Cypress Zero

by Odd_Sarge

9 - Trust in the Good of Ponies

The PDA rumbled away fiercely. It was too hard to ignore any longer. Cold grit his teeth and breathed. He slid it out of his jacket with a burst of magic. While he scrolled through the menus, he maintained a steady gait. Amid security alerts about the status of the Waste Peddler—which he was quick to push out of the way—bits of news feeds trickled down; the myriad of topics he’d set for his data-bank to crawl were exploding with activity.

“What is it now?”

“Security scanners are picking up a lot of Concord activity back in Cupresso.”

“You have access to that?”

“Independent reports about station activity.” He frowned, and glanced over at her. “With some private trackers that I may or may not pay for.”

Fokienia eyed his PDA. “That’s not a very secure link, is it?”

“No, it is. Although… couldn’t you break into it? I’ve seen what you’ve done to electronics, like locks, and back there with that bomb…”

“Breaching charge. And no, I only work with linear systems, simple mechanisms. That is beyond my training.”

His withers drooped, and he tucked the PDA back away. “At least I know whatever corp or organization you were working under can’t crack it.”

“…I didn’t say they couldn’t,” she half-stated, half-mumbled.

Cold chose to not hear that.

By now, Fokienia’s curiosity for Cypress Central had largely fallen out of the way; she’d resumed watching the sky with that haunting, long-drawn stare. Cold didn’t know how she put up with the feeling of being watched—he was certainly feeling more and more paranoid and disillusioned with the world with every step he took away from his typical life. If anything, he wanted to unlearn a lot of the things he’d seen. Briefly, he wondered what would become of the chemist in Cupresso. The colt was young, and obviously had done well-enough to make it into that rather clean job… even if his skills may have had questionable, not-so-clandestine roots. What was more worrying was how he’d mentioned ‘everypony’ knew about the artificial stimulant: like Fokienia said, the chemist was just one branch. He pushed the worries out of his mind, rounding them around one of the last few bends before their final destination.

Cold tried not to think about the curiosities of life often, but fate often provided avenues for him to explore, and for as routine as he preferred to keep his life, he was very much an explorer. It just so happened that Fokienia was just the kind of pony he preferred to lend a hoof to: a pony with untapped potential, and dormant ambition. It just felt like things were moving so quick with her, and she hadn’t quite grown in the best way… but she was changing ever so-slightly, and bringing back more of that filly beneath her shell. What she really needed was a pony like her; no matter how hard he tried, Cold could never be the kirin ponies could relate to.

“It’s probably a good time to start discussing… contingencies.”

He shuddered, and whispered her way. “Contingencies?”

“I’ve thought about what you’ve been saying.” Fokienia paused. She’d been doing an awful lot of that quiet thinking. “And I think I need to do this alone.”

Cold wanted to agree; he almost did. Instead, he listened.

“They’re not going to be happy about seeing me. I’m not supposed to be seen. All the ponies I interacted with in the Facility have a level of understanding on me based off their clearance. When I enter this administration facility, I won’t be doing it quietly. My current existence should be a credible threat to them by now, and I have no solid convictions of what they might do. The ponies who know me will almost certainly have plans for getting in the way of my answers. You can’t be there when that happens.”

“They haven’t been hurting us,” Cold argued, “so why would they start now? If they wanted to, well, get rid of us, they would’ve tried.”

“They’re trying to reclaim me, Cold. I’m an asset.” Her yellow eyes met his. “And the tacit problem is that you’ve become one as well. You’ve clearly shown your willingness to cooperate with me. You know about the adjustments I’ve made under your tutelage, and they’ll want that information. I’m sure.”

He swallowed thickly. “You’re not an asset, Fokienia. You’re a pony. You have learned, and you need to.” Cold found that tutelage was a bit strong of a word, but he couldn’t find a way to disagree. “You need help. Just, you know, not in the way you’re used to. If it means I get to give you opportunities to be free, to make choices, I’m sticking with you.”

Ever-so slightly, Fokienia’s eyes softened. “I do want your help. But I don’t want it if it means putting innocent ponies at risk. Ponies like you, or the administrators. Unlike the operatives… ‘collateral damage’ is not an option. Even if they’re targets, they’re more civilian than military.”

His heart trudged out of a trough of worry. Suddenly, the revelations poured across him. “…You’re just going to talk to them?”

“These administrative ponies may be in charge, but they’re not combat specialists. They’re by no means a threat, just a source of information.” She looked back ahead. “But the moment Concord makes an appearance, I need to be gone. And that’s why I want you out of the way before that happens.”

