> Our Little Homeworld
>  by Horizon Runner
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1.1: Princess of Wires
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Date: 1/21/1216 KDS. The Day Before the Jump.
Time: 6:58 P.M. Tiir/Scaffold Standard Time.
Mothership Position: Docked with Scaffold, Kharequus Geostationary Orbit.
Location: Mothership Control Room.


“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed, Madam Journey.”

Great Journey slowly turned her head away from the display screen that held that little brown planet—her lifelong home. Every movement brought forth pinprick tugs from the thousands of wires embedded in her pale pink coat and maneless scalp. Her eyes struggled to focus as her brain tried to separate their input from the sensors and cameras that composed her second nervous system. Two worlds flickered back and forth. Her body was her own, as it had always been, but now her skin was juxtaposed with seven kilometers of metal plating—her heart with a dozen arcane furnaces.

It was just something she’d have to get used to. Somehow.

“It's been a long path to get this far,” she said, her voice holding just the slightest tinge of humor. “And this is what we're calling the beginning." Her eyes softened, and she turned back towards the planet. "Our ancestors fled Equestria for a reason, Masterpiece. Tell me: Do you think we should really be in such a hurry?”

Masterpiece, better known as Fleet Intelligence, smiled kindly, his lips slipping easily into the patterns that they had assumed uncountable times over the course of his life. He shifted his weight with a dancer's grace as he stepped forward to stand beside her. His fire-gold mane flickered, torchlike, above his coal-black coat. His voice was even, but firm, with a slight wryness, as if he knew the truth behind every face, the meaning behind every smile. “Madam, whether we are certain of our course or not, the Daiamiid’s decision is final. We have a destiny laid out for us; it is the Goddesses’ will and the will of the people.”

Great Journey's lip twitched, but she made no comment. She closed her eyes and let the cameras take her closer, showing her the planet's darkened surface in hyperfocused detail. She could see tiny lights across the mid-northern band—the marks of sand-locked cities, still struggling on against the elements even in this age of technological triumph. She switched cameras, revealing the side of the Scaffold which held her second body like a cradle. Ponies flashed by the tiny windows, each one hurrying along at a frantic pace. One stopped, and Great Journey zoomed one of her mechanical eyes to get a better look.

A little colt stared out at her, his eyes catching the dancing embers of the Mothership’s thousand lights. A mare—perhaps his mother, or maybe just a schoolteacher—tugged lightly at his shoulder, but the colt would not budge. He pressed a hoof against the glass, and his mouth moved wordlessly, silenced by the void between.

Great Journey opened her eyes. The display, showing what she saw so that Masterpiece could follow her train of thought, switched off, becoming just another bare wall to her voluntary prison. “I am... worried,” she said. “We are so fragile up here, and we do not know what the future will bring. Equestria… our homeworld may be out among the stars, but our home is here on Kharequus. Are we truly so certain about this venture that we're willing to leave this planet behind forever?”

Masterpiece nuzzled her shoulder gently, and the unexpected contact sent a warm flush across her face. “Don’t worry, Madam,” he purred in her ear. “Ponies have always traveled across the sands, be it Manaan’s ceaseless wandering or Paktu’s great migration. We are the scions of a grand tradition of pilgrimages that stretches back to the first time ponies came to Kharequus. Ponykind made this journey once, and now we make it once more.” He pulled away, maintaining his calm smile. “I believe we have dallied long enough. The crew have reported in, and the systems are ready to initialize. I think it is time we began our final preparations. We make our first jump tomorrow morning, after all.”

Great Journey allowed a tiny smile to cross her lips. She spoke, and her voice—doubt banished and tremor quelled—echoed throughout the great ship and across the radio spectrum.

“This is Fleet Command. Confirming Mothership pre-launch status…”

Check lights flickered green, and the signals in Great Journey’s head corroborated them. Her smile widened. 

“Command, online...”

The refineries in the heart of the Mothership rumbled to life, ready to process the broken down flow of matter that could be gleaned from the rocks and gases that lingered out in the black. The resource collector—a ship designed to seek out and harvest the aforementioned materials—spun up its reactor as the captain checked in.

“Resourcing, online...”

The Mothership’s colossal hangar was filled with a low hum as the manufactory slabs broke off from their berths against the inner hull and drifted into paired positions. Two of them signaled their readiness, and Journey sent them their first order—to construct the Mothership’s independent research ship.

“Construction, online...”

Deep within the ship, six massive sets of magnetic clamps tested themselves. Power conduits and regulating subsystems synchronized themselves with the Cryo Trays that hung in orbit mere kilometers away. Every one of the six hundred thousand ponies on the Trays was safely asleep, ready to be woken as soon as the Mothership reached Equestria’s orbit.

“Cryogenic subsections A through J, online... K through S, online... Scaffold control stand by for alignment.”

The Scaffold was the largest satellite above Kharequus, and its maneuvering was careful and slow. It shifted to align the Mothership with its destination: the great slash of the distant galactic core. Then, with an almost undetectable push from a hundred tiny thrusters, it halted its turn and became still. The Scaffold commander signaled in: all clear for launch.

“Alignment confirmed. Standby to release control... Release.”

The clamps grip fell away. The huge engines on the Mothership’s stern came to life in a silent flash of light and propelled the vessel away at last. Slowly, gracefully, the gigantic ship eased its way from the Scaffold’s embrace. Great Journey watched from within, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke once more. 

“The Mothership has cleared the Scaffold. We are away.”

> 1.2: Prodigy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: 7:12 P.M.
Mothership Position: Kharequus Geostationary Orbit, Scaffold Area.
Location: Storage Area G-C21.

“The Mothership Project is grandest undertaking in Kharequuin history. In the hundred years between the discovery of the Khar-Celest and tomorrow, the day we take our first true step towards the stars, our sciences have advanced a thousandfold. In reaching for the stars we have reached within ourselves and brought forth the true potential of ponykind. Our destiny lies before us; the time has come to reclaim our birthright, passed on to us by Celestia herself…”

Amethyst Star groaned loudly, cutting off the intercom. “Can we shut that damn thing off? I swear, that Masterpiece flankhead gives the same speeches every time he’s on the air, and he still can’t make it sound any less like industrial grade manure.”

Twilight Sparkle smiled and rolled her eyes. “Come on, it’s just to set the mood.” Regardless, she reached across the room with a thread of telekinesis and tapped the mute button on the wall-mounted control panel.

Amethyst nodded with a derisive snort. “Well, usually when I want to ‘set the mood’, my choice of listening material involves less melodramatic lizard dung and more heavy metal.”

Twilight shifted her attention back to the task at hoof. There were still supplies to organize and catalogue. Not everything could be built directly into the research ship—current-generation magi-fabrication just wasn't precise enough to make small, complicated instruments like electron microscopes or magi-field scanners. Amethyst’s shuttle had only arrived hours ago, but for some reason she’d insisted on helping Twilight with the mundane task. Twilight wasn't sure whether to be moved or irritated; as much as Amethyst's sacrifice was showing... it was really showing.

Still, Twilight thought, a smile crossing her face, it is time spent together.

Twilight checked off another crate full of assorted drafting implements and shot a glance at Amethyst, who was doing the same. Twilight had to give her cousin credit: few ponies could make the act of marking off check-boxes look angry. Still, despite her griping, there was a smile on her face for the first time in years.

Amethyst had lived a double life. On the one hoof, she’d been born into an upper-class S’jetti family, raised in the world-renowned Academy City—Karan—and taught by the best professors in the world. She’d gone on to start her own business designing and producing weapons for various armed forces affiliated with the Daiamiid council. Given the climate of the times, her business had boomed. She’d been a billionaire within two years. On the surface, it seemed like a great situation. She was gifted, well brought-up, and she'd become a self-made entrepreneur.

But Amethyst wasn't a fool. Well intentioned or otherwise, her prosperity came at a price, and she refused to ignore it. Her purple eyes had permanent rings beneath them, and her magenta-violet mane was perpetually in various states of disarray. The smile she now wore was something Twilight hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Not since Moondancer left, at least.

Amethyst groaned, rearing her head back and placing a hoof against her horn. “Damn modeling clay, bucking sketchpads… what are we, an art supply store?”

“Most of our work will be digital anyway,” Twilight said, casually checking off a portable holo-imager that would have bankrupted the university back home. “It’s only there in case you need it. Don't you still use clay for mock-ups?”

“Not since college, I haven't. Converted to digital and never looked back." Amethyst swiped the sketch pad. "Another check on the list. All that’s left… a crate with two microscopes. Do you have them on your side?”

“No.” Twilight frowned, glancing over the boxes. “They should be here. You sure you didn’t miss them?”

“No, I didn’t bucking miss them,” Amethyst growled. “Please tell me they’re not still on the Scaffold.”

“I know we took them with us…” Twilight closed her eyes and let her magic take over, expanding it across the crates. She tested their weights by lifting them into the air, leaving those that were too heavy on the floor. “Let’s see… with their mass, they should be…”

She separated a crate from the rest, noting absent-mindedly that it had been in the middle. She’d assumed Amethyst had checked it, and Ammy had probably assumed the same of Twilight. An innocent mistake on both their parts.

“You know, that gets freakier every time you do it.”

Twilight opened her eyes. “Telekinesis?”

“The fact that you’re so bucking good at it.” Amethyst gestured at the floating crates. “That’s gotta be what, two hundred kilos, minimum? Just looking at it makes my horn ache.”

Twilight shrugged indifferently, setting the crates down in neat rows. “Well, maybe if you ever practicedyour magic…”

Amethyst snorted. “Right. Sure, I could be a hornbuilder like you, or I could go with finesse.” She spun the pen in an elaborate arc and swiped it across the tablet with an exaggerated slash. “And we cross the finish line! Time to stick them in the other cargo hold, right, oh master of magics?”

Twilight rolled her eyes, but a smile lingered on her face. “I’ve missed you, Ammy.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Sparksy,” Amethyst retorted, grinning. “But yeah, I’ve missed you too.”

Time: 7:20 P.M.
Location: Mothership Crew Elevator TL-21. Approaching Docking Pylon 6.

The crates took a teleport shunt down to the loading bay. It was a somewhat experimental system, still—and they didn't dare use it on ponies—but it was quite efficient for cargo, taking far less time than an elevator and nearly the same amount of energy.

Ironically, that little round pad was part of the reason Twilight Sparkle was here. She'd invented teleport shunts, along with the Phased Disassembler Arrays that powered the construction and resource harvesting departments, and about half a dozen other small bits of magitech that made life in space generally simpler. Besides that, she'd revolutionized the science of spatial magic—before she'd come along, an inertial-dampening spell and a gravity spell were incompatible. She'd been the first pony to show that not only could the spells be configured to fit within the same area, but that they could be shaped in such a way that individual corridors could run perpendicular to each other while still providing one standard G to the ponies walking them. It was fair to say that, without Twilight Sparkle, the Mothership might have launched ten years later, and with half the fancy toys.

None of this was to say that the Mothership had ever been primitive. It remained a seven-kilometer-tall vessel capable of supporting up to twenty thousand crew members and six hundred thousand cryogenically frozen passengers—and intended to carry them across tens of thousands of light years. Granted, that final attribute was no pony feat—if the Hyperspace Core had been made by ponies, it would have overshadowed everything Twilight had accomplished by several orders of magnitude—but the Mothership Project had never been anything but high-tech. From the moment of its conception, it was destined for greatness.

And despite her contributions, Twilight Sparkle was still a newcomer, relatively speaking. The ship had been under construction for sixty years, and Twilight Sparkle had only been alive for two dozen of those. Even of the months she'd spent in space, most of the time she'd been living on the Scaffold, rarely setting foot on the Mothership proper. The sheer size of the Mothership meant that she hadn't seen it all, and maybe never would.

So when Twilight Sparkle stepped into the tram, there was a spring in her step. Much as she knew the schematics like the back of her own hoof, she’d never seen the hangar. She keyed the destination in with enthusiasm, quickly tapping in H-T6 and picking Hangar Docking Pylon Six from the proffered list of options. As the tram slowly pulled away from the station, starting to run “down” the length of the ship. Metal passed by the glass roof at increasing speed, along with catwalks and wiring that seemed too distant to be real—one of dozens of service corridors running the height of the ship, Four trams to a corridor.

Twilight Sparkle hummed a little tune, tapping her hoof lightly against the floor. It was a break from her usual demeanor, but both Amethyst and Twilight knew enough of each others’ dirty little secrets that they could act… if not like ‘themselves,’ then at least like the ponies they didn’t want to admit they really were.

Amethyst caught on to her excitement. “What’s up, Sparksy?”

Twilight grinned back at her. “Just wait a minute or so. You’ll see.”

A light flashed by overhead, briefly casting their faces into sharp relief. Twilight could picture the blast door sliding closed behind them, and the one ahead slowly opening. Almost there…

“Oh, come on!” Amethyst moaned. “I hate that! All this suspense manure really gets on my nerves. The light at the end of the tunnel is just another sand-cursed spaceship.”

Twilight merely kept grinning. She glanced up at the passing corridor, her eyes flickering to the little landmarks only a pony who’d helped design the ship would catch. “Just… let’s see… five… four…”

Amethyst just stared at her. “...Seriously?”

“Three… two…”

Amethyst rolled her eyes. “Uuuugh. I hate it when you get all dramatic—”

“One… zero.”

And then, there was no more speaking.

The tram’s glass construction might have seemed pointless while it was passing through the service corridor, but the service corridor didn’t last forever. When the tram slid out onto the inner surface of the hangar, the view changed.

Amethyst slowly moved over to the  glass and pressed her face against it like a little schoolfilly. Twilight didn’t hesitate in joining her.

The hangar’s dimensions were simple enough on paper: eight hundred by two thousand by six hundred meters. It didn’t seem like much, until you started really thinking about it. But when you saw it? Mind. Boggling.

Space had never much bothered Twilight. It was like quantum physics; strange and wonderful, yes, but it was something she understood on a theoretical level. One didn’t often come into situations where she particularly needed to see it in action. Kharequus’s surface, the Scaffold, the stars—they were all distant, and while impressive, next to impossible to properly put into perspective.

In the hangar, you could see the distance. You could let your eyes wander across the walls, see them stretching out farther than made rational sense. At first, it was like looking along the Scaffold’s hull, but then it curved up, inward, becoming a room. Manufactory slabs drifted like metal clouds, illuminated in blue by light-cells, placed to ensure that no part of the hangar would ever be fully in shadow. The slabs were basically miniature versions of the Scaffold—hoofholds and frameworks for construction efforts. Only one pair was actively working at the moment, but the rest were in place, testing their systems one last time before the Jump.

One of the Mothership’s two tugs—technically, a Porter-class corvette—zoomed past the lift on a trail of white fire, so close that Twilight could see the pilot, a grey-coated mare with a pale-yellow mane who grinned and waved before slipping out of view.

Twilight shook her head, refusing to believe that she’d seen the mare’s eyes pointing two different directions. That would have been too surreal.

“So, Twi…” Amethyst said through her teeth. “I guess it’s fair to say that this is bucking beautiful, eh?”

“Yes. That’s more than fair.”

“Sappy poetic verse, and all that bull, eh?”

Twilight smiled, her luminous eyes fixed firmly on the awesome azure anchorage ahead, finding the pinprick details in the Mothership’s internal aspect. “I suppose you could go that far.”

Amethyst smirked. “You just did it in your head, didn’t you?”

Twilight suppressed a most unsophisticated giggle. “Maybe a little. I'm bad at poetry.”

Amethyst let out a small chuckle of her own. “Goddesses, I wish Moony was here for this. She’d have a whole damn piece composed before we made it onto the research ship.”

Twilight’s smile faltered. “Yeah, she probably would.”

Amethyst grinned. “Just one more reason to be excited for tomorrow; we get to hear my marefriend wax poetic over the glories of a hangar bay—if she ever gets done with the outside of the ship, that is.”

Twilight did her best to keep smiling, even though she didn’t particularly feel it. She and Moondancer hadn’t been speaking when the latter left to join the crew of the Khar-Selim.

Moondancer had been on that ship for six years now, six years Amethyst had spent alone on the planet. And for what? Twilight had asked herself then, and she asked herself now. Why had she left? Just to grab a little extra glory? Just to get away a little faster? It didn’t even make sense. She should have been here, at least. They could use astrophysicists on the Scaffold, and Amethyst would have been a shuttle-flight away. Instead, she'd chosen to join a team that was slated to take a tour of the solar system.

And yet, Amethyst still loved Moondancer somehow. They still talked, celebrating anniversary after anniversary through a digital screen, waiting two hours between each snippet of conversation. Somehow, their relationship had survived it all. The only conclusion Twilight could draw was that Amethyst was just the most patient mare in the universe, and that there was no way Moondancer deserved her.

“It’s gonna be great,” Amethyst said. If she knew how Twilight felt, she refused to acknowledge it. “Me and her, back together at last. And you'll finally get a chance to get to know her.” She leaned over to Twilight and gave an exaggerated wink. “Who knows; maybe she can convince you to try a little adventure, if you know what I mean. Wink wink, nudge nudge.”

Twilight sighed, bottling up her reservations about Moondancer. She’d be back soon, and answers could come then. "Adventure," she deadpanned. "Really, Ammy?"

"Yeah, you know, let yourself relax and party, find some colt and just go nuts, maybe have a few drinks—" Amethyst caught herself, but the word had already slipped out. She and Twilight both winced.

"Sorry," Amethyst muttered. "Slip of the tongue."

Twilight didn’t look at her. "S'okay. It was a long time ago."

Amethyst let out a long sigh. "Look, I'm not asking you to go back to... then, but you have to loosen up a little. This should be a fun time for you!"

"Sounds great," Twilight said softly. "Maybe this time it won't end in disaster."

"Like I said, I'm not asking you to turn back into that. I promise, you can loosen up without going completely crazy, so please do, okay?"

"Amethyst..." Twilight said. "I've got a job. I've got a role. I can't play around like a filly anymore. As much as I'd like to just fool around with some colt or… have a few drinks, I can't. I've got responsibilities, and you do too."

Amethyst gave a derisive snort. “Heh, right. So you 'grew up'? That's your excuse?”

Twilight sighed. She was fairly certain she knew what was coming next. "Yes, I suppose I did."

The tram entered a “building” which jutted out from the inner hull, sliding to a stop before a gleaming platform. The doors parted with the faint hiss of hydraulic muscles.

Twilight stepped off first, Amethyst following her closely with an exaggerated spring in her step. “Hey, Twi!” she said in a mocking, childish tone. “Since I’m not all grown up like you, can I color all over the walls with crayon? Ooh! Maybe I’ll draw a pretty little purple unicorn like my dear, sweet, younger cousin!”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “I’m not playing this game, Ammy.”

“Whatever. Just remember, Twi... I know where the cookie jar is.”

Twilight let out an exasperated moan. “I’m done talking to you.”

“Fine, be that way hardflank. No cookies for you!” Amethyst stuck out her tongue and trotted away. She didn’t make five steps before bursting into laughter.

Twilight couldn’t help but smile. Amethyst really had started to change.

The docking tube was ahead, blocked by a sealed airlock that had been painted dull red and covered in warning labels. The room preceding it was set up like an airline terminal, with rows of fold-out chairs placed too close together for any real comfort, but plenty of floor-space for luggage or—under extenuating circumstances—bedrolls. It was even carpeted, in contrast to the normal, metal-floored corridors. There were no windows for safety reasons—the hangar outside wasn’t pressurized—but there were video screens against some of the walls, and most showed video feeds of the Mothership’s exterior.

There was only one pony present by the time Twilight and Amethyst arrived. She was a unicorn of about Twilight’s age, with an immaculate ice-white coat and a mane that was somewhere between indigo and violet, woven expertly into a swirling pattern so precise that Twilight couldn’t imagine doing the same to her own. As they approached, she looked up, blinked a few times, and let her eyes widen briefly before turning back to the object in her hooves, which appeared to be a tablet similar to the ones Twilight and Amethyst had just been using in the cargo hold.

Amethyst made her way over to the far end of the row where the other mare was seated, dropped into a slouch, and started making exaggerated snoring sounds.

Twilight made a point of ignoring her cousin and headed off towards the other mare. Twilight took the adjacent chair, gingerly setting herself down and folding her legs beneath her in the almost catlike way she’d come to associate with her fellow S’jetti. The other mare looked up at her briefly, smiled, and then went back to staring incredulously at Amethyst, who had by this point flopped onto her back and started kicking absentmindedly at the air.

It was surprising how much you could tell about a pony from how they sat in a chair. For example, the mare beside Twilight was clearly not used to this style of seat, as she’d adopted an awkward pose which had her leaning on her forehooves while her back legs were extended out in front of her, forcing her spine to curve slightly. It was an upper-class Naabali pose; intended to look imposing whilst perched on a tall, padded chair. Given her coat color and the attention obviously placed on her mane, it wasn’t unreasonable to guess the rest of her was Naabali as well.

Twilight reflected that she wasn’t great at starting off conversations and suppressed a sigh as the inevitable awkward silence fell upon them. She was just getting comfortable with the quiet when the mare spoke up, confusing Twilight’s thoughts in a single sentence.

Twilight had met a good number of Naabal’s privileged class during her life, often as fellow students in Academy City. She’d never much liked them, much preferring the company of her fellow S’jetti when she wasn’t studying alone, but she’d learned a fair amount about their culture in that time. 

The upper classes were strongly religious, mainly so that they could insist on being Celestia’s direct descendents. White coats were practically an unofficial dress-code, enforced through everything from dyejobs straight up to genetic manipulation. They also had hilarious accents, and typically invested an unwholesome amount in their appearances. The mare sitting next to Twilight Sparkle fit all those stereotypes perfectly.

But despite her posture, despite her lustrous coat, despite her carefully cured complexion, and despite the impeccable accent through which she spoke, the subject of her speech was all wrong. There was a code of introductions followed by upper-class Naabali—and Twilight had found (to her great dismay) that it was, in fact, an established piece of etiquette: 

Naabali introduced themselves by offering their name, their family’s holdings, and then the noteworthy deeds of their ancestors. In that order. They then waited for the other party to respond in kind, and an elaborate verbal dance ensued. To introduce oneself with anything else was considered incredibly rude, even if that introduction amounted to “nice weather we’re having.”

But the mare sitting next to her didn’t give her name. She didn’t give her family’s holding. She didn’t give the deeds of her ancestors. Instead, she said, “My, the ship certainly is a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

It was a silly little difference, but Twilight was so used to hearing that same little speech that she was forced to do a double-take. “Yes!” she said with a little more enthusiasm than she’d intended. She turned her attention to the television across from them, finding that it showed an expertly angled shot of the Mothership, with Kharequus forming a curved horizon beneath it and the sun casting both into silhouettes.

Come to think of it, Twilight had never really seen the Mothership on its own, separate from the Scaffold’s embrace. The first time she’d witnessed it, the Scaffold itself had blocked much of her view, and the subsequent times had been from within the station, making it hard to put it all in perspective.

But now it was all out in open space. The Mothership hung suspended in the aether, a pale gray crescent studded with tiny jeweled windows. The rays of the unfiltered sun sparkled across its armor, creating dazzling highlights against those stretches of metal that were unpainted. The command tower, set into the upper half, glimmered like a Hearth’s Warming Eve tree, while the hangar entrance glowed like some strange icy forge. The inside of the Mothership was beautiful, but the outside was positively resplendent.

And yet, the perspective was clear. It was so very tiny in the endless sky, against the maze of time and space. A species’ greatest achievement, caught in the blink of an eye. A pale grey dot in a wondrous cosmic tapestry…

Twilight shivered. Amethyst was right. Poetry came easily when these things were in plain view.

The mare didn’t offer up further comment, but Twilight found herself speaking before she even realized it. “It’s so big and… so small at the same time.” She cringed. Yep. That’s poetry, all right.

The mare smiled. “I think I know exactly what you mean, dear.” She extended a hoof, and Twilight noted the careful grooming even there. “Rarity. I’m an engineer.”

Twilight met the hoof with her own. “Twilight Sparkle, magitechnician and arcanoscientist.”

Rarity’s eyes lit up like little sapphires. “Oh-ho-ho! It truly is a pleasure, Miss Sparkle. I must say I’m well acquainted with your work.”

Twilight smiled back. “Thank you, really, but I’m afraid I’m not anywhere near as impressive as the press has made me out to be.” She inclined her head towards the airlock. “You’ve been assigned to the research ship, then? I haven’t seen you around the Scaffold before.”

“I am a late arrival, I suppose. Yes, I am stationed here, though…” Rarity’s smile faded. “I must confess, I’m not really certain about my position. Why, with ponies like you and—if my eyes did not deceive—Amethyst Star present, I can hardly imagine what place a simple engineer freshly graduated from the university has in this crew.”

Twilight’s eyes unfocused a bit as she asked herself the same question. Probably because your parents are rich enough to buy you a spot, she thought, but there was no way she was actually going to say that out loud. “I’d guess,” she mused, picking her words carefully. “That you are here to develop things. Research and development are both jobs of ours, after all.”

Rarity chuckled bitterly. “Aha, and there it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Twilight’s stomach knotted a bit. “What do you mean?”

“The accent. My coat. You think I’m a rich little heiress, don’t you?”

Twilight’s mind blanked. “It had occurred to me,” she replied flatly, then cursed her words.

“Mhmm.” Rarity fixed her with raised eyebrow. “Well, despite the fact that I was born in Tiir and attended Celestraad University for five years, I’ll have you know that there’s no ‘Celestial Blood’ in my family line. Nor is there much in the way of an inheritance, as it happens. Whatever contrivance placed me up here, it wasn’t economic.”

“Huh…” Twilight murmured. “And an engineer… you graduated from Celestraad University? After five years?”

Rarity’s eyebrow rose. “I believe that is what I said, yes.”

Twilight’s mental gears started moving again. Celestraad was just about the most prestigious school outside of S’jet’s domain. If Rarity wasn’t from a rich family and had graduated from—no, even been accepted into Celestraad, then she was a prodigy in her field, without a doubt. “That is quite an achievement,” Twilight said.

“Oh, all the studying nearly drove the skin from my bones,” Rarity muttered. She smiled faintly, eyes lowered. “But yes, I suppose it was an accomplishment. I won’t say I’m not the least bit proud.”

“Then it’s not such a mystery how you got here, is it?” Twilight pressed. “A pony graduating from Celestraad without a fortune is certainly”—she smirked—“a rarity.”

Rarity made a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle and quickly cleared her throat to cover it. “Oh dear. Please, tell me this isn’t your typical sense of humor, or I’m afraid I’ll have to resign on the spot!”

Twilight chuckled. “Sorry about that. Blame Lyra Heartstrings; her ways are a bit contagious.”

“Somepony say my name?”

Twilight turned, finding herself staring at the green-coated chin of the devil herself. She quickly adjusted her gaze, bringing Lyra’s face into view. Lyra had somehow snuck into the seat next to Twilight and adopted her odd back-against-the-chair sitting pose—which put her head a good three feet above Twilight’s. It wasn’t like she needed help on that front, of course. Lyra was rather spindly, while Twilight herself was more on the average-small side of things.

“Oh hello, Lyra,” Twilight said.

“Talkin ’bout me?” Lyra’s nose twitched—pointed, a little sharper than average. A very Manaani nose.

“I suppose we were,” Twilight replied. “We were discussing your awful puns and their viral spread.”

Lyra clutched a hoof to her chest in mock-horror. “You wound me, Twi!” she exclaimed, golden eyes widening.

Twilight rolled her eyes. She could indulge this for the moment. “I speak only the truth, Lyra.”

Suddenly, Lyra grinned an ice-white grin. “Oh…! I can’t stay mad at you, Twi!” She then grabbed Twilight by the shoulders, pulled her up to eye-level, and planted an incredibly passionate kiss. On the lips.

The next thing Twilight knew, she was lying on the floor. Lyra laughed uproariously, while Rarity glanced between the two of them like she’d just witnessed a murder. Twilight blinked past the shock.

“Oh Ce-les-ti-a!” Lyra choked out between sobs of laugher. She jabbed a hoof at Rarity, who jumped backwards like she’d just been shot. “The look…!” Lyra heaved in a breath. “The look on your FACE!” She descended even deeper into the throes of mirth as Twilight slowly picked herself off the floor, groaning and wiping a hoof across her lips.

Twilight slid into the chair, giving Lyra a dirty look. “Some day my vengeance will come, Heartstrings,” she growled, only sending Lyra into another fit. She turned to Rarity, who was giving her a hard stare.

But before anypony could play further into Lyra’s bizarre mind-game, there was a little “a-hem” from behind Lyra. She turned, still giggling and wiping tears from her eyes, and found herself staring up at Bon Bon, wearing a cocked eyebrow and a slight smile.

Bon Bon was in many ways Lyra’s opposite. Where Lyra was tall and lithe, Bon Bon was short and stout. Where Lyra was almost hyperactive, Bon Bon was cool and reserved. Her cream coat and smoothly-curled blue-pink mane were almost the only part of her that didn’t directly contrast with Lyra, and even then they weren’t exactly twinned. “What’s all this then?” Bon Bon asked, casually waving a hoof at the scene.

Twilight watched in awe as Lyra instantaneously assumed a perfect poker-face, bottling up everything that had just happened and jamming a metaphorical cork into the hole. “Oh, hey Bonnie.”

“What was so funny? Did I miss a joke?”

“Oh, you know Twi, such a kidder! She was just telling me this one about a Manaani trader and a Naabali minister—”

Bon Bon tilted her head just a fraction. “You’re still a terrible liar, Ly. I was watching the whole thing.”

And the cork blew right off as Lyra descended back into the pits of mirth from whence she came.

Bon Bon sighed, slipping into the seat next to Lyra, her posture a little closer to Twilight’s. “You’re lucky I know how you think, Ly. Most mares would take that kind of behavior as a sign of treason.”

On a hunch, Twilight turned to find Rarity utterly and completely dumbfounded. Twilight leaned in towards her ear and whispered, “They’re together.”

Rarity did a double take. “Ah. I’m aware of…” she gestured slightly at Bon Bon, who was playfully rubbing Lyra’s head. “...her, by reputation, but I’m not familiar with her… companion. She seems quite… liberal.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Lyra’s Manaani. You get used to it eventually.”

Comprehension spread across Rarity’s face. Her eyes crossed slightly, and she muttered a low “Aaaaah.”

Twilight smiled back and nodded her most sagely nod. She’d been living on the Scaffold for two months, and Lyra’s moments of… madness were a daily occurrence. This wasn’t even the first time they’d kissed, though thankfully that wasn’t quite so common.

Culture was a weird thing. Manaan’s especially. How Bon Bon could put up with everything Lyra did was beyond Twilight. That all said, even looking at them for two seconds made it plainly obvious that they deeply cared for each other.

It probably had more to do with Bon Bon, really. If Twilight Sparkle was intelligent—and she’d been told such before—then Bon Bon was wise. She’d done as much for the Mothership as Twilight had—and that without the backing of a large kiith or even an upper-level education.

Bon Bon Sagald, first heiress to the little kiith that just refused to die. Most people would call Sagald’s story tragic, but, having met Bon Bon, Twilight could only find it inspiring. Few ponies faced that kind of adversity, and fewer still lifted themselves up to such stature afterwards.

