The Stars Beyond The Veil

by Charlemane

13 - Junkyard

The afternoon cycle had just kicked in by the time I trotted in through the front door of Junkyard’s office. I caught a glimpse of a chocolate tail as I rounded the corner and stopped, staring at the gathering of ponies sitting in my boss’s old, and perhaps even present, haunt. Simply walking in the door I could feel a bit of tension in the air, born more of a lack of coffee and patience than anything hostile. I saw a few anxious glances toward the empty carafe that had somehow made its way into the office.

“Morning, uh, everyone,” I said. Everyone present looked tired, something that was not surprising given the night we had previously. Nightshade stood patiently over by the corner, glancing at me from behind his mauve mane with a disinterested look, while Fritter, again, sat at Junkyard’s desk, idly fiddling with his laptop and humming a tune I didn’t recognize. At my entrance, he turned in his chair and beamed at me.

“Morning Horizon! Sleep well?” Fritter said cheerfully, a tired twinge attacking the edge of his smile. I heard something between a growl and a grunt from over by the bookcase in response. Jess sat with a deep frown on her face, wearing her police uniform and looking like hell warmed over. Her mane and coat were disheveled, her normally ordered manestyle had sprouted stray hairs along the edge of her WAND, and the intense scowl she threw in my direction was matched only by the size of the bags beneath her eyes. I could only guess at how long she had been up tackling paperwork the previous night. I had a feeling that if I asked I might lose a limb. Next to her sat Tickintime, looking uncomfortable and grumpy, fidgeting with her WAND while pointedly ignoring everypony else in the room with a lopsided frown.

“Well enough, I guess, Fritter. Yesterday was pretty long for everyone.” I turned to Jess, “You look like hell,” I said.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Jess replied acidly. Coffee order number one: Triple espresso, straight.

“I’m surprised you’re not in bed.”

“I was. Until idiot here started spamming me with messages every five minutes. I spent the entire fucking night swimming in paperwork and then this asshole starts whining about some ‘great discovery’ he made.”

“In my defense, it is pretty great,” Fritter explained, oblivious to the death glare Jess leveled at him.

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but why do I have be here?” Tickintime moaned. Coffee number two: mocha? I dunno, something with milk.

“Because station security caught you trying to sneak back onto the ship last night, and I had to come pick you up,” replied Jess, shifting her hate in a new direction.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay!”

“You tackled a technician who was changing a spotlight!”

“Well, then he should have been doing it the right way,” Tick huffed.

“Uh, ladies, if you don’t mind?” Fritter interjected. Jess gave him a Look. Fritter flinched, and then regained his bearing. “Um, yeah. Heh, great.”

“So what’s this news already? You’ve been tightlipped ever since you started insisting we wait for Horizon,” Nightshade cut in impatiently. Coffee number three: bold roast, black.

“And I was getting to that!” Fritter exclaimed “If you’d stop interrupting!”

Silence followed, born more of impatience than expectancy. Sighing, Fritter hit a key on his laptop. It was immediately followed by a humming sound as the hole projector he had set up on the desk warmed up.

“May I present to you, Junkyard!” Fritter said throwing his legs up as the projector flared to life. Several windows popped into existence above Junkyard’s desk and stacked three-dimensionally. At the room full of blank faces he was getting, Fritter deflated. “No? No applause?” Coffee number four: no coffee, extra tranquilizer.

“Yay,” Tick drawled. “Can I go now?”

“No,” Jess said.

“What are we looking at, Fritter?” I asked, skeptically glancing through the information. It looked like a large list of names and numbers, like an index of some sort.

“You don’t... you don’t recognize them?”

“Obviously not,” Nightshade said, an edge creeping in his tone.

“Contacts!” Fritter exclaimed happily. His smile faltered at the flat expressions he was getting.

I stared, arching an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“Yes?” Fritter said uncertainly. Jess groaned.

Recognition dawned on Nightshade’s face as the list started scrolling. “Oh…”

Fritter saw Nightshade’s reaction and beamed. “Yes! Contacts! And more contacts. And more contacts. This guy was loaded with em!”