“I can understand where you’re coming from,” but… “the only option I can see is turning myself in. I’m not built to resist arrest.”

“If they capture you, they will likely employ the same punitive measures as they would for me.”

Against his better judgment, he delved further down that line. “Like what?”

She looked at him. The blue sheen crossed her eyes, and she turned away without saying a word. It took Cold a moment to understand, and he bowed his head away. Fokienia wasn’t so blind to emotive states at present; she was still breaking that shell. It was clear from the gesture that she had intended to stop him there—to spare him from following that line. He asked nothing more.

“Do you know of a place you can take refuge while I conduct my investigation?”

He knew several. “Yes.” A moment passed. “But Fokienia…”

She let him hold out for just a little longer. “Yes?”

“I’m going in with you. I want to be sure you’ll be in control, and be able to get out of there when it’s done. Then, I’ll personally lead you somewhere safe.” Beside him, one of Fokienia’s hooves let out a mute whine. It was a short, curt interruption. “We’ll sort out this mess together, alright? I know ponies who can help. Ponies who’d agree with me when I say that your situation isn’t just some selfish exploit, but a path that needs to be explored. A zone open to all. Right now, this only concerns us, but it should be the concern of all ponies. You are clearly just one piece of something greater, and I know what it’s like to be a catalyst.” He took a deep breath. “I need to deliver you to where you should be, and nothing wrong will happen to me until your safety is confirmed.”

“…How can you be sure?”

“Because I trust in the good of ponies.”

---

Even with Cold by her side, Fokienia still felt grossly out of place. She’d thought she’d conquered her fear of being seen by now, but this was no minor degree of insurgency; the only thing between her and absolution were the ponies who ran this major administration office aboard Cypress Station. Cold’s words barely scraped across her ears as she focused completely on keeping her hooves moving. They’d already crossed the threshold of the bland plastic-steel-polymer residence of the ‘lower’ admin offices. The eyes of several ponies in the waiting room of the lobby landed on her, and she shriveled under their gaze. How had Cold talked her into letting him come? This was not how she wanted things to go.

Somehow, none of the ponies seemed to particularly care: their eyes didn’t stray, and there was a prevailing sense of calm to the place.

Before she knew it, a pony was in front of her, across the counter like the others before. Her smile appeared genuine, and concern laced her lips as she asked Fokienia if there was something wrong.

Cold started to speak. Fokienia spoke first. “I’d like to speak with somepony about station matters.” Her heart beat to the tune of a long second, and she corrected herself. “I need to speak to somepony about station matters.”

The secretary was still smiling! “Under what authority?”

Fokienia looked to Cold, but he was waiting for her. “…Station government?” she tried.

The mare was pinpoint in her reply. “Station government matters? Of course, hun.” At this point, Fokienia couldn’t tell if the look on the secretary mare’s face was real. The mare’s hooves clacked on a physical tool of some sort, and the screen of her ancient non-holographic terminal sped by, the green font of the blackened screen burning the longer Fokienia stared. “I’ll get you hooked up for the proper office in a jiffy. Now, is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

Cold spoke cleanly, but his voice was distant and remote. “Interstellar Factors. I’ve got a standing matter with Cypress Concord I need sorted.”

The mare gave Fokienia’s partner a look. She had stopped tapping on her clacking little device at her hooves to give that firm, steel-eyed glance. “Are you aware that you can contact IFB associates from your ship, captain?” Her voice was still sweet—almost sickly so—and carried no hint of malign intent.

The kirin nodded. “Yes, but I like to deal with business in-pony.”

After another long pause of that look, the secretary returned to smiling, and went right back to tapping. “I’ll send word to the office of the Concord marshal. Will you be going there immediately?”

“No, I’ll be accompanying my friend, here.”

Fokienia’s heart jostled giddily, and her muscles loosened.

“Alright, that’s fine… just a moment then.” There were a few brief pauses in the mare’s work, before she finally lifted her hooves from the machinery below the counter. “Okay, hun. There’s a set of elevators down the hall to your right. Step right into whichever one is open, and it will take you to the floor you need to be.”

“That’s it?”

The mare smiled gently, nodding. “That’s it!”