Rarity apparently came to some sort of resolution and left her seat to introduce herself to the odd couple. Amethyst had drifted over, smiling at the commotion with a surprising softness. Lyra said something that made Rarity blush furiously, simultaneously causing Bon Bon to chuckle behind her hoof.

Just looking at them, you’d never believe who they were. Lyra Heartstrings: multiple-award-winning equinologist. Bon Bon: inventor of the modern plasma drive. Amethyst Star: designer of the electro-arcano cannon. Twilight Sparkle, inventor of the Phased Dissassembler Array and the teleport shunt.

And then there was Rarity. The late arrival. The unknown. She seemed nice enough to Twilight, but there were things that just didn’t add up. Talent alone didn't get you onto the Mothership. You had to be the best, and the rest of the team simply were. Even Moondancer—who wouldn't be joining them until later—was an astrophysicist of incredible talent.

There had to be a reason for Rarity’s presence. Whether she was aware of it or not, something was going on beyond the obvious. It was probably a wealthy sponsor, perhaps a professor who’d become… fond of a pretty young mare from out of town. That wasn’t an impossibility—more extreme scandals had made it into the news in the past.

Yet, if what she’d said was true, if she was a middle-class Naabali mare who’d graduated from Celestraad University, then she was definitely gifted. It just remained to be seen what those gifts actually were.

But there would be plenty of time for that later. For now, Twilight wouldn’t contest Rarity’s place. She wasn’t about to deny anypony the opportunity they were recieving today.

A buzzer blared, and a red light above the airlock door flashed. The research team stood, each shaking off their dust. Twilight was the first to step forward, followed by Lyra and Bon Bon. Amethyst joined them, then finally Rarity.

Twilight felt a smile creeping along her lips as the airlock doors opened. Whatever might come ahead, whatever trials, whatever new experiences, whatever lay on the road to Equestria, and whatever lay at that mythical destination... she felt like she was ready to face it all.

She swept through the door with a spring in her step. History was being made today, and Twilight Sparkle wasn’t about to miss it.

> 1.3: Visionary
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: 7:46 P.M.
Location: Research Ship XR-01, docked at Terminal 6.

The Research ship was more complicated than it might seem. The newly-built vessel was actually only a single portion of the whole design. Six such ships would be needed to complete the set, linking together to form a circular station capable of housing dozens of ponies and nearly as many different research projects, but one ship was sufficient for the limited research team.

The Mothership’s research team was only five scientists strong—plus one pilot—so far. When the Khar-Selim’s crew joined the fleet, that number would jump to about a dozen. When the Mothership returned to the Scaffold for its final stop, to load the Cryo-Trays and bring aboard the full ten-thousand pony crew, the research team would number forty ponies, all experts or prodigies in their fields. Even then, three or four of the six planned ships would be enough to house the whole team.

The layout of the vessel was a simple, two deck plan. The lower half of the wedge-shaped space was split between an engine room, a fairly conservative recreation area, and six double-bunked chambers—more than enough space for the current occupants. The upper deck was accessible via a short staircase near the engines and was composed mostly of a large meeting and planning area, complete with a conference table, wall-sized display screen, and holo-imager. Jutting off from there, above the quarters, were the cockpit, two labs, a pair of small restrooms, and a well-stocked kitchen. At the far sides, twin airlocks marked the ship’s primary docking ports. A great deal of storage space was tucked away at various locations, mostly in a large cavity beneath the lower deck. The ship’s vital systems were similarly scattered, though most were clustered near the engines.

There was little in the way of armor, nothing the way of arms, and the absolute basics in terms of engines. The reactor, a dwarf of a thing nestled next to the drives, existed mainly to power the sensor tower extending from beneath the cockpit, which was equipped with just about every kind of detector and scanner that had been invented in the last century. The Mothership’s sensors array had better range and power, but the research ship could take one look at an object and know its whole history. Once all six ships had been constructed, the combined power of their array would render the Mothership’s instruments obsolete.

It was a tad inelegant, but in a way that made it all the more beautiful. It was simple, yet exquisitely engineered to fit its purpose. The great tragedy was that, in all likelihood, the full design would never be completed. The research ship might still be an incomplete ring by the time the Mothership reached Equestria, and after that, it would probably be retired.

These thoughts were the reason that Rarity found herself gripped by a sense of profound melancholy as she stepped aboard her new home. This ship had been designed by somepony with a clear passion for their trade, and now its full form was simply going to remain on paper forever; artwork unfinished.

The intercom gave a bitter screech, forcing Rarity to shield her ears. 

“Testing, testing, this thing on?” came a stallion’s voice—accented in a manner Rarity had never heard before. It was somewhere between an outland accent and an inner-city one. “Receivers should be up.”

Twilight Sparkle answered him. “We can hear you, Sunstone." She massaged her temples with a grimace. "You came on with a bit of feedback, though.”

“Gotcha. I’ll work on that. Y'all on board?”

Twilight glanced around. “I think so. Are you going to launch?”

“Check that. I’ll let you know if I need to do anything drastic.”

Rarity smiled. She didn’t really know why, but she liked Twilight Sparkle. It was something about the way she handled herself. There was a certain spark to her, an illogical charisma in her mannerisms and tone that contrasted with her—though Rarity would never speak it—somewhat plain looks.

Just… purple on purple? Not exactly eye-catching, though the magenta streak in the mane was a nice touch. Added a sort of subtle contrast to the composition. If Rarity only had access to some cosmetics… alas, the cruelties of space travel.

Regardless, the mare clearly didn’t trust her abilities. It wasn’t hard to understand; Rarity knew that she looked like an upper-class snob—and admittedly had spent a good deal of her younger life trying to become one—but she'd rejected that life long ago. Upper-class Naabali typically didn’t care much for anything beyond money and pleasure, and though she certainly wouldn’t have minded either of those things, she wanted a bit more than just that to come out of her life. Her passion was creation, and there was only so much magic you could work when you were being railroaded into a position as a banker or a politician. The Naabali prized artwork, of course, but artists typically came from outside the kiith.

Where was she? Ah yes, the research ship was launching. There wasn’t really a window to just look out of—there were portholes in the cabins, or in the airlock doors, but in both cases the openings were tiny and the walls thick enough to accommodate sliding blast shields. The view was, needless to say, sub par.

Then again, the view wasn’t really the point, was it? The mechanisms that had achieved the view were of greater interest, at least to Rarity. The view was something she could see any time, now that the ship was mobile. They could run circles around the Mothership, see every angle and inspect every solitary rivet if they so chose. They’d probably have time to do so, as well, what with the staggering lack of actual work to be done.

Rarity caught Twilight’s eye and motioned to the bags she was carrying. “I’ll just set my things down if you don’t mind, dear.”

Twilight nodded absently. “Rooms are below, things should be ready for you.”

She made her way to the lower deck and found that the rooms had already been assigned. Names were displayed on little LCD plaques above the rooms, with space for two names each. Rarity’s was alone, followed by a small rendition of the Naabalan Crest. Ponies nowadays said that it was a stylized circuit, but all that anypony really knew was that it was old, dating back to before the Khar-Celest had landed. It appeared in the ship's engineering section, and Rarity had heard that the current scholarly argument was that it was the marking of the ship's technicians. Appropriate, perhaps, back when Naabal was truly concerned with technology and progress, but out of place as the flag of the glitz-and-glamour kiith.





Looking at the other plaques, Rarity could see that each was decorated with a similar symbol. Expectedly, Twilight and Amethyst both shared the familiar S’jetti Crest—four orbs, two small and one big, all enclosed within the largest. It was supposed to be an old symbol, as old as the Khar-Celest itself, and represented the kiith’s origins as astronomers. It didn't match up with any orbital arrangement in the Kharequus system, but—as some televised scientist had once sarcastically put it, "It was never meant for this system anyhow." Given S'jet's mastery of the sciences, it was no surprise that the symbol featured prominently here. In fact, Rarity was a little surprised that it wasn’t on the ship’s hull. Then again, there were, as yet, only two S’jetti on the ship. There was no doubt that the number would increase dramatically soon, but for now it's was a multicultural breath of fresh air.





Next was Sunstone, the pilot whom Rarity had yet to meet. Next to his name was the LiirHra Crest: a pair of wings swept downwards above a curved horizon, meant to symbolize the kiith’s devotion to space travel. It was much more recently devised than most. LiirHra’s conception was scarcely more than a century ago, less than two decades before the Khar-Celest’s discovery. It was appropriate, then, that it was so deliberately symbolizing such a modern invention.





Lyra had the Manaani Crest, which was either a sand dune or a bird’s head, depending on how much you were squinting. Rarity had never been certain exactly what the symbol was. Either could refer to Manaan’s desert dwelling lifestyle and their nomadic traditions, so perhaps it was irrelevant. Manaani weren’t known for being scientists of any kind, but Manaani were known for constantly defying expectations and doing whatever they wanted. It wasn’t exactly out of place, just a little less expected.

        



When she caught sight of the name below Lyra’s, her mouth twitched a bit. Bon Bon and Lyra were sharing a room. To be expected, perhaps. It wasn’t particularly Rarity’s business to judge.

Then, she saw the symbol next to Bon Bon’s name. A simple, unembellished, upturned eye.





Rarity had seen it before, but on her life she couldn’t recall where. It was… alarming, in a way. She prided herself on her knowledge of Kharequuin culture, and she knew for a fact that it wasn’t the symbol of any of the particularly influential kiithid. There weren’t many kiithid these days that were small and independent. Most of those that were such were farming clans with a single homestead, somewhere remote enough that they simply lived the same way they had for generations. Many of those didn’t even have crests. 

But this one was familiar, and she just couldn’t place it.

“Sagald,” said a voice from behind her.

Rarity nearly jumped out of her own coat. She whirled to find Bon Bon standing behind her, a slight smile on her face. “I saw you looking,” she said. “It’s all right. Not many ponies remember us these days.”

Rarity’s eyes widened as the pieces slid into place. “Sagald…? Oh, but… I do know that name. Oh… oh heavens, it truly is an honor!”

Rarity was scandalized that she’d hadn’t recognized the symbol immediately. Sagald’s effective influence was miniscule, but their impact on the current paradigm was quite possibly the most important in recent history. A century earlier, they’d been a tiny kiith composed of earth-pony scientists, affiliated with but not subservient to S’jet. It was their research that eventually uncovered the Khar-Celest. 

But, Rarity reflected, there was a good reason she’d neglected to consider that Bon Bon was of Sagaldi descent. There were only thirty ponies who still bore Sagald’s colors. Kiith-Gaalsi had decreed them to be false prophets, and had acted on those words in their typical, brutish fashion. The fact that any of them remained alive at all was a testament to their strength and tenacity.

Bon Bon just shrugged. “It’s not really that big a deal, is it? It’s just a symbol to me, maybe some stories my grandmother used to tell.”

Rarity suppressed herself. Bon Bon was right; she was her own pony. Her family history might be impressive, but that was nothing to judge her by. “It’s still quite a legacy,” she murmured despite all of that. It was, after all.

“Yeah, but it’s just that. A legacy.” Bon Bon smiled, and her eyes wandered over Rarity’s mane for a moment. “Just out of curiosity… do you happen to know your grandmother?”

Rarity blinked in surprise. “Why… yes, I did. I loved her dearly. She was a seamstress. She taught me a great deal about the art before she passed.”

“How about the other one?”

Rarity tilted her head for a moment. “Well… to be frank, I’ve never met my paternal grandparents. Father didn’t much like talking about them.” She lowered her eyes and omitted the next comment: Not that father and I talk about much of anything.

“Ah.” Bon Bon’s eyes seemed to drift off into the distance. “That so, hmm? I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Well, like you said, what is in the past is in the past, is it not?”

Bon Bon chuckled. “In less elegant words, perhaps.”

Lyra appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. “Hey, Bonnie!” She called, hefting a wheeled suitcase. “I got the rest of the thingies.”

Bon Bon motioned her over. “I’m sorry to cut our meeting short, Rarity, but we should probably get started unpacking.”

“Oh yes, by all means. I should be doing the same.”

Bon Bon nodded her head and fell into step with Lyra. Rarity had to admit it; despite her biases, they made quite a cute couple.

Bon Bon paused at the doorway and shot Rarity one last glance. “By the way, a meeting is being called. Once you’re unpacked, I’d suggest you head up there and listen in. It seems Fleet Command wants some design work done.”

Time: 8:09 P.M.
Location: Research Ship Planning Area.

Rarity drummed a hoof on the conference table. “The Arrow-class reconnaissance fighter? Yes, I know of it.”

Great Journey, her visage imposed above the holoprojector, nodded slightly. “Then perhaps you understand the concerns of the squadron leader. She feels they are not adequate for the potential threats they could face.”

“Oh, I certainly agree that they’re not perfect.” Rarity slammed her hoof down. “There is a training sortie scheduled for today, is there not?”

“More of an airshow than an actual test, but yes.”

Rarity nodded decisively. “Then I will observe it personally and give my own verdict. I’m hardly perfect myself, but I should be able to spot any serious flaws.”

“Excellent,” Great Journey replied.

Rarity shifted her attention to the rest of the table. Twilight and Amethyst were both present, and both had strange, oddly tense expressions on their faces. “I’ll get to it, then,” Rarity said through the side of her mouth. “Thank you for the opportunity, Madame Journey.”

“Please, Rarity,” Fleet Command dipped her nose. “I’ll expect a report, but again, do not be too concerned with formality. I look forward to hearing back from you.”

“My pleasure as always, Great Journey.”

The holoprojector winked out, and Twilight Sparkle sucked in a breath. “You knew her.”

“Knew her?” Amethyst Star ground out through her teeth. “Sands on fire, you went to college with her? Hot damn, girl!”

Rarity stared back at them, uncomprehending. “She taught a course on arcanomechanics. I studied under her for a semester. It’s hardly anything to make a fuss about.”

“Hardly a… nope. Buck it.” Amethyst threw up her hooves. “I’m out. I’m downing at least half a bottle of that whiskey I smuggled in.”

Twilight clutched her head. “Oh, no. You brought sand-cursed whiskey onto the ship? Sands, Ammy! Do you not remember university?”

“Dulls the pain, cos. No amount of bad history is ever gonna change that.” Amethyst shrugged and stood up. “Anyway, if you want a shot or twelve, feel free to drop by my room. I’m guessing you’ve already got the silencing charms up.” 

“Yes, just like high school.” Twilight grimaced. "And I am going to vehemently deny that drink."

“Suit yourself. I’m going to be blasting my jams, so you'll have to step into the storm if you want me.” Amethyst hesitated. “Think you’ll be doing anything that requires a weaponsmith, new girl?”

Rarity assumed Amethyst meant her. “I doubt it, but there is a chance.”

“Well, if you do end up needing a gun, I’ve got about twelve different models that are around the right size for a space fighter. I’ll put a file on the ship’s public mainframe, let you browse. I’m not working tonight, though, so if it’s anything more complicated you’ll have to see me in the morning.” She fixed Rarity with a glare so fierce it made her flinch. “Oh, and new girl? You don’t know how I work, so let’s get one thing straight: I don’t do missiles. Bullets are fine, and if you go for lasers, I’ll make sweet, passionate love to you on the spot, but missiles are right out, got it? Magical energy is more Twi’s thing and doesn’t really work that well anyway, and plasma is… plasma.” She shook her head. “Still can’t get that right, so don’t bother asking. Oh, and bombs are out too. In fact, if you’re stupid enough to unironically put dumb-bombs on a spaceship, I’ll frag you myself, save the hotshots the trouble.”

With that, she trotted off and headed downstairs.

Rarity’s jaw hung open, and she barely even reacted when Twilight put a hoof around her shoulder. “Welcome to my world, Rarity. Sorry, that’s just how she is. Getting to know her’s not going to help.”

“She likes lasers?” Rarity murmured. “Oh, that’s interesting. I wonder if…” She shook her head. “Right. No. Not right now, and before you say anything, dear, I’d rather not know if she was serious about the ‘passionate love…’ thing.”

“She probably wasn’t.”

“Good. I think I’d have had to turn that offer down.”
 
“Honestly?” Twilight murmured absently, staring at the stairs where Amethyst had vanished. “I don’t think she would have given you the option if she was serious. She… takes what she wants.”

“Hm. Interesting. Actually, disturbing. Anyhow…” Rarity blinked and shifted her attention to the large screen at the end of the table and turned it on with her magic. Twilight moved to the seat beside her, grabbing a digital notepad from a cabinet on the other side of the room.

The training session was a formality, really; the Mothership had two squadrons of reconnaissance fighters, making ten ships in total, all Arrow-class. The pilots had all been training for at least a year, and were all quite talented if one was to believe the official numbers. Rarity had no doubt they’d been inflated a bit, but they were high enough that even a grain of truth would be quite impressive.

But Rarity wasn’t looking at the pilots. She was looking at their fighters.

“The Arrow Mark-I,” Rarity explained solemnly, “Is the modern take on the first patrol ships designed for the Scaffold and Mothership. They’re small, fast, and agile, but they have all of the drawbacks you find in anything designed in the last two decades.”

Twilight looked away from the camera feed, puzzled. “Drawbacks?”

Rarity nodded glumly. “A trend started fairly recently. Most ponies who know about these things attribute it to the death of Sunset Shimmer.”

“Sunset who?”

Rarity fixed Twilight with a look that was positively blistering. “Good heavens, how can you not know? She was the mare who put together half of the Mothership’s original schematics! She’s a hero to engineers everywhere… eccentricities notwithstanding.” Her face fell. “Tragically, she lost her life testing one of the early prototypes for the neural interface Fleet Command now uses. A shame… she was truly a brilliant mare.”

“I see. So when she died… what changed?”

Rarity’s eyes hardened. “There was a loss of vision, I would say. Designs became more conservative, excesses were brutally excised, true innovation and experimentation were discouraged. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency, and not one upgrade in a thousand bringing anything new! While Sunset Shimmer was leading development, there were leaps and bounds unheard of in history!” She sighed, lowering her eyes. “But now, it seems that fewer and fewer new inventions are being added to the repertoire. You must know the Mothership’s crew was supposed to be twenty thousand ponies, but now it’s cut to half that, all because somewhere, somepony is lining his or her saddlebags with the extra bits!”

“Ten thousand is still a lot of ponies,” Twilight pointed out. “Besides, it works, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, certainly! It works, all right.” Rarity grit her teeth. “Everything is delightfully, perfectly, adequate, but there are a hundred, no hundreds, of systems just… cut off from the rest of the ship! We were supposed to have a personal teleportation grid, personal matter compilers, miniature biospheres! Most of them are half-built, buried deep within the ship, hidden away. There is an acre of farmland on this ship! An acre! Of! Farmland! And we’re not using it, because it would have taken a few extra ponies to tend to it!”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “I believed you until you got to the ‘acre of farmland’ bit. There’s no way they actually—”

Rarity spun about and locked eyes with Twilight. “They uprooted it in pieces,” she said. “Taken from an uninhabited valley near the south pole. It was supposed to supplement the hydroponics bays and magi-factories as a source of fresh food. Currently, it is a barren expanse of dirt, hidden away within a sealed-off section of the ship. No air. No light. No life. Wasted.”

Twilight’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly, dear.”

Twilight opened her mouth twice before she could get any words out. “That’s… insane. How… how did that ever get approved?”

“Today, it never would,” Rarity answered. Her lips pursed into a grim line. “Whether it was worth it or not, we’ll never know for sure. The Mothership is full of such things, buried in metal and forever lost.” She sighed, shifting her gaze back towards the screen. “But, regardless, we do have an engagement. The pre-flight checks should be finished soon.”

She leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the table and clasping her hooves in front of her nose. “As I was saying, these ships suffered the same fate as the Mothership: adequacy. Let us see if these crooked Arrows still fly as straight as their mission requires.”
> 1.4: Flygirl
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: 7:46 P.M.
Location: Mothership Pilot Barracks A, Rainbow Dash’s Quarters.

“Hey, Dashie. Damn, look at how much you’ve grown…”

Rainbow Dash tried her damnedest to hold back. Crying was so uncool. This whole conversation was totally uncool. She’d spent too long building up a reputation to stop being cool now.

But you know what? To the deepest, blackest pits of Tartarus with being cool. She could make up for it later.

She smiled back at her dad through the video screen and felt the dam crack. “You haven’t changed a bit, dad,” she said, blinking ferociously at the tears running down her muzzle. It felt good, letting things out. Dash felt like there was some word for it, some deep philosophical term that she’d be trying to remember for the rest of the week. It boiled down to a simple fact: Being cool was overrated.

Bifrost cracked a smile. He’d lost a few teeth here and there, and the shiny gold replacements shined in the light streaming in through his tentflap. The lines around his eyes and lips made him look way older than forty-two, the ever-present sand having made camp within each and every crevice. His scars stood out like little islands on his cobalt coat: A jagged one across his jaw, a star shaped one on his chest, just inches right from his heart, and finally, a great slash across his forehead, slipping into his trademarked seven-colored mane.

 “Hey,” he said. “Don’t sugarcoat things; I’m getting older every day, right? I’ll be an old geezer soon.”

Dash choked back another sob. She’d lost one of his colors; the indigo had merged with the blue, thanks to her mother’s genes. As silly as it was when she looked back, she could remember just how insecure that little difference had made her. She’d worried about it for a whole summer before her father took her aside and showed her a picture of mom. He pointed to her white coat, then at how Dash’s was lighter than his. He pointed at her mane, at the vivid tricolor pattern she’d borne, then at how bright Dash’s own colors were. Finally, he pointed at her eyes, deepest magenta. “This is why you’re not like me,” he’d said. “Because you’ve got her in you too, and let me tell you, that is something to be proud of.”

Just one little moment they’d shared, one of a billion, but in a way it was the only time their family had been whole.

Dash grinned through the tears. “Nah, you're never gonna get old. You’re too cool. You'll be a hundred years old and still be just as awesome.”

Bifrost smiled sadly. “I only wish that was how it worked, Dashie. Still, you’ve got a point; I’ll make an awesome geezer.” He reached out and tapped the lens. “And you’ll make an awesome old hag some day. Don’t forget that, Dashie.”

It was code, and pretty obvious code when you thought about it. Live to a ripe old age. Don’t die young.

Thinking of it that way might have seemed a bit macabre to an outsider, but to them it was a way of life. Soban dealt in danger, and Rainboom Company was just about the most dangerous outfit there was. They were the elites, with the best gear and the most crazy. The took the jobs that were too risky for regular troops, the missions that were suicide to anypony else. Most of the time they came out okay, but every so often a job would go south and they’d lose somepony, sometimes several someponies. A long happy life and a comfy retirement weren’t guaranteed.

Rainbow Dash had been on two missions with her dad’s company. She was only in her teens at the time, but that was old enough for a Sobani. The first one had been fine; just an escort trip for a VIP who needed to make it across the desert in one piece. Through the whole fourteen hour trip, there wasn’t a single sign of Gaalsien raiders. Dash hadn’t even had to fire a shot, though she did learn to fly a gunship on-site.

The second one had been the same, until it turned into a nightmare. Blood, bullets, and rockets everywhere; Gaalsien suicide troops diving into her gunship’s turbines just to bring her down; smoke and haze clogging her lungs as she crawled from the burning wreck; raw pain from a broken leg and wing as her father half-dragged her into the trenches, taking bullet after bullet on his powered armor. Open war, with Rainbow Dash and Bifrost huddling in a foxhole at the center of it all, waiting for backup that came two hours late.

Sure, they weren’t exactly “good times”, but they were defining moments, times when father and daughter had been closer than ever, whether they were sitting on a flatbed and bitching about the heat or screaming for another magazine over the sound of mortar shells. They’d been close, then, and now they seemed so far away.

Dash held back another sob. She wasn’t going to break down, not in front of her dad. She’d let her tears out, but no further. “Hey, dad? Do me a favor. Mom’s grave… I know it's hard to get back there all the time, but keep doing the thing for me. Please?”

Bifrost nodded. “Left the flowers earlier today. She’d be proud of you, Dashie. Hay, who am I kidding. I’m buckin’ proud of you.”

It was getting harder and harder to stay even remotely cool.

“Don’t worry about me, Dash,” Bifrost said suddenly, as if he’d read her thoughts. “I can handle myself and the company just fine, been doin’ it forever. You’ve got your own adventure ahead of you.”

“Dad—”

“Ah ah ah. No buts, got it, Dash? You’re gonna fly high, little filly, and I don’t want you looking back down on my account.”

Rainbow Dash sucked in a breath, willing herself to remain just a little bit cool. “Okay, dad.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Bifrost’s face broke into a grin. “By the way, you’re totally failing to hold it together.”

Rainbow Dash laughed. “That obvious, huh?”

“Hey, look at my face,” Bifrost leaned in, revealing his tear-soaked cheeks. “If you’ve gotta cry, Dashie, then cry. Crying’s how we ponies let go and move on. Ain’t no shame in that, and I expect you to clock anypony who tells you different.”

Rainbow Dash laughed again and felt the dam falling apart. “You got it, dad.”

Bifrost stood back and popped his trademark salute, his right wing held at a jaunty angle above his nose, feathers splayed wide. “Clear skies, Rainbow Dash.”

Rainbow Dash stood and returned the gesture, tears spilling from her smiling eyes. “Clear skies, Bifrost.”

The communication winked out, and Dash nearly collapsed. She sat down on her bed and curled up, letting her emotions work themselves out for a while. 

She gave herself a few minutes to get a grip before she let herself leave her quarters. She was not going to be seen as a blubbering wreck, especially not by anypony outside of her family. She got up and tidied her mane a bit, not really paying much attention, and remembered belatedly that she was supposed to brush her teeth.

While she centered herself, Dash took a moment to look about her room. She’d only been staying here for a few days, but already she’d managed to make it her own. There were a few posters, one a recruitment-style piece featuring her dad’s grinning face with the caption “Let’s Crack their Skies”. There was another, similar number, this one featuring the Sobani Crest.





Depending on who you asked, the crest was either the visage of a bird of prey or a highly stylized vitruvian mare style pegasus, with wings simultaneously spread and folded. The politically correct version was of course the former, but it was no secret that Hurricane’s original followers—and many of his modern ones—had all borne wings. 

The poster’s tagline was “We Stand”. Kinda lame, really, but it fit. After all, despite Gaalsi’s freakish, techno-organic monsters, Soban and their plain old ordinary guns and rockets—along with the powered armor, tanks, and gunships—had been holding the abominations off for years now.

There was a simple bed, a little more lavish than the stuff back home in that it had a full set of sheets. A little nightstand stood beside, a lamp and fold-out desk built into the plain design. A photo of the Company was propped up there, Dash and her father standing, wings linked, in the center. Against one wall was a tiny closet, empty except for the non-mandatory uniform vest that practically nopony actually wore unless they were going to a meeting or had to carry a lot of crap around with them. There was a hooflocker as well, containing a few assorted knickknacks from planetside, but nothing really all that special. If Dash had been from some other kiith, she might have had a trophy or something to show for her quick rise through the Company’s lower ranks—which was not just because she was the boss’s daughter—but Soban was a spartan kiith, and the rewards for most of her achievements been vocal praise and heavier workloads, rather than bits of metal.

The four exceptions to that rule hung on the aforementioned vest: A little gold thing on a purple ribbon—for wounds inflicted in the line of duty—a brass pair of upswept wings tipped with little amethysts—for being downed while flying an aircraft and carrying on the fight regardless—then a six pointed silver star with a little ruby set in the center—for gallantry in the face of enemies of Soban. Last was the one she valued most; the Rainboom Company patch, seven concentric colored bands, radiating out from violet. In the center was a tiny silver wing. The seven colors were still vivid as the day she’d earned it.

She didn’t wear the vest much for two reasons. First, it was itchy. Second, she kind of felt like it was cheating, flashing the medals. She was the second most decorated pilot on the ship, but most of her medals, save the Fallen Wings, were things most Sobani ended up with several of by the end of their careers, and she wasn’t any more proud of them than the occasional faded scar she’d picked up either in training or during that one job gone wrong. The patch was different, but even it was sort of a given. She’d been born into the Company, and she was more than good enough to join its ranks as soon as she was old enough. Almost every Sobani had a similar story, and those that didn’t ended up leaving the kiith anyways. The Company’s reputation was better than most, but in a way it was still just the family business to her.

There were two other symbols on the vest, of course, but they were barely worth considering. The Sobani Crest hung just above the ribbons, and the Mothership Crest hung front-and-center over the chest, one wing concealing the clasp that held it on. On the whole, both were average. There were plenty of Sobani, and the wings-and-spheres were part of every uniform, since it was kinda the ship’s logo.

Still, she debated slipping it all on. Today was the second-to-last day above Kharequus, and the pit-stop they were making before heading off for good was probably going to last twelve hours at most. She almost certainly wouldn’t get to fly.

But practicality won out. She was going to be wearing her pilot’s suit anyway, and the vest would be extra itchy under all those layers. Plus, she’d tried it once before and discovered that the Silver Star had a habit of digging into her chest, something she couldn’t fix because, well, she’d be wearing a spacesuit.

So Rainbow Dash left it in the closet. She turned one last time, gazing at the photo framed by her bedside. She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and set a firm look upon her face. A grin spread across her lips, and she stepped out into the barracks foyer.

Spitfire was the first pony she noticed. She was the new squad leader, a replacement for the late—and admittedly less than great—Firebolt. She had a really nice fiery thing going with her mane and coat, and her body was hot as the Hells, too. Two things spoiled the image.

First, everything was hidden by the pilot suit she wore. It was similar in style to the vests, the main differences coming from the facts that it was a full-body spacesuit and that ponies actually wore the things, since, you know, there wasn’t any air in those cockpits. It was slimmed down from a real utility spacesuit and didn’t have anything in the way of pockets, just little clips where you could hook tools at the hooves—which worked great if you had a unicorn helping you or were a freaking artist with your wings. The air tank was small, designed to feed off a bigger one in your actual ship. If you ejected, you’d have thirty minutes of free activity, which you could extend to a slightly more reasonable six hours if you turned on the night-night spell built into the helmet. Of course, you couldn’t do much when you were unconscious, but there was also a handy little beacon that told the Mothership where you were, so assuming the whole situation hadn’t been fubared straight to Tartarus, you’d probably be fine. The suit had full wing-sleeves, which were made to lock with the control harness for the fighter, but in a pinch you could actually flap your wings in them. Given that pegasus flight was partly magic-based, you could even manage a little bit of movement in space. You looked like a drunk goose, most of the time, but in theory it could save your life. Dash had only ever tried airless flight once, and by the end the magic drain had made her wings so sore she had to stay on the ground for a week.

The second reason Spitfire’s smoking hot bod was spoiled for Dash was that she was the boss. Regs aside, propriety aside, common sense aside, there were just some things that were plain. Downright. Wrong. Lusting over the boss was one of them, at least as far as Rainbow Dash was concerned. When the boss had been her dad, this hadn’t been a problem for several obvious reasons, but with Spitfire, well… things were a little trickier.