“Fritter, we’re all short on caffeine right now, get to the point,” I said, feeling my patience dwindle. It was too early in the morn—well at least my morning—for this kind of thing.

“Ugh, fine! Horizon, this is how your boss made his living. Well, aside from the scrap sales, anyway.”

“Making contacts?”

“Selling information,” Nightshade clarified.

“Correct! Your boss was an info broker,” Fritter said, a little admiration in his voice, “and from what I can tell, one of the best! Take a look at these.” Fritter hit another key on his keyboard. A new set of windows appeared, these more recognizable. Bit accounts. “I found these attached to some of the emails in your boss’s M-Net account. It looks like he had several slush accounts set up that he was using for his info business, all under the table of course.”

“So that’s how he was able to afford that house,” I muttered, looking through the data.

“Mostly likely,” Fritter confirmed, “and much more from what I’ve been seeing. The payments all vary, but from what little time I’ve been able to dive into it thus far, he’s been moving bits around like no pony’s business.”

“I’m sure the audit department would have had a field day with that one,” Jess commented.

“Sure, if he was still alive,” I said.

“Who said that would stop them?” Jess said with a smirk. My stomach suddenly churned as I envisioned a bunch of taxmares practicing necromancy.

Not even the grave can stop true evil. I thought.

Fritter cleared his throat. “He’s also been keeping up with every single one of his contacts on a regular basis,” he continued. “One in particular a lot more than others. A lot of the transaction dates correspond with the dates on the emails too, if that helps anything.”

“Just how many contacts did this, Junkyard, have anyway?” Nightshade said curiously, scanning the list of what I assumed were either names or Junkyard’s grocery list—the way pony names are it’s hard to tell sometimes.

“My last count was just over a thousand,” Fritter said. Nightshade whistled.

Fritter continued, “Now I’ve set aside some of the more recent emails, but I haven’t really had a chance to do anything more than skim them.”

“So, what exactly got him killed then?” I asked, curious.

“I was just getting to that.” Fritter said with a knowing smile. He tapped a few more keys and several more windows appeared, these with specific headings.

“Junkyard was trading messages with one particular pony quite often, sometimes on a daily basis,” Fritter explained. “From what I could glean he was probably a friend, but they seemed to be working together on something big.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“These emails.” A few more popped up, placed at the head of the stack. “Whoever this pony is, he appears to be some sort of confidante for Junkyard. And in them they frequently reference what appears to be his enemy. It’s weird though.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been having trouble figuring out if this enemy of his is a pony or a group of ponies. Whoever he’s talking to about it, frequently references them as a ‘they’ but sometimes mentions a ‘he’ or a ‘she’.” Fritter hit another key and several lines of the emails were highlighted, each one referencing the enemy in question. “My best guess is that whoever this enemy is, they found out and snuffed him. Whether our mystery pony had anything to do with it is anypony’s guess.”

“Any other theories?” Jess asked, also skimming the data.

“Well other than an angry contact, not really. All his contacts seem to hold him in pretty high regard, all I really know is that whoever this enemy was, Junkyard really hated them, and his friend shared the sentiment.”

“I’d like to see those emails if you don’t mind,” I said. Since I knew Junkyard personally, I might be able to glean more from them.

Fritter shrugged, “It’s your mainframe now, so I don’t see why not.” Fritter hit a few more keys on his laptop and my WAND chirped as it updated.

“Oh, uh, one other thing, Horizon.”

“What’s up?”

“While I was looking through these emails, a number on one of them stuck out to me. I couldn’t really identify it however.” The screens shifted around to reveal a string of emails. I recognized the number immediately.

“The hell?” I muttered.

The message had been sent by another pilot that I knew in passing, less than politely declining some offer of payment by Junkyard for services. The number was obvious.

“Those are Sparkle Drive coordinates,” I said. They were unmistakable. Very few starship component took arcane numerals as inputs, and from the looks of them, the location was extremely far away.

“My Celestia…” Jess muttered.

“What? What’s it say?” Tick asked, confused.

I stared as I did some of the math in my head. Wherever this location was, it was several jumps beyond the eastern border of the Rim Worlds, maybe even further.