“Cold—” Fokienia started, but the kirin was already moving. She stepped after him, glancing back at the lobby, and the calmly waiting ponies. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why is she… why is everypony, so…?” Words failed her. She thought things felt ‘off’, but by now, she wasn’t so sure if that was what it really felt like. “I don’t know,” she admitted, surprising herself. “And why are there no guards? Or even basic background checks? This is a governing facility, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Sure enough, at the end of the hall, six sets of steel-doors were waiting. One of them was open, and she followed him into it. There was no panel or indication of control in the elevator. A chime played, and the doors slid shut. The room hummed around them. As she looked through the walls, Fokienia couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary: there were dozens, maybe upward to a hundred ponies in the building, but all of them were grouped together. She couldn’t see any signs of movement for things she considered weapons, and she didn’t see any ponies walking around, either.

And more strangely, Cold still hadn’t replied further. Had the office’s aura gotten to him, too? The room lurched, and Fokienia felt the ascent press on her gut. The elevator slowed to a steady crawl.

“Searing Cold?”

The kirin fixed Fokienia with a look. “You can trust this place. We only have to worry when we enter a room.”

Fokienia shuddered when she matched Cold’s eyes. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “Why?”

“This office complex is corporate-owned. Every authority, from system to business, can own a section, here.” He turned away. “Everypony has their own protocol. Just listen to what the mares say, and keep moving.”

The elevator lurched again. It made an awful grinding noise. Fokienia thought it might have failed, but the doors opened cleanly to the next floor.

They didn’t make it far: not ten hooves from the section of elevators, a mare sat stock-still at a desk placed in the middle of the wide hall. Beyond her, the hall crossed almost the entirety of the building’s span. Fokienia could see the back of another pony at the other end of the place. Metal doors were spread out evenly along the path, and through the walls, she could see ponies in some of the rooms.

“Hello! Are you here for station government matters?” the mare chirped. Her voice and mannerisms were different, but her smile was indisputably as genuine as the secretary on the first floor.

Holding to Cold’s word, Fokienia didn’t hesitate. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Great!” The mare’s island desk also had an old terminal on it, which contrasted strongly against the clean walls and floors of the complex. She tapped at even more clanking keys hidden out of view. One of the doors close to her swung inward. “To my right, there is an empty conference room configured to fit your needs. One of you will also be needing to speak with our marshal, correct?”

“And that’s me,” Cold answered.

“Good! Well, come back and speak to me when you’re finished with the conference room, and I’ll sort that out for you!”

Cold nodded, and strode away from the elevators without another word.

Fokienia walked with him, and nodded to the mare at the desk. “Thank you,” she said; Cold hadn’t done so, but it felt wrong to leave the cheery mare without it.

The mare looked up from her terminal. She didn’t stumble on her smile at all. “You’re welcome.” Her reply was warm, outwardly calm despite her previous demeanor.

Fokienia left the mare behind, and entered the room with Cold. The non-pneumatic door swung on its own again, silently latching behind them.

The room was plain: the tiled floors were the same as the hallway, and the walls covered with a simple coat of matte gray paint over steel. Above, a strip of lamps hummed, just out of reach of straining ears. There was a table with three chairs, and all of them were bolted to the ground. The metal of the furnishings shone with a bright luster. Across the table, a silver-edged, black screen was hung on the wall. Several bulb-shaped spheres of glass surrounded the edges of the opposing side of the room, implanted in the walls by metal rims. Fokienia looked for any kind of hidden door, or pony in hiding, but the room’s only entrance appeared to be the one they’d come through. It was after Fokienia had followed Cold’s lead and sat down that she realized what was going to happen.

“They’re not going to be physically present?”

“No. This is as formal as it gets. Most of this complex is built around remote functionality, and it’s the best projector technology corporate can buy.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, the bulbs of glass began to glow a pearly white. Text crossed the screen ahead: “Establishing comm-link…”

And then there was a pony in front of them. A pony made of light.

Fokienia was no stranger to holograms, but the bristling white outline of the pony before her was baffling. The details were fine and granular, peeking outward like sun-kissed sands, ever-shifting, ever-glistening. The earth pony was four-legged, though they approached the table with a limp in their left hindleg. Unlike the rest of their clean, well-kept coat, the coat around the rear hoof was clearly patchy, if the darkened colors above the receding fetlock was anything to go by. Their mane and tail were clearly groomed with care, and the sole suit jacket they wore was buttoned to the top. Overall, the quality of the hologram was enough to fill the room with the feeling of pony presence. Clearing their throat, the ornate hologram smiled perfectly.

“Good afternoon.” The earth pony stallion’s voice was measured, deliberate in tone, but Fokienia could feel the weight behind it.

Even if he were physically present, he would be a difficult pony to read.

Beside her, Cold appeared to be following a similar, albeit more exaggerated thought: tensed up, the muscles of his usually light shoulders bulged. He stared ahead like a pale ghost, a deathly silent kirin. Was it from fear?