Of course, Spitfire herself made it a bit easier with just how much of a hardflank she could be. She had that Drill Sergeant McNasty thing down pat: hard eyes, brow like a rock crusher, lips fixed in either a frown or a sneer depending on the object of her ire, voice somewhere between “lion roaring” and “cannon firing”.  Still, she’d been around long enough for Dash to catch the “squad leader” side of her as well. She might be a hardflank, but she cared. It was intriguing; a hidden face just below the surface, perhaps waiting for just the right rainbow maned mare to—

…Nope. Nope nope nope NOPE.

Rainbow Dash gave her head a good bonk. Nope. Not happening. The boss was off limits, and that included stupid sexy fantasies. Only trouble would follow.

Spitfire was having a heated discussion with Lightning Dust—really just a shouting match with Spitfire doing most of the shouting. Dash almost let herself grin, but she caught Spitfire’s eye for a moment and saw nothing but cold. It lasted only a second, but Rainbow Dash could feel the lingering frostbite from that glance.

So the boss was ticked at her, too. This was going to be a great morning.

Dust was pleading her case. “Look, I know overclocking the engines can be dangerous, but—”

Spitfire slammed her hoof against the deck. “But nothing, Dust. You are not to make further use of the boost system until I say so, is that clear?”

Dust bit her lip, her eyes narrowed. “As the Majiirian Sea, ma’am.”

Spitfire nodded decisively. “Good, then go get suited up.”

Lightning Dust disengaged with a half-formed salute and headed for the lockers. She had to go past Rainbow Dash on her way, and she aimed a bitter little kick at the latter’s shins. “Queen Spitfire’s on the warpath today, fillyfooler. Better be careful.”

“Oh, bite me,” Dash hissed back, eyes flickering to Spitfire, who was now definitely looking her way.

Dust gave a little huff and strode off. Dash took a moment to admire her swaying flanks, just to spite her. Plain fact: Dust was still hot as the burning sands, even if she’d turned out to be a total bitch.

Not that Rainbow Dash had ever been that interested. The whole feuding-aces thing was Cloud Kicker’s fault. At the time, there had been a bet involved, something hard to remember about Dash not having the guts to ask the new girl out. When Dash had proven her gutsiness, she’d found out the hard way just how Paktu ponies felt about curved relationships.

Dash had then tried to lighten the mood with a few totally innocent jibes about repressed feelings, but she’d eventually realized that whatever Dust’s problem was, it was a lot deeper than just a little confusion. It was a shame; they’d gotten along pretty well at first, and then all of a sudden WHAM! A wall of homophobia crushed all the good times like a freaking hammer.

In retrospect, that whole bet had been stupid. Dash made a mental note to give Cloud Kicker a noogie or something for it later.

Regardless, Spitfire was approaching, and from the look in her eyes she was pretty ticked. “Dash. A word.”

Rainbow Dash nervously noticed just how obviously that wasn’t a request. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’ve been looking over the records of previous flights. I happened to notice something rather interesting, something I’d been pretty sure I wasn’t seeing before, because I had a decent estimation of your intelligence. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Dash grimaced. Oh, this was going to be fun. “What exactly was the problem, ma’am?” she asked as innocently as she could.

“You might just have heard of the Arrow’s boost system.”

“I’m familiar with it, ma’am.”

“Rainbow Dash. Please tell me why, in the name of Celestia, you are using it on every. Bucking. Run.”

Rainbow Dash swallowed nervously. There it was. The pieces fell into place.

The Arrow-class had an ingenious little system installed. Basically, it used the pilot’s innate magic reserves to give the fighter’s engines some extra kick. It was supposed to be used sparingly, since most pegasi didn’t have much magic to begin with and sucking too much out forcibly could cause all kinds of nasty side effects.

But some pegasi did have lots of magic, and this included Rainbow Dash. This meant that she could, in theory, use the system for a good while, hours even, without suffering a burnout. This, in turn, meant that she could zip around at speeds that most pilots couldn’t match, coupled with better maneuverability thanks to juiced-up vernier thrusters. She usually used it sparingly, since it was kind of against the regs to even turn on the thing without authorization, but Firebolt had never cared about that anyway, and so she’d gotten used to the system. In fact, she was pretty sure the exercise was making her magic stronger, meaning she flew a little faster free-winged. She’d noticed a while back that Dust had been keeping up with her better, and had suspected the other pilot was doing something similar, but she’d never been sure until now. She guessed that Dust had just finished getting this lecture.

But the minor breach of the regs wasn’t the problem Spitfire was getting at. “Do you remember how your last squad leader bought it, Dash?”

“He overused the boost, ma’am,” Dash responded dutifully. “Suffered a burnout mid-maneuver and ended up blacking out while moving too fast for rescue craft to reach him. He then fell out of orbit and burned up in the atmosphere, ma’am.”

“And thus Firebolt lived up to his name,” Spitfire said without any humor. “Now, why. In the Equatorial Hells. Are you still using the sand cursed thing?”

Dash took her time answering. There was no point even considering lying; if Spitfire had the flight data, she knew that her accusation was true. “It… works for me, ma’am.”

“It works for you,” Spitfire repeated flatly. “Explain.”

“I don’t burn out, ma’am.”

“Right. See, that’s where you’re wrong, kiddo.” Spitfire stared her down. “Everypony burns out. You just think you don’t, because you’ve never hit that point.”

“I know my limits, ma’am.”

“I don’t think you do, Dash. I think you know some limits that don’t kill you, and I think you push them a little further every time you fly. Sooner or later, you’re going to push things a little too far, run into your real limit, and splatter like you hit pavement—exactly like Firebolt did.”

Rainbow Dash struggled to find a rebuttal, but Spitfire held up a hoof to stop her. “Look, I don’t care about excuses. You did a dumb thing. Repeatedly. You survived it, which is all well and good, but I don’t want to see you doing it again, got it? Your luck won’t last forever, Dash, and I’m not planning on scraping your stupid flank off of some space rock.” Her eyes lit up like little firestorms. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rainbow Dash answered dejectedly. “Clear as the desert sky, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, suit up and report to the hangar. We’ve only got one simple run for today, but it’s the big one. Eyes will be on us.”

Rainbow Dash saluted and made her way off towards the lockers. Thoughts were starting to form in her head, old worries that she’d thought were things of the past.

The boost system had kept her head and neck above the rest of the fliers on the Mothership. Without it, she was going to be stuck with the Arrow’s limits, stuck with the rest of the pack.

She had to wonder if she’d still be the best flier around.

Time: 8:10 P.M.
Location: Mothership Docking Sleeves. Cockpit of recon fighter Alpha-Zero-Two.

The recon ships rested snugly in their sleeves, and the pilots were already on their way in. Rainbow Dash paused at the top of the access ladder and glanced back at the deck crew. "Everything look good?"

Deck Chief Typhoon gave her a raised eyebrow. "Yeah. Everything looks good, Dash. We... wouldn't let you climb into the thing if it didn't."

"You sure? Like, everything's completely fine."

"Yeah. That's kinda the deck crew's job." Typhoon's eyebrow rose a little higher. "You sure you're okay? You seem nervous."

Dash grinned sheepishly and scrambed into the cockpit before she made herself look even dumber.

Of course everything was fine. Everything was always fine. The deck crew hadn't screwed up before, and they wouldn't now. Chief Typhoon had been managing the fighters on the Scaffold for years. He knew what he was doing, and his crew would, too.

She ran down the pre-flight checklist nearly automatically. 

Suit interface... check.

Fuel and air gauges... check.

Structural integrity scan... check.

Reactor stability... check.

Inertia dampening spells... check.

Main engines and vernier thrusters... check.

Readouts and Heads-Up-Display... check.

It looked okay. It was okay. Definitely. She signaled in. "Rainbow Dash; all pre-flights complete."

The radio buzzed to life, and a mare's voice was on the line. “This is flight control, reading all ships ready to go. Spitfire, we're giving you full command for the flight. Finish up and bring your kids up to the comm. We've got authorization for one last round of drinks before we shove off!”

"Roger that, Flight Control. And Scratch? Hold the booze. Some of these kids are barely old enough to fly.

"Ain't no harm in a glass or two before the big day!" the flight control officer said. "Still; your call. Docking control has your path cleared. Head on out."

Dash ran through the pre-flight checks one more time, just to be absolutely sure. Everything remained green. It was okay. So she might not be able to outfly the rest of the squad on magic alone anymore. Big deal! She was still the best flyer they had—barring the boss, of course. Can't compete with a veteran.

“You heard the lady, kids,” Spitfire said over the comm. “Head for your predetermined show-parade positions, and make it look good for those cameras! Releasing locks in three… two… one… GO!”

There was a dull clunk, and the clamps were off. Dash hit the throttle and zoomed out of the docking area. She could see the others doing the same in her peripheral vision.

They hurtled through the hangar. The space ahead was empty all the way to the outer door—docking control doing their jobs right for once. Nevertheless, one of the tug corvettes passed them close enough that Dash could give a little wink to the pilot—a sexy grey mare whose eyes…

Dash blinked and shook her head. The view must have been distorted by the cockpit glass.

She switched her focus back to the matter at hand. Dust and she were neck and neck, while Soarin and Thunderlane had chosen to take things a little more slowly. Spitfire was right behind Dust, and kept close enough to Dash that it was clear she was watching both of them.

They approached the secondary hangar doors, already parted to allow them passage like a great pair of castle gates. The thin Material Retention Field stretched across the space snagged onto the fighters, causing a momentary backwards tick on Dash's speedometer. 

Then they were out in open space. The Mothership fell away behind them, and the black arms of the cosmos reached out to embrace their tiny ships.

There were three observation towers extending out above the hangar doors, and Dash caught a glimpse of ponies cheering silently as she shot past. Fireworks were going off in the distance—massive charges laced with dazzling rockets and flares. It was as if the entire world was one huge party tonight.

And yet, all completely silent from where Dash sat. The idea that these celebrations were happening all over the planet was was difficult to process.

She focused on the matter at hand. Show-parade meant that the squad fell into a specific flight pattern as soon as they left the hangar. They split, arcing around the Mothership and weaving plastrails their into a threadbare ball around it. Then they broke off in a starburst pattern, turned around, and weaved a symbol in front of the Mothership before flying into a perfect Delta formation at its bow. There they remained as the plastrails formed the Mothership’s wings-and-circles crest behind them, slowly vanishing as they dispersed.

“Nice job, squad,” Spitfire said. “Now that we’re done with the showboating, let’s move on to the actual worthwhile crap. Claw formation!”

The fighters shifted, becoming a five-tipped claw with Spitfire’s craft in the center and just behind them. 

“On my mark…”

Dash spotted the drones, moving slowly into position. They looked a like gas tanks strapped to engines—mainly because that’s pretty much all they were they were. They were programmed with extremely basic flight instructions: go to a spot and wait to die. Anything more sophisticated than that was technically illegal. Little fins with red running lights stuck out at the “top” and “bottom” of each one. As Rainbow Dash watched, they came within range of her fighter’s IFF system, and little red boxes appeared around them.

“Mark.”

The squad shot forward, maintaining the formation. It was something they’d practiced for months now; something to focus the Arrows’ admittedly lackluster firepower into a single point. As they approached the drones at two hundred meters per second, the formation paid off.

“Fire!”

Five streams of shells slammed into the first target, shattering its frame and setting off its tiny fuel reserves. The next drone flashed on their HUDs, and the squadron shifted direction as one, opening fire on the second drone. A third went the same way before their pass ended.

“X-formation. Reverse thrust and come in slow. We’ll take the rest out all at once.”

The “talons” of the formation shifted back, so that the squad formed a flat “X” instead. This way, it was easier to engage multiple targets. As they approached, the squad cut their thrusters and used their verniers to aim their guns, each targeting a different drone. Dash proudly claimed two of the six remaining targets before the squad slipped past their wreckage.

Spitfire popped back on the radio. “Good job, squad. Form up back into Delta and get ready for test number two.”

Soarin’s mic came on. “Stance drills, boss?”

“We’ll start with formationless attacks,” Spitfire said. “Then it’s evasion with paint rounds.”

“Aww, but I just helped the deck guys scrub the paint off from last time!” Soarin mock-whined.

“Then don’t get shot, smartflank,” Thunderlane responded. “Ready to go, ma’am.”

“Drones are set and should be in your target window. On three… one… two…th—”

Dust shot ahead of the squadron, heading for the targets a little faster than she should have been.

Spitfire started swearing with the whole vocabulary of a Sobani veteran, and Dash made a mental note to remember a few little gems. “Follow her in and run the drills!” Spitfire shouted. "Hurricane's blood, I’m going to wring her sand-cursed neck for this!”

The squadron came in a half-second behind Lightning Dust, who managed to take out two of the sixteen drones before they reached her. Dash took out another as she watched Dust at work.

“What in the bucking hells are you doing, Dust?” Spitfire snapped. Dust didn’t answer.

Rainbow Dash watched as Lightning Dust zipped around like a sandfly, clearly abusing the boost system as far as it would go. “What…” she breathed, even as she slammed her hoof down on the trigger and blasted another target. 

Suddenly, Spitfire’s tone changed. “Sands on fire… Dust! Cut the boost system!” Again there was no response. “Your engines are going to bucking melt, you moron!”

And suddenly, Dust’s fighter jerked as something within exploded. A plume of fire shot out of the side, spinning the craft in circles as it careened away from the drones.

Spitfire started inventing new words at that point. “Squad! On me! You have clearance to use the boost system. We’ve got to get to her and find a way to bring her back.”

“I read you, ma’am,” Rainbow Dash said, hearing the same chorus coming from Soarin and Thunderlane. She slammed her hoof on the boost control and shot forward, then flipped her ship backwards and reversed thrust until she was flying parallel to Dust’s out of control fighter. 

The fire had gone out by now, but Dust wasn’t making course corrections. Her gyroscopes had stopped the spin, but they were only operating automatically. “I think she’s unconscious!” Dash reported before she caught a glimpse of Lightning Dust hanging loosely in her cockpit harness, a crack spiderwebbed across her helmet visor. “Definitely unconscious!”

Thunderlane shot in close, then pulled back. Damn it, my tow cable's not loaded. Does anypony have a tow-cable?”

“Ah, manure,” Soarin moaned. “We left them on the ship, remember? Why should we have needed tow cables for an airshow?”

Dash spared a glance for her navigational computer, then did a double-take. “Guys, we’re too far off! We’ve got maybe two minutes before we won’t be able to pull out of a falling orbit!”

“Damn it to the sands!” Spitfire’s ship zoomed past Dust’s fighter, and slowly eased in until their bellies were touching. Spitfire's RCS thrusters kicked in, shoving Dust's fighter slowly back towards a stable orbit. 

But it was blatantly obvious that Spitfire's plan wasn't working. Dust had basically burned straight against her orbit for around twenty seconds. A single set of RCS thrusters were nowhere near enough to fix the orbits of two fighters. Anypony could see how badly this was going to end.

“All right,” Spitfire said, her voice suddenly going soft. “Pull out, all of you.” 

“You sure about this, boss?” Soarin asked hesitantly.

“Go, damn it. That's an order.”

“All right, ma’am,” Thunderlane said. “Goddesses protect you.”

Spitfire pulled away from Dust's fighter. She maneuvered her fighter so that her magnetic docking clamps were parallel to Dust’s belly, and locked them on. Her RCS fired again, this time tilting both fighters until Spitfire's main engines were tilted in the right direction for an orbital climb.

Dash balked. “Ma’am, your clamps are gonna tear off!”

“I know, Dash. That’s why I’m keeping my acceleration low. Now shut up and leave before you get yourself killed!”

Dash watched helplessly as Spitfire’s engines ignited, yanking Dust’s fighter roughly towards the horizon. On the navigation aide, their landing location ticked forward slightly. Nowhere near enough.

Dash cursed under her breath, and altered her course to match.

As she approached, she could see exactly what Spitfire was doing. Her thrusters were kicking along at maybe one-quarter power, while her RCS thrusters were gunning at full just to keep Dust’s inertia from pulling her into a spin. From the golden tinge held by the jets, it looked like she was using the boost system as well.

“Sands on bucking fire…” Spitfire muttered, just loud enough that her microphone picked up. “Dash, don’t be a moron. Pull out.”

“Not gonna happen, ma’am.” Rainbow Dash rotated her fighter, bringing her clamps in line with dust’s upper hull. “Between the two of us, we might just have an actual shot at this.”

“Sands on bucking fire,” Spitfire repeated, but that was all she said.

Dash locked her clamps and felt the dull shock that signaled contact. She slowly increased her throttle, watching as Spitfire tuned down her RCS thrusters to compensate. Soon, they were moving in tandem, Dust’s fighter balanced between them.

And they were still coming in too low.

Then Dash heard the voice of another mare, sounding as wonderful as a flute on a breezy day:

“Tug-corvette Aman’sar to recon squad. I've got her!”

Spitfire breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Aman’sar, you’ve got the delta-v to get her back?”

“Um, only if I do it really fast. We’re almost in the atmosphere.”

Spitfire and Dash took that as a cue to disengage from Dust’s fighter. The tug slid into view, executing a reverse-burn to bring itself alongside Dust. “Is she still unconscious?”

"She's not making contact,” Rainbow Dash said. "I'm guessing a concussion."

“Get her back to the Mothership and make sure she gets to medical ASAP,” Spitfire ordered. “Dash, let’s clear out. We’re not any more help here.”

The two fighters cranked up their engines to full as the tug locked its magnetic grapples to Lightning Dust’s fighter.

“Recon squad, instruments say we’re hitting the upper atmosphere. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“You don’t have time to worry about us. Get her out of here, Aman’sar.”

Dash watched the rapidly vanishing tug. It was a kludged-together mess of a ship, clearly pulled together from several different designs. The central core was nearly the identical to the familiar lozenge-shaped Ambassador shuttle-corvette, though a second engine bank had been mounted below. Two massive magnetic grapples were attached to its sides, along with engines and thrusters built into their housing, probably along with a good number of other systems. The Porter wasn’t an elegant design, but it wasn’t meant to be. All it had to do was grab and push.

And boy, could it push. When the Aman’sar activated its backup thrusters, it lit up like a torch against the surface of Kharequus. It didn’t really seem to be moving right, but a glance the radar confirmed that it was quickly ascending into a higher orbit, away from the deadly friction of the atmosphere.

At first, it seemed like things were going well. Dash watched her altitude tick upwards, feeling the knot in her chest loosen. They were gonna be okay. Everypony was gonna be okay.

And then Spitfire’s engines stopped.

Dash’s breath caught in her throat. “Ma’am?”

“Fuel loss…? Damn. Of all the days for them to miss a fuel leak...”

“Ma’am, what’s your status?”

“Outta gas, Dash.”

Dash spoke without thinking. “All right. I’m lining up my cockpit with yours. Get ready to transfer.”

There was a pause. “What.”

“Ma’am, I’m not leaving you to burn here.”

“Oh my bucking…” Spitfire trailed off, and the tension hung like razor wire in the air. “Fine. Make it fast.”

Rainbow Dash didn’t waste any time. She spun her ship around and matched course with Spitfire’s craft again before rotating as fast as the ship would turn. She could feel the inertia through the dampeners as her HUD gave a bleek in protest. She looked up, judging by eye the point at which Spitfire’s cockpit was lined up with hers. She bit her lip. Couldn’t be sure, but it looked good.

For a moment, Rainbow Dash and Spitfire both looked up through their cockpit canopies, their eyes meeting in silence. Neither said a word, but Rainbow Dash gave a short nod and keyed her canopy to open.

It was odd, how nothing seemed to change. In the movies, there was always some hiss of air or dull thud, but in this case there wasn’t anything like that at all. The cockpits weren’t pressurized to begin with, of course, so there was no real reason for them to make such a sound.

She watched as Spitfire unhooked her harness and did the same with her canopy before carefully pushing off from her ship. The fighter swayed slightly before the gyroscopes could correct the turn, and started drifting slowly off towards the dark surface below.

Spitfire drifted towards Dash, wings splayed in their protective sheaths. She didn’t flap, only coasted, using slight twitches to adjust her heading, little bursts of magic. Dash could see her wince at each flap.

As far as Dash knew, Spitfire was on the low-end of magical power for a pegasus. Using your wings in a vaccum was ridiculously hard on a good day—without air, your magic had to do five, maybe six times the work it normally did. With the way she’d been boosting before, this maneuvering could be putting her on the edge of a burnout.

Spitfire caught the edge of the canopy with her hoof, and swung herself carefully into the cockpit. Rainbow Dash tried to shuffle aside, but the control harness kept her rooted in the center. In the end, Spitfire simply had to scrunch herself, spacesuit and all, into the side of the cockpit.

“You secure, ma’am?” Dash asked.

“As I’ll be,” Spitfire answered. She was breathing heavily, and her head drooped in her helmet. “Get us out of here, Dash. Forget my fighter.”

“Got it, ma’am.” Dash keyed the canopy closed, and gunned her engines. She felt a shift as the inertia hit her, and saw Spitfire slide backwards a bit. “Sorry, ma’am!”

“Forget it. Keep going.”

Dash’s eyes locked on  the nav-aide, and her heart dropped into her stomach and began to burn. “Oh hells.”

“What, Dash?”

“We’re too low… not gonna make it out like this.” Rainbow Dash shut her eyes, willing her stupid brain to come up with something, any way to get back to safety. There was one possibility… they might have a chance if she burned at just the right angle while passing through the upper atmosphere. Maybe. If Celestia was holding onto their fighter with both hooves.

“Got a plan, Dash?”

‘Yeah, but I don’t think you want to know, ma’am.”

“Well, damn,” Spitfire chuckled. “I guess I’m putting my life in your hooves, Dash. Good bucking luck. You should have left me to burn.”

“Sobani don’t leave squadmates behind, ma’am.”

Spitfire chuckled faintly. “I suppose that’s right, isn’t it?”

Dash keyed the maneuver into the nav-aide, eyes flickering to the horizon. The sun was rising against the planet, its light exploding across the planet’s surface like a rolling wave of golden fire. It was a stunning sight. Not too bad for a final view.

Rainbow Dash shook herself and locked her eyes on the navigation aide as she rotated into position for the burn. The angle had to be just about perfect, or the fighter was done for. Her eyes snapped to the fuel gauge—a little low for comfort. 

Three seconds on the nav-aide. Two. One. 

Rainbow Dash hit the ignition and froze her wings in the harness. She could hear the muffled roar of the engines behind her, feel the light tremble and the faint tug of movement through the inertial dampeners. For second after second, she couldn’t tell what was going on outside. Her cockpit was turned away from Kharequus.

Then she caught a glimpse of the fire licking against her hull. She was burning.

Still too low!

The altimeter ticked down steadily, and a quick glance at the nav-aide showed her orbital path quickly retracting as the atmosphere tugged her down. A drop of sweat dripped down her nose as she watched all those numbers ticking down. The Arrows couldn’t survive re-entry. They’d be dead before she hit the ground.

There wasn’t time to think. She hit the boost.

Maybe it was the panic or maybe the way the atmosphere was taxing the inertial dampening field, but when Rainbow Dash used the boost, she felt it. It was like a kick in the chest, forcing her back into the harness. Spitfire fell back against the cockpit wall, letting out a string of curses as she hit. Something flickered at the edges of Dash’s vision, lights in the dark that couldn’t exist. Something else whispered strange, formless things into her ear.

And then she was out of the atmosphere.

“Holy hells, Dash,” Spitfire coughed as she pulled herself back towards the front of the cockpit.  “What did you just do?”

Rainbow Dash shook her head. “B-boost, ma’am. I think I went… ugh… a little overboard.”

“Damn right you did. Take a look at our orbit.”

Dash did. She’d shot into an elliptical orbit so high that it could take days to complete.

“You got enough fuel to ease that off?”

Dash checked her fuel gauge. "Barely, but yeah." She switched her heading, pulling her orbit down to a reasonable level before setting up for the circularization burn.

“How about now, Dash? Enough to transfer orbits and get back to the Scaffold?”

Dash checked the gauge, shut her eyes, and thought about math as hard as she could. “Doubt it, ma’am. I might be able to pull it off, but it’s gonna be a trick. Could use the boost system, but…” She sucked in a breath. “To be frank, ma’am, I’m not really sure I want to.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Guess I’m stuck here with you.” Spitfire sighed and shook her head. “Well, you’ve got the comms. Call for a pickup.”

Dash let herself hang in the harness for the moment, letting her breathing go back to somewhere approaching a normal rate. She hadn’t realized just how stressed out she’d been. Her wings were sore where she’d had them tensed. In fact, her entire body ached.

She couldn’t help but glance at Spitfire who caught her gaze and held it levelly. Her speculation had been dead on earlier, when she’d mused that Spitfire had a hidden side. With how badly Lightning Dust had just bucked things up, Dash was a little surprised that Spitfire hadn’t just let her burn.

“You gonna keep giving me meaningful glances, Dash, or are you gonna call for rescue?”

Dash sighed, and started keying in the radio broadcast.

Hardflank though Spitfire might be, Sobani though she might be, most leaders didn’t stick their necks in the oven just to save a dumbflank who’d brought herself down while brazenly defying a direct order in front of an entire planet’s worth of celebrating ponies.

Time: 9:39 P.M.
Location: Somewhere in Kharequuin orbit.

It was over an hour before a ship made it out to them, half an hour Spitfire and Rainbow Dash spent mostly catching their breath and checking that nothing too important had melted off the fighter. The resource collector made itself known first with a short hail. Then it appeared as a tiny dot, far off towards the rim of Kharequus.

Rainbow Dash stretched her legs as much as she could while enmeshed in the control harness. “Gee, took them long enough.”

“Better late than never,” Spitfire muttered. She tapped her suit radio. “Recon leader to…” Dash caught an almost imperceptible groan from Spitfire. “First Hoofstep. You got fuel, or are we riding as cargo?”

“We’ve got fuel lines, Alpha lead. Don’t worry your pretty lil’ heads about needing to be dragged home.”

Spitfire sighed. “Fantastic.”

“Hey.” The collector captain lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Just to let you know, it looks like most of the cameras ‘failed’ when that whole mess went down. For what it’s worth, the only shots that got broadcast showed a fighter malfunctioning and the rest of the squad pulling a bunch of heroic manure. It was a bit harder to hide from the ponies watching through windows, but you were pretty far from the Mothership, and I’m not planning on commenting about it.”

Spitfire gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, ain’t that just bucking perfect.”

“Hey, just calling it like I see it.” The resource collector slowed to match the fighter. “You both packed into the one ship?”

“Long story. Dash, get us that gas.”

Rainbow Dash snapped out of her concentration. “Got it, ma’am. Thanks for the pickup, First Hoofstep.”

“Hey, don’t mention it, Recon two. For what it’s worth, I saw every second of what you guys pulled. That was some damn fine flying, and if the bits of radio chatter I picked up are any indication, you both deserve medals for it.”

Dash pulled her fighter in, lining up the docking port on its side with the fuel tubes on the collector’s belly. “Just how Sobani operate, ma’am. Never leave a squadmate behind.”

“Damn respectable, that is.” Dash could hear a faint hiss as the valves connected, then a dull hum as fuel started to fill her tanks. “You hotshots got my respect, even if… hells, especially if what I think happened actually happened.”

The valves hissed shut, and Dash used her verniers to push off. Spitfire moved to take her place. 

“Dash, let’s take off.” Spitfire laughed a little, sounding absolutely exhausted. “I’m just going to assume you won’t screw up the intercept and end up smashing us into a satellite or something.”

Rainbow Dash’s mouth quirked upwards. “After today? That’d be a pretty lame note to go out on. No worries, ma’am.”

“That’s what I like to hear, kiddo.”

“Good flying, you two,” the collector’s captain said. “If I run into you on the Mothership, you’re both entitled to whatever alcohol I can scrounge up.”

Dash felt her lip twitch. “Not legal to drink yet under Scaffold Law, ma’am.”

Spitfire and the collector's captain laughed in tandem. "Kid," Spitfire said, "I don't care how old you are. You deserve a drink after that one."

"Couldn't've put it better myself," the captain said. “Anyway, fly safe. Drinks or no, you two deserve a damn rest.”

As she burned plasma on her way into high orbit, Dash felt a grin slip onto her face. Today might have sucked on all kinds of levels, but she’d also accomplished something amazing… no, more like dozens of amazing things, all in quick succession. She wasn’t going to start counting now, but she was pretty sure at least eight records had just been shattered.

Besides that, everypony had made it out alive thanks to her. While this wasn’t the sort of thing she was going to brag about, it felt pretty good to be an actual hero for once.

Time: 10:33 P.M.
Location: Mothership Medbay MD-06.

“She’s still out?” Spitfire asked as she walked into the medbay.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Medical Officer Redheart said, looking up from her tablet. “She burned out, then kept burning out, all the way up until I popped her full of magic inhibitors. Ten more minutes and her brain would have been cooked.”

Rainbow Dash didn’t say anything. She watched Lightning Dust’s breathing, let her eyes run up and down the IVs and monitor cables all hitched up to her like spiders’ webs. She’d never liked medical equipment—it gave her the heebie-jeebies that someone could control whether you lived or died with a tube in your leg and some electrodes on your chest.

Lightning Dust somehow managed to look tense even while she was unconscious. She’d been strapped down, but only because she’d been having little thrashing fits. Dash didn't know the whole situation, but it was obviously super bucked up.

Dust... Why had she done it? What happened? She’d been totally normal earlier—her bitchy, grumpy self—and then suddenly she disobeyed a direct order, nearly got herself killed, and apparently kept trying to get herself killed. It didn’t fit with her personality.

“Umm, Nurse Redheart, I have the records you asked for.”

Rainbow Dash turned and found herself staring at the cutest little mare she’d ever laid eyes on. She was thin and just a little taller than average, with a long pink mane and tail curled in a way that managed to seem conservative despite their length. Her cream-yellow coat looked soft. For an instant, Rainbow met eyes with her, and something happened to the mare. She hunched in on herself, shifting her eyes to the floor and continuing on her way.

Rainbow Dash blinked in surprise. She would have been insulted if the reaction didn’t seem so automatic. It was like the she was conditioned to be afraid of other ponies.

The cute-but-sad mare gave Redheart a tablet. “I didn’t see anything obvious. Except… well… never mind...”

Redheart looked up from the tablet. “What is it, Fluttershy?”

The mare bit her lip. “In her early records, two cases of unexplained b-burnouts. The doctor’s notes linked them to some kind of familial trouble, but it’s not… um… clear.”

“Ah geez,” Redheart grunted. “This never ends well. All right, Fluttershy, check her meds and make sure everything’s stable. I don’t have anything else for you to do right now, so feel free to head out whenever you like.” 

The nurse named Fluttershy did what she was asked and left without another word. She didn’t meet Dash’s eyes again.

Redheart turned her attention to Spitfire. “Thanks for stopping by, but there’s not much you can do for her right now.”

Spitfire nodded. “Is there a chance she could be moved?”

Redheart’s eyebrow shot up. “Moved where, exactly? I don’t like moving patients.”

“Scaffold medical facilities. Fleet Command and I have talked, and we agreed that she needs to go.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. She’s under my care, and she’s not stable enough that I’m confident of moving her, regardless of what Fleet Command says.” Redheart smiled. “Sorry, but that’s my ruling.”