“That’s past the Rim. What the hell did he want out there?” I asked, skimming through the email.

“From the message history, apparently he wanted to retrieve something, but the dispatch didn’t say exactly what.”

I brought up the message on my WAND and started skimming through it looking for relevant information. Eventually I found an attachment. Sending it to the projector, the missive instantly displayed. It was a salvage dispatch.

“Huh. That’s interesting.” I muttered.

A cargo ship, or at least that’s what the description of it sounded like. Whatever it was, it had been destroyed well outside of civilized space and Junkyard wanted a crack at it.

“What do you know about this ship, Fritter?” I asked.

Fritter shrugged “Hell if I know, this kind of thing is outside my specialty.”

“Cargo ship, right?” Jess said, looking at the data skeptically. I nodded in response. “What the hell is a cargo ship doing out there?”

“Maybe there’s a settlement nearby?” Nightshade offered.

“Maybe,” Jess said, rubbing her chin with a hoof, “It’s not unheard of for pirates to set up small haven outposts, but I’ve never heard of any group operating that far out. It’s just not practical.”

“Practical how?” I asked.

“Well think about it, in order to keep a colony up and running you need a steady influx of water and food, or some way to produce it on your own.” Jess explained, “The larger the colony, the larger the need. Supplying something that far out would be too expensive to be practical, especially for pirates since they have to capture their supplies instead of buying them.”

Mysteriously destroyed cargo ship with dubious origins and an unknown destination. This was starting to sound awfully familiar. I frowned, “I don’t like it. It’s not normal, especially for Junkyard.”

“Why do you say that?” Fritter asked.

I looked back up at the email and started reading again. “Junkyard never had me doing any salvage runs outside the PC. Normally he’d have me go retrieve old satellites or the occasional shipwreck, but nothing like this. This is too far away to make any sense.”

“That might explain why the pilot declined it.” Nightshade offered, also reading the email. “Seems like he felt Junkyard was reaching too far as well.”

“Which brings me to something I forgot to mention.” Fritter said, hitting another key. Another window popped up, this one appearing to be another string of messages. “Junkyard’s confidante, a lot of their conversations revolved around you, Horizon. Or at least I’m guessing it was you.”

“Well he did like to bitch about me,” I said as I started reading. The email looked more like a message history than a letter. Names were all but avoided, in favor of truncated callsigns.

JJ - I was hoping to avoid this but it looks like I have no choice. I’ve tried thirteen pilots so far and all of them said no. I’m going to have to send the boy out to play fetch.

WS - I’m not comfortable with this.

JJ - I know, but if I had a choice I’d use it.

WS - The Rim is a dangerous place J, I don’t think the kid would know how to handle it.

JJ - He’ll be fine, He’s done a lot of similar work before, besides, I’m not just about to let this go, if this is what I think it is then we won’t have to worry about our mutual friends anymore.

WS - I know! Just... be careful with him. I know he frustrates you.

JJ - That’s an understatement.

WS - So is the ship still in as bad of a condition as I remember?

JJ - Worse. I’m surprised it’s still holding together after all the shit it’s been through. I’ve fixed most of the major problems, all that is left is some structural damage. Nothing lethal, but certainly more than enough to keep him from doing something crazy.

WS - I still don’t like it. We’ll have to chat again later. I’ve run out of time here.

JJ - I understand. Stay safe.

“Looks like this was going to be my next job,” I said, frowning. It was odd, in the email Junkyard almost sounded concerned for me. Out of curiosity I checked the timestamp on the conversation. It was dated the day before the murder.

“Seems like you got off lucky,” Nightshade replied.

I shook my head, “Nah, it would have been impossible anyway. This was before the breach in the cockpit got fixed. I would have suffocated before I even reached the place. Unless Junkyard was planning to fix the Bandit before then.”

The statement drew an odd look from everyone present save Nightshade.

“You were working without life support?” Jess said incredulously.

“It was worse?” Tickintime said, horrified.

“It’s a long story,” I replied. “So, Fritter, what about that file I showed you?”

Fritter brightened. “Oh yeah! That!”

“You made some progress?”