Fokienia looked back, only to meet the eyes of the stallion. Like Cold, it was as if he’d frozen stiff. His ears were twisted and poised high, fully focused her way. Then suddenly, the holographic image contorted, and any sign of alertness was gone. It was so swift and abrupt a change in his attitude that she wasn’t completely sure she’d imagined it, or if she’d misinterpreted the holo-projectors.

The suited stallion cleared his throat, and stepped back a few paces. The beams of light from the projector-bulbs followed after him, glinting with noise where movement ruptured the present illusion. “I’m sorry if my appearance is a bit of a surprise. My schedule was left a little empty this morning due to some abrupt cancellations. If you’d like to speak with another pony about your matter, I wouldn’t take it the wrong way. I promise. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to help you with whatever issue you have with,” he looked to the side, “matters pertaining to ‘station government’.”

He had an air of charisma to him for sure; each word came honeyed and slicked. Even with the multitude of lessons and experiences she’d had in order to practice breaking down emotions and façades, there was a great deal of raw passion and earnest to his words: she’d almost dismissed the concept of it being an act. She’d just barely skimmed the first hurdle. Now on high alert, she had to tread cautiously. Fokienia chewed the inside of her cheek, and peeked back at Cold; she couldn’t start this conversation.

Cold shook himself. His smile was light, and weak. “I’m sorry, Governor Graham. We’d be happy to have you help us.” It was Cold’s turn to squint at his partner.

Fokienia’s heart thud as all eyes fell on her. “Governor…” was all she could say.

“Just Graham is fine, miss. Treat me as if I’m a friend with a placative ear.” Graham looked back at Cold. “And the same goes for you, sir. I don’t want you two to feel uncomfortable. After all, I’m not a princess.” He laughed easily.

Cold nodded slowly, giving his own curt chuckle. “Of course…”

The stallion hummed, and held a hoof up. “Oh, before anything else. You don’t mind if I get your names, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Cold replied, switching from a slow nod to a quick shake. “Searing Cold.”

“Hm… ah, that’s right. Searing Cold, the kirin!” The governor grinned. “I’ve heard good things about you, captain.”

To his credit, Cold didn’t go still; he cocked his head. “…You have?” Fokienia couldn’t tell what his flat look and tone entailed. It at least wasn’t worry.

“Oh, plenty of good words, almost in excess. You’ve got an honest reputation with the ponies running Cypress, and you ought to know it. You do the Princesses’ work out there.” His eyes turned. “And you, miss… you look like a mare bound for good things.”

She swallowed. “My name is Fokienia.”

“Fokienia…” The governor let her name roll on his tongue. He even closed his eyes for a brief time. “That’s a strong name,” he finished.

She tried her best to fight the warm embrace of his voice. Fidgeting, she smiled as lightly as she could. “Thank you.”

Graham stared at her. Had she done something wrong? As soon as she stopped fidgeting, he smiled back at her, and started moving back to the center of the projector’s fields. “Yes… so.” He emphasized his pause with a light stomp. “What can I do for you two?”

“Well, truth be told, Graham, sir, my friend here is the one who really needs the help. But I do have a question, and you’re the perfect pony to ask.”

The governor rolled his withers, and bat at his ear with a hoof. “Ask away, captain. I’m all yours.”

“Why did you lift the embargoes on Griffonian goods from the Griffon quadrants?”

Fokienia’s ears twitched. Her personal barrage of questions hid away; she resolved to listen.

“Ah… the embargoes.” A pained bout of hesitation was plain across Graham’s muzzle.

“I didn’t want to presume it was all in your hooves, sir, but I really am quite… involved, when it comes to matters of business beyond Equestrian borders.”

“I understand, captain. And you’re not out of line. I didn’t say much when news broke to the comm-net.” The governor sighed. “I’d say it was out of the kindness of my heart, but the honest fact is that the civil conflict in New Griffonia has been going on for long enough that I felt it was no longer economically viable to keep enforcing the embargoes. Recent developments with the movement of Princess Luna’s armada have made it a prime time to re-open trade with the imperial capital. I understand the controversy, but really, I only want what’s best for Cypress Station.”

Cold nodded. “It’s not my place to say what should’ve been done, but I’m grateful.”

“You’re…” The colorless hologram of Graham blinked. “I’m sorry, you said you’re grateful?”