“So, she stays on the ship?”

Redheart nodded. “Until she’s out of my care. Might be before we leave for good, might be after. I can’t be sure.”

Spitfire opened her mouth to reply, but Redheart held up a hoof. “Just stop for a second. I know you’re mad. I know she did something stupid and got herself into this mess. I know she made you look bad, but there are some things you should know about her condition."

Spitfire narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Fine.”

“She’s stable, but I don’t know whether or not she’ll ever be off magic inhibitors. Even if she is, she’s got nerve damage. She’s not flying again, not with those wings.”

Rainbow Dash inhaled sharply. Spitfire twitched.

“Exactly.” Redheart tilted her head back to indicate her lack of wings. “Can’t say I know how that feels, but I bet you two do. She’s paid for her mistake plenty already, so I’m just asking you take it easy on the girl. She bucked up, but tossing her off the ship isn’t going to do anypony any good.”

Spitfire closed her eyes. “You’re sure about this? She’s never flying again?”

“I’m not an expert on magic, but I know the nervous system. I doubt she’ll be able to move her wings at all.”

Spitfire sighed. “Dash, we’re going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you for your time, doc.”

“Just doing my job. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t end up seeing any of you folks again. It’s Tartarus what happened to Lightning Dust. Wouldn’t wish that kind of thing on anypony.”

Spitfire made it two steps out of the door before tilting her head to the ceiling. “Journey!” she called.

“Yes, Spitfire?”

“I’m not in the mood to be polite. Call the research team and tell them that I want them to pull that sand cursed boost system right out of the bucking schematics. I don’t care if it’s the same old ship or an entirely new design, but I don’t want that thing anywhere near my pilots. Got that?”

“I fully understand. I will relay your wishes.”

“Thanks, boss,” Spitfire said. Once again, she sounded exhausted. “Sorry about my tone. Rough day.”

“Again, I fully understand. Please, do get some rest.”

Spitfire nodded. “Dash, dismissed.”

Rainbow Dash saluted and left as fast as she could.

Thinking was hard, and Rainbow didn’t want to think. Not about her dad, not about Spitfire, not about Lightning Dust. Maybe a bit about Fluttershy, but not right now. Her stomach was growling. She didn’t have to think real hard to deal with that.
> 1.5: Healer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Date: 2/11/1215 KDS. An Ordinary Day, One Year Ago.
Time: 5:10 P.M. Tiir/Scaffold Standard Time.
Mothership Position: Docked to Scaffold, Kharequus Geostationary Orbit. Under Construction.
Location: Scaffold Transit Tunnel F-9.

Scaffold transit tunnel. Pedestrian, mostly, with a two-lane road through the middle for transport trucks and other vehicles. I’m walking along the side, thinking about the taste of the air, how it’s got a metallic tang to it. Don’t like it. Never liked the smell of metal. Not that the sand back home is much better; grass is a rare commodity, even in the Paktu States.

Carrying groceries from the commissary, heading back to the dormitories. Day’s been going well. No medical emergencies since Sea Swirl collapsed last week. Turned out to be pregnant, and she had to go back to her home in Naabal. Sad, but can’t have foals on the Mothership. Colony would be no environment for children, not at first, anyway. It was go back or have an abortion, and Sea Swirl could never do that. I know it’s her choice, but it made me happy. She’d always said she wanted a child, after all.

Mind wandering. Normal. Smiling to self.

Mare coming towards me from down the street. Recognize her, but can’t put a name to her face. She’s carrying groceries too, happy. She waves to me, and we stop to chat. The whole time I’m trying to remember her name, smiling and laughing quietly at her jokes. They’re not that funny, but somehow the fact that I can’t quite remember her name makes it something I can laugh at. I shrink away, as usual, but I don’t run or anything. It’s… nice.

There’s a bus coming along. Don’t pay it any mind. Buses on the Scaffold are for the older ponies or the ones who have a disability. Or the ones who are too tired or lazy for a bit of a walk. Not for me.

Then somepony screams. I whip around. It’s a pony hanging from the bus window. He’s bleeding badly from a cut on his neck. His mane is a mess, caked in blood that isn’t all his. He screams again, and this time I can tell he’s saying words.

“A bomb!” he says. “Get back! There’s a bomb on the bus!”

Then everything gets bright. Then it gets loud. Then it gets hot.

And then everything gets dark, quiet, and cold, as if Celestia turned off the sun in the desert.

Can’t see anything. Can’t really feel, aside from a dull throb throughout my body. Sounds swimming about like I’m underwater. Eyes open and all I can see are flames and chaos. Ponies running. Ponies bleeding. Ponies dying. The on-duty paramedics and firefighters are already galloping to the scene. The automated traffic barriers have blocked the site off.

Lying on my side. Something heavy on my ribs, making it hard to breathe. Try to push it off, feel warmth. Softness. It’s a body.

Her name... her name is Green Fields. She was in my anatomy class, and she always made fun of the teacher, who was her cousin. She failed the class, but passed it the next time she took it. She was always nice to me, fought off that stallion who kept coming after me when I went to my dorm. Treated her briefly while working as a nurse when she came in to a the hospital after a fall that broke her leg. Was exhausted myself, didn’t recognize her at the time, was confused when she said my name. Saw her at the entrance exam for the Mothership’s crew. Spoke to her afterwards. She told me that Equestria had been in her dreams, that she wanted to go there more than anything.

She jumped between me and the bus. She saved my life.

Push her off as gently as I can. Try to stand, but stagger. Head spinning. Probably concussion, may be serious. Should lie still, but don’t. Want to help. Not carrying my medical supplies, off duty, but I can still treat her. Scraps of grocery bags as makeshift bandages, 

Look at her, and know it’s probably too late. Breathing ragged, side bloody. Ears bleeding, probably ruptured by the blast. Eyes closed tight. Severe pain. Can’t tell exactly where she’s hurt, but it’s bad, and it’s inside.

The paramedics grab us, pull me away from her. One checks her, says it’s too late.

Try to break free, get to Green Fields. Paramedics loading her onto a stretcher, trying to get me to calm down.

I scream her name, and she opens her eyes. She smiles.

And like that, she’s gone. Somepony I once knew, snuffed out like a candle in a sandstorm.

The alarm clock rang.

Date: 1/21/1216 KDS 
Time: 8:13 P.M.
Mothership Position: Kharequus Geostationary Orbit, Scaffold Area.
Location: Security barracks C-2, Fluttershy’s Quarters.

 
It was the same dream she’d been having for months. It was almost a cruel joke, as if her mind insisted on reminding her what happened, as if it wasn’t already seared into her memory like the shrapnel from that bus had been seared into Green Fields.
 
She slowly edged her way out of bed, leaving the covers behind. She stumbled her way over to the washroom and got a look at her face. There were big dark rings under her eyes, and as usual she used makeup to hide them. At the end, she almost looked normal, but she couldn’t force herself to smile. It had been a while since she could force herself to smile.
 
It had been unfair. No pony had ever thought that terrorists were fair, but to her it seemed even less so. Thirty ponies had died because of that bomb, and over five dozen more were injured. She’d been right at ground zero, and she’d come out alive. Green Fields had died before they even got her into the ambulance. The ponies on the bus had been vaporized, including the pony who’d set the bomb—a religious fanatic from kiith-Gaalsi who’d masqueraded as a low-clearance technician. She knew it was survivor’s guilt; that she should be thankful that Celestia had spared her, but that line of thinking never seemed to go anywhere pleasant for some reason.
 
It happened once or twice a year, nowadays. Gaalsieni were caught all the time trying to smuggle things onto the Mothership or the Scaffold, ranging from fireworks and homemade pressure-cooker bombs to military grade plastic explosives and hoofcannons concealed within prosthetic limbs. Occasionally, one or two would get through, and the newspaper headlines would turn another sixty deaths into a statistic.
 
Some called it “The Second Heresy War,” and while the Daiamiid refused to acknowledge that Gaalsien attacks were anything more than a nuisance, the ponies on the Mothership and Scaffold had grown accustomed to the idea that at any moment their lives would have to stop as a terror alert went out and the doors all sealed. The Jump couldn’t come fast enough.
 
Fluttershy finished making herself feel presentable and trotted out of the room. There were other members of the security force in the common room, but she passed them by. A few glanced her way, but said nothing. Everypony in security knew her story; she was the little pegasus who didn’t die when the reaper came for her. Some pitied her for living through such a traumatic event, and others feared her for exactly the same reason. Both were attitudes she hated, though she’d never do more than lower her eyes and maybe smile. Just like mother taught. Don't speak up unless spoken to. Don't bother others with your foalish little problems.
 
She caught sight of a stallion—a face she hadn’t seen before—moving towards her despite the hissed warnings from a mare she recognized as Cinder Storm, part of the engineering decks’ security team. She quickened her pace, trying to make it to the door before he could catch up with her. She could see the words in his eyes: “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
 
Meaningless niceties, maddening things. She knew that she looked “broken”, and that for a lot of stallions—and for more than a few mares—she evoked an almost instinctual romantic protectiveness, like some kind of idealized fictional character. The idea that all she needed was somepony special to “fix” her drove her crazy, and the not-so-subtle offers only made things worse.

She came through the door faster than she’d intended and bumped straight into Snowflake. The shock nearly sent her tumbling, but her wings shot out to maintain her balance. At least they were good for that much.

Snowflake didn’t look like a pony. He was so big, so heavily muscled, and so conventionally unattractive that he’d been compared to a giant sand-boar which had come in contact with a speeding Baserunner. His tiny wings—symptomatic of his aero-achondroplasia, colloquially known as Thinfeather’s Disease—had earned him more than his fair share of scorn—until he turned to bodybuilding as a hobby, of course. His red eyes and white coat gave him a strange, almost eerie appearance, and the fact that his most common expression was a brutish leer didn’t exactly help his chances with the mares.

That all said, he was one of Fluttershy’s closest friends.
 
Their eyes met, and Fluttershy’s gaze flicked back to her pursuer. Snowflake nodded curtly and shifted to block the door as she resumed her escape. As she left, she could hear his baritone voice, probably explaining for the thousandth time that she just wanted to be left alone.
 
She bit her lip but didn’t look back. 
 
Even her daily routine had become a race to escape the attentions of others. Sometimes, she wished that it had been her who had died on that stretcher.

Time: 8:29 P.M.
Location: Mothership Medbay MD-6.

Aside from dealing with terrorist threats and the aftermath thereof, security ponies didn’t have much of a job, and security medics were even less in demand. Fluttershy usually made herself useful by assisting in one of the medbays—typically Redheart’s.

It was… okay. The worst they ended up treating were typically broken limbs from when somepony fell off a catwalk in the engineering sections, or electrical burns from when somepony accidentally stuck their hoof against a live wire. Even then, the safety spells within the Mothership typically prevented those types of injuries from being too severe.

So it was a shock when she walked in on Redheart frantically setting up a full medical bed with genuine worry in her eyes. Redheart was the kind of pony who managed well as a medical officer; impatient with incompetence or troublemaking, but with more than enough kindness and gentleness to care for her patients. She looked—as one of her more dramatic patients had put it—like a messenger from Celestia, with a mane of perfect pink and a coat so white it glowed.

But she didn't often look worried. When she did, it meant that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Fluttershy!” Redheart said, waving her over. “Gonna need your help. A pilot’s on her way up now, and she’s in a bad way.”

“W-what?” Fluttershy gasped. Pilots didn’t get injured often. In fact, the only time a pilot had been injured in recent memory, the injury had been so far beyond fatal that there wasn’t anything left to autopsy.

Redheart was clearly fully aware of how bad this situation could be. “Yeah, it’s a bit above our usual workload. Get me an IV stand. Now.”

Fluttereshy rushed to the supply closet and started pulling supplies with shaking hooves. When she came back, a pony was wheeling in the stretcher.

She was in bad shape. Anypony could tell that, but to someone with medical training it was a lot worse. She was sweating, obviously feverish. There was a head injury, probably a concussion. The burns around her wing-joints were the first clue to the underlying problem; magic burnout. The fact that the burns were still audibly sizzling was far scarier: Not only had she burned out, she was still burning out. That… really wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Good thing they got her to me when they did,” Redheart murmured as she fussed over the injured pony. “Crap. Worse than I thought.”

Fluttershy brought over the IV stand and Redheart started hooking it up. “Thanks, Fluttershy. Bring me a syringe. Five CCs of ATR-20.”

Fluttershy’s mouth dropped open, and she sprinted to the dispenser.

The actual medical use of drugs like ATR-20 was rare. Beyond rare for anypony but unicorns with serious health conditions. They were a last resort for when magic was completely out of control, shutting down the pony’s leyline networks and thus any use of a horn or or wings. The only time Fluttershy had seen them pulled out was when a unicorn had suffered a head injury and been unable to stop levitating things. Mostly, they were used in maximum-security prisons to keep strong unicorns from teleporting away or melting their cell doors.

She supposed it made sense: This pony’s magic was damaging her nerves every second. She needed to come down as soon as possible, or she might suffer a lot worse than burnout. She probably would suffer worse than burnout, regardless. They just hadn’t gotten to her fast enough.

Fluttershy frantically activated the dispenser and ordered the medicine, beating her wings to slow herself down as she rushed back and gave it to Redheart.

Redheart poked the needle deftly into the patient’s arm and pressed the plunger. “If she’d gotten here ten minutes later, I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing.”

“Is… is this even treatable?”

“Don’t know. Never seen anything like this.” Redheart wiped a hoof across her brow and set to hooking up various medical monitors. “It’s like her magic is deliberately trying to kill her. Doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t be possible. But it’s sure what it looks like.”

“Will… she be okay?”

“Now?” Redheart checked her instruments again, going over the patient’s body with the greatest care. “It looks like she’s stable. Later, I don’t know. She might need to be on magic inhibitors for the rest of her life. I’d say there’s… an eighty-six percent chance she’ll never fly again. Nerve damage. Tissue damage. Even prosthetic wings might not work.”

“Oh… oh, Celestia.” Fluttershy stumbled over to the table, her head swimming in a dull haze. “Oh, Celestia…”

“Nothing we could have done.” Readheart shook her head. “She’ll live. Hurt like Tartarus for a few weeks, and be stuck in bed for a month at least, but she’ll live. Whatever comes after, she’ll be able to walk, talk, do everything a normal earth-pony can. Whether she’ll be able to fly... that’s in Celestia’s hooves now.”

Fluttershy nodded, still in shock. Less than half an hour ago, she’d been worrying about her social life, about ponies hitting on her, about things she still hadn’t gotten over from almost a year ago. They were big things, terribly big. Overwhelming. Crushing.

But this pegasus—a pilot—might never fly again. Fluttershy’s wings twitched at the thought. She wasn’t a flyer by nature, but the idea of being unable to lift off ever again was terrifying. This pony’s career was over. Her life was over.

Time: 10:32 P.M.
Location: Medbay MD-6

Fluttershy stayed at the medical ward for a long while. Technically she wasn’t an authorized part of the medical staff, but Redheart liked her and she had gone through medical school. Besides, most of the medical staff were secondary crew who wouldn’t be coming aboard until the Mothership stopped back at the Scaffold, and Fleet Command didn’t seem to have a problem with her helping. Medbay 6 was the only one operating at full capacity and only just barely, at that.

She learned that the pilot’s name was Lightning Dust, and that she’d done something reckless that brought her own demise on herself. It didn’t really matter to Fluttershy, though. Ponies deserved second chances, and Lightning Dust wasn’t getting one.

It wasn’t long before two of the other pilots came up to the medical bay to check on their comrade. Fluttershy was busying herself with finding the medical records of the pilot and didn’t see them come in, but once she spotted them she stopped dead, frozen in her hoofsteps.

The squad leader was doing most of the talking. She reminded Fluttershy of some of the older ponies in the security team, with really intense, scary eyes and a voice that made you want to huddle in a corner and apologize profusely for things you hadn’t even done. Aside from that she seemed okay, though. She was scary, but she obviously cared a lot about Lightning Dust, even though she was mad.

And then there was the other one.

Oh, the other one.

She had a beautiful, hexachromatic mane, rainbow colored, like the kind of rainbow you sometimes saw over the Majiirian Sea after a big storm, glistening in the sunlight as if to remind you there were great things in the world. Her coat was the color of the open sky, further adding to the image, and her saddened eyes sparkled like rubies in the fluorescent light.

Emotion warred across her face as she stared down at the patient. Scared, uncertain, a little bit afraid. Worried, most definitely. She looked up and met Fluttershy’s eyes for a moment. It was sudden, unexpected, and far from unwelcome. Fluttershy couldn’t bring herself to smile under the circumstances, but she wanted to.

This mare was kind. She cared. She was nice.

She was… no.

She was untouchable. Impossible. An iron vise seemed to clamp down on Fluttershy’s chest.

She lowered her eyes and didn’t look up. She gave Redheart the medical sheets. She told her what she knew and left when Redheart released her. She didn’t meet the beautiful mare’s eyes again. Didn’t say a word. 

When she got out of the door, she almost screamed. Almost. So easy, just to let it all go and dissolve into a shivering mess right there.

Instead, she kept quiet. Bottled it all up. Like usual.

She needed something, anything, to occupy her mind.

Her stomach gurgled.
> 1.6: Stargazer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: 10:24 P.M.
Location: Research Ship XR-01 Planning Area.

Twilight Sparkle and Rarity watched the recording for the thousandth time. Twilight had memorized every detail, watched from a dozen different angles as each maneuver unfolded, from the first fighter’s spin-out to the impromptu atmospheric rescue. None of it was heartening, but at least the latter half proved that some of the ponies in those fighters were actually the genius flyers they were supposed to be.

She stopped the recording, and there was silence in the research ship. Amethyst had come and gone, drinking in the scene but making little comment. Lyra and Bon Bon were still absent, and Sunstone had gone off to sleep and left the ship’s automatic pilot in control. All was still, calm… and tense. Extraordinarily tense.

Rarity coughed lightly. “Well, it looks like things all turned out well enough, right? Nopony ended up dead, after all.”
 
Twilight clenched her teeth as she gave a curt nod. She wasn’t in the habit of worrying about these sorts of things, but this time the situation was just way too obviously screwed up. The idea that they might end up fighting something on their way to Equestria was highly improbable, but the idea that they wouldn’t be even slightly prepared for that possibility, regardless of probability, was… unpleasant.

Still, pilots aside—and at least one of them needed to be pushed extremely far to the side—the fighters seemed functional. Given the final display she’d seen, the two pilots who’d escaped burning up in the atmosphere by the tips of their tails, she had to say that they were impressive pieces of engineering.

She was still chewing over the marked contrast between the pilot who’d blown out her own engine and the ones who’d casually made history when Rarity spoke up. “All right then, I have an idea.”

Twilight looked at her, a wide, fake grin plastered over her face, and false enthusiasm laced throughout her voice. “Please! A good idea would be completely welcome right about now.”

“I just need to pull up the schematics…” Rarity moved to the holoprojector and opened up the database, oblivious to Twilight’s sardonics. “Hmmm… the Cavalier light corvettes… no, that’s a later worry. The Shield... why in Celestia's name do we even have that in our system anymore,,,?" Her eyes lit up at last as she found the correct file. "Ah-ha! Here it is.” She pulled up the schematics, and the projector came to life, setting them above the conference table.

Twilight took one look at them and let her jaw drop. “You can’t be serious.”

Rarity sat down and leaned back in her chair with a contented smile on her face. “Indeed I am.”

Twilight rubbed her eyes and blinked, as it if would change the impossibility which was on the screen. “The Blade? Let’s be clear, here: We’re talking about the fighter so dangerous that its test pilots were known as bomb jockeys.”

“Only because of overzealous engineering, dear.” Rarity paged through the schematics, shifting a 3D wireframe off to the side and pulling up 2D plans instead. “What I said earlier about the change in philosophy cuts both ways. The original designers tried to make this fighter capable of re-entry and atmospheric combat, as well as giving it an experimental drive system that didn’t require conventional fuel. Those two factors were the main reason it had to be scrapped in the first place—it was just impossible to make workable. The concept of a space-superiority craft with heavy armor and weaponry is a perfectly fine idea, and the Arrows themselves are based off of the original design for the Blade.”

“So, what would the benefit be?” Twilight asked, moving over and taking a seat next to Rarity. “The ships we have now are fine.” She shot an angry glance at the now blank viewscreen. “It’s the pilots that seem to be the problem.”

“Not entirely,” Rarity muttered. She did something to the keys, then shook her head slightly. “I must find out if we have a printer on this ship, and then I must be sure to link it to this terminal. Digital drafting is overrated.” She coughed. “Anyhow, the Arrow is quite a lightly armored ship, considering its size. It is equipped with twenty-millimeter autocannons—the standard caliber of pre-modern atmospheric fighters, with few real modifications to the firing mechanisms. Despite being a space-age fighter with stone age weapons, a single salvo from one Arrow can tear another Arrow in half. This is hardly ideal, especially considering that we do not know what—if anything—they will be up against. It's fairly reasonable to assume that most of the asteroids we find will be larger than twenty millimeters, to say nothing of hypothetical armaments.”

Twilight nodded. “So, you want to strengthen the armor? Why not just increase what’s on the Arrow?”

“If I only did that, the Arrow would be too slow to serve as a reconnaissance ship.” Rarity pulled a stylus from a slot on the table and began scribbling on its surface, watching the schematics update as she did. “Besides that, the rest of the Arrow’s specifications are hardly ideal for any kind of dedicated fighter role. There's very little in the way of redundancy, and the systems are just too delicate... No, we need to go further. Adapt everything in tandem and we shall achieve the perfect balance! We must not be afraid to use the failures of the past! We have learned since these broken Blades were forged.”

“First ‘crooked Arrows’ and now ‘broken Blades’?” Twilight groaned.

Before Rarity could respond, the communication terminal began beeping. Rarity pressed the answering button, and Great Journey’s face appeared above the holoprojector once more. “Hello, my apologies for calling upon you so late… oh, I see you are already at work.” She cocked her head slightly. “Did Spitfire send word ahead?”

Rarity mirrored the gesture. “I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Journey.”

“Never mind, it is of little consequence. I was asked to convey a request. The Alpha recon squadron leader wants you to tweak the design of the Arrow. She specifically said that she wanted the boost system removed, or, alternatively, that another type of fighter be produced for her squadron.”

Rarity gasped. “Remove that work of art? Sweet heavens!”

Twilight’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m not going to call it a work of art, but I have to agree with Rarity here, ma’am. The boost system was instrumental in the maneuvering that saved those pilots’ lives earlier… even if it did cause the problem in the first place. I can’t say I have experience with that sort of device, but I imagine it would be a useful asset, despite whatever risks it may carry.”

“Regardless, the squadron leader made it clear that she did not want her subordinates having access to the system, and given her reasoning, I quite agree. Can it be done?”

Rarity shook her head in disbelief. “Yes… well…” Then her eyes lit up. “Yes yes! Oh, this is excellent!”

“I’m… not sure I follow,” Twilight confessed. “What’s excellent?”

“The Blade, dear! The Blade!”

Great Journey raised an eyebrow. “The fighter so dangerous it’s pilots were nicknamed—”

“Bomb jockeys, yes yes, can we get over that, please?” Rarity stood and began pacing. “Oh, this will take some work, oh yes, but they’ll love it in the end! Ah HA!” She suddenly ran off, heading for one of the labs.

Great Journey shifted her attention to Twilight. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

Twilight squinted at Rarity. “Maybe? I believe she thinks she can make the Blades work?”

“Fascinating. Do you think she can?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight replied. She shook her head and snapped to something that, if one squinted from at least a good five meters away, might have resembled “attention”. “That is… uh… I’m not certain, ma’am.”

“Come now, Twilight Sparkle, I think we’re a bit past that now. There’s no need for such formality.” Great Journey smiled a bit. 

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.” Twilight swallowed uneasily as she smiled at the floating holographic head that represented one of the most powerful ponies in the universe.

Rarity strode back in, carrying a scroll of canvas. “We really must acquire a printer,” she said. “But this will do nicely for drafting purposes.”

“Rarity?” Journey asked.

Rarity seemed to snapped out of her trance. “Yes?”

“If you could find a solution, even a temporary one, I would greatly appreciate it, and I believe Spitfire would as well. Consider it the research team’s first official order.”

“Rest assured, I will do my utmost!”

“I would expect nothing less. Thank you, both of you, and good night.” Great Journey shifted her gaze to make it clear that everypony was included in her next remark. “We set off in the morning; you don’t have to be awake for the ceremony, but I don’t imagine you’ll want to miss it. Twilight Sparkle, I expect you'll want to be there to represent the research team.” She dipped her head. “May Luna watch over your dreams.”

Rarity and Twilight simultaneously returned the gesture. “May Luna watch over your dreams,” they both said, then looked at each other in surprise.

Great Journey smiled and cut the connection.

Rarity stared at the holographic schematics, which had returned to their place in the absence of Fleet Command. She laid the blank canvas out on the table, careful not to cover any emitters. “I’m going to get started.”

Twilight frowned. “It’s a bit late. You don’t want to miss the Jump, do you?”

“Not at all, dear, but I must get to work as soon as I can. I have all these ideas swimming around inside my head, and if I don’t sort them out and jot them down then I just know they’ll evaporate!”

Twilight shrugged. “Okay, if you say so. I’m off for the night. Good luck with the Blade, Rarity. Let me know in the morning if you need any help.”

“Thank you, dear,” Rarity gave something that looked uncannily like a curtsy. “May Luna watch over your dreams.”

“Yours as well,” Twilight said as she made her exit.

Time: 10:35 P.M.
Location: Research Ship Crew Quarters

As soon as Rarity was out of sight, Twilight’s smile slipped away. She felt terrible for admitting it, even to herself, but she’d misjudged Rarity. The reason for her placement was becoming steadily clearer the more they spoke together. It was clear that whatever “spirit” had died with Sunset Shimmer, Rarity intended to resurrect.

She demonstrated an impressive grasp of spacecraft engineering. If she managed to make the Blade work, then that was simply the final nail. To make that disaster of a fighter fly without exploding... she might as well be called a certified genius. After that, it was hard to imagine what problem she wouldn’t be able to solve—with a little help from the rest of the team, of course; Twilight didn’t imagine Rarity was quite as skilled with magic, nor with weapons, software, materials engineering, et cetera. Then again, for all Twilight knew she was a multidisciplinary prodigy who’d turn out to simply replace everypony else. It was a key foundation of science: Nothing was certain until proof was presented, and even then things tended to be shaky.

Twilight stopped outside her quarters, contemplating. Her gaze wandered, coming to rest on Amethyst’s door. She’d come up once, earlier, smelling faintly of whiskey, but she hadn’t said much of anything. Whatever her thoughts on the recon squad’s performance, she’d kept them to herself. Tentatively, Twilight poked a hole in the silencing spell she’d left in place.

The twanging roar of a heavily distorted guitar penetrated the foyer. Twilight closed the hole.

She steadied her breathing. Amethyst was fine. She was fine.

Twilight walked over and knocked on the door. She could practically feel it vibrating from the music.

She felt silly. There was no way Amethyst could hear her over that music. Twilight was just worried about nothing, that was all. Amethyst would be fine.

Then, Amethyst opened the door. “Hey, Twi,” she said.

“Hey, Ammy.”

“Come in?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Twilight did and found that the reason she couldn’t hear the music anymore wasn’t just the silencing spell. Apparently, Amethyst had just turned it all off.

The room was already a disaster area. Amethyst’s luggage was scattered across the room like the remnants of some exploded organism. Several of her bags had been thrown open, revealing a large supply of alcohol among other things of varying decency and… size. There were a pair of large speakers set up next to the small desk; presumably some kind of fold-out model that could have fit somewhere between the booze and the “toys”.

The regulation violations were incredible.

The top bunk remained empty, but the lower one’s sheets had been tossed around already. Amethyst must have been going to sleep when Twilight knocked.

“So,” Amethyst said, her expression unreadable. She still smelled of booze, but she clearly hadn’t been drinking all that much. The bottles were mostly still closed. Only one was open, and it mostly full. That was a good sign.

“So,” Twilight replied. Her hoof touched a suspiciously shaped thing, and she jumped a little.

Amethyst chuckled at the reaction and used her telekinesis to sweep some of the mess into the corners. Twilight raised an eyebrow, and used her own magic. Sweeping waves of light washed across the room, shuffling and organizing Amethyst’s possessions into rows and stacks, including the suspect objects Twilight was going to stop thinking about.

Amethyst grunted. “Show off.”

Twilight just smiled and shook her head. “You never studied.”

“Yeah, because I was busy having a life. Practically got hitched while you had your head buried in books.”

Twilight’s face fell, and Amethyst clearly noticed. She gave a long, exasperated sigh, and shook her head. “Look, Twi, do me a favor. When Moondancer gets here, just… let things go for a while, okay? I know you and Moony don’t get along, but… just please, leave it alone.”

Twilight shook her head in disbelief. “How can I forgive her? How can you forgive her? She left you alone for six years, Ammy!”

“To join the crew of the Khar-Selim! That’s not just some job, okay? That’s a big bucking deal.”

“But while you were in the middle of one of your…” Twilight’s voice hitched.

“My what? One of my meltdowns? One of my bad spots? Yeah, she did. Do you know why? Do you know why she left right then? Do you know what caused that bad spot?”

Twilight opened her mouth, then shut it. She didn’t actually know, now that she really thought about it. She’d assumed that Moondancer wanted some kind of glory, to be on the first ship to travel to the outer solar system, but she’d never really asked. It never really had made sense.

Amethyst answered her own question. “Because she’d gotten denied, Twi.” Amethyst looked deliberately at the bare wall. “She wasn’t going to get on the Mothership. The board took her application, looked it over, and told her she wasn’t good enough.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “They what? How could they even say that? She was at the top of her class! She’s one of the brightest ponies I’ve ever met! They teach her dissertation!”

“And she still wasn’t good enough for the Mothership, so do you know what she did? She took the Khar-Selim posting instead, because at the end of their flight, she does get on the Mothership. She gets to be with me, with you, with her worthless bucking parents who bought themselves Cryo-Tray tickets and didn’t think to get her one. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for her? She’s been stuck in that sand cursed tin can for six years, all just so the two of us wouldn’t get separated.”

“I…” Twilight swallowed. “Oh, Celestia, Ammy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you? Because what do you think you would have done if I had? Gone to the board and made a fuss? Threatened to quit unless she was brought on?” Amethyst gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, Moony woulda loved that, getting in because the mighty Twilight Sparkle pitched a tantrum. She had her bucking pride, Twi, and I’m not blaming her. I know I’d rather be stuck on that boat for six years than suck off some bureaucrat or take favors from one of the ponies who was qualified.”

Twilight looked at her hooves. “I’m sorry.”

Amethyst sighed and trotted over and put a hoof around Twilight’s shoulder. “Look, don’t worry about it. Things didn’t go perfect. That’s fine. That’s life. We move on.”

Twilight nodded.

Amethyst sighed. “Wanna sit down?” she asked, indicating the bed.

“Sure,” Twilight responded.