“None whatsoever!” he replied cheerfully. With another keystroke the same bit of information we had been viewing the previous day started scrolling in front of us. “All I managed to figure out was the type of encryption they were using.”

“And?” I said.

“And, you might as well give up,” Fritter simply replied.

I really frowned.

Fritter sighed, “Look, I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. Whatever this file you got is, it’s protected by a paired encryption.”

“A paired what?”

“Paired Encryption, it’s a special type of encryption that encrypts a file and then splits it into multiple parts. Whatever that file is, you’re never gonna decrypt it until you find the rest of it.”

“Great,” I sighed. “Thanks for all the hard work anyway, Fritter.”

“No problem,” Fritter replied, shutting down his laptop with a clack. A few moments later the projector flickered and died leaving the rest of us with a lot to think about.

“So is this all you guys do?” Tickintime asked after a minute, breaking the silence, “read emails and speculate?”

“You’d be surprised how many jobs that describes,” Jess replied with a tired smirk.

“You’re not seriously thinking about going after that ship are you?” Tickintime asked.

I chewed my cheek while I thought it over. “Junkyard seemed to think it was worth pursuing, and if it’s related to this enemy of his it might be my only chance to figure out who they are. If I want to figure out why I was framed, that might be part of my answer. Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve salvaged a cargo ship.” I made a cursory glance at Nightshade, who shifted uncomfortably.

“As long as we fly safe we shouldn’t have any trouble with pirates,” Jess added after a moment. “While pirate activity out in the Rim fairly active, these coordinates look like they’re too out of the way to be a problem. Pirates tend to focus on the major space lanes, and these are nowhere near that. Heck I don’t even think the M-Net repeaters go that far.”

“So really, it’s just a long trip,” Nightshade said.

“With a possible payout,” I finished. “The fact that Junkyard was willing to go through thirteen pilots to get at it probably means it’s valuable. Or at the very least, worth looking at.”

“If it’s still there,” Nightshade said. I nodded in agreement.

Fritter rubbed his chin as he spoke up, “Well from what I read of your boss, he was really confident in whatever it was.”

It didn’t take long for me to make my decision. “So, wants to take a trip?” I asked.

“I think you already know my answer to that question.” Nightshade said with a smirk.

Jess shrugged. “Eh, might as well. I don’t feel like pushing paper for the rest of my career anyway—administrative leave my flank. I’m in.”

Fritter shook his head. “You have fun, and let me know how it turns out. I’ll be more use here, but if what you said is true, then I’ll probably be catching a shuttle back to Winter’s Edge before you get back. I’m almost done with everything I can do here anyway. I’ll contact you via messenger if anything comes up.”

I nodded, and then turned to the last member present. “Tick? What about you? Still bent on fixing the Bandit?” Tickintime looked conflicted.

I wouldn’t blame her if she said she didn’t want to go. The trip would take at least a day or two and that was only in one direction. It’d be another two back, unless we were planning to go somewhere else afterward. And then there was the matter of Joe’s whiskey. Well, one step at a time.

Tickintime bit her lip, seemingly debating something in her head before she nodded. “I’ll do it,” she said, finding her confidence.

“Are you sure? Once we head out, we’re not going to be back here for a while. It’s not too late to catch a shuttle back to the Core.”

She shook her head in reply. “I said I was going to finish this job and I will. Besides, they’re not exactly going to miss me anyway,” she said.

Fritter crooked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

“Okay then. I guess that settles that. Jess, you’re the only one authorized to fly here, so... when do you want to head out?”

Jess thought for a brief moment before responding. “We’re going to need supplies, and I need some fucking sleep. How does six tonight sound?” she said.

“Six it is,” I replied.

In the hours leading up to our departure, I had a lot to think about. We all had time to kill and frankly, I wanted to get a few things done on my end as well. Namely, lodging. I needed a more permanent place to stay if I wasn’t going to burn through all my bits on hotels. Nightshade took off immediately after the meeting and Tickintime excused herself to go prep the Bandit for departure. As for Fritter…

“Remind me why you decided to invite yourself along for this again?” I asked Fritter as we stood in front of Cosmo’s Starship Supply.