“I’ve been there, governor. The system economies are in a sorry state. Piracy is rampant. Until your recent orders, there have been no open hubs for foreign trade, and it’s left a great surplus of goods in circulation. I’m sure the word you’ve heard about me pertains to the contracts I’ve delivered for supplying Equestrian interests, but I’m not just a courier, sir. I’m a free trader.”

The governor breathed. “I see.” Then, he grinned. “Well, we all have our pasts, captain. I’m not going to hold smuggling against you. Life outside of the core is all about opportunity, and we can’t help but reach out with our hooves and take it.” He paused, and lowered his outstretched hoof. “Or provide opportunity, as your case might entail.”

Fokienia stared aghast at the kirin. Why had he just given out all of that information so freely? He’d just alluded to breaking the law, and the governor had seen right through it. Of course, he’d forgiven Cold, but that had been a dangerous risk to take. She opened her mouth, but the pieces immediately crossed her: this was the same pony who’d just taken on a fugitive status, for her sake. It was only obvious that he’d put everything about him on display; with so much personal sacrifice already behind him, he had everything to gain in being truthful.

Cold bowed his head. “I appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate your decisions as well, captain.” The governor faced her. “Now, Fokienia… miss.” Graham paused, his eyes tracing her as held his thoughts back behind a raised foreleg. “What can I help you with? I’m sure you have another big question, and as the captain here put it best, I’m the perfect pony to ask.”

Where could she even begin? Did she start slow, or did she adopt the same boldness Cold crashed into the conversation with? Suddenly, Fokienia was overwhelmed with the dozens of questions she’d formed over the many years of ‘living’ in the Facility buried in the maintenance corridors of Cypress. From his outward demeanor, she was unsure if the governor was even remotely responsible for the operations of the Project. Her thought process swept over to the kirin at her side. He’d come in with the truth, and received a kindness in return: an exchange of sorts, which she could definitely work in her favor; the governor was certainly a businesspony.

Fokienia inhaled, her nostrils flaring as she raised a foreleg and set it on the table. Graham looked right at her steel foreleg. The servomotors thronged against her nerves, joining the governor’s stare in drawing out a low, itchy nervousness in her throat. With her other foreleg, she rolled the sleeve of her black jumpsuit, the fabric noisily ruffling, until she'd peeled it back enough to reveal the peachy, patched coat of apricot that led down to her steel-composite hoof. The room’s ventilation clicked off, leaving the floor silent for the three watchful ponies.

For a time, the governor simply stared. Fokienia followed him carefully. The gears were turning, but his lips were pursed flat. Then, he began to move. Trotting slow, the hologram of Governor Graham approached their table. His vision was laser-focused, tunneling right in on Fokienia’s stretched foreleg. Even though he wasn’t there, he crouched as if she were right before him, keeling his muzzle low to look up and down Fokienia’s foreleg. Oddly, Fokienia found no reason to pull away, but she didn’t relax completely. Graham stood a little straighter, and reached up with a hoof. As light as a feather in the wind, the particles of light that made the governor’s hoof glided along her foreleg, all the way up to her untouched coat, and true flesh. He stopped there, then leaned away suddenly.

Graham’s eyes did not leave her. “Do you know who did this?”

“Only some. The ponies who worked on me in a subterranean facility. The leading operatives have called this work ‘The Project’.” Fokienia began rolling the sleeve down, bending her head as she did so. Her short lime mane spilled into the corners of her view.

The governor’s voice was gradually sharpening. Anger, but not toward her. “Was this done to you under duress?”

Yes. Or rather, yes, at some point. She rolled the sleeve down completely, and with the last tug, a weight fell into her gut. “Yes.”

“I see.” The governor took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

She’d learned to get used to it, and for a time, embraced it.

“I can stop the ponies who did this. I just need names, if you have them.”

Names…? But…

“Fokienia.” She looked up, and saw Graham frowning. “I can only help you if I have their names.” His brows were loose as he spoke to her. “I can’t trust what they might look like.”

No, nothing. It was all classified, or evident pseudonyms. All of it was fake. Except… she did have something.

The question was if it was worth giving.

“I only know one real name.”

“That’s all I need, Fokienia.”

Was it? “Would it be enough to stop the Project?”

“Stop the Project?” The governor trot back to the screen on the wall, and turned away, his hoof came up, and he began tapping at something. It was likely in the actual room he was present in. “Not immediately. I tried to shut it down before.” He sighed, and continued to plug at the invisible controls. “But not everypony is so loyal to the Crown.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Tell me more about the Project.”

