment later, the lights over the docking hatch flashed, and the umbilical disconnected.
Amethyst turned and stared at the table. She did that for a long time.
She switched to the fleet-wide announcement feed. So far, nothing, but there were a few signals going around. Ponies using the Mothership’s on-board network to ask for information. Fleet Command wasn't responding, except with a clipped “stand by,” but it was quickly becoming obvious that something had gone seriously wrong. This wasn't just a mis-jump. The Khar-Selim just wasn't there.
Amethyst’s magic fired up again. She brought up the comms—a direct line to Fleet Command. She put a priority sticker on the contact request.
“Research ship to command,” she said, keeping her voice even and clipped. She’d dealt with enough military types to know the importance of cutting the crap. Great Journey wasn't military, but she’d get the hint. “Amethyst Star speaking. Ma’am, I’m pulling up our advanced sensor suite. Tell me where to look.”
There was a long pause before Amethyst received an answer. When she did, the voice… it sounded like Great Journey was as tense as a piano string. “Fleet Command, responding. I’ll send the coordinates in just a moment. The situation is… difficult.”
Amethyst’s stomach plummeted through the deck and out into the void. She pulled up the sensor controls, and prepared a quick comm-link to Sunstone over in the cockpit. “Go ahead, Fleet Comm.”
She caught a glimpse of Bon Bon and waved her over as Fleet Command continued. “My instruments are picking up an extremely faint signal. Sweep this sector of the rings on the full band and report to me immediately.” A data file arrived seconds later.
Bon Bon went rigid. “Amethyst, what is going on?”
“Roger that, Fleet Comm. I’ll be back in a moment.” Amethyst pulled up the programs for the scan even as she answered Bon Bon’s question. “Khar-Selim is missing.” She opened the comm-link with Sunstone. “Sunny, turn the ship to the heading I’m sending, get the sensor-masts pointed the right way.”
From the sound of his voice, Sunstone was just barely holding together his composure. “Roger.”
A shout came from back by the stairs. “Hey! Bonnie! Twi and I just got that crate out of storage, do you want to—”
“Lyra,” Bon Bon responded, silencing her partner instantly. “You and Twilight need to get up here. Now.”
“Okay, Bonnie.” Lyra’s voice took on a worried tone, but Amethyst didn't look back to check if her face matched.
“Bon Bon, you’re better versed with communications tech than I am,” Amethyst said. She pointed to the various windows hovering over the table—sensor readouts, visual representations of electromagnetic noise. “Journey said there was some kind of signal. Seeing anything in that?”
Bon Bon leaned in, putting her hooves up on the table. “Most of this is just background radiation, interference from the giant’s magnetic field and the rings…” She leaned forward and took a sharp breath. “There. Low on the low radio band.” She pointed a hoof at what looked like a completely normal patch of signal. “That doesn't fit the pattern. Probably the transmission you’re looking for.”
Amethyst spun the comms back up. “R.T. to Fleet Comm. We have the signal.” She shot a glance at Bon Bon. “Tune us in. Now.”
Bon Bon nodded. Technically she was more “in charge,” if you counted the number of PhDs present, but in a situation like this, she knew not to worry the small stuff.
Huh. She was a lot like Moony, that way.
Focus.
“Acknowledged, Research ship. Standing by for your analysis.”
“I have it,” Bon Bon said. Amethyst noted that her hooves were moving just as quickly and precisely as any telekinesis could. Impressive, but not unexpected from somebody with her reputation. “I’ll refine it as I can.”
A burst of static exploded across the speakers as Lyra and Twilight arrived from below. “What’s going on?” Twilight asked.
“Khar-Selim’s gone, sending a signal from deep within the rings,” Bon Bon said, still working with the instruments. The static shifted, growing fainter. A staccato beeping slowly rose from the fuzz.
“I recognize that pattern,” Twilight said. Amethyst turned her head, and found her cousin’s eyes wide and her ears flattened against her head. “That’s… the Vaan’Ai code.”
Bon Bon’s face drained of all color. “Oh, Celestia, you’re right.”
Amethyst’s forehead wrinkled. Her Celestaani was rusty, but vaan ai meant… guide us? “Explain,” she said said, trying her best to keep calm. “Now.”
“It’s… a standard code programmed into all ships’ computers,” Twilight said, her voice catching. “It’s… automatic. If a ship’s internal communication systems go down for any reason, all surviving antennas broadcast that signal to let other vessels know the craft’s a deaf-mute, and that it might need help making it to port.”
Amethyst took a shuddering breath. “Fleet Comm, we have confirmation on the broadcast. My colleagues are calling it a ‘Vaan’Ai’ signal, and they’re giving me some terrifying looks right now.”
A hesitation. “Acknowledged, Research. Stand by.”
Amethyst whirled on her colleagues. “Why the signal? What could cause something like that?”
“It… usually means the craft is having electrical trouble,” Twilight said. “Control short-outs, some corroded insulation on a wire or two. It’s rare, but it happens.”
Amethyst breathed a sigh of relief. “So it’s something they’ll probably fix?”
“They might not know it’s happening, especially if it’s in the wiring,” Twilight said. Something about her tone caught Amethyst’s attention. This wasn't good news, to her. “In orbit, you’d notice a sudden drop-off in background communications, like if you suddenly just stopped hearing all the conversations happening in a public place. But out here, they wouldn't necessarily have noticed. Or… it might have just happened, and they’re still working on fixing it. They were sending out signals twelve hours ago, so it’s possible this is just bad timing on our part.”
“So we send a shuttle, or something, and get them to fix their bucking radio!” Amethyst snapped. “If that’s all, why they hell do you two look bucking terrified?”
“Because,” Bon Bon answered with a measure of forced evenness. “That’s not the only thing that can cause a Vaan’Ai broadcast.”
Amethyst figured it out on her own in the lingering silence. Communications offline, disconnected from the controls. Presumably that meant a transmitter was still intact.
It didn't mean anything else was.
“Sands on fire,” Amethyst muttered. “Sands on—”
“Fleet Command to research ship,” Great Journey cut in. “Continue monitoring the Vaan’Ai signal. I’m scrambling a scout squadron to reconnoiter the source. I’ll keep you posted with their findings, but transit time will be close to an hour. The signal’s coming from deep within the rings.”
Amethyst stared silently at the console, her mind completely blank. Bon Bon picked up the slack. “Roger that, Fleet Command. We’ll let you know if anything changes.” The link went dead, and silence took its throne.
Eventually, Amethyst spoke. All eyes were on her, anyway.
“The things you’re saying without saying. How likely are they, compared to a wiring failure?”
Bon Bon closed her eyes. When she spoke, she was monotone. “A ship the size of the Khar-Selim has redundancies and backups for its comms systems, and if it was just the antenna that was down, we would not have received the signal.”
Amethyst nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Twilight opened her mouth, no doubt to make some stupid apology. Amethyst raised a hoof before she could. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. Don’t say it until we know for sure.”
Her chest hurt as she stood up, and started walking towards the stairs. “I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll be doing. Don’t come see me unless you have news.”
She left. Nopony tried to follow her.