Fritter shrugged while holding the door for me. “What can I say? I’ve been working most of the morning and I needed a breather,” he said with mock dignity.

“You want me to buy you lunch again, don’t you?” I said flatly.

Fritter coughed, “Maybe.”

I stared.

“Yes?” he finally relented, a twinge of hope in his voice.

“Let me guess, you forgot your bitstick at the office?”

“Sure, that works.” Fritter laughed.

“Well then I’m sure there’s a dumpster around here with you name on it,” I replied with a smile as I trotted passed him.

“Cheapskate,” Fritter said.

“Mooch,” I replied.

The inside of Cosmo’s Starship Supply wasn’t much to look at. Beside the holographic posters displaying some of the dubiously top-of-the-line products available for purchase and the nearly bare sales counter, the store was remarkably barren. It wasn’t all that surprising, though, since most of their orders went through a catalog anyway. An extremely bored pink unicorn sat at the counter and watched the two of us with mute indifference, as she applied a file to her hooves with her magic.

“Excuse me,” I said, walking up to the counter.

The look I got in return could have peeled paint. Thankfully, working for Junkyard all those years did a lot to numb the impact. I simply smiled back at her.

“Yes?” She asked, then something like recognition flashed through her eyes. “Wait, you’re…” it was then that she started frowning. “The answer is still no, Horizon. We still don’t take charity cases, and we’re not supplying you for free.”

Fritter gave me a quizzical look while I simply smiled back at the salesmare and floated out a bitstick.

“Actually,” I said with a smug grin, “I’m paying bits.” The look of shock at the proffered bitstick was so worth the trouble.

I probably paid a lot more than I should have for what we needed, but I wasn’t going to be spending the next few days doing nothing more than kicking pipes and reading diagnostics. We were slated for at least a three day trip, and even with three other ponies to talk to, the boredom would be torture. We would need something to do, and entertainment required a few amenities that the Bandit simply didn’t have. Cosmo’s specialized in shipboard logistics, and had everything you could need from rations to top of the line bunks and entertainment. Fritter restrained me from buying a full blown entertainment suite on the spot, and instead I settled for a humble holo projector, a short steel table, some moderately comfortable seating cushions, sleeping bags, a refrigerator and, of course, two crates of rations. The mare was cheerful by the time Fritter and I left the shop. After all, she was making a ten percent commission. Oh, and the ten bit tip probably helped too.

Stop two was a small grocery store. I picked up some snacks for the crew, as well as a few movies for the projector. A deck of cards for the table I bought made its way into the cart, as well as some basic plasticware for the rations. Drinks followed, mostly juiceboxes and ciders, although the temptation to include a few alcoholic beverages in there as well didn’t go wanting. By the time I was done, we had a sizeable cart full of things that would make me extremely happy in my past life. We ended up having lunch at the deli before heading out, and yes, I paid for Fritter’s lunch. Again. Damn mooch. At least he agreed to carry the groceries.

We were halfway back to the ship by the time I remembered that I would need something to sleep on. Sleeping bags were uncomfortable at best, and if I was going to be in space for the next few days, I was at least going to sleep on something more comfortable than a hard deck. I made one last stop before I bid farewell to Fritter on the docking platform. Entering the Bandit from the cargo bay, I secured the sealed containers protecting our supplies, as well as an old, old friend.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Tickintime had been hard at work on the Bandit, and more from the looks of things. Several stacks of spare parts had been organised the cargo hold, half of which appeared to be spread across the deck as part of some kind of project.

“It’s a couch,” I said with a smile. The single best couch in the galaxy.

Tickintime’s mouth worked soundlessly as she took in the lumpy green monstrosity with abject horror. “It… it’s I-”

“It’s beautiful, I know.” I couldn’t be more sincere. I’d missed it. Sorely.

“It’s hideous!” Tick shrieked. “And what’s that smell? It smells like-”

“Cigarettes and booze?” I finished for her. She gave a disgusted nod in return. “Try to think of it as a lived-in smell. Who knows, by the end of the trip you might not even notice it’s there!” I added with a chuckle. Tickintime looked like she was going to be sick. I turned my attention back to the pile of parts on the cargo bay floor.