Graham stopped, and looked straight at her. It was a piercing look that drove straight into her. Uncharacteristically, she felt herself starting to glance away. She stopped herself, but still, there was something about this stallion…

“I suppose you deserve to know. And you as well, captain.” She looked back just in time to see the governor approach again. He was shaking his head the whole way back. “This will be another comm-net blowout, anyways.”

Clearing his throat, Governor Graham took the floor. “Cypress isn’t an old station, but it’s always been in a rough spot in some way. I’m not sure how much you two know about the station’s history, but what you do need to know is that we’ve always been pioneers. When we hollowed out this asteroid nearly sixty years ago, we found out the hard way that the usual regolith methods of developing arable soil just didn’t work. It only got worse when we sampled other asteroids in-system for potential exploitation, and found the same properties. The initial probe scans had done well-enough to detect valuable minerals, but we couldn’t start mining if we couldn’t eat, and bringing in food that wouldn’t drive us insane was beyond our budget. So, we started importing soil from the Core Worlds. With what little of a setup we had, the growbeds went through supply quick. For about a year, we were one of the most expensive colonial outposts in the entire quadrant. Then, when we finally established a little atmosphere for our thousand-strong colony, and started saturating our air with magic diffusers, the news only got worse.” He looked around him. “Something about our little star just doesn’t bond well with magic. It’s why we’ve got a lot more magnetosphere systems than most stations. More advanced to boot.” Graham shifted his attention back to Fokienia. “That little ticker for our star is why, since the start, we’ve pursued technology over magic.”

Cold was leaning forward now, sitting a little straighter. Fokienia mirrored him, bringing her ears up with her. So where did the Project come in?

“This is where the Project comes in,” the governor continued. Had he read her mind? She quieted herself… just in case. Graham went on. “Cypress’ early development had a bit of a tradition to it. Due to our stunted colonial growth, we always had to put our resources into developing select portions of the station at a time. It’s a big part of why we’re such a large station, though it also means we lack a lot of amenities other, and younger stations already have. I’ve been trying to change that, but that’s beside the point. We’ve always had to put business first, with family a close second. The Cypress Projects were a way of doing that.”

Fokienia’s ears twitched. “Projects, as in, plural?” she interrupted.

“Yes, the Cypress Projects.” Graham sat his rump down, his casualness catching her attention. “Some of the first Cypress Projects were simple things. Sun lamps to appeal to the pony circadian rhythm. Durable, and modular atmospherics systems, scalable for population growth. Station-bounced radio infastructure to coordinate during comm-net blackouts. That used to be a common issue, you see, because the Equestrian comm-relay network relies on magic. We’ve had to upgrade our system’s relay with what we’ve developed in magnetosphere-shielding.”

“The exact kind of shielding all ships in the ECW use?” Cold asked.

Graham smiled proudly. “We developed it.”

Cold was impressed. Fokienia was, too, even if she didn’t really know what all of that entailed.

“More of what you spacers might use everyday, too. Once we got big enough to go from outpost to station, our technology sector got bigger. We used to have R&D wings all over the place, practically all of it station-owned. Excuse me, research and development, I mean. At that point, the Cypress Projects got complicated. We were poking and prodding at all the mechanics of the universe, asking ourselves where magic came up short in Equestrian society, and if technology could pick up the slack. Taking old concepts we’d thought certain, and reworking it all for the benefit of ponykind. Before I was station governor, I was a young little pioneer among many, and two decades later, I was leading those ponies as Head Research Director. Every wing on Cypress was privy to pursuing its own interests, but I was the pony who ordained priorities, and organized the chief, and most resource-intensive projects. We always had that one big project every year, and rain or shine, we got it done. Little ‘ole Cypress Station, leading ponykind, one year at a time.” A big beaming grin had broken across Graham’s muzzle. Now, it started to fall. “Then… the Project shuffled into my purview.”

He looked down at his hooves, particularly at his splayed, patchy hindleg. “Something ponykind has always had trouble with… is healing. Getting better. We can bounce back from all sorts of maladies, but some… we can’t. Not even with magic. I wanted to fix that. Me and plenty of other ponies. So, we started the Project.” His voice fell away.

Fokienia teared up slightly. Her neurostimulators couldn’t begin to try and stop her. She spoke the classified word aloud. “Bioengineering?”

Graham licked his lips, and looked up at Fokienia. A sad smile touched his muzzle. “Yes. We tried to master our biology. And we tried to go beyond just fixing ponies.”

“A-Augmentations.” Her voice wavered. Still, her neurostimulators stayed their place.

“Yes,” Graham whispered. “And we went too far.”

A pair of tears dripped from her eyes. “…What happened?”