They sat down next to each other. Twilight couldn’t bring herself to look at Amethyst, and Amethyst wasn’t making conversation. They stayed silent for a while, listening to the faint ticking of Amethyst’s old alarm clock.

It was always complicated, Twilight thought. She felt stupid for believing things could have been as simple as she’d thought they were. Any simplicity you saw in the world just meant you weren’t looking hard enough, and Moondancer was no exception. She’d never been ashamed of her academic awards, and she'd always been ecstatic when her work was recognized, but she’d never gone out of her way to seek out the highest recognition. She’d never sought out glory at the expense of her friends, especially at Amethyst’s. And now she was one-and-a-half light-hours away, waiting, just like Amethyst was, for tomorrow, the day they’d be back together again.

Twilight made a decision right then and there. “Ammy, when I see Moondancer again, I’m going to give her a hug.”

Amethyst coughed. “What? You’re not telling me the Great and Stubborn Twilight Sparkle just forgave somepony, are you?”

“It’s never too late to make up for past mistakes, right? If what you’re saying is true, then I’ve been… well, a complete monster to her.”

“Oh, come on, don’t get dramatic. You didn’t talk to her about it, so what?”

“Now that I know all this? With the way I’ve been acting, forgiving her isn’t what’s hard.” Twilight shook her head. “Look, don’t try to defend me on this. I was… wrong.” She held a hoof up before Amethyst could make the retort. “Yeah yeah, ‘doesn’t happen often,’ I get it.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic that you’ve finally decided to stop hating my marefriend.” Amethyst grabbed Twilight and spun her so they were looking each other in the eyes. “But I don’t want you putting all this on yourself, okay? This was never your problem, and nobody’s gonna blame you for anything. It’s all finished.”

Twilight nodded. Amethyst sighed, and flopped back on her bed. She stayed there for a minute, then grumbled out an “I’m too sober for this manure,” and started groping for her open bottle.

“It’s gonna be something,” Twilight muttered.

Amethyst paused, her hoof touching the bottle’s neck. “What is?”

“The voyage. The… pilgrimage.” Twilight shook her head. “I just feel like we’re not ready, like we’re taking it too fast. We should study the Core more, search for signs of other life out there. Nothing is certain. Everything we’re basing this trip on is guesswork. Six hundred thousand ponies, both of our immediate families included, all staking their futures on the hope that Equestria really is going to be a better place. With all the stuff you’ve been going through, with Moony… why do you still want to leave? Why not just stay here? I… I would have, too, if you’d asked. Equestria isn’t going anywhere.”

Amethyst sat up, balancing the bottle on her knee. “Equestria’s gotta be better than what we have.”

“How? How do we know?”

“Twi, you don't watch the news much, do you?” Amethyst’s grip on the bottle tightened slightly.

Twilight’s bit her lip, and a stone dropped into her gut. “Not lately, no.”

Amethyst sighed, and offered the bottle to Twilight. Twilight shot her an incredulous glance. “Are you serious?”

“Last night over the planet? Yeah I’m serious. You’re twenty-two, Twi. You can have a swig once in a while without losing it.”

Twilight pushed the bottle away. “Age has nothing to do with it, and it's not me I'm worried about. I should be reporting you for possession of accelerants.” She tilted her head to indicate the tiny window set into the wall. “You know, on a spaceship? How that’s kind of a bad idea?”

Amethyst sighed. “Hey, whatever you say.” She took a small sip, but it didn’t seem to make her happier. “Why couldn’t we stay? It’s bad out there, Twi.” Her eyes shifted somewhere distant. “The fact that the media's reporting any of it is a testament to just how bad. Soban’s holding the Gaalsien back, but the bad guys are getting bigger every day. I've been down on those front lines, and I've seen the kind of firepower they roll out when they're serious about taking a point. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out something we can’t shoot down or blow up.”

Twilight was silent. Shining Armor’s face flashed in her thoughts, grinning at some lame joke. “It’s that bad?”

“We’re gonna lose, Twi. I know it’s hard to admit, but even with all we’ve got, even with ponies like Shiny on those lines, it’s not a fight we can win. The Daiamiid might be strong, but at the rate things are going their forces won’t be able to hold out forever. Sooner or later, the south pole will be all that’s left, and then? With bucking Paktu as the last remnant of civilization? Hells, I don’t want to see that future. Nopony does. I mean, even if the Gaalsien didn’t get us… me and Moony living in the south?” Amethyst gave a mirthless laugh. “They’d burn us at the stake quicker than the zealots would. And that's if they didn't just join the bastards. Take the Mothership out of the picture, and Gaalsi and Paktu aren't so different. Just slightly different levels of crazy.”

Twilight stared out at the window. The view was restricted, but she could see a sliver of Kharequus, highlighted by the sunlight streaming over its far side. “So we just leave it all behind? Give up?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Amethyst took a bigger sip. “And then, when we have Equestria and all the resources space can give us, I’m betting we come back. We come back with warships the size of moons, with orbital bombardment that turns the sands to glass, with powered suits that can take out cities on their own, with nanomachine storms that turn the zealots' bones to grey goo. We come back with all the advanced technology our brilliant collection of scientists have whipped up along the way, and we use it to butcher the bastards for what they’ve done, wipe them off the face of the bucking planet. That's probably why I got in and Moony didn't; a weapon designer's a lot better at revenge than an astrophysicist."

Twilight's jaw worked silently as a growing sense of horror overtook her, but Amethyst wasn't done.

"Way down the line, either we or our descendants are the avenging angels," she said with a shake of her head. “It’s terrible, but I’m betting it’s the plan. The Naabal’sa, Glamour? She’s smart. She has to know that the Daiamiid loses this. Way I see it, the reason the most powerful kiith on the planet dumped their capital into this ship is because it’s their last shot at coming out on top. Because it flies in the face of everything Gaalsi believes. Because the terrorists will never have the will nor the means to follow us. And you know what? Damn Celestia's harmony to the sands she gave us, I want to see that happen. The bastards might win one war, but if we get a second shot, well…”

Twilight stared out the window. The planet was so beautiful from here, glimmering in the fading sun. Then, all at once, the sun vanished behind the world, leaving only a black abyss punctuated by the pinprick lights of the cities below. How many of those were Gaalsi's, praying right now for the deaths of every single pony above the clouds?

"It's only a matter of time," Twilight murmured. "If what you're saying is right... then a lot of ponies are going to die for a whole lot of nothing."

Amethyst nodded silently. She offered the bottle again, and this time Twilight took it. She stared down the neck for what seemed like an eternity.

It had been years since she last drank alcohol. Probably five years, at least. It seemed like ages ago, but she remembered the smell. She'd never forget the smell. She'd fallen asleep and woken up to that same smell more times than she could remember.

But despite all that, Amethyst was right. She switched to holding the bottle with her magic, and downed what was left. More than half. It rolled through her belly like a wave of familiar fire. Intellectually, she knew that it wouldn't do so much—her tolerances were still ludicrously high. But somehow, in a sickening way, the feeling was comforting. It was like an old friend—the kind you tried really hard to forget, but at the same time had always known you'd meet again one day.

“Sands on bucking fire, Twi…” Amethyst muttered, her eyes wide. "You didn't have to down the whole thing."

“Twenty-two, right?” Twilight said, then coughed as the aftertaste hit her. "Besides; consider it a toast to the end of the world."

Amethyst stared at her, and Twilight thought for a moment that she saw the mark of regret in her eyes. “Look, I know what I said, but... really, it’s just the booze talking. Who gives a flying hunk of manure what drunk Ammy thinks about world affairs, anyway?”

“It’s all right. It fits. It’s probably true.”

Amethyst put an arm around her. “It’s not the only possibility. It's a hypothesis based loosely on stuff I've seen and heard from largely unreliable buddies.”

Twilight shook her off and stood. “I should go. Both of us need to get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

Amethest bit her lip. “Hey, Twi? I know it’s not totally kosher, but I’ve got an empty spot here,” Amethyst indicated the top bunk. “I understand if you don’t want to be alone right now.”

Twilight chuckled. She dropped the bottle in the decompiler chute, listening to it bounce as it hit the metal sides. “Thanks, Ammy, but I wouldn’t want the others to get the wrong idea. I mean, we’re cousins!”

Amethyst didn’t smile. “You sure?” I know how you can get if you're alone. Don't force that on yourself.

“I’ll be fine, Ammy.”

Amethyst just stared back. She didn't challenge the statement, but she sure as Tartarus didn't agree with it.

Twilight keyed the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. I know you’re not much of a believer, but may Luna watch over your dreams.”

“Same to you, Crazy Spark,” Amethyst said. “Don’t do anything stupid, and don’t worry about things you can’t control.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean it. I’ll crack you over the head if you do.”

“All right, Ammy.” Twilight smiled over her shoulder and walked out the door.

But the moment she got to her room, she collapsed on her bed. The world rushed around her like a hurricane, and she had to bury her head in a pillow to stop herself from screaming. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or everything else in the bucking world, but she was not okay.

“She has to be wrong,” Twilight said, as if blubbering it into a pillow would somehow make it true. “She has to be wrong…”

Time: 11:59 P.M.
Location: Research Ship Planning Area.

Tap tap tippity tap.

“...The engines… the engines need to be upscaled, but not too much, no… it must be balanced…”

Tap tap tap.

“...And the reactor, yes, the reactor too. I’ll need to see Twilight about that later, oh yes.”

A hoof tapped Rarity on the shoulder, nearly stopping her heart. “WhaHAha?” she exclaimed, whirling on the spot.

She found herself face-to-face with Lyra Heartstrings’ incredible grin. “Hey,” the mare said. Something was odd about her eyes, a slight glazedness. There was also something about the way that was standing, and the air around her. It all seemed… off.

“Um… hello,” Rarity said. She hurriedly fixed part of her mane which had drifted out of place. She blinked her sticky eyes. “I didn’t hear you…”

“You sound—and look—insane,” Lyra observed, and plopped herself heavily down in the chair next to Rarity. “So, you’re working on some kind of engineering… thing, huh?”

Rarity gave a little sniff and returned to her work. “It’s a delicate project. Have you heard of the Blade-class before?”

“Bomb Jockeys?”

Rarity gritted her teeth. “Yes. That one.”

“I’ve only heard of it by reputation,” Lyra said. “So, you’re fixing it?”

“Yes. The first real request we’ve received.” Rarity sighed, and leaned back in the chair. “Though, I have reservations.”

“Yeah?” Lyra raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Gonna elaborate, Rare-bear?”

Rarity shut her eyes and let out a long sigh. “No.”

“You’re not going to elaborate, or—”

“No. That nickname. No.”

Lyra’s lips spread into a wicked grin. “Ooooh… hit a nerve, did I?”

“Just no.” Rarity shook her head and set her eyes back to the schematics floating over the table. “Anyhow, I do have my reservations. The problem I’m actually fixing… well, frankly I’m being asked to remove the best part of a mediocre design. I think Fleet Command’s heart is in the right place, but excising it entirely is hardly the solution I would have proposed.”

“Okay, I still don’t get it. I’m no engineer.”

“Then I’m not sure I can make you understand,” Rarity grumbled. “Anyhow, it’s no concern now. I’m all but finished with the initial redesign.”

“Well, that’s good at least.” Lyra suddenly grinned. “So, are you gonna sleep... ever? Or are you just gonna work all night?”

“And why are you awake?” Rarity asked. 

It was at this point that things finally clicked into place for Rarity. 

One: Lyra Heartstrings had vanished into her room with Bon Bon, the mare she was in a relationship with.

Two: Her demeanor indicated some level of exertion had recently taken place, and her tail was lowered at a slightly suspect angle.

Third: She smelled.

“What have you been…?” Rarity murmured, then slammed her eyes shut. “No. Forget I asked.”

“Oh, so you noticed?” Lyra asked, her voice slippery smooth. “Me and Bonnie have a little game going on. It’s sort of like a drinking game, only instead of shots it involves orgasms.”

“Oh, please spare me,” Rarity groaned.

“Bonnie’s currently losing by two,” Lyra said casually. Then, she leaned over and butted her head against Rarity’s shoulder. “Of course, it’s the kind of game that’s more fun to play with a crowd.”

“Oh.”

“Interested?” Lyra grinned and patted Rarity on the head. “It’s fu~un.”

“You are seriously asking me this question.”

“Hey, the only restriction we’ve got laid out is a ‘no stallions’ for Bonnie. Anything else goes… well, except for the really extreme stuff.” Lyra stroked a hoof most unwelcomely through Rarity’s mane. “Whaddaya say? Wanna come celebrate?”

“No, no thank you. I’d rather not.”

“You sure?”

“I’m afraid one of my restrictions is ‘no mares’,” Rarity said, managing a weak smile.

“You’ll never know if you like it ‘til you try it,” Lyra said. She winked. “Besides, I promise me and Bonnie are both clean. No bugs. And no commitments either, if you don’t like it. Plus, you can stop whenever you like.”

“Thank you for the… generosity, but I think I will pass.”

Lyra shrugged. “Hey, suit yourself. The offer stands.”

Rarity frowned. She was a bit surprised that Lyra was so easy to dissuade. “That’s it?” she asked. “That was a rather poor attempt at coercion. Why give up so quickly?” She let out a little smirk, now that the tension had passed. “What, am I not worth the effort?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong; you’re hot as the hells, Rare-bear.” Lyra chuckled at the flinch she got. “But I’m not trying to coerce anything. You’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it. Just don’t stay up too late. Much as my lifestyle would disagree, sleep is important and you need it. I’m going to raid the kitchen and then… well, not sleep, actually. I’ve got a competition to win, after all.”

Rarity sighed as Lyra trotted off towards the kitchen. She was… interesting. Bearable. Took rejection well, too, or rather seemed to have a completely different viewpoint in regards to everything their conversation had encompassed. Interesting, in a way. Not that Rarity was planning on taking her up on that offer, but she had offered.

She hadn’t demanded. She hadn’t even requested. Odd, Rarity mused, how this was the first time in her memory that somepony had propositioned… relations to her for anything other than their own personal gain or enjoyment. Manaani were quite different, it seemed, from the types of ponies she was used to.

Come to think of it, everypony on the research ship was different. Even just along kiith lines, she was the only Naabali on the ship. Everypony else had a wildly different background, a completely different set of social mores they followed. Twilight Sparkle and Amethyst Star were S'jetti, and Twilight at least seemed to be one in the traditional scientist-philosopher mode. Bon Bon was Sagaldi, with all the strange tragedy that implied. And Sunstone... well Rarity had yet to actually meet him, but she couldn't imagine that LiirHra'n customs weren't just as different as any of the others.

And... that was it, Rarity realized with a little bit of shock. Those six names were the only ponies on the research ship, and none of them shared a background even remotely like hers. It was rather disconcerting.

Lyra strolled out of the kitchen with an entire freshly fabricated loaf of bread in her hooves. She caught Rarity’s eye, and shrugged. “Hey, gotta keep the energy up. Gonna be a long night.”

“What about Bon Bon,” Rarity asked, then added without thinking. “I take it she’s not hungry for anything but you?”

“Did you just…” Lyra let out a snort of laughter. “Sweet Luna riding a sandskimmer, did you just say that?”

Rarity lowered her head into her hooves, feeling her cheeks burning as she tried to reconcile what her tongue had just done. “I’m frankly not sure,” she muttered. “Goddesses, what am I becoming?”

“I’m making a note to keep that offer open,” Lyra said with a grin that could have made rocks fear for their virginity. “Take care, Rare-bear.”

Rarity groaned. “Please do not make a habit of calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, Rarilicious.” Lyra skipped merrily to the stairs. “Night! May Luna watch your dreams, and may she bring popcorn to share.”

Rarity sighed. She stared at the schematics for a while and tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t come up with anything. She was out of her trance, and there was no telling if she’d slip back in. She stood up, saved all her files, and shut down the holoprojector.

She looked around. Empty walls in white and grey, shiny metal floors, and pieces of unfurnished technology scattered all about. The research ship’s overall design was impressive, but its interior was bland to the point of seeming unfinished. Reasonable, of course: the ship had only been completed today.

It wouldn’t be impossible to remedy it, either. All Rarity would need was a little time, and she could probably put together some decent decoration. It was something to consider for later, after the Blade was finished. Surely, she’d have a good deal of free time in the months that the voyage would last.

She made her way to the lower deck, and all but winced. Here, the sparseness was a bit more apparent: several walls bore exposed wires and tubing, and the others were an ugly off-white that simply wouldn’t do at all. Rarity’s mind whirred. She debated what colors she could use—perhaps a robin’s-egg blue, or a light green—as well as the logistics of painting a spaceship’s interior. Would the ventilation systems be enough, or would she have to rig up a network of fans to keep the fumes from overwhelming her? And what about walling over those exposed spaces? Could she do it without obscuring maintenance hatches or other such necessities?

Then, something caught her eye. On one of the walls, the one at the aft of the ship, between the two access panels which led to the engine compartment, there was a strange piece of metal that seemed out of place, almost as if it was a access panel, and yet... Rarity knew the schematics of the ship. There was no panel there. She trotted over to it, and gave the panel a tentative feel with her magic. To her surprise, the slice of metal came free easily, revealing a small space in the wall.

“What in the world?” Rarity breathed. She examined the space, but there was nothing inside and no indication of any kind of utility. Rarity frowned, and, on an impulse, used her magic to light up the space.

On the back of the compartment there were words, carved into the metal with great care.

This vessel was built by the hooves, wings, and horns of…

And then, in script that changed from line to line:

Comet Dust LiirHra
Hale Bukk LiirHra
Aster LiirHra
Nova Spell S’jet
Sunstone LiirHra

And lastly, etched in careful, precise lines:

We dedicate you to the stallion named Stargazer Naabal, who left us while working on the Mothership’s engines. We remember you, Starry. Though it may not be understood by the ponies who trust this vessel with their lives, we give this ship your name. May your soul guide this vessel and keep its crew safe from harm.

“Oh my…” Rarity murmured. She almost reached out to touch the dedication, but she hesitated at the last moment. She couldn’t bear to profane it with her hoof. It was so tiny, merely lines etched in metal, but somehow that made it all the more tragically beautiful.

She closed the panel up, thoughts milling about in her head. Presumably, this was a LiirHra’n tradition of some sort, perhaps one that outsiders weren’t meant to know of. Then again, a S’jetti pony had given their signature, and the stallion it was dedicated to was Naabali. She debated bringing it up with Sunstone but decided against it. It seemed too personal for that.

Another culture, completely unlike her own. Naabali gravestones were bare slabs of granite, rarely adorned with so much as a flower. For Stargazer, whoever he’d been, this whole ship was a gravestone. It was a sobering idea, but beautiful all the same.

Rarity closed her eyes. She was tired, and tomorrow was a day she needed to be at her best. She stepped into her room and settled into bed. She hadn’t had time to unpack, and her suitcases were still closed. The lights dimmed at her telekinetic touch, but she hesitated before shutting them off. She looked out the tiny window, and saw the Scaffold’s side, the window-lights flickering like tiny eyes. So small, against the great stretches of metal.

Did the Scaffold have a dedication like the Research ship? Did the Mothership have one as well? Did they have names secret to all but the LiirHra’n ponies who'd carved them? She wondered if she’d ever know.

It was a strange time to be alive. The great madness that had catapulted equinity into space, the great dreams of Sunset Shimmer, the spirit of adventure that had hurled the entirety of LiirHra into orbit… on the surface it seemed to have died out, and yet up here everything still remained. Relics of a dying age, yet still so alive themselves. Still carrying on in the sky, despite the fact that the surface no longer cared for them as it once had. It was strange to be a part of it all, an observer caught within a contradictory world of impossible technologies and bitter politics.

Maybe she’d have to change it. Maybe she’d have to take up Shimmer’s dreams, revive that old spirit. She thought of a world made like that once again, where inventors cast their ideas into the sky, where dreams took flight and shot towards the stars.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” she whispered to the air. “A world like the one that created all of this, brought back once more.”

The Mothership was an ark of opportunity, after all. Who was to say it couldn’t be done? Rarity smiled.

"Well, goodnight, Stargazer," she whispered. "I'm honored to trust you with my life."

It was probably her imagination as she fell asleep at last, but she thought she heard the engines murmur a "Thank you."
> 1.7: Seer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: 11:00 P.M.
Location: Mothership Cafeteria A-4.

You learned a lot as a bartender.

Not that Pinkie Pie was a bartender. She’d been a bartender, twice, back when she’d been roaming around the dunes. Younger years. She’d been too young to legally drink the stuff she sold, but that hadn’t bothered her. She rarely bothered with alcohol. Even now, it seemed like a lot of hassle for a headache and a little dizzy stint.

But still, you learned a lot as a bartender. 

For instance, how to read people. Pinkie Pie could read every pony in the cafeteria. The mare sitting alone in the corner booth was missing her family, and the somewhat-scrawny, young stallion trying to hide the fact that he was watching her nervously from two booths away was working up the courage to talk to her. The pair of stallions sitting at a table and laughing were old friends, possibly comrades in arms, who were enjoying their last night above the planet by telling each other stories about the time they’d been apart. 

You learned a lot of other things as a bartender, and a lot of them were also the sorts of things you learned when you had an Auntie and Uncle Cake. It was funny how that seemed to work out. 

For instance, bartenders needed to know how to defend themselves in a fight. They also needed to know when to avoid defending themselves in a fight by avoiding the fight in the first place. These were things the Cakes knew well, and they’d taught their favorite little niece everything they knew.

The methods included spotting trouble before it actually became trouble, spotting ponies who needed help before they actually needed help, and dealing with both with enough speed that things never got too bad. All the while, the Cakes had taught her that you should keep positive and smile. Ponies tended to trust ponies who smiled confidently, especially when things looked bad.

One funny thing about that was that being a bartender—or even a faux bartender like she was now—ponies tended to trust Pinkie with their secrets anyway. A smiling bartender? Pinkie had heard all kinds of stories.

The mare who was sitting at the counter and staring at a half-full cup of tea was a tug pilot who’d just saved a pony’s life, only to find out that the pony might never use her wings again. It wasn’t a story Pinkie could relate to, but the pilot had needed somepony to listen, and Pinkie had been willing. It was amazing how much that could help sometimes. She’d been crying when she came in, but now she simply stared at the tea, mind working in the mysterious ways of a thinking thing. Pinkie was content to let her think. Ponies needed to think sometimes, to sort all the sad things, the happy things, and the really weird things into their proper places. 

“Not my fault…” the mare muttered softly. “Really? Isn’t it, though? If I’d flown faster… if I’d been able to fly better or land faster… would it have made a difference?”

Pinkie smiled and patted her hoof. “The past is the past, right? I mean, if you could do it over, maybe there’d be a difference, but probably there wouldn’t. It sounds like you did everything you could, and that’s what matters. She lived, didn’t she? You didn’t take her wings, you saved her life!”

The pilot stared at her tea some more. “I guess you’re right, Pinkie.”

“Of course I’m right, Ditzy.” Pinkie beamed. “You saved somepony’s life today! If anything, I should be throwing you a congratulation party! With medals! And cake! And medal-shaped cake!”

“Thanks, Pinkie,” the pilot said softly. Then, she leaned over the counter and gave Pinkie a hug.

Pinkie giggled and returned it. There was nothing else she needed to say.

One of Ditzy’s friends showed up a little later and took her away. Before she left, Ditzy looked up at Pinkie and smiled a cross-eyed smile. That was all the reward Pinkie Pie would ever need for her efforts.

After Ditzy Doo left, Pinkie went back to watching ponies. It was late evening, though it would be early morning for the night shift. Pinkie’s sleep schedule was a mystery even to herself, so she preferred to call it afternoon. In fact, she preferred to call all times afternoon, unless a time happened to strike her as particularly morning-ish or evening-ish. Night was still night, but when the lights never went out you couldn’t tell, and thus it became whatever time she needed to be.

But right now was an evening-ish time. In fact, it was eerily like those evenings she’d spent back on the ground, tending bar. Of course, she sold pastries and other assorted foodstuffs now, but the principle was the same. Even without alcohol, ponies like Ditzy still came to bars to drown their woes and find absolution.

And oh, there was a pony trying to drown her woes.

She came through the double doors like a storm of angsty sadness. Her head drooped, and her mane skimmed the floor. She wasn’t crying, but that was because she was trying to hold it all in. Keeping all that raw emotion inside? Bad idea. Pinkie had seen firsthand what that could do to a pony.

Yes! It was time for action!

The mare—a pegasus, creamy-colored with a bubblegum mane and tail—took a seat at the far end of the cafeteria, and Pinkie made her move. As usual, the mare didn’t even see her coming until they were practically touching.

“Hi!” Pinkie cheerily exclaimed. “How are you doing?”

The mare did that funny thing some ponies did when Pinkie snuck up on them; she jumped, eyes and wings wide, and nearly fell backwards out of her chair. “O-oh!”

Pinkie waited expectantly for an answer.

“I… I’m doing okay.”

“Really?” Pinkie asked. “Because you really don’t look like you’re okay.”

“It’s… not really anything to worry about.”

“Sure it is!” Pinkie pulled up a seat, much to the disturbance of this unnamed, totally-not-okay mare. “You look totally sad. That’s no good!”

“There’s r-really nothing you could do.”

Pinkie leaned in. “Are you sure?”

The mare looked at her with a wide and trembling eyes. “I… um… I guess.”

“You hesitated,” Pinkie said.

“Maybe?” the mare tried. “I can’t imagine… no, you couldn’t help.”

“Well, why not try? What’s there to lose?”

The mare swallowed nervously and looked around as if to check if anypony was listening. “No. I can’t. I can’t tell anypony.”

“Why are you so sure?”

The mare seemed to collapse in on herself, pressing her chin to her chest. “Because it would makes ponies mad at me.”

Pinkie smiled with all the sweetness of a pecan pie. “Well, I promise I won’t be mad.”

The mare looked up, almost as if she was letting herself be hopeful. “What?”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” Pinkie performed the sacred gesture. “I promise!”

The mare managed a wan smile. A start. “Okay, I guess… okay, I…” She swallowed, wiped her eyes on her hoof, and looked away. “No.”

Pinkie cocked her head. “No?”

“I can’t. You’ll be mad.”

Pinkie suppressed a sigh. If this mare had been born a nut, she’d be a macadamia. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

Pinkie cocked her head. “Wrong?”

“Wrong,” the mare repeated. “It’s not… moral. I mean… Celestia must h-hate me for just thinking it.”

Things started to come together in Pinkie’s head. “How come?” she asked, her voice softening.

The mare shut her eyes as if she could just stop thinking about it. “Because it just is.”

“Who told you so?”

“Everypony.”

“Well, everypony can be wrong sometimes,” Pinkie said. She mimed the Pinkie Promise again. “I promised I wouldn’t be mad, so I won’t.”

“Okay.” The mare looked down and clasped her forehooves in her lap. “I… like a mare.”

Pinkie blinked. “So?”

“But… I’m a mare.”

Pinkie had to think about that one for a minute. “So?” she asked again. Something about this was making a perverse kind of sense, but she really couldn’t remember why. Something about a place…

“That’s… that’s not okay! I can’t… that’s not…”

A light went off in Pinkie’s head. A particularly troubling barroom confession from a long time ago slipped back into her mind. “What kiith are you from?”

This startled the mare. “What? Um… P-Paktu.”

All the lights went off in Pinkie’s head. “Ooooooh.”

“Um… what does kiith have to do with…?”

“Okay, this is probably gonna surprise—no, maybe even shock you, but…” Pinkie leaned in close, motioning for the mare to do the same. The mare leaned in hesitantly, and Pinkie whispered in her ear, “Paktu is the only kiith that cares.”

The mare lurched back. “What?”

Pinkie nodded sagely. “They’re kinda backwards. No offense.”

“Uh… I…”

Pinkie’s nose suddenly scrunched up as a thought occurred to her. “Wait, is that mare me? Was that a pick-up line?”

“I… what?”

“Because that’s totally cool, but if you’re from Paktu… I’m gonna freak you out.”

“I… I… I… I…” The mare buried her face in her hooves and began to sob. “Oh Celestia, what is my life…?”

“Well, your life is what you make it,” Pinkie said—again, sagely. She was pretty sure that was a quote from some famous pony. Or some drunk guy at a bar. Probably that one.

The mare’s heaving breaths seemed to alternate between laughter and sobs, a state Pinkie could sympathize with. “Hey,” she said softly, scooting her chair around the table and pulling the other mare into a hug. “It’s totally okay.”

“What is okay?”

“I dunno yet, but it is.” Pinkie smiled as the mare uncovered her eyes. “I’m Pinkie Pie, what’s your name?”

“F-Fluttershy,” Fluttershy whimpered in a particularly Fluttershy-y way. Then hid her extremely Fluttershy-ing eyes with an exceedingly Fluttershy-ish movement. The name seemed to fit.

“That’s a good name,” Pinkie said.

Fluttershy shook her head. “It’s a silly name.”

“No, I say it’s a good name, and I’ve heard more names than you.”

“That’s probably true.” Fluttershy slowly returned to a normal sitting position. She was totally failing to hide the fact that she’d just been crying/laughing, but that was kinda okay when you were in a bar—well, cafeteria, but who was counting? Pinkie hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because she’d been more focused on how obviously this pony wasn’t okay, but Fluttershy was cute. Not I’ll follow her to the ends of the cosmos cute, but definitely the mare she hooks up with is going to be a lucky, lucky pony cute.

“T-thanks, I think,” Fluttershy said. “I, um, didn’t really know that anypony thought… that was okay. I was always told Celestia condemned it.”

Pinkie waved a hoof as dismissively as she could without actually dismissing Fluttershy’s legitimate concern. “Well, if she did, then I am in a lot of trouble.” Her brow furrowed as she considered the implications of that line of thought. “Or am I? I mean, does Celestia discriminate based on kiith? On individual belief? And what about if you go both ways, what then? Does she get confused? Does she just give up? Wouldn’t that be weird if Celestia just decided she wasn’t gonna bother with that? And what if you’re otherwise good, but you have that one little thing that she doesn’t like? Does she care enough for that to matter, or does she overlook it?”

“...What?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Eh, I guess I’ll just ask her when I die.”

“…Oh.” Fluttershy shook her head. “So, you said you also liked…?”

Pinkie shrugged. “I’m Manaani. We kinda go all over the place. It’s a cultural thing.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy tried to hide the giggle. “I thought that was a stereotype.”

Pinkie grinned. “Some of it, maybe.”

“I’ve never actually met a Manaani before.”

Pinkie sniffed. “Well, yeah. Paktu won’t let us in the door! It’s like they don’t want anypony mess with their perfect little society.”

“It’s hardly perfect,” Fluttershy muttered. “Celestia, I feel like I’ve been living a lie.”

Pinkie was suddenly thankful that there was no alcohol in reach. While it would be a perfect little cliché to have this conversation over a dozen shots of something bracing, it would probably kill poor Fluttershy.

Then Fluttershy said, “Oh.” It wasn’t an “oh” of realization, or an “oh” of remembering, no, it was an “Oh”, capital O, of a deeper kind. Pinkie traced her gaze and found that she was staring at a mare whose hotness could be compared to that of a star. She had gorgeously toned muscles under a pretty blue coat, and her mane, holy sands her mane!