“Where’d you get the parts from?” I said, indicating the mess of parts on the floor. The unicorn seemed grateful for the distraction.

“Oh these? I thought I would catch up on a few projects I’ve been working on. Plus we were short on spare parts so I stocked up on what was missing for repairs and a few extras.”

I winced. “Okay, what’s the damage?”

Tick raised a hoof to her face as she thought. “Well there’s a lot of it, to be honest. Your thrusters were damaged in what looks like a serious overload, there’s a lot of blown out circuits in the power grid, and that’s not even counting all the damage to backups…”

“I mean in bits. Parts? Spare parts cost money you know.”

“Oh! I took care of that don’t worry,” Tick said with a smile.

I raised an eyebrow. “You took care of it?” What I’d spent on my little shopping spree was nothing to laugh at. But judging by the pile of parts in the cargohold, whatever Tick had spent probably more than tripled it.

“Yep! All paid for,” Tickintime confirmed.

“What did you do, put it on my station tab?”

“No… I payed for it. With bits.” Tickintime said slowly.

“So when does the invoice arrive?”

“It doesn’t. I paid for it.” She waved me off as she gathered up the parts on the ground and started off toward the maintenance deck. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll get the ship fixed, just sit back and watch me work.” The door shut behind her.

I stood there for a minute, glancing between the pile and the door. Frowning, I opened up my new messenger program on my WAND and opened a line back to Junkyard’s office.

>Hey Fritter, are you still there? I sent.

My message went unanswered for a few moments before the buck in question finally responded.

<Yeah, I’m here. came the reply.

>Good, because I need you to look up somepony for me.

<Sure! What do you need to know?

>Could you look up a Miss Tickintime from the Core?

<You mean that unicorn you picked up on your last run?

>Yeah. That’s the one.

<Alright, sure, but this one will cost you though. If I might ask, what brought this on?

>She just paid for a ship’s worth of spare parts.

<Ouch. So much for retirement, eh? Fritter responded.

>On her own dime. I replied. The line was silent for several seconds afterward.

<I’ll get right on it. Fritter finally wrote.

>Thanks, I’ll send payment once you have the info.

<Done.

Satisfied, I closed the program and set about unpacking the new toys.

“Well you’re looking a lot healthier,” I said a few hours later as Jess, now an ordered mare, crawled in from the airlock. She was the last pony we were waiting for. Nightshade had arrived an hour previous, toting a saddlebag full of who-knows-what, while I finished setting up the new appliances on the Bandit’s lower deck. The auxiliary storage bay, given a few more improvements and maybe minus one dividing wall, was quickly shaping up to be a workable living area.

“A few good hours of shuteye will do that for a girl,” Jess replied. “How are preparations?”

“Complete,” I reported with a satisfied smile, “I’ve got us all stocked up on supplies and rations and I even got us a few toys to pass the time. I even bought a refrigerator!”

Jess was unimpressed, “That’s it?”

“And maybe several bottles of Applejack Daniels.”

Jess smiled, “That’s more like it.”

“Cards, booze, and movies. Provided everything goes smoothly we shouldn’t die of boredom on the way over,” I said.

“Outstanding. I also brought some things,” Jess said, levitating out a roll of flat white objects and several small objects from her saddle storage. At my vacant expression she clarified, “Targets. We’re going to keep working on your marksmanship until I’m satisfied. I don’t want to risk getting shot by a rookie if we get into another dust-up.”

I nodded, I did need the practice. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that, you’ll make me feel old," she replied immediately.

I chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

As Jess sauntered off toward the pilot cabin, I took the ladderwell down. At the bottom, I found Tickintime seated in a corner with several more of the parts she had purchased, fussing with one of the control panels.

I cleared my throat to get her attention. The response was immediate, her head shot up and slammed into the top of the panel, horn first. The pained yelp that followed rang in my ears.

“Owie…” Tickintime said, gingerly rubbing her horn.

I winced. “Sorry about that.”

Any sign of pain quickly fled from her face as she turned to face me. “I-It’s nothing, really, something you need?” She winced, rubbing a spot just above her horn.