“There was… a pony… they fell ill. And we weren’t ready.” He closed his eyes, and his voice closed to a whisper. “I wasn’t ready.”

A silence fell across the room. Cold and Fokienia waited. The cyborg rubbed at her eyes, and Cold looked away from the governor.

Graham took a hefty breath, and opened his eyes. “So, I ordered a halt to the Project. Brought about the end of the Cypress Projects. New research at the scale we were doing it fell out of favor, but not entirely. We didn’t liquidate everything, we downsized. Most of the R&D labs were sold to corporate entities. They still build off of some of our research, but not the Project.” Again, he breathed. “A few years ago, some of the Project’s research surfaced. A theoretical mixture, condensed into the form of a drug. I thought I’d shut down the rogue lab responsible for continuing elements of the Project’s research, but now, it’s in circulation. Its presence was confirmed in Cupresso.” He looked at Fokienia. “And now, I can see it in you.”

Fokienia looked back. The eyes of the hologram were soulless, but the pony behind them was real. “I never asked for this.”

Governor Graham stared. He didn’t speak until he was ready. “I believe you.” Graham looked at Cold. “And I trust you, captain. I searched up your warrant just a few minutes ago. I know you’re not working with them. Your nav records for New Griffonia are a solid alibi. Some of the information in the report is off… but I know it’s beyond your doing.”

Cold didn’t know what to say. Or at least, he didn’t speak.

Fokienia watched Graham stand, and turn back to her. “Give me the name you have. I have access to the records of every single R&D facility location on-station, black site, decommissioned, and otherwise. I have enough names to fill a dozen data-banks. I can find every researcher who’s contributed to the field, and at least one of them can be corroborated with whatever name you have. It doesn’t matter if they’re some non-Cypressean merc operative,” he spat, though he quickly relaxed, “or even your real name. Tonight, I’m going to go through them all, and if you give me that name, I can minimize the damage of whatever’s coming.” His voice and face softened. “I’ve helped you, Fokienia. So please, help me.”

This was it. This was the mission she’d trained her whole life for. The moment where her exploration and exploitation of subterfuge came to life. But if she acted now, she would be delivering information to the pony who would have been her enemy, if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t loyal to anypony. She turned to Cold for support, but his eyes were turned away again. Instead of opening her mouth, she stopped, returning to Graham. Why had she looked at Cold? She didn’t want him to help her make this decision: this wasn’t his purpose, his destiny. This was hers. And it would be her own decision to make.

She looked again at the holographic stallion. The warm disposition of the governor: was it a façade, too? Was it possible that he was a plant, an operative placed on the upper-echelon of the authority spectrum, coming around in a last ditch effort to sweep up the breach she’d made?

Fokienia looked past the context, past the hologram, past the governor, and deep into the eyes of the flesh and blood pony. Somewhere above this office building, Graham was stood in a similar conference room, looking into her in that same way. There was a passing familiarity, there. Two ponies on opposite sides, each seeking trust, each the heralds of a war they all knew would happen. But where she hoped to stop it, he was determined to start one. Could war be waged for good?

Then again, was it inevitable? That pony trust would be abused, and so it should be abused whenever opportunity favorably struck? The pony of the name she held had told her so. Did they believe those words? They wouldn’t have expected their training to be used against them. But somepony would trust the governor if she didn’t, somepony who lacked the intent and knowledge she had.

Graham didn’t speak. He looked at Fokienia, eyes still soft, his body language reserved, patient.

Fokienia looked Graham in the eye. “Give me your name.”

It was instant. “My name is Golden Graham.” His voice was solid, stocky.

Fokienia stood from the table. The bolted chair bent slightly as she pushed away. She looked back at the door. The door was sealed shut. She looked through the walls around her. She saw what she believed was ‘normal’. What was happening in the room was contained. Fokienia faced Golden Graham. She spoke, uninfluenced, her words and choice independent of fate.

“Her name is Sundown Periapsis. She is a gray-coated, blue-maned bat pony.”

The taste of betrayal was fresh, and vile. She wondered why she had spent so long in willing service to the art.

Graham stepped back, leaned away, and tapped. They all waited. After a long moment, he turned. “Thank you, Fokienia.”

She started to leave. “Cold—”

“Wait.”

She stopped. Her heart beat faster. She didn’t move back, but she turned from Cold to the hologram.

“Captain Cold… I’m going to send the Concord marshal in the complex to retrieve you.”

Cold nodded, slumping a little in the chair, resigned.

Fokienia stared at Golden Graham.

“Fokienia… tell the secretary at the desk in the hallway to follow directive zero-zero-alpha.” He looked away. “You need to leave.”