“Wowza!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Is that dye, or is she just so awesome that her head sprouted a rainbow?”

“I… oh sands, I can’t be here,” Fluttershy whimpered. She tried to stand up, but Pinkie caught her with a hoof and stopped her. Fluttershy let out a little “eep!” but stayed down.

“Hang on a second,” Pinkie said in a stage whisper. “I’mma gonna test something.”

She jumped up and hopped over to the counter where the rainbow-licious mare was waiting somewhat impatiently. She brightened up as Pinkie approached. “Oh, hey, are you the bartender… or whatever? Can I get a—”

“Hang on just a teensy little second,” Pinkie said. “Are you gay?”

“What.”

Pinkie leaned in way too close while sporting her biggest grin and wiggling her brow. “Are you into the ladies?” 

“Uh…”

Pinkie whispered right in her ear, “Do you like to fool with the fillies in the pale starlight?”

The rainbow-tastic mare jumped back. “Yes! Damn, what is wrong with you?”

Pinkie felt a rush of elation. It can ha~appen! She let out a giddy “tee hee!” before zooming back to Fluttershy. “Now is the time! Seize the day!”

Fluttershy looked at her like she was an oncoming train. “W-w-what!?”

Pinkie lifted the cringing pegasus up and half-carried her over. “Hey,” she said to the Rainbow mare. “I don’t know your name, and I don’t think this filly does either, but she totally has a major crush on you and was too scared to say anything because she was from Paktu and like a little brainwashed, I guess, but now you two are totally in the same room together, and this kind of thing doesn’t happen everyday, so I’m betting its like a cosmic thingy, so you guys should probably at least try because you’d make literally the cutest couple in history okay bye!”

And then she made herself scarce. Hiding behind the counter, she watched the scene unfold.

At first, it was predictably awkward. Spectrumhead scratched her mane, Fluttershy stared at the floor, and the world was totally boring for a moment too long.

Then, the magic happened.

“So,” Prismatastic said. “Was she just insane, or…?”

“Um…”

“Wow, uh, okay.” She scratched her head again. “Uh, so… wanna sit down and grab a bite?”

Pinkie let out a muted, little squeal of joy.

“Y-yes, that would be, um… nice.”

Pinkie all but died.

The multicolorous mare approached hesitantly. “Are you gonna keep hiding behind the counter, creepy?”

Pinkie popped up. “Nope! So, what can I getcha?”

“Uh… cupcake. Just one… er, two?” Hexachromatica glanced at Fluttershy, who gave the most timid nod possible. “Yeah, two, thanks.”

Pinkie leaned forward and whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Rainbow Dash. Why?”

“Oh, that is so much better than all the stuff I came up with,” Pinkie mused. “Also, go easy on Fluttershy. She’s adorably awkward. Only just found out she could be gay without Celestia hating her.”

Rainbow Dash blinked. “Okay, wow. What just happened in here?”

“Historyyyyy!” Pinkie sang as she pulled out two cupcakes. “Have fun you two!”

She propped her elbows up on the counter as Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy sat down together, her eyes swimming in happy little tears. It wasn’t every day she got a chance to help a pony with their personal problems and set up a match made in heaven. “Totally adorabawesome,” she whispered to herself.

The two mares tried to start a conversation three times, each time drifting into awkward silence. Pinkie was beginning to prep for intervention, when suddenly Rainbow Dash turned to her, face reddened. “Sands on Goddess-damned fire! Are you going to just keep sitting there watching us? What is wrong with you?”

Pinkie grinned. “Kiss, kiss!” she cheered.

Rainbow Dash put a hoof to her face. “Oh goddesses, why?”

Fluttershy giggled. “She’s not that bad.”

“Oh yeah? How is she not that bad? She just… set us up, and now she’s watching us and shouting ‘kiss, kiss’!”

“Well, um… she’s the only reason I talked to you today. I was so scared of… everything, and she kind of… helped me... with that.”

“By throwing you in my face! Who does that?”

“I don’t know,” Fluttershy admitted, blushing. “But… I appreciate it. It was worth it, to me at least.”

Pinkie Pie whooped triumphantly.

“Can you not? Give us some bucking privacy, you damn perv!” Rainbow Dash shook her head in disbelief. “She’s something… and… yeah, I guess we wouldn’t have talked without her.” Now it was Rainbow Dash’s turn to blush, even if she did a better job of hiding it. “I… uh… I kind of thought you were cute when we met earlier. I would have said something, but at the time, uh…”

“I understand,” Fluttershy said softly. “It… was a terrible thing.”

“I don’t get it at all,” Dash said. “She was fine this morning, and then she just… well, you saw what she did to herself.”

Fluttershy nodded, fixing her eyes on the table and letting a frown creep across her face. “I can’t even imagine what she was thinking.”

Pinkie sighed. The conversation was rolling now; she wasn’t needed anymore. She slipped away, moving to clean off a table with a flourish.

She knew the voyage wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows—for which the couple of the day were actually a pretty good visual metaphor—but she could savor the little moments like this. 

She could feel it; a tingle in her left ear, then a twitch in her cheek. Love was blossoming. The world was a little brighter today.

Pinkie Pie smiled.

But then, she stiffened. A shock blasted through her body as her spine shook. There was something else here, something… beginning.

And she knew. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted into a smile that was sincere beyond anything she’d ever given before. It was time for things to start.

Time: Many years ago.
Location: Somewhere far away.

Somewhere deep in the desert, hundreds of miles from anywhere else, Pinkie Pie stared up at the sky and screamed.

“Why?” she asked the silent stars. Somewhere behind her, home was still burning, sending plumes of fire and ash towards the heavens, scattering everything she’d ever known across the sands. Not far away, her stolen sand-sailer rested on its side, finally tipped over by the great dune she now stood atop.

So it was that she screamed at Celestia. At Luna. At any god or goddess who’d hear. She asked for an answer to all the questions of the great philosophers. A reason for all the hatred and evil in the world. An explanation. Why. She didn’t receive an answer. In time, she’d come to believe that even the Goddesses could not give one, for even they did not know. 

But she saw a sign. Six strange symbols, outlined in the stars. They shined before her like great beacons on some distant shore. She saw them with wide eyes, and the tears stopped as the wonder that replaced them sunk into her bones. The desert wind swirled around her, whispering the secrets of the world, telling her of destinies yet unrealized, of tragedies yet to come, of victories yet to achieve.

On top of that dune, lost in the midst of the great desert, Pinkie Pie found her calling.

Six ponies would come together, long after that fateful night. At their first meetings, they would be strangers, but in time their paths would cross and cross again, until their threads were forever tangled. They would come together, and they would light the way to a new age of gold, a time when every stallion, mare, and foal would have their plenty. A time when all would at last return to the promised land from whence they’d come so long ago.

For any other pony, this would be where the story ended. Had any other lonely soul been chosen to receive this revelation as they wandered the sands that night, they would have have bolted off to do their task, singing praises to the heavens.

But Pinkie Pie was not like any other pony. She had questions yet, and she would not let them go unanswered. She reached up, grasping at the air, trying to reach the thing that spoke to her. Her hoof caught against the sky, and she tore away the veil for just the briefest instant, long enough to receive a vision. A smiling face, silhouetted against the currents of the universe, now bent into beautiful harmony.

She asked, “Why me?”

She heard, “You were always one of them.”

She asked, “Where should I go?”

She heard, “To a great ship that sails towards the stars.”

She asked, “Who are you?”

She heard, “That is something you already know.”

And then, she was returned to those dark sands, a star falling in place as an explosion rippled across the sky. For a hundred miles around, the sky was lit with a pale blue light. Astronomers would say that a comet had entered the atmosphere and exploded. They would be wrong.

In the center of a great crater, the sand all around charred to glass, Pinkie Pie lay on her back and laughed, tears streaming down her face. One life ended, and another began.

From that day, she’d known she needed to find those five other ponies, to bring them together and fulfill the prophecy. She’d known that her destiny lay among the stars.

Time: Now.
Location: Here.

Pinkie gasped for air as the memory faded, and a wide grin crossed her face. It was them.

The two of them, they were part of the five. Pinkie almost ran to them and began babbling about prophecies and destiny and how happy she was that she’d finally found them after all this time, but she stopped herself. It was too early. Prophecies were tough little things, but there was always the chance she’d gum it up by telling everypony what they were going to do. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t risk that. Besides, she could see the blushes, the smiles, the unfinished sentences. They were happy, in Fluttershy’s case, perhaps for the first occasion in a really long time.

So Pinkie slipped away. She switched off the lights above the counter and vanished into the Mothership’s corridors. Even she still needed to sleep. Occasionally. 

But as she lay in bed, she found she could not sleep. The six were here! She’d known they would be since that day in the sand, but now she could feel it. She’d found two of them already. Tomorrow, she’d search for the other three.

It was going to be awesome.

> 1.8: Pilgrims
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Date: 1/22/1216 KDS. The Most Important Day In History.
Time: 7:51 AM Mothership Standard Time.
Mothership Position: Kharequus Geostationary Orbit, Scaffold Area.
Location: Scaffold Press Room.

“…finally, it is time to go beyond the pale horizon, to rid ourselves of fate’s shackles and stride boldly towards the land which our Goddesses promised us long ago. On this day, we find our hooves not on solid ground, but on steel of our own forging, created to carry us to the stars which our children will one day rule.” Masterpiece smiled beatifically out at the crowd. “Thank you.”

The cheers were thunderous as he stepped down from the stand. It was all Twilight Sparkle could do to not roll her eyes at the ridiculous theatricality of it all, but she understood its necessity. Without public support, it was awfully hard to get grant money.

The final ceremonies were being held on the Scaffold, largely because the Mothership didn’t have any facilities large or ostentatious enough for the occasion. The venue was the Press Room, host to every Daiamiid address in the last fifty years. The participants: politicians, generals, scientists, leaders of all stripes.

The audience: the world.

The room had been decorated specially for the occasion. Banners of white and grey flanked the stage, emblazoned with the wings-and-spheres crest of the Mothership. Notably absent were the colors of any one kiith—quite simply put, there was no way to fit enough of them to prevent outcry from the kiithid who weren’t represented.

But the lines of division were present, and not in a subtle way. The Press Room was part auditorium, part common room, and the crowd was not so monochrome.

Twilight stepped down from the stage as the intermission began, taking a long look at the crowd as she did so. It wasn’t orderly, but to someone who was looking, it was plain to see where the lines were drawn. 

The S’jetti delegation sat in an uneven cluster, dressed in conservative robes—red for the stallions, blue for the mares—held with silver clasps that depicted the kiith’s sigil. Twilight wore a robe in the same style. Their hoods were down, revealing faces that ranged from grinning to carefully neutral. Twilight recognized a few of them—professors and scientists she’d worked with in the past, and she met their eyes and exchanged the occasional nod. Twilight made her way towards them, but she didn’t stop looking out over the crowd.

Naabal was represented more heavily, of course, though not all together. The attire varied, presumably by region—a few wore turbans, headscarves, and even veils along with traditional silk finery, while others preferred more contemporary suits and dresses—but there was a persistent trend of opulence. The predominant color was sand-brown, but much of the clothing was embroidered in gold as well. They were scattered, clustered in small, homogenous packets. Twilight recognized a few, but not many. All of them, she was certain, were of the upper-class.

Some of the Naabali were in a line near the front, all of them dressed in the modern style. These, Twilight recognized. The kiith’s ruling council, with Glamour herself sitting in the very midst.

She had two titles. The first was Naabal’sa—which simply marked her as the head of the most powerful kiith on the planet. A good start. The second title was Sa of Sa’s, which meant she was the de facto supreme authority above every single kiith associated in any way with the Daiamiid—just about the entire civilized world.

There weren’t many ponies Twilight would say she was “honored” to stand before, but Glamour was one of those few. She was a politician, yes, but she was also smart. A single look at the record of her twenty-year rule was enough to show that much. She regarded the stage neutrally, an occasional smile piercing her mask.

A few Sobani intermingled with this group, distinct in their black jumpsuits with vivid red stripes. All those present were of the upper echelons—generals of varying ranks. They seemed… surprisingly relaxed, chatting casually with one another or the Naabali next to them. The Soban’sa himself—a stallion named Stormfeather—was not present.

Twilight suppressed an irrational flash of anger. Her brother was fighting a war somewhere out in the desert while his bosses reclined in luxury up here, shooting nothing but the breeze. She wanted to believe that Stormfeather at least had deemed his duties too important to take a vacation, but there was no way to say.

Paktu was underrepresented but present, a small cluster near the back, ponies in white suits, all with blood-red stripes running down the front. They were… somber, even agitated. The Paktu’sa, a stallion named Faith whom Twilight had only seen on the news until now, sat upright with his forehooves crossed, a wide-brimmed hat hiding his face from the stage. 

Kaalel, Twilight almost missed. They were dressed in dark blue, with bands of gold at their collars and around the ends of their sleeves. They seemed to be watching, everything, chatting casually with one-another while their eyes shifted endlessly around the room. Twilight had always heard stories about them being unsettling, but she’d never seen it until now. The Kaalel’sa was missing. Twilight couldn’t remember her name.

Of all the kiithid present, the most garish were the Manaani. Greens and golds of varying shades, with splashes of other colors thrown in willy-nilly. Some were dressed in what could be called formal wear—often traditional turbans and headscarves like some of the Naabali—but others were clad in much more casual wear than the rest. The LiirHra were much the same way, their blue-and-gold colors intermingled with the Manaani, and members of the two kiithid could be seen having lively conversation. The Kiith’sas—Caramel of Manaan and and Jetstream of LiirHra—were talking like old friends. Caramel had his arm around a young mare, who he seemed to be introducing. Jetstream’s eyes lit up, and he shook her hoof with great enthusiasm. The young mare—dressed in a blue vest and a short dress of the same color which matched well with her pink coat and mane—responded with a grin and a laugh which Twilight could hear over the crowd.

Twilight realized she’d slowed, and quickened her pace towards the the S’jetti, putting the rest of the crowd out of her mind. She sat down next to an old Professor she remembered from her university days, smiling and being polite as he greeted her before going back to a conversation with the mare next to him about foalerenes.

She was rather surprised, however, when the empty seat beside her was shadowed by none other than Masterpiece himself.

“Good morning, Miss Twilight Sparkle,” he said. “Would you mind if I sit here?”

Twilight wasn’t sure what to say, exactly. “Why… uh, certainly.”

“Thank you.” Masterpiece sat down lightly, taking up the same catlike pose that Twilight did.

He sighed, closing his eyes while his face relaxed. He looked… tired.

“Are you alright, sir?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, yes. I simply can’t seem to stop making speeches these days.” He chuckled, and Twilight smiled as well.

“You do have a knack for it,” she noted.

“Why, thank you,” Masterpiece replied. He opened his eyes, and gave Twilight a wry smile. “But I take it they’re not particularly your cup of tea?”

Twilight shrugged. “Not really, no. I’m not much for all this talk of ‘destiny’ and ‘higher purpose.’”

Masterpiece nodded. “A reasonable stance to take. But in the end, does it matter whether or not we really are ‘destined’ for anything? If we have the means to achieve it, is that not destiny enough?”

Twilight stared at him for a long moment, not really sure how to answer. “Tell me something,” she said, “Why, particularly, did you decide to sit next to me?” She nodded towards his suit—blue and gold. She didn’t say it, but she left the implication there.

Masterpiece broke into a laugh. “Really now, Twilight Sparkle!” he said, his tone jovial. “Such a question! Is it too much to assume that I merely wished to speak with you, to make your acquaintance?”

“You’re being noticed, you know,” Twilight said. “People will be talking about how the great Masterpiece Kaalel snubbed his own kiith to speak with a young S’jetti mare.” She meant it as a joke, but she found it came out a little harsher than she’d intended.

It was a subtle change that came over Masterpiece’s face. Hard to exactly describe. Mostly it was in the eyes, a sudden coldness that seemed to pervade the rest of him without really changing a thing. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose it would seem rather uncouth, to an outside observer. Even in this triumphant age, we still define ourselves by our petty tribal ancestries.” He smiled, but it somehow seemed harder. “But there is a  reason that those flags about the stage are colorless. Given our imminent departure, I doubt think such things will matter much longer.”

There was silence for a couple seconds. Twilight realized her smile had faded, but she was a bit too stunned to fix it.

Masterpiece’s demeanor suddenly snapped back to how it had been before. “Still, you have a point. The public’s perception remains a necessary garden to be tended. Perhaps it’s best that I make this a short visit, then?”

Twilight shrugged. “I… didn’t mean to imply that you were unwelcome.”

“And I had no such sense, of course, but your words ring true regardless.” Masterpiece stood. “Take care, Twilight Sparkle. I’m sure we’ll have occasion to speak again. Perhaps sooner than later. There is much we should discuss, you and I.” He bowed, and departed without another word.

Twilight forced a smile, but inside she was reeling. What was THAT about?

She didn’t have long to ponder. The ceremonies were near their end, but there was one more pony of note who had yet to speak her piece.

Everypony fell silent as Glamour stood and walked towards the stage. She was getting old—visible in the grey streaks in her otherwise blue mane and the lines creasing her white coat—but when she took the stand and opened her mouth there was no doubt as to her strength. Her contralto voice carried like a song, beautiful yet tragic all at once, and yet there was a fierceness in even her gentlest words that could shake the very mountains.

“Those of you who leave for the stars today,” she said. “You know the importance of your mission. I do not need to give a long, flowery speech about destiny. You’ve received plenty of those already, and while some of them were indeed masterpieces, you don’t particularly need to hear any more.”

Twilight suppressed a snicker, along with about half of the room. She glanced back at Masterpiece, who smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Glamour gave them a beat before she continued. “No, I am not about to give you a grandiose speech. I merely hope to wish you well, and give you a small piece of news to carry with you.”

She cleared her throat. The whole room waited. 

“Soon after your final departure, we are planning to begin work on a second Mothership, which, in two decades’ time, will begin traveling to join you. Should you report back to us with positive findings, we will begin moving ponies to Equestria in earnest—a true migration, to follow your pilgrimage.”

Murmurs of awe rolled about the room, but Glamour waved them down with a smile. “Yes, these are indeed exciting times. I certainly hope I’ll live to see the second Mothership fly from here. Perhaps, if things go well enough, I’ll even manage to see it myself before these tired old eyes fail me.”

Glamour’s head dipped, and a smile flitted across her lips before being replaced by a neutral expression.“I’ll leave you with this,” she said, and raised her head so her sapphire eyes pointed squarely out over the ponies below. “We who linger here send our prayers and hopes along with you. Take Equestria, so that someday we may make this pilgrimage as well. You are our vanguard, our best and brightest, and you have our unwavering faith.”

She bowed her head again, and the smile returned once more. “That is all I have to say. Go with the blessing of the Goddesses, and reclaim our birthright.”

The cheers were like rolling thunder as she stepped down and slowly made her way back to her seat, and Twilight couldn’t help but stomp her hooves with the rest of them. As bad as things might be, it was comforting to know half a planet stood behind you.

Glamour was the last speaker, and the ponies began getting up, shaking hooves and saying their farewells. Twilight stood, dusted off her robe, and made her way out of the press room.

She paused at the door, glancing about, and pulled up her hood. Smiling, she ducked through, out into the sea of reporters and flashing cameras, who paid no mind to a single S’jetti amidst so many other figures of importance. She only relaxed and took down her hood again once she was seated on the shuttle back to the Mothership.

She sighed, and closed her eyes as the shuttle kicked itself away from the Scaffold, one last time. As much as she loved her planet and her people, politics and press conferences were two things she wouldn’t be missing.

The thought brought back memories of the night before, things Amethyst had said. “We’re gonna lose, Twi. I know it’s hard to admit, but even with all we’ve got, even with ponies like Shiny on those lines, it’s not a fight we can win.”

Still, somehow, a smile found its way to her lips. Glamour talked about another Mothership. She still thinks there’s hope for us all. What are Amethyst’s words to those of the mare who rules the world?


Time: Who knows.
Location: Who cares.

The stars are bright, and so unbelievably beautiful… but they’re nothing compared to her. With my wing wrapped around her, and her wing around me, the world feels like a place worth living in, and everything seems all right. We don’t have to speak, we just press ourselves against each other. I lower my head onto her shoulder, and she sighs in contentment. Things are perfect.

But that can’t be how it is. The stars stare back at us, hungry, waiting. My eyes lock on to them and narrow as I invite them to come for us, to try and destroy what we have. For a while, at least, they don’t take me up on the dare.

Still, they’re out there. So many things, little or big, that could tear us apart. Too many. Things I can control, things I can’t. I don’t know them all, can’t know them all, but I have to. I bury my head in her mane and inhale. Like flowers, or maybe vanilla. She’s just so perfect and I’m just… not. I need to be perfect for her, to keep us together even when the stars are going to try and tear us apart, to make sure that she’s safe through it all, but I’m not sure if I can be that perfect.

But for now, we have each other. We smile at each other, me in that stupid, cocky way and her with that lovely little smile that could turn a complete monster’s heart to jello. We hold each other tight, pressed against each other, eyes to eyes, nose to nose… then lips toRINGRINGRINGRINGRINGRINGRING—



Time: 8:30 AM
Location: Mothership Pilot Barracks A, Rainbow Dash’s Quarters.

Rainbow Dash awoke to the relentless drone of her PDA’s alarm. She groaned, blinking away sleep as she rolled slowly and stiffly out of bed, letting the covers slide to the floor without a care. She tapped the PDA, turning off the alarm and letting beautiful silence envelop her much more.

She bit her lip as the still-fresh images came back for a moment. Just a dream. Just a dream, but a freaky, sort of foreboding dream… with a happy ending that her damn alarm had just prematurely ended.

Then she remembered why she’d set the alarm. She whipped the PDA into sight, checking the time with a growing panic. Oh, crap.

She ran towards the door, stopped, turned, then ran towards the bathroom instead. A set of brushed teeth later, she was heading back towards the door again, except that then she was heading back towards the bathroom. She almost made it outside after brushing her mane into submission, but this time she turned and headed for the closet.

She threw the doors open and stared solemnly at her vest, shiny bits and all.

“It’s not really a date,” she muttered. “It’s nine in the morning. It’s breakfast. She’s not going to be dressed up, and it’s not like this is a dress uniform anyway.”

She’s probably not going to be dressed at all, whispered an especially excited part of her mind. Her tail twitched, and Rainbow bit back a curse. Classy. Gotta think classy.

She snatched up her vest. Not enough, really, but it would have to do. She wasn’t about to be late. Rainbow Dash didn’t show up late.

She trotted out through the foyer, fully intending to avoid conversation or distraction… but she kinda failed miserably. Her eyes found the plaque above Lightning Dust’s room, and her legs slowed to a stop.

It wasn’t like she’d forgotten how she’d met her new… well, her date, but it was still a punch in the gut to be reminded why they’d ended up together in the first place. It felt… wrong, somehow, that they’d come together over Dust’s meltdown.

Rainbow didn’t feel guilty about Dust—because seriously, it was her own damn fault that she ended up… how she’d ended up—but all the same, seeing the name brought back memories.

A first encounter. “Hey, I’m Lightning Dust, but my friends call me Dust. You seem pretty cool, wanna hang out later, maybe catch some sim time?”

…

A bonding experience. “That was awesome, Dash! I bet there isn’t another team on the whole Scaffold that could top us!”

…

A bet. An approach. “What’s up, Dash? What’s going on? What’s with the face…?”

…

A confession. “What?”

…

A look of shock. Betrayal. “You’re… WHAT?”

…

Anger. Confusion. Revulsion. “Get away from me you bucking sicko!”

…

Resentment. Anger. Bigotry. “Buck off, dyke. I don’t talk to freaks.”

…

Test scores. A difference of two points. A mutter, half-heard amidst celebration. “Stop bucking beating me, fillyfooling bitch.”

…

Panic in Spitfire’s voice. Dust shooting ahead of the pack. “Sands on fire… Dust! Cut the boost system!”

…

Smoke. Fire. Dust’s head, bleeding through a cracked helmet. Adrenaline. Numb emotions.

…

A firm voice. Something in the chest, like a lump of cold lead. “…nerve damage. She’s not flying again, not with those wings.”

…

Rainbow shuddered, breaking from the trance. No, none of it had been her fault. No way. Even if confessing her crush had sped up their falling out, it would have happened eventually. Lightning Dust was a bigoted bitch, and Rainbow Dash was gay and proud of it. That had always been true—they just hadn’t seen each other for real until that day.

But still, Dash couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she’d never asked that question months ago. Maybe she would have found some other mare, Fluttershy, even, and started going out. Dust would’ve found out, and sure, she’d have been pissed, but it would have been remote enough that she could look past it. They were friends first, right? Not like it was hurting her, or affecting her in any way. Maybe then their test scores wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe then—

“Ey, Dash! Flight control to Major Dash!”

Rainbow blinked. “Wha?” She turned, then jumped back a bit at the sight of Cloud Kicker. “Cloud! Hey, uh… hi.”

Cloud cocked her head. “Dude, what is going on in your brain right now? You look… introspective. That’s not normal for you.”

Dash grimaced. “Yeah, well, lotta crazy stuff happened yesterday.”

Cloud glanced at Dust’s nameplate and let out a low hiss. “Oh, yeah… that was some real nasty manure.”

“Yeah…” Dash murmured. “Whole tons of it, too.”

Cloud gave Rainbow a funny look. Then, she groaned. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re doing the ‘my fault’ thing.”

“What? No, I—”

“Come on, Dash, look at me.”

Rainbow did so, and Cloud fixed her with a rock-solid stare. It occurred to Dash—not for the first time—that Cloud Kicker had beautiful eyes. Lavender. The gold mane and purple coat went together real well, too. And the muscle tone… unf. If Cloud wasn’t straight…

Rainbow shook her head. She was dating now. Enough with the roaming eyes.

If Cloud caught Rainbow’s momentary lapse of judgement, she didn’t dignify it with a response. “Dash, there is absolutely no way—and I mean no way—that you could have seen it coming.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dash muttered. “But—”

“Na-na-na-nope! No. Dashie? No.” Cloud Kicker shook her head. Left, right. “Do. Not. I don’t care what little clues your hindsight’s picking up, but they are one hundred percent irrelevant.” Her eyebrow shot up. “The past. Cannot. Be changed. Do you comprehend this most universal of truths?”

Rainbow couldn’t help but snicker at that. It was the LiirHra’n accent—it wasn’t always apparent, but sometimes when Cloud Kicker talked she sounded like an old-timey gangster. This was one of those times, and the absolutely straight face wasn’t helping.

Cloud caught on fast—she always did—and put on a little smirk. “Glad to see you’re having a good time, Dashie.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Rainbow composed herself as quickly as she could. “Yeah… you’re right. I get that. What’s done is done, and… damn it, it sucks, but I guess she’ll have to deal, somehow.”

Cloud kicker nodded firmly. “And that’s that.” Her smirk widened a hair. “Did you hear the news yet?”

Rainbow cocked her head. “News?”

“Yeah, the news.” Cloud whipped her PDA out of a pouch on her vest. “A buddy of mine in the construction department forwarded this to me over the ship’s network.” She tossed it over to Rainbow. “Check it out!”

Rainbow caught it on her hoof and examined it closely. On the PDA’s screen was… something that looked suspiciously like a set of blueprints. For a fighter.

Rainbow Dash’s jaw dropped. “What, already?”

“Yeah, apparently ol’ Jubilee is having a fit over this thing. Ever heard of the Blade?”

Rainbow’s eyes widened. Had she heard of the Blade? It was one of the biggest disappointments of her childhood. This big, awesome project which spiraled out and pancaked at the height of the hype. “Of course I’ve heard of the Blade,” she said, already making the connections. “You’re not telling me they pulled the designs out of the archives?”

Cloud nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly that! Apparently some hot-shot Naabali kid whipped this up last night. They’re calling it the Blade Mark-V, and holy hell, take a look at the projected stats for it.”

Rainbow looked, and her eyes widened. “They can’t seriously be talking about that much vernier thrust, right? That kind of acceleration mid-flight would… turn us into goo.”

“Magic, girl, magic! The whole thing’s wired with spells that’d make  Twilight Sparkle blush.” Cloud tilted her head. “Though rumor goes she did half the work. Hard to tell; it is impossible to get any good info on the research team… freaking artists’ colony, I tell ya.”

“That Twilight Sparkle?” Rainbow rubbed her head with a wing. Something that she’d never admit to being childlike glee was welling up inside her. “Wow, just… wow.”

Cloud noded, flapping her wings twice in excitement. “It’s a great day to have wings!”

Both pilots winced. The excitement in the air fell a few notches.

Cloud’s ears drooped. “Right, yeah, too soon. Sorry.”

Rainbow squinted at the pad again. “Wait a sec, maybe that’s not a problem. It says… this thing is specced for earth ponies and unicorns, too.” It made sense; without the boost, there was no reason the controls couldn’t be adapted.

“Heh… then it’s a good day to be anypony.” Cloud bounced on her heels in excitement. “This thing is going to be awesome to fly! I’m definitely signing up for test pilot duty.”

“Slower than the Arrow,” Rainbow noted, her eyebrow lifting skeptically as she studied the rest of the statistics. “Bigger, too. More of a target.” She wanted to love it, but there were drawbacks. Rule number one of getting shiny new tech: Make sure the suppliers weren’t cutting costs.

…Though if this was cutting costs, the original was gonna give Rainbow a total nerdgasm.

“Slower, bigger, sure,” Cloud conceded. “But with that kind of maneuverability who even cares, dude!”

Rainbow continued down the list. Hardened cockpit… adjusted centers of thrust and mass… modular weapon mounts… the thing was packed with little improvements that, if you really thought about it, were gonna change everything. Modular weapons? Holy sands! And the thing was built like a freaking tank!

She returned Cloud’s PDA. “Wow. Just… wow. Thanks for letting me know about this, Cloud. You just made my freaking morning.”

Cloud gave a satisfied nod and tucked the PDA into her vest. “So…” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “I noticed you were in a hurry. What was that about, hmm?”

Rainbow’s froze for a few seconds. “SANDS! Damn it, Cloud! You totally made me forget I’ve got a da—” She slammed her mouth shut. 

Rainbow knew Cloud Kicker. If Cloud knew that a friend was in a relationship, she’d never stop “helping.” It wasn’t… totally unwelcome, but all the same, Rainbow wasn’t looking for hook-up tips.

Thankfully, Cloud didn’t seem make the logical leap. “A day? Well yeah, you got a day. Everybody’s got a day. A big day, too. What… oh.” 

And then she did. 

Cloud blinked. It was a slow blink, with two graceful motions. Eyelids down, eyelids up. Rainbow could see the bucking wires connecting. “Oh…”

Rainbow stared warily at her friend. “Cloud?”

A grin crept onto Cloud’s face. “Oh… so that’s why you were out so late last night.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Rainbow protested. “I didn’t do whatever you’re implying I did, okay? We just talked, that’s all. Then we said we’d get together to, y’know, watch the jump… and stuff.”