“Just a heads up, really,” I said, “We’re almost ready to leave for the Rim. This is probably your last chance to book a shuttle home if you’re not sure about coming.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, It’s fine.” She said with a small smile. “I said I would come and I’m not backing out now. I’ve got things to do and the ship is in desperate need of an experienced hoof. Besides, I don’t think the boss will miss me too much.”

And I’m beginning to wonder why. I thought grimly.

“Is something wrong?” Tick suddenly asked. I really needed to work on my poker face.

“Uh, no,” I said quickly, “as you were, I guess.”

“Aye, aye Cap’n!” Tick gave me a cheerful salute—with the wrong hoof mind you— and then went back to work. I shook my head, choosing instead to make sure the supplies were still secured. Turning toward the cargo bay, barely a moment passed until Nightshade started flanking me.

“Horizon, could I talk with you for a moment?” Nightshade said. He wasn’t exactly smiling, his expression was somewhere between neutral and concerned. The way his eyes flicked toward Tickintime nearly let me read his mind.

I nodded my head toward the entry to the cargo hold. We both entered, and as soon as the door closed I asked him what I thought he was thinking.

“Let me guess, you don’t trust her either.”

Nightshade nodded. “She’s hiding something,” he said.

“She’s in good company,” I replied, “especially with those whose names start with 'N'.”

He rolled his eyes, “Well, yes, but at least I’m not outright lying to you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “If you know something I’d be more than happy to hear it.”

Nightshade shook his head. “No, it’s… just a hunch,” he said. He took another glance back at the bay door. “I don’t think she’s trouble, but I’m definitely sure she’s not being honest. I just thought you should know.”

As he turned to leave, I caught him with a wing. He glanced back at me. “What’s the deal with you Nightshade?” I said, “One moment you’re pushing me around like you own me, and now you just follow me wherever I go.”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” I shot back.

Nightshade frowned, “You’re not ready for that information.”

“Then how can I trust you if you’re not going to trust me with it? You’re eager to cast doubt on Tick, and while I don’t disagree with your suspicions, why should I trust you either? You hide behind your little smoke and mirrors act any time we talk, and it’s really starting to piss me off.”

Nightshade frowned, squeezing his eyes shut, and deflated. “Are you sure you want to know? Even if you might not like what you hear?”

“Yes,” I said.

Nightshade sighed. “Fine. It has to do with my special talent.”

“Well that’s a nice non-answer.”

Nightshade glared at me, “I’m being serious, Horizon.”

“Well then, explain.”

“It’s hard.”

“Why?”

“Because my talent isn’t something that you can just point at and say, ‘oh look a cop!’ or ‘Gee, I’m awesome at fixing things.’”

“It’s an eight ball. It’s not that hard to figure out from my perspective. You’re good at pool, whoop-dee-doo.”

“Look, now you’re just being belligerent.”

“That’s because you’re stalling.”

Nightshade clenched his jaw. Took a deep breath and then sighed. “Fine. But for the record, I suck at pool.”

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

He continued, “You ever have one of those moments where you can just feel an itch at the back of your mane? Like something bad is going to happen?”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I get those from time to time. Usually it’s my wings, but then again they just itch thanks to the flight suit. Damn wing sheaths don’t exactly let me air them out.”

Nightshade shook his head. “My talent is sort of like that. A kind of… divination.”

I really raised an eyebrow at that. “What, you can see the future?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “But it does let me sense fate. Now don’t go thinking it’s like crystal ball shit, or anything like that. It’s much more subtle. I don’t know any specifics, hell, most of the time it doesn’t even give me yes or no answers. All I do know is that when I need to do something, I can rely on it to point me in the right direction.”

“Convenient.”

“Not really. It’s one of those feel-it-out kind of things. It won’t really answer any of my questions, most of the time I just have to wander around and figure it out on my own.”

“So that’s what you mean with all your ‘hunches?’”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Alright then, million bit question,” I said with a frown, “why are you still here? Why the all the favors? Why the bullshit?”

Nightshade looked me in the eye, his steel grey eyes locking with mine. “Because I need to kill someone, and my talent is telling me that you’re gonna help me do it.”

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