She trot over to Cold quickly, worriedly glancing between him and Graham. “Cold, are you going to—?”

“I’m staying.”

“Fokienia,” the governor pried. “I can keep the captain, but I can’t risk keeping you here.”

She ignored Graham. “Cold…” she whispered.

His horn lit. She watched his magic pull his jacket open. His dark gray PDA floated out and into the air. The screen flickered the whole time, swiftly shifting between menus. It levitated in front of her, and stopped. “I trust the governor.”

She read the screen. A street. A number. A name.

“Take the PDA with you.” He reached out, and tapped the side, depressing a button. “This turns the display on and off,” he chuckled.

“Cold you’re really going to—”

“I’ll be fine, Fokienia. I’m going to be fine. You’re more important than some cargo ship captain.” The PDA slid past her, and she heard her bag’s flap open up, but she couldn’t stop looking at Cold’s smiling muzzle. “Don’t get caught.”

She swallowed. Resolve sat thick between them. There was nothing she could do to change Cold’s mind.

Fokienia trot backwards. She gave Graham a look. He simply nodded at her.

Cold spoke again. “We’ll see each other when all of this is over, okay?”

Fokienia closed her eyes.

Something clicked behind her.

“Okay.”

Fokienia turned and ran through the open door. It swung shut behind her automatically. Her hooves thundered across the short sprint to the secretary’s desk. The mare jolted, breaking her façade, and gawked openly at Fokienia.

What if the order was a trap—?

“Directive 00A,” Fokienia intoned.

She had to trust in the good of ponies. Her handler hadn’t. Her friend did.

With practically no bridge between, the mare had composed herself, and tapped across four of the many wide analog keys, now visible to Fokienia as she stood behind the desk’s veil. The heavy metal doors of one of the elevators slid open.

“Step through that elevator!” the mare chirped, cheery as ever.

“Where will it go?”

“Sub-floor one.” Her face sharpened into worry. “I don’t know what’s going on, but stay safe.”

Three galloping steps forward, Fokienia halted mid-stride. “You too.” Then, she bolted for the doors.

The room chimed, and the steel slid shut. The elevator began moving, and the weight in her gut pulled at her, worse than before.

Fokienia descended into the belly of Cypress, just as she had two days prior, and that very morning. But alone again.

Comments

[Rambling Writer]

Fokienia’s heart jostled giddily

That some magnificent prose right there.

“Well, we all have our pasts, captain. I’m not going to hold smuggling against you. Life outside of the core is all about opportunity, and we can’t help but reach out with our hooves and take it.” He paused, and lowered his outstretched hoof. “Or provide opportunity, as your case might entail.”

Easy forgiveness! Ponies! Also, Code did something technically illegal but morally right, didn't he?

Cold was impressed. Fokienia was, too, even if she didn’t really know what all of that entailed.

I giggled a little. "Wow, that's impressive! What is it?"

We were poking and prodding at all the mechanics of the universe, asking ourselves where magic came up short in Equestrian society, and if technology could pick up the slack.

Considering there have been three separate instances in the show where magic has been drained from Equestrian society and at least two where it's happened to individual ponies, I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner. Also, the idea of magic not working the same everywhere in the universe is really nifty. And considering Cypress Station already uses a decent amount of magic in spite of magic being harder to use, I wonder what other habitats look like.

I just finished Hi-Fi Rush, so the bizarrely specific element of "philanthropic artificial limb project retooled into something sinister with a music-loving protagonist roped in by happenstance" is familiar. Now we just need a few fight scenes set to hard rock songs and we'll be good to go.

“I never asked for this.”

What a shame.

So we've got a mysterious directive, Cold possibly going into custody, Fokienia following a name, and the government maybe making some sort of move through the Project. (I say Cold possibly going into custody, because given Graham's attitude towards him, I'm wondering if it's more, "The Project is coming after you. Fokienia can take care of herself, you can't. I'm placing you under the marshal's protection.") Definitely see the story picking up.

[Odd_Sarge]

11501256

I just finished Hi-Fi Rush, so the bizarrely specific element of "philanthropic artificial limb project retooled into something sinister with a music-loving protagonist roped in by happenstance" is familiar.

It really caught me off-guard when I saw Hi-Fi Rush release and saw the similarities in what I was writing. It’s even better, too, since that game from what I’ve seen is so upbeat (pun-intended).

[redmar]

The background information in this chapter is very interesting. It seems that the research went a bit too far and something bad happened but not everypony was willing to stop at that point.