“Does this ambiguously defined ‘stuff’ involve things along the lines of…” Cloud waggled her eyebrows in way that suggested “hubba hubba” to be somewhere within her vocabulary. “Smoochin’?”

Half of Rainbow Dash wanted to erupt in blushes and denials, while the other half was dead set on laughing her flank off. Cloud tended to have that effect.

She settled for an abrupt “snerk” and used her hoof to cover both that and the rising redness she could feel in her cheeks. “We didn’t plan anything like that. C’mon, dude, you’ve gotta know I’m not that lame. I’m not gonna plan, a… a… thingy.”

Cloud chuckled. “You’re lame enough to call a kiss a ‘thingy.’” Rainbow slugged her in the shoulder, but Cloud only responded with another laugh. “Fine, fine… but seriously, I wish you two fillies the best… it is a filly, right?”

Rainbow nodded, giving Cloud a slightly confused smile. “Yeah. That doesn’t just stop being a thing, y’know.”

“Right, well, let’s just say I’ve known some ponies.” Cloud raised a wing, and Rainbow met it with her own. “Take care, dude,” Cloud said. “Introduce me to her sometime, but for today… make sure it’s a day to remember, eh?”

Rainbow grinned at the totally silly question. “You know me, Cloud,” she said. “Do you think I’d do anything less?”


Time: 8:39 AM
Location: Docking Terminal 3, Tram Station.

It was with a melancholy smile that Rarity waited within the silent terminal.

Yes, her work had been well received. Twilight Sparkle herself had hurried off before getting a chance to look it over, but the rest of the team was of the opinion that the Blade Mk. V was, in Bon Bon’s words, “quite brilliant indeed.” There was a mote of glowing pride still present — Bon Bon was a figure of some renown, after all, and a positive review from her was nothing to blow one’s nose at.

However, it still felt… lacking. Bon Bon had gone right back to cuddling with her marefriend (who, from her stiff limbs and glazed smile had apparently lost their little “game”) while Amethyst had simply wandered off back towards her bunk with a nonchalant wave.

Rarity sighed. Was it selfish to expect a little more than that?

She shook her head. It didn’t much matter now—the schematics were off to the construction department for final review. Bon Bon had offered to make everypony some kind of breakfast, but Rarity had declined the offer. She’d said she wanted to find a more dedicated place to watch the jump—which was mostly true—and so it was she found herself standing before the tram station.

A tram station on a spaceship. Rarity suppressed a smirk. Even if it made sense in terms of scale, it was still quite surreal to think about.

The tram arrived after a moment, slipping into the station without so much as a whisper. There was a faint chime, and the pressure doors parted before Rarity.

She sighed, and stepped aboard, keying her destination into the console by the door—B-section, upper decks. Bon Bon had mentioned that a few of the better-equipped commissaries were already operating up there. At best she’d find somewhere to eat breakfast and watch the Jump. At worst she’d be able to pick up some supplies and hurry to an observation area.

Rarity hummed a happy little tune as she settled into her seat. Yes, this was going to be a good day. She could practically feel it in her bones, yes indeed!

She glanced around the cabin. It was sparse—a bit more like a bus than a proper train car. Rows of seats with little leg space, rails and handles against the ceiling for it if ever filled up. From what Rarity knew of the Mothership’s tram network, that was never likely to happen. Things were just too well coordinated, thanks in no small part to a certain neuro-linked alicorn.

Three ponies occupied the tram, besides Rarity herself. A pair of tough-but-handsome looking stallions who were having a quiet discussion at the far end, and a mare one row in front of Rarity who was staring intently at a hoofrail like it would make her stop fidgeting.

My oh my, Rarity thought as she got a better look the aforementioned mare. I imagine there’s quite the story here…

She was beautiful, in a completely au naturel manner. Toned muscles under an azure coat that evoked the sky, her eyes the color of the sunrise amidst a face that most models would kill for, and her mane… good Goddesses, there was simply no way that could be natural!

Of course, she was also cognizant, and thus immediately caught the undue attention Rarity was pouring her way. “Hey, ease up on the eyes, wouldja? I’m spoken for.”

Rarity shook herself. “Quite sorry, dear, I… I must say, you look quite fabulous this morning.”

The mare raised a half-hearted smile. “Uh, yeah… thanks, I guess?”

Rarity squinted. “But…”

The mare blinked. “But?”

“Oh, I could do so much with that mane!” Rarity hopped right out of her seat and hurried over to inspect it, ignoring the shock on her target’s face. “Oh my goodness, that really is natural! Splendid! Simply fabulous! Why, with a spot of makeup and a touch of gel, I could—”

The mare’s eyes had gradually widened as the rant went on. Rarity cut off her rambling mid-sentence and gave a sheepish smile. “Oh, sorry, I… I just haven’t seen such… you really are blessed, dear.”

“Uh huh…” the mare glanced around the tram as if looking for an escape route—no such luck, of course, as the tram was already well in motion. One of the stallions glanced back, but quickly returned to his conversation. “Look, thanks and all, but I’m really not the type for makey-uppy stuff.”

“Oh,” Rarity said. “Well, it’s just that… you know, with the right cosmetics, why, you could pass for a supermodel.”

The mare snorted—quite uncouthly, to Rarity’s perceptions. “Thanks but no thanks. ‘Model’ isn’t a career path I’m after.”

“That isn’t what I was implying, dear. I was simply assuming you’d want to look your best.” She glanced down at the drab uniform vest. “Why, if you’d dress with just a little more style, even…”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell upon the medals. 

Rarity was no expert, of course, but she’d heard whispered stories, read magazine articles. Even to the Naabali safe within their city walls, Sobani were known as heroes. An entire kiith—families, children, even—dedicated to fighting a war so that nopony else had to.

It blew fashion out the window, frankly. Rarity had never been one for dreams of heroism—the rough-and-tumble almost never appealed to her—but she could respect such a pursuit. She didn’t know what any of this mare’s medals meant, but to have so many at such a young age?

“Yeah, I don’t really dress in ‘style’ all that often.”

“Very well. My apologies, dear,” Rarity said. She gave a friendly smile. “I’ve been rather rude in my insistence. If you wish to remain as you are, then that is your business, and none of mine.”

“Oh. Uh… okay.” The mare blinked twice, then followed Rarity’s gaze to the medals. She looked back up, nervousness etched across her features. She seemed lost for words. “Uh… yeah. I don’t usually wear these, ‘cause they look a lot more impressive than they really are.”

Rarity bowed gracefully, drawing a shocked look out of her companion. “I know it perhaps presumptuous to say so, but it is an honor to meet you, miss…?”

The mare suddenly got the look of a pony caught in the headlights of a speeding train. “Uh, Rainbow Dash,” she said. “And... drop the miss.”

“Well enough,” said Rarity as she straightened up. “As I’ve said, it is a pleasure.” 

The two fell to silence. “Section D,” the intercom announced. “Arriving at Section D.” There was no sense of slowing, but rarity caught the change in motion through the window, the slowing, and then an abrupt shift in perspective as the tram rotated, bringing itself into alignment with the deck.

It rather defeated Rarity’s spatial awareness. She swayed on her hooves a bit as the tunnel spun mutely about them. The two stallions paused their conversation, one of them gripping the hoofrail for support. The doors parted, and they exited, leaving Rarity alone with her new acquaintance, if they could be called that. The tram shifted back into alignment, and Rarity once again found herself dizzied.

If it bothered miss Dash, she didn’t show it. The mare stared off into the far wall, chewing her lip in silent thought, her eyes unfocused.

Rainbow Dash… a thought occurred to Rarity, something familiar. “Rainbow Dash… have I perchance heard your name somewhere?”

All at once, a grin broke upon Rainbow Dash’s face. “Well, probably, yeah,” she said. “I mean, I’ve had a pretty awesome run lately. Number one rookie flyer on the Scaffold, top scores in my weight range here. I mean, I can’t compete with the veterans, but…”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness… you were that pilot? Yesterday, during the test flight?”

Rainbow’s smile faded a bit. “You mean the one that… ‘saved the day?’”

Rarity gaped, awestruck. “In no uncertain terms! Why, I should have recognized it sooner! The Arrow’s boost revealed your Magical Emission Spectrum. It matches your mane!”

“Yeah I guess it…” Rainbow frowned. “Wait a sec, you know about the boost?”

“Well, certainly,” Rarity scoffed. “I mean, it a rather large part of my job to understand how such systems work. My duty does include designing such things, after all.”

“Wait, you’re not…” Rainbow’s jaw dropped. “Burning sands, you’re Rarity, aren’t you?”

“Why… yes, that is my name. Why do you ask?”

“Ohmygooosh! You did the thingy! The new Blade thingy!” Rainbow’s grin could have outshined the sun. “I saw it earlier. It looks awesome!”

“You mean… the MK-V? You’ve… seen my work?”

“Yeah! The construction guys sent the schematics to the flight leaders.”

“Were… they supposed to do that?”

“Maybe? Probably not? Who cares!” The mare seized Rarity by the shoulders and started talking at mach speed. “Dude, I remember the Blade. When I was a kid, it was all the flyers talked about, this big new thing the LiirHra tech-heads were cooking up… but then the whole thing corkscrewed. Like, biggest letdown of my life.” She jabbed a hoof at Rarity’s chest. “And you’re the mare who brought it back? I could kiss you, dude.” 

Rarity just stared at her for a moment.

Rainbow’s eyes widened and her cheeks went bright red. “I mean… if I wasn’t spoken for.” She released Rarity and took a step back with a sheepish grin. “Uh, sorry.”

“No, no, quite alright,” Rarity said. Honestly, after the culture shock of yesterday? This mare wasn’t the least bit strange.

The tram intercom chimed softly. “Section A. Arriving at Section A. All passengers please check your belongings before disembarking.” Rarity thought it had ended, but the voice continued two seconds later. “Rainbow Dash, that means you. Your PDA fell out of your pocket. When you accosted miss Rarity just now.”

There was a moment of silence as both ponies present took a moment to process that Fleet Command had just intervened because a pilot dropped their phone. What was unmistakably a snicker emanated from the intercom.

Rainbow glanced around until she spotted her PDA—sure enough, halfway under a seat. She stood up slowly, with a look on her face which suggested she was hairs away from bursting out into nervous laughter. “Uh… thanks Great Journey, Ma’am,” she said.

Rarity held a hoof to her mouth to stifle a most unladylike giggle. “Dear, I understand that it was quite an amusing thing to do, but please don’t try to give us heart attacks!”

The expression on Rainbow’s face shifted into one of alarm. “Hey, are you sure that—”

But Great journey couldn’t hold it in long enough to let her finish. A peal of laughter echoed through the intercom, sending Rarity into a much more subdued fit of her own. “Oh Celestia,” Journey wheezed between laughs. “I’m so sorry, Rainbow Dash, Rarity. I merely saw the situation in my peripheral view and… well, I couldn’t let you leave your PDA on the floor, now could I?”

Rainbow stared up towards the intercom, stunned. “I… don’t know how to respond to that, ma’am.”

Great Journey recovered thought it took a moment. “I’m sorry, dear, I’m sorry. Recall for a moment that this isn’t a military vessel, and that I am not your commanding officer.”

Rainbow’s eyes widened, and she pawed at the floor nervously. “I’m… uh… thanks, ma’am?”

Rarity resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “She’s saying that you don’t have to call her ‘ma’am.’”

Journey chuckled. “That is what I am saying, yes.”

“I get that, but it’s… well, weird? I dunno,” Rainbow said, glancing helplessly at Rarity. “I uh… like…”

“Don’t worry about it for now. You’ve got a date to attend, to you not?”

“Uh, yes ma’am.” Rainbow looked more than a little shocked. “Uh… how do you know that, ma’am?”

“As much as I’d like to claim that I watch everything you do every minute of every day—and record the bits that are funny to me…” Great Journey snickered again as Rainbow’s face paled. “As much as I’d like to say that, I really just heard it from your friend, Cloud Kicker. She asked me to make sure things went smoothly for the two of you, and seeing as how there is quite literally no reason I shouldn’t, I took it upon myself to grant her request. Among other things, you’ll notice that your tram arrived about three minutes ahead of schedule… though I suppose we’ve already burned through that particular benefit with all this talking.”

Rainbow Dash just gaped.

“The Jump is in ten minutes, you know. You really should be going.”

“Right, yeah, that!” Rainbow said. “Uh, thanks ma—I mean, uh… Great Journey.”

Rarity cleared her throat, nearly causing Rainbow to jump right out of her coat. “Well, it’s been a genuine pleasure to meet you, Rainbow Dash,” she said, extending her hoof.

“Yeah, likewise!” Rainbow said. She met Rarity’s hoof and gave one good hard shake before glancing up at the ceiling once again. “You too, ma’am Journey—I mean… yeah. You too! Going now!”

Rainbow Dash then proceeded to sprint away at a velocity which would have put a fighter jet to shame.

Rarity glanced around until she spotted the tiny camera lens embedded in the front of the tram. She fixed it with a stern look. “You know, I think you really rattled her.”

“She’s used to a military life. A lot of the crew are.” Great Journey let out a sigh as the tram doors slid closed. “I feel it’s important to break away from that idea. We are not soldiers, are we?”

“You have a point,” Rarity said. “But I don’t think scaring poor ponies to death is the right way to go about it.”

“Maybe not,” Journey conceded, the hint of a smile in her voice, “But it can be such fun.”

The tram shifted again, but this time when it started off, it was heading the opposite direction.

Rarity narrowed her eyes at the camera. “You know, Rainbow Dash just got off at section A, and I am heading for section B. You skipped my stop, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Rarity,” Great Journey said coyly. “But if I did… would you begrudge me for helping along a young filly in love?” Her voice softened. “If you could see the crew roster… well, let’s just say that that particular young mare is more in need of a good relationship than most ponies I’ve met.”

Rarity’s glare faded. “The medals?”

“An archive search would tell you that one was for wounds suffered in a combat action, and another was for surviving an aircraft crash. That mare has risked more in her young life than most of us ever will.” Great Journey paused to let that sink in. “Beyond that, I have it on a mutual friend’s authority that the last time she tried to reach out to another pony she was rather badly burned for it. A rerouted tram is the least I can do.”

Rarity nodded. “You could have at least warned me, you know.”

“I wasn’t planning on letting either of you know I was watching,” Journey admitted. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, really.”

A frown crossed Rarity’s face. She knew Great Journey, of course—probably quite a bit better than most ponies on the Mothership.

And that could be a problem.

Because despite the fact that Rarity trusted her former teacher, the sheer level of power she wielded would almost certainly put others on edge. To be seen using that power for pranks… would endear her to some, perhaps, but it would greatly unnerve others. “Dear, you should be careful,” Rarity said, softly. “As much as I hate to say it, you can be quite frightening like this. You could… rekindle a lot of old fears.”

Great Journey went quiet for a while. The tram started its movement.“I know,” Journey said, her tone suddenly growing sad. “All too well. It’s… can I confide in you, Rarity?”

“Of course,” Rarity replied without hesitation. “Anything, dear.”

“It’s getting hard to be myself these days, when all everypony seems to see are the computer chips in my spine. People so rarely use my name… well, they never use my real name, do they? But even the one I took up for this endeavor has fallen out of use in favor of ‘Fleet Command.’” Journey’s voice broke suddenly, emotion cascading forth. “And how soulless that sounds! Every time I hear those words, I feel a little less like a mare and a little more like a machine! And… I’m not sure if that frightens me as much as it should.”

Rarity’s breath caught in her throat. “I…” she stammered. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

“It’s alright,” Journey said, her tone fading back into the steady alto she normally held. “None of it was ever your decision to make. It’s not your struggle to worry over—”

“You are my friend, dear,” Rarity said sharply. “If you ever need an ear, I am always here to listen. And if you ever needed help… why, I’d tear you out of that interface with my own hooves and horn if you asked me to!”

Great Journey laughed, but only a little. “You’re a more generous soul than I could ever deserve, Rarity.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Rarity said, smiling. “Everypony deserves a few good friends.”

“Then I am blessed to count you one of mine.” The tram doors opened onto the section B terminal. “Take care, Rarity. Cafeteria B-6 has a rather spectacular view.”

“Thank you, dear,” Rarity said. She stepped off the tram, casting a smile back towards where she fancied her friend was watching from. “If you’d ever like to talk, you need only to ask.”

“There may be a time when I take you up on that, Rarity, though I hope it will be for better reasons than my own personal foibles.”

The doors slid closed behind her, but Rarity thought she heard, at the last moment, one more whisper from the tram’s intercom.

“And thank you, Rarity, for treating me like myself.”


Time: 8:53 AM
Location: Cafeteria A-4

Worrying was far too easy.

Fluttershy still wasn’t sure if what had happened last night had been real or not. It was just too good to be true. No matter how much Pinkie had insisted it was all true, the doubt just wouldn’t go away.

Speaking of Pinkie, she… wasn’t around, apparently. She’d said she was going to some kind of ceremony on the Scaffold, to meet a couple old friends before she left. She should have been back on board the Mothership… but she wasn’t in the cafeteria.

She probably just had somewhere else to be. That was the rational answer, right? Still, Fluttershy couldn’t help but worry. About Pinkie, about Rainbow… even about the Jump. It was the first time anypony had tried to do something like this since… well, since before history, when ponies first arrived on Kharequus. Nopony could really say if the Mothership would make it into hyperspace at all, much less out the other side. Fluttershy wasn’t a scientist, but from what little she’d read on hyperspace… it didn’t sound like a particularly nice place. The words “thaumic radiation” rarely meant good things. 

Still, the ponies with doctorates weren’t panicking, which was probably a good sign. The thought was enough to pull Fluttershy out of her spiral of worry, at least.

The cafeteria was pretty much the same as it had been the night before. The only addition of any note was a huge wall-sized view-screen, which was apparently stored in the ceiling. According to Pinkie, this cafeteria was also part of a series of emergency control centers—in case Fleet Command ever had to step down for some reason. She’d displayed this by pressing a button behind the counter, which had flipped one of the tables into the floor and replaced it with a control desk, and then vice-versa.

None of it worked, of course. To have controls which could override Fleet Command in a cafeteria would be an extraordinarily bad idea. The controls were locked, unless you happened to know some high-level codes or Fleet Command stopped giving signals.

Fluttershy looked up for the the millionth time as the doors whooshed open, but it was only another security stallion. Nopony she knew.

She almost wished that Snowflake would wander in, or something. The security chief wasn’t the easiest pony to talk to conversationally, and they weren’t really friends so much as sympathetics, but anything was better than sitting alone, waiting for an impossible dream.

Fluttershy reached into her vest—it wasn’t like she had anything else to wear—and pulled out her PDA. She checked the time. Fifteen minutes until the jump.

Was Rainbow Dash coming? Had she reconsidered at the last minute? The cold hooves of despair pressed against her back.

That must have been it. Celestia, how deluded must she have been to think this would work out? Rainbow Dash was a pony with ambition. She was cool, she was clever… she was so much better than Fluttershy. There was no way they would work out. This whole thing was just some kind of punishment. Fluttershy had dared to be open with her… disgusting feelings, and now she was sitting here alone, looking like the fool she was—

And then, Rainbow Dash zoomed through the door.

“OhmyGoddessesI’msosorryIkeptyouwaitingIdidn’tknowyou’dbeherealready—”

Fluttershy’s mind stopped working for a moment as it rolled back to a state that didn’t hate itself. A warm feeling filled her belly as she stared at Rainbow, slowly registering her presence. She was as beautiful as before, even more so, maybe. Everything about her seemed to shine, as if she was a living statue carved from sapphire and prismatic diamonds. The medals on her chest gleamed brilliantly, but not so brilliantly as her wide red eyes.

“Uh… yeah… so… um…” Rainbow Dash grinned, and Fluttershy saw her own nervousness reflected in those twinned rubies. “Hi.”

“Um… hello.” Fluttershy found herself wearing the first completely sincere smile she’d worn in years. Her heart pounded in staccato.

“So… Okay, look, I’m really not sure where this goes from here, but, like… hi.”

“It’s okay, I’m not really sure either. Um. Hello?” Fluttershy grinned as the panic began to set it. Merciful Celestia, tell me what to say!

Pinkie’s words from earlier that morning came back to her. Say hello: Check. Ask her how she’s been…

“H-how’ve you been? Um… how are you?”

“Me? Good. Great. Uh… yeah. Awesome.” Rainbow Dash slid into the seat opposite Fluttershy. “Like I totally just blurted out incoherently, I’m really, really sorry I made you sit here alone.”

“Oh… it’s okay. I just came early because I was n-nervous.”

“Oh. N-nervous?”

Fluttershy blushed. “Um… well, I’ve never been on a date before, so…”

“Oh yeah, right…” Rainbow rubbed the back of her head. “Well, I’ve never been on a date that wasn’t a disaster—except for this! This is already not a disaster… except I’m still talking and I can’t stop oh please stop me from talking.”

A giggle snuck past Fluttershy’s defenses. “It’s… okay, really. I like your voice.”

Apparently that was exactly how you got Rainbow Dash to stop talking. “Um…”

“W-was that weird?”

“No!” Rainbow stammered, her cheeks glowing. “Um, your voice is b-beautiful, too. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

It was the kind of thing anypony could say, but Fluttershy’s breath caught in her throat anyway. “Thank you, that’s… the nicest thing anypony’s ever said to me.”

Rainbow Dash inhaled sharply, her eyes blinking as tears formed in them. “Oh Celestia, somepony shoot me, I’m going sappy.”

Fluttershy hid a smile. Celestia, Rainbow was beautiful. She was strong, lithe, every inch of her body toned, and yet slim. It was a beauty of her own, apparent in the way her coat was cut so close—except in the telltale places where she couldn’t reach. The way her mane was cut without any attempt at a particular style. The beauty came from her self, not by any design or imposition. It was wild. Free.

“Uh… Fluttershy? You okay?”

Fluttershy’s cheeks reddened. “Yes!”

“I think they’re gonna… do the jumpy thing.” Rainbow indicated the screen. “I figured you’d want to know.”

Their attentions broke away from each other for a moment. There, before them, was the band of the galaxy. Great Journey was giving a countdown.

It was finally time to leave. Fluttershy felt her heart leap as it really, truly sunk in. At last, they were shoving off. Into the great unknown, for the first time in as long as anypony could remember…

She stood up suddenly, surprising herself with her own passion. Rainbow looked at her in terror, but relaxed when she realized she wasn’t leaving. Fluttershy grabbed her chair and scooted it over so she and Rainbow were side by side. They shared a smile, and turned back to watch the show.

The first spark was so small indeed, but it grew fast. Soon it was a line, blue, shining, carving across space. Perfectly uniform, and all the more surreal in the face of all that cosmic chaos.

The line expanded, and there was the portal, wrenched wide for their passage. Blue as the open sea, its edges cut in perfect right-angles. A door, and within it… it didn’t matter, did it? Somepony might know all those answers. Twilight Sparkle, Great Journey… some genius prodigy whose work would impact their lives in unimaginable ways. They would know, but to Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, it didn’t matter what they were looking at. It was beautiful, in symbol as in form.

All was quiet as the portal advanced, until it touched the Mothership bow. And then, a sound—like the ringing of a single colossal chime echoing off the steel walls of their cosmic cathedral. Fluttershy reached over and clasped Rainbow’s hoof. Rainbow reciprocated.

It was impossible to tell at what point they were fully through. The blue consumed them, and they were lost within.

But Great Journey’s voice marked the moment. “We are now in hyperspace. All sensors read as expected. We’ve made it.”

A cheer, somewhere in the background. Fluttershy didn’t really hear it. On the screen, the shapes of hyperspace coalesced, becoming winding patterns which danced as if alive. Fluttershy didn’t really see it.

She and Rainbow were together. Neither knew which one had moved first, and neither cared. In that moment… they were simply together. Eyes to eyes, nose to nose… then lips to lips.

And it felt wonderful.


Time: 8:00 AM
Location: Scaffold Press Room, Scaffold
        
Pinkie Pie waved excitedly at Caramel Manaan’sa as she walked away. He was a nice guy, and one of the few people who totally got her prophecy-quest-thingy. If it hadn’t been for his help, she never would have gotten on the Mothership at all! To think! Without the help of that one pony, the whole prophecy would have been doomed from the start!

But then, Prophecies didn’t make themselves happen. They were “could be’s,” noteworthy possibilities which could be attained by the right ponies in the right places. They came true, more often than not, because the ponies who knew about them made them come true. This case was no different.

The reporters didn’t pay her too much attention. She wasn’t famous, especially compared to a lot of the other ponies here. Heck, she’d seen Twilight Sparkle in the crowd earlier, talking to Masterpiece! And that wasn’t even talking about all the leaders and stuff that were here!

The shuttle terminal had a long queue in front of it, with a tired looking security pony checking off the IDs of all the boarders. Hold out your hoof, prick it with a needle, run it through a scanner. On the list? On you go. Off the list? SECURITY!

Pinkie was on the list, but she didn’t join the queue right away.

She glanced around the terminal at all the faces. Old, young, polished, grizzled, wearing all kinds of fancy clothes and sporting all kinds of expressions. A great big stewpot of culture. She’d always liked airports, for exactly this reason. All kinds of ponies gathered in one place, bringing all kinds of different colors and perspectives.

Something caught her eye. Or rather, caught her eye and then her Pinkie Sense.

A mare with an orange coat and straw-colored hair, wearing a cowboy hat and a short, blue-white dress that really didn’t fit her at all.

But the second Pinkie saw her, she knew: She’s one of the six. It was all she could do not to explode with excitement. Repeatedly!

The cowgirl was talking to another pony, a big red stallion wearing an equally unfitting tux which looked like it had been dug up from under a mountain and scrubbed clean with hot water and straw. The two were arguing really loud about something.

Between them stood a yellow filly with a red mane and a big floppy bow, who looked really, really sad. 

Pinkie frowned. She could guess the context. The filly was too young to go, which probably meant the stallion was her dad, or something, and that the cowgirl—too young to be her mom… her sister?—was going without them. It was sad… leaving people behind always was… but that was no reason to fight!

Pinkie wanted to go over and introduce herself, try and help them get through whatever trouble they were having. In fact, she almost did.

But something settled on her shoulders. “Stay,” it seemed to say.

Pinkie frowned. No, she really wanted to introduce herself to—

“Stay!”

The word lanced through her head like a bullet. Pinkie sat down hard, clutching at her head with her hooves.

“STAYSTAYSTAYSTAYSTAYSTAYSTAYSTAYSTAY—”

“S-s-stop…!” Pinkie whimpered as the pain just got worse and worse. Everything around her seemed to swim in a rush of color. The world swirled around her, lights melting into flame, the eyes of the crowd glowing like icy fires. Faces shifted, twisting into dark, alien shapes, and the sound became a vicious cacophony. Chittering, jibbering, evil.

“You. Will. STAY.”

And then she saw clearly, amid all the chaos, the three ponies. The mare, the stallion, and the filly.

The stallion said something. The mare growled something else. The filly winced.

The mare turned away. She grabbed the filly by the shoulder and stormed off. Away from the stallion. The filly looked back, and she and the stallion shared a mournful look. Then, the stallion turned away too, heading for the boarding line.

Pinkie realized it with the kind of horror normally reserved for watching a train speeding towards a broken bridge. She’s not getting on the ship. She’s part of the prophecy, but she’s not getting on the ship.

The voice in her head started to laugh. It didn’t stop until she woke up in a medical ward, hours later.

The doctors told her they could find nothing wrong, that she had just collapsed on the terminal floor and been rushed to them. They knew she was supposed to be on the Mothership. They promised that they’d have her flown over once it made its last stopover in a few hours.

Pinkie just sobbed.

The mare who should have joined her was gone. Nopony even knew who she was.

It was already too late. The prophecy lay broken.






End Episode 1

> Interlude: The First Jump
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	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.
> 2.1: Vaan'Ai
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Begin Episode 2: Open Your Eyes



Date: 1/22/1216 KDS.
Time: 1:01 P.M.
Mothership Position: High Orbit, Hoorsuk Ring System.
Location: Pilot Briefing Room 

Rainbow Dash tried really hard to hide her anger as she trotted towards the briefing room. They’d been having a good time, damn it! If it hadn’t been for the stupid alert call, she could have spent the entire afternoon with… her. They could have taken a walk—Fluttershy didn’t like flying that much—down the big corridors that ran through the Mothership’s spine, or commandeered a conference room or something and put on a movie. Sands, they could have just gone to one of the observation bays and just kept on watching Hoorsuk spin on by.

But the call had come in, and Rainbow Dash wasn’t about to be derelict in her duty. Fluttershy had understood—because she was amazing like that—and they’d left off on a good note.

…Yeah, a goodbye kiss was a pretty good note.

Rainbow shook herself, trying to clear the blush from her cheeks. Spitfire wouldn’t have called me down here for no reason, she realized with growing sobriety.

The briefing room was pretty the same thing Rainboom had back on the Baserunner—tiered seating, podium and projector screen in the front. Simple, effective, classic.

Also astonishingly big. Like, holy crap, there were supposed to be a lot more than ten pilots big. Easily a hundred, two hundred more seats, and room in the back for ponies to stand if that wasn't enough.

Right now, though, there was only one pony present, sitting near the front.

Dash approached, and Blossomforth craned her neck to shoot her a grin. "Hey, Dash," she said as Rainbow too the seat behind her. "Figured you'd be the next one to get here. Take the access tubes again?"

Dash noted with a twinge of disdain that Blossomforth's coat was starting to grow out again, and her green-pink mane had a few noticeable tangles in it. Not that it made a huge difference up here where there was no sand or risk of heat stroke, but still. Combine that with her short stature and slightly chubby build, it was easy to assume Blossomforth was weak and/or lazy.

Which would have been a serious mistake.

"Faster than the trams, B," Dash replied, flexing her wings with feigned indifference. She wasn't surprised that Blossom had showed up first—the tech crews bunked two rooms away, and she was practically a gearhead herself. "Any word on what's going on?"

Blossomforth shrugged, turning her head forward. Tangles aside, her mane always made Dash think of these little mint candies she'd found in this one town the Company used as a refueling stop. Green and pink. She guessed that Blossomforth's mane probably didn't taste the same.

Dash missed those mints, though.

"...Dunno," Blossomforth said after a moment of silence. "Could be a drill, but the timing is weird. Can't be a show because there's not really an audience for it. And it's not a test for those new fighters, because those aren't even done yet speaking of which—"

She whirled, and Dash had to stop herself from recoiling slightly at the sudden excitement on Blossom's face. "You've seen the Blade, right?"

Dash nodded, and Blossomforth made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a laugh. "Oh Celestia I'm so excited! My tech buddies think they're probably going to be running test flights before we make our next jump. I'm gonna be a Bomb Jockey!"

"Y'know B," interjected a voice from behind them, "that name generally scares ponies away."

"Hey Thunderlane," Dash said, offering a hoof to bump as her squadmate sidled up to them. He met it with his trademark lack of enthusiasm, and Dash had to roll her eyes. Thunderlane had the "I'm too cool for this room" thing going on ninety percent of the time, and the other ten percent was taken up with acting like a sulky teenager. Probably writes poetry in his cabin too, dork. 

He sat next to her, shuffling his wings with a flourish as he did. "I guess you're not signing up for test duty," Dash said.

Thunderlane sniffed. "Nope."

"Wuss," Blossom scoffed, batting her eyes at him. "You just know Dashie and I will make you look bad."

Thunderlane shrugged, and Dash got the sense that his disinterest today was more than just acting cool. Whatever was on his mind, it wouldn't have been like him to share. Instead, he offered up one of his bored little smirks. "You two bring your wings, I bring my head."

Both Dash and Blossomforth opened their mouths to respond, then glanced at each other, shrugged, and conceded it. Say what you would about Thunderlane's attitude, he was ludicrously good at doing flight plans and paperwork, to the point that Firebolt used to outright tell him to make up the squad's itinerary. Spitfire didn't do that, of course—being competent enough to give coherent orders—but she still treated him as an advisor. General rule of hoof seemed to be that if Thunderlane told you to do something in a sortie, you did it.

"On that note," Blossomforth said, "do you know what this meeting's all about?"

Thunderlane's wings gave a restless shift. "I don't, but I have a guess."

Blossomforth waved as Flitter and Cloudchaser—the wondertwins, colloquially—entered the room and took their seats behind Dash, then leaned in closer. "Well?" she asked.

"Look," Thunderlane said. "If I'm right, you'll know when the bosses come out and tell us. If I'm wrong, it's just a bad dream anyway."

"What're you guys talking about?" Soarin asked, coming up and sitting next to Blossomforth.

Dash turned to answer, then stopped at the sight of him.

Soarin.

Whose coat was currently colored hot pink. Soarin, whose face was covered in an impressively feminine suite of makeup. Soarin, whose mane was tied into a sand-cursed braid.

This was not how Soarin normally looked, needless to say. "What's wrong?" he asked, straight-faced. "Something on my face?"

"Soarin," Blossomforth said, holding a hoof across her mouth to stop up her laughter. "That's a bold look."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Very, ah…" Dash thought for a moment. "Striking. Yeah, striking."

Flitter snickered, and whispered something to her sister, who started outright laughing. "Oh sweet Celestia," Cloudchaser moaned. "You didn't."

"I have no idea what you're implying," Soarin said. "I deny any allegations of misconduct including but not specifically related to gambling. Also, Crossfire is a dick. A bag of dicks. Salted dicks."

"You lost a bet," Dash intoned. "That I understand, but how even…"

"Well, we don't have money," Soarin explained, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hoof. "And there was this mare in security who does makeup, and Crossfire is a flankhole who cheats at cards. I can't prove it, but he totally is."

Flitter was laughing so hard by this point that she could barely seem to breathe. "Oh Celestia," she gasped. "And then Masterpiece walks in—"

"Masterpiece," Soarin cut in, "as it turns out, is a surprisingly chill guy. He also knows a surprising amount about cosmetics. And he's a flankhole too."

Everypony laughed. Cloudchaser managed to keep some form of dignity, but Dash and Blossom weren't so reserved. Even Thunderlane, for all his stoicism, let out a wheeze of barely suppressed hilarity. Flitter fell out of her chair.

"Yes yes, it's all very funny," Soarin said, rolling his eyes—sands, he was wearing eyeliner. "But shouldn't we be more concerned about, the, uh, 'mysterious call to action' thing?"

Flitter climbed back into her chair, still shaking with hilarity. "It's just gonna be… a drill," she said. "...Right?" At the silence, her giggles faded to chuckles, then cut out altogether.

It seemed nopony really knew.

"Hey," Dash said, just to break the silence. "Where's that other guy… Toffee, or something?"

"Licorice," Blossomforth corrected. A frown crossed her face. "Not really sure where he's been. I haven't seen him since yesterday. Did he come back to the barracks last night, CC?"

Cloudchaser shook her head. "Not that I saw. He said he was going to, quote, 'hang with some Manaani friends.'"

"Manure." Blossomforth's lip curled into a smirk. "Bastard got lucky without inviting me."

"He'd better get back here soon," Flitter said. "Cloud Kicker really doesn't like it when he's late—"

Speak of the nightmare, and in it flies. Before Flitter could put a period on her sentence, the sound of hoofsteps down the aisle caught everypony's attention.

Licorice looked, in short, like he'd been run over by a truck. Any complaints Dash had about Blossomforth's mane and coat applied triple to him—it looked like he was wearing boots of hair, even. In the desert, he'd have passed out in minutes. His gait swayed with the obvious influence of a hangover, and his head hung like an overripe fruit on his neck. All of this was amplified by the sheer size of him—he was almost twice as tall as Blossom, and half again as tall as Dash.

But when he looked up, strangely, his eyes reflected none of that, warm gold against his red coat and white mane. It was as if his mind was awake and his body was asleep.

He stopped in the aisle, staring silently at Soarin. They stayed like that for a moment, until Soarin waved nonchalantly. "Hey Licks," he said.

"Hey Soarin," Licorice replied, voice deep and scratchy with lingering sleep. "Bold new look."

Soarin nodded, and Licorice nodded back, and everything was weird. Then Licorice nodded again, and sat down a row behind the twins. His wings shuffled, just as huge as the rest of him.

Dash had to stop herself from staring. Licorice was one of the most recently arrived pilots, and Dash didn't know much about him, but holy sands. She'd met a few built-up pegasi in her day—that Snowflake guy from security was almost cartoonish—but Licorice looked like he'd been born gigantic. She wondered how he fit into the cockpit at all.

She didn't have time to observer further. The door by the stage swooshed open, and Spitfire strode in, followed closely by Cloud Kicker.

Dash expected Cloud to notice Soarin and crack a joke. She didn't. Dash also expected Spitfire to grill him for coming to the briefing without washing his face. She didn't, either.

Spitfire took the podium, while Cloud took a seat in the first row. The looks on their faces were carefully blank, but Cloud's body held all the hallmarks of barely-suppressed pre-mission terror. Dash hadn't seen a case so bad since back home. Spitfire was more composed, enveloped by an aura of deliberate calm which only served to further highlight the rigid set of Cloud's shoulder blades. Celestia, her wings were shaking.

Spitfire spoke, calm and clear. "All right, ponies!"

She hesitated, and Rainbow caught a flicker in her expression as her eyes scanned the room.

Dash had seen that look before, on her father’s face. It was the look he wore when he thought nopony was watching, when was leading the Company on a really bad job, and knew that some of his troops weren’t coming back.

That was… crazy. No matter what was going on, there was nothing out here that was any more dangerous than some flying rocks. Dash shook her head, trying to rattle some sense into her imagination.

"Listen up!” Spitfire barked, without any trace of hesitation. “Talk is time, and we don’t have much of the latter. The Khar-Selim isn’t where she’s supposed to be. In fact—" she hit a button on the podium and a projector spun to life. Dash recognized it as an orbital path chart, calibrated for Hoorsuk. The Mothership was represented as a tiny dot, at the very edge of the planet's rings. A point on the rings was marked with a big red circle, labeled K-S.

Beside her, Dash heard Thunderlane mutter, "Hate it when I'm right."

Spitfire continued without missing a beat. "—She’s buried in the planet's rings and sending out a distress signal. Our job is to zip in, figure out what happened, and take whatever actions are necessary to make sure that the Khar-Selim gets back here in one piece. Failing that, our job is to provide overwatch while shuttles fly out to rescue her crew. Questions?”

Blossomforth's hoof popped up, and Spitfire gave a nod. “Do we have any intel on what happened to the Khar-Selim, ma’am?” she asked.

"All we know at present is that she's broadcasting a Vaan'Ai."

Dash's brain stalled as the room froze into silence. She was not an expert on spacecraft design, but ships the size of the Khar-Selim did not send out Vaan'Ai signals. And if they did, there was rarely any point going in for a rescue.

Spitfire shattered the freeze. “You're all familiar with the codes, so I don't have to tell you how bad that could be. We launch the moment you’re all in fighters. Cloud, can I count on your squad to hang back and watch the Mothership?”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” Cloud Kicker replied. The shaking in her voice was barely noticeable. “You sure you don’t want us for backup?”

"Not expecting that kind of trouble," Spitfire said, "But even if I did, I'd still want you near the home base." She turned her attention back to the rest of the pilots. "We're treating this as a rescue op, which means we're running on somepony else's clock. If you need more info, ask once we're in the sleeves. Dismissed!"

Time: 1:12 P.M.
Location: Docking Sleeves. Cockpit of recon fighter Alpha-Zero-Two.

"Pre-flight checks complete, all clear," Rainbow Dash reported. Silence answered her. Spitfire hadn't said a word since she'd gotten to her fighter, and it looked like she wasn't about to break that trend until everypony was ready to fly. Bucking great.

She leaned back to rest her helmet against the shock cushion and tried to relax, but her muscles weren't having it. This whole thing smelled like manure.

The flight deck crawled with techs, and Typhoon stood on an ordinance cart, hollering orders across the floor. The docking sleeves were still retracted back out onto the deck, but Dash could see Soarin and Thunderlane jogging towards their ships. Soon they'd snuggle in, the sleeves would close up, pop them out into the hangar proper, and then…

What, exactly?

Rainbow went over the pre-flights again. Still good. She checked the squad link, which helpfully informed her that only Spitfire's fighter was currently ready to fly.

Well, technically it had been Lightning Dust's fighter, but it was a lot easier to fix a burned-out engine than a ship which had fallen into the atmosphere. Some folks might get sentimental over it, but in the end, a fighter was just tech. What bothered Dash more was the obvious blank space at the end of the roster. Bitch she might have been—might be, Dash reminded herself—but Lightning Dust had been part of the team. Going up without her felt like bad luck.

Soarin's icon blinked, then switched from yellow to blue. Pilot in cockpit. A few moments later, his voice came through the radio, just as Thunderlane's icon turned blue.

"Soarin here. Pre-flights are good."

"Thunderlane, pre-flight checks complete."

The moment his comm clicked off, the sleeves began to slide out into launch position, and Spitfire spoke.

“All ships,” she said, sounding alarmingly calm. “Out of the sleeves. Rendezvous in standard parade formation.”

Dash gulped down her fear, and went. The sleeve opened before her, and she and the rest of the squad hurtled out into the hangar. Spitfire took the lead, led them out into the black.

Rainbow Dash had been looking out at Hoorsuk all morning, but the screen didn't do it justice. Here, she could feel the size of the planet, this huge blue thing just hanging there in space. It was like coming out of a long tunnel and finding a mountain waiting for you, huge and silent and unconquerable. Alone, it would have been hard to tell the distance, but Hoorsuk's rings spanned out above the Mothership, resolving into a sea of ice and dust. Watching the rings stretch away towards the planet, Dash felt smaller than a grain of sand.

“Don’t get distracted by the view,” Spitfire said "As of now, this is an active operation. Everypony copy?”

“Yes ma’am,” spoke the choir. Dash grit her teeth, tearing her eyes away from the planet.

A huge shape passed them up from behind, and a radio broadcast accompanied it. “This is resource harvester First Hoofstep. We’re you’re relay, squad one. Plan is to have you guys scout things out and bounce the sitrep off us, since the dust is so thick. With us, you should be able to get word back to Fleet Command as soon as you come into range.”

“Roger, First Hoofstep,” Spitfire acknowledged. “Tight-beam comms only until we reach the Khar-Selim. That goes for everypony out here.” Spitfire paused. “Before we leave—Research team, any change in the signal?”

There was a pause, and the sound of somepony fumbling with a comm panel burst over the radio. “Th-this is research. No change. You… should probably hurry, though—their orbit is faster than ours, and the intercept window is closing.”

Dash craned her neck, and caught just a glimpse of the pie-slice research ship, drifting not far from the mothership, its sensor mast pointed out towards the rings. Wonder if that’s Twilight Sparkle speaking. She sounds super nervous. Probably not a good sign.

“Roger.” The hud flashed a command. “Squad, on me! Delta up and move out!”

They ascended towards the rings.

Time: 2:11 P.M.
Location: Research Ship Planning Area

Twilight Sparkle tried to keep her focus on the matter at hand. So far, she wasn't doing a very good job.

She leaned in towards the dozen screens she had up over the table, eyes shifting to take in as much raw data as possible. An empty coffee cup rested in her hoof, next to six more strewn across the table. Liquid lightning pumped through her veins and pooled behind her eyeballs.

And yet, all she'd managed thus far was to confirm that the situation wasn't changing.

"Nothing new?" Bon Bon asked from across the table, where she had her own screens set up.

"Nothing," Twilight responded, eyes never leaving the display.

"You could take a break, y'know. It's been two hours."

"So could you," Twilight shot back.

"Um, Twi? I'm Lyra."

Twilight blinked, then looked past the screens. "Bon Bon" had indeed switched with her marefriend at some point. "Oh. Hello."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You sure that caffeine isn't rusting your brain?"

Twilight determinedly focused her attention back on the data feeds. "Doesn't matter. If there's something to see…"

Twilight sat bolt upright. No way. Her eyes tracked two energy charts, an unusual little spike. She'd been so focused on the signal itself that she'd completely missed what was happening around it. "Found something," she said.

"Good news?" Lyra asked hopefully.

Twilight banished the windows with a wave of her hoof and called up several new ones—spectroscopic readings, IR detectors, anything that… there.

"I'm not sure," Twilight said, eyes scanning the data. She pulled up a map of the planet's rings, and overlaid her findings. Her eyes widened. "Sands on fire…." 

Lyra was about to open her mouth when Twilight caught her with a look that could have stopped the galaxy's spin. "Get Bon Bon. Now. If she's asleep, wake her up."

Lyra nodded, and moved. Twilight went back to staring at the display. Her horn ignited, magic splashing across the console as she pulled up simulation programs and fed in the data. She extrapolated back, one, two, three hours… and the pattern clarified, becoming exactly what she'd feared.

Raised emissions in the dust, fading slowly. The rings spun, and in doing so had changed the pattern a bit, but if you took that into account… three hours ago, the pattern had been uniform. Regular.

A straight line, and at one end, a tiny sphere of hot gas. Right on top of the Khar-Selim's signal.

Twilight tried to reconcile this with something natural. She wanted to believe she was looking at something… mundane.

Twilight's magic quickly attacked the interface, opening a secure comm line to Fleet Command.

"Journey," she said. "I've found something."

"Go ahead, Twilight."

Twilight's magic moved again. "I'm sending the data itself. I… need you to confirm this." Twilight glanced over her shoulder and spotted Bon Bon coming up the stairs. She looked like she had indeed been taking a nap, but she was quickly blinking away her sleep. "Bon Bon, you too."

"What's going on, Twilight?" Bon Bon asked.

Twilight indicated the charts she had. "Take a look at this. Here—the radiation levels on this particular band of the rings.

Bon Bon tilted her head. "Slightly higher than average, but what… oh." Her eyes widened, and her breathing just stopped. "Oh hells."

"Uh, hey, smart ponies?" Lyra said, putting on a very fake grin. "I hate to admit my own dumbness, but could you explain the scary thing so that I, too, can be appropriately terrified?"

"It's…" Twilight swallowed. "Well, we can't be sure. Something messed with the rings." She pointed to the graph. "Here to here, the dust is ionized, and emitting energy at slightly above the background level. It's broken up as the ring spun, but it looks like the initial discharge was… linear."

"So…" Lyra's eyes widened as she started to understand. "You're saying that something pumped a flankload of energy through the dust out there."

Bon Bon reached over and pulled up another orbital diagram. "If we take the emission rates and the particle density into account… we're looking at gigajoules of power being dispersed into the dust, along a straight line for almost a thousand kilometers."

Lyra's face went completely pale. "Yeah, okay, that's absolutely bucking terrifying."

"It could have been the Khar-Selim's ion engines," Bon Bon said, "but they'd have had to heavily overclock them, and the flight path would have been ludicrous, if not suicidal."

"And…" Twilight swallowed. The words burned in her throat. "There's something else that fits better. Only a theoretical model, but something we've… considered."

Bon Bon looked suddenly very old and very ill. Lyra was about to ask what they were talking about, but Great Journey beat her to it:

"An ion weapon."

The room grew so quiet in the wake of those words that the compartment could have vented without the scientists' notice.

It was so terribly simple. A single altered assumption that explained so easily why many questions about their species, about their history, remained unanswered.

Why did we come to Kharequus? Why did our ancestors destroy all records of the journey? Why, if Equestria truly was a paradise, did we ever leave to begin with?

It seemed, in attempting to answer those questions, the philosophers had made one critical mistake:

They'd assumed that the ponies of Kharequus were alone in the universe.

Journey found her voice first. "I will inform all who need to know of this development," she said. "But this information spreads no further until we are absolutely certain. Agreed?"

"Agreed, ma'am," Twilight said. Bon Bon and Lyra nodded.

"Good." A great weight seemed to fall upon Journey's voice. "Celestia's mane… I never thought I'd… Celestia… I hope you're wrong, Twilight Sparkle. For all our sakes, I hope you're completely, utterly, laughably wrong."

Twilight took a deep, shuddering breath. "Me too, ma'am."

The connection cut out. There was nothing else to say.

And in the silence, Twilight Sparkle started to shake. The composure she'd held onto with every ounce of her strength broke apart, piece by piece. Bon Bon caught her before she could fall, guided her to the nearest chair, but it was too late to stop the collapse.

"No," Twilight murmured, wrapping her hooves around her shoulders. "No, no… please Celestia, no…"

Far away, four fighters sped through the dust, towards the Khar-Selim.
	
	

> 2.2: Khar-Selim
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time: … 
Location: …

She floated, like mist in the old mountain valleys. Silence swathed her, smothered and strangled her, but she'd given up the struggle hours ago. There was nothing here but echoes of distant, hateful laughter, fading into a stillness worse than death.

There was nothing here, and there would never be.

She cried into the emptiness.

She cried, and cried, and cried, and cried…

But something touched her, pushed her into motion, something blue.

And 
she 
fell...

Time: 3:01
Mothership Position: Hoorsuk Orbit.
Location: Room 41-30, Scaffold Medical Wing, Scaffold, Kharequus Orbit.

Her eyes fluttered open. A white ceiling resolved in her view, a round light fixture staring blindly down at her. A heart monitor beeped beside her, and thin sheets shifted faintly against her coat. Tears tickled her cheeks. She barely registered any of it. It all felt so…

Quiet.

For the first time in nearly twenty years, the space behind her eyes was silent.

She'd been seven years old, when her gift had first spoken to her, and she'd forgotten what life was like without the universe whispering in her ear. Gone were the ripples of electromagnetism, the faint hum of gravity, the warm light of magic filling the air around her. It was as if the world had switched to monochrome, as if all the life had withered and died away.

She closed her eyes again, and the first of the sobs ripped its way out of her chest.

Her gift was gone. The prophecy lay broken, and her gift was gone. The Dark Voice had shattered both of them.

"Miss Pinkie Pie? You're awake?"

The words broke against her, and she opened her eyes again, tilting her head to look. A stallion was crossing the room to meet her, clad in a white coat. "My name is Syrette," the stallion said, smiling as he stopped at the side of her bed. "You're in the Scaffold medical wing."

Sitting up took every ounce of willpower left in Pinkie's heart. Her mane slid limp across her neck as she rose, and her eyes trailed down to the dim strands. How it used to be. The natural order of things.

The doctor coughed, lightly, levitating a clipboard out of the pocket on his white jacket. "Miss? I'm sorry to disturb you, but could you perhaps answer a few questions for me?"

Pinkie pulled in a breath, tasting the sterile air. Focus. She had to focus. The prophecy… was it broken, or just struck?

"Do you have any known medical or arcanomedical conditions which could have…"

Pinkie pressed the sound away from her thoughts. No time. Needed to think.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked.

The doctor stopped his questioning mid-sentence. "A… a few hours. It's a little past one o'clock."

Four hours, roughly. Time enough for the other chosen mare to have made it back to any part of the planet's surface, and searching the entire planet would take too long. Obviously.

No. Solutions.

"The Mothership," Pinkie said. "How long until it comes back?"

The doctor hesitated. "Tomorrow, I believe? I'm not sure the exact time."

So little time. Fifteen years she'd spent preparing for the prophecy, and now a single day's actions would determine whether it flew or burned. Pinkie sighed, a tiny smile crossing her face.

She'd had it easy long enough, she supposed. Her magic was powerful, and while Pinkie was perfectly happy to let it do as it did, she wasn't blind to its effects. She was inequinely lucky, to start with, and she had a way of making friends with the most unlikely ponies.

How much of that had been her magic, and how much of it had been her? The distinction had never really mattered before, but now...

Pinkie wrinkled her nose as a thought occurred to her, something her Auntie Cake had taught her, a long time ago.

"A pony is their magic. Mares and stallions of science like to draw lines between mind and magic, but really they are the same thing! There is no pony alive who does not have at least a little magic in them!"

Now, Auntie Cake meant well, but even her husband knew she got a little carried away with her spirit-y stuff sometimes. She had this thing about herbs… which wasn't really important at the moment. Pinkie shook her head.

"Doctor?" she asked. "You said 'arcanomedical' before, right? That means diseases and stuff that mess with a pony's magic?"

Syrette nodded. "Such conditions are rare, but they might help explain how you—"

"Okay, great," Pinkie hurriedly interrupted. "Followup question: have you ever heard of a pony who lost her magic? Forever?"

She bit her lip. She could be wrong, of course. Her aunt and uncle could have been wrong.

Syrette gave her a puzzled look, then rubbed his chin with a hoof "Well," he said, his voice slipping into a professional cadence, "some accounts, yes. Magic comes from a very specific part of the brain, and if that part is damaged, sometimes it can interfere with the patient's ability to control their magic." He frowned, and shut his eyes as if recalling something particularly gruesome. "Though… generally speaking, the results of such damage are… dramatic. The magical energy has to go somewhere, and if not through the normal channels, it generally bleeds out into the surrounding brain tissues, causing—"

Pinkie's heart leaped in her chest. "Okay, but the flow never shuts off?"

"I suppose not. Mind, I'm a nurse by training, not an specialist in—"

"Okay," Pinkie said. "Just… I need a second."

"Uh… yes. Take your time, miss."

She did. She breathed in, pulling in all the tension in her body, and let it out in a slow rush through her mouth. Her heart beat slowly in her chest, and the world seemed to grow around her, until she was very small.

Magic. 

She had to find her magic.

She let the world be darkness, emptiness. Her mind fell open, and she began to search.

Normally, her magic burned like a sweet pink sun. Now, the landscape was desolate and cold.

But not lightless.

She strained her sight, searching, searching… and found it. A speck, deep within the tangles of her mind. She reached for it, and found something like sludge blocking her path.

She breathed in, then out. This wasn't supposed to be here. Something the voice had left inside her head?

She touched it, and recoiled. It smelled of hatred, malice, and… fear. A fear so deep and old that it had begun to rot, becoming something even worse, something without a name.

It was all Pinkie could do not to turn away from it. The stuff was nearly unbearable, but thankfully there was only a little of it here. Residue, of what the voice had done to her. She shuddered, wrapping her hooves around her body.

She allowed herself a brief shudder, then forced down her revulsion at the memory. There wasn't time, right now.

She touched the residue, pushing against the resistance. The muck seemed to squirm against her, but it didn't have the energy to fight. She pushed, focusing all her concentration on withstanding the awfulness. The light flickered behind the mire.

She grinned. "You won't win," she muttered. "Not that easy."

The mire gave, and she grasped her magic again. 

It was so frail, a sputtering little light. She cleared away the muck, but still it was only a spark. Not enough to save the prophecy. Not enough to save the world.

She sighed, blowing away the remains of the sludge. "Fine," she said. "But you're still mine. We'll work it out."

She let the magic come to her. She swallowed it.

When she opened her eyes, her mane was back to how she liked it, and the universe was singing again. It was faint, so faint she hardly felt it at all, but it was there.

She grinned, then giggled, then laughed out loud.

Beside her, Syrette stared, without any understanding of what had just occurred before his eyes.

Pinkie's laughter faded fast. This wasn't over. She looked to the nurse, and nodded at him once. "Thanks," she said, "But I gotta go."

Syrette's eyes widened. "Miss, please, we don't know what made you lose consciousness. We need to determine—"

Pinkie swung herself off the bed and stood. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I can't stay. If I don't fix things…"

Fire. She shuddered.

Syrette looked her in the eye. He was a young stallion, a blue mane tied back into a braid. His eyes were the color of scotch. Pinkie met his gaze, and felt her magic behind her eyes. She needed him to understand.

When he took a sudden breath, she knew she'd succeeded.

"Celestia," he breathed, and shook his head sharply. "Go," he said.

She went.

Time: 2:26
Location: Fighter Alpha-Two, Traversing Hoorsuk Ring System.
Mothership Position: High Orbit

"I'm just saying," Rainbow said. "It's weird, right? Why are we flying quiet if we're on a rescue mission? Shouldn't they be happy to see us? What gives?"

Soarin's response fuzzed with heavy static. Consequences of using tight-beam through the dust. "Probably just a precaution."

"Nah." Rainbow's eyes picked out a shape, emerging from the dust ahead. Looked like a potato. She kicked her maneuvering thrusters, shifting left and around as the rock flew past her. The rings had been gorgeous from outside, but inside they were just dirt and ice. Mostly dirt.

The light from the sun cast shafts of gold through the blue and brown that made up the place. It reminded Rainbow of a time, maybe ten years before, when the Company had made camp in an abandoned amphitheater. She'd flown up to where the ceiling was full of holes, and sand trickled down into the dark in long streams. She'd asked dad who built the place, but he hadn't known. "Somepony old," he'd said. "Who isn't around anymore."

She hadn't been able to sleep that night. She had the same feeling now, like she was being watched by a bunch of ancient ghosts, judging her every move.

"Nah what, Dashie?"

Rainbow blinked, and shot an irritated glance at her comms panel. "What kind of precaution would that even be? We're not going in extra slow. We're hiding."

"Maybe…" Soarin trailed off, letting the fuzz overtake the line. "...Ha. Maybe we're not alone out here, huh? Wooo~ooo."

Dash laughed, but another rock loomed out of the dust and cut it short. "Better not say that around Thunderlane," she said as she re-fixed her course. "You've heard the 'little green mares' rant."

"Yeah, I know. Still, it's not impossible, right?"

A rock the size of a hoofball bounced off Dash's canopy. "How do you figure?"

"Well, back when they were running expeditions out to Khar-Celest, didn't they find a bunch of other ships, made differently? I thought those were supposed to be alien."

"Ah, right, the derelicts," Dash grimaced. "I've seen a few of them."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yeah. Don't remember the reference numbers, and they were barely fragments, but yeah. They were just bones, though—Gaalsien already picked them clean."

"Damn." Soarin's voice fell a little. "Sorry, sometimes I forget that you've actually, y'know…"

"It's no big deal," Dash said, letting herself grin just a little. "The boss has me beat, anyway. She's probably seen relics intact."

"But still, did you ever get the sense that, y'know… they were made by something else?"

Dash had to think back a long way for an answer. "Not really," she said. "I mean, sure, maybe, but they're wreckage. Ponies make plenty of things that wind up being wreckage."

"Even spaceships?"

"Soarin? Look down at your hooves. You see what you're sitting in right now?"

"Fair point."

They lapsed into silence for a while, and the dust rolled on by. 

"Thunderlane just pinged me. I'm gonna switch over. You good?"

Dash resisted the impulse to nod. "Yeah, go for it."

"Right. Talk later. Soarin out."

Silence fell, leaving Rainbow Dash with her thoughts.

It wasn't that crazy, really. Ponies had come from space at one point, and nothing said they'd been alone. She remembered those old ships, sand drifting in slow waves across their rusting skin as evening fell. Who did build them?

She sighed, and dodged another rock. It was getting easier. There wasn't a particular pattern, but the squad's speed was slow enough that they had plenty of time to react. Not really dangerous.

Unless there really was something else out here. Something that made the Khar-Celest broadcast a Vaan'Ai signal. Something they were hiding from.

Spitfire was Sobani, same as Dash. If there'd been clear evidence of hostile action in the area, she would have told the squad. Hard intel was as good as water. Withholding it from your troops did what you'd expect.

So there was no certainty, at least. But she still had them flying silent. That meant the boss at least had suspicions, probably the same ones Dash was starting to have.

"Buck," Dash muttered. A drop of sweat rolled down around her eye and slipped to the bottom of her nose. She licked it away, and swallowed hard.

Another rock, another course correction.

Shafts of light through the dust, like searchlights.

Her nav-panel, showing a map of the rings. Twenty minutes to the signal point.

Her radar…

She saw it just as Spitfire's voice cut into her helmet. "All ships, zero acceleration."

A dot, colored yellow. Unknown contact. Before her eyes, it drifted off the scan, and vanished.

"Huddle up. Set comms to whisper-broadcast," Spitfire commanded. Outside, Dash could see the faint engine flares as the other ships started moving into a diamond formation. She nudged her fighter the same way.

She flicked a switch, setting her radio to broadcast at extreme short-range. Whisper mode.

"You all saw that, right?" Spitfire asked. "Single contact, at the edge of effective sensors?"

Dash tapped her sensor panel, spreading a window across her view. Nothing, now, but she'd seen it. Soarin confirmed first, Dash followed.

"It could have been an asteroid," Thunderlane said. "One with unusually high metal content could have slipped through the sensor filters."

"Or it could be the Khar-Selim," Dash offered. "If they got their engines back online. It's not like we'd get a signal from them in here."

"Fair points, both," Spitfire said.  "Rainbow, I want you to drift up above the rings and confirm the Khar-Selim's signal distance. Drift back when you're done. 

"Got it." Dash breathed in, and gave her ship the tiniest kick. 

The signal lasted about fifty meters. "Soarin, I want you to move up slow, see… you can…… back scan……….." Then, the dust swallowed it all.

Pebbles rained silently against the canopy as Dash lifted out of the rings.

The picture that resolved didn't seem as grand as she remembered it. Hoorsuk stared at her over fields of red and brown. An alien eye.

She focused on her sensors. Up here, things were much clearer, and she quickly picked up the Vaan'Ai signal.

"...Vaan'ai; ai nan-heniim... Vaan'ai; ai nan-steniir… Vaan'ai; ai nan-heniim… Vaan'ai…"

Dash shuddered. She hadn't studied Celestaani since she was a little filly, but she remembered enough to piece together the message:

 "Guide us; we cannot hear. Guide us; we cannot see."

The voice was old, a recording from a hundred years ago, at the dawn of spaceflight. The mare who made the tape was long dead, but her steady words lingered on in the comm computers of a hundred spacecraft. The same words were buried in Dash's Arrow, somewhere in the comm package, ready to be screamed out into the void, a final plea for mercy from the universe.

"Guide us; we cannot hear. Guide us; we cannot see."

Dash shut her eyes. "Celestia, please let it be a malfunction," she muttered to the stars. "Please, please, please…"

She gently kicked her fighter back into the rings, rejoining her squad. Soarin was gone, still off on whatever mission Spitfire had set for him.

"Khar-Selim is where it should be," she said. "That wasn't her."

"Probably Thunderlane's assumption, but let's play it safe. Wait for Soarin to return, but watch your scans in case he flares us."

They waited. The dust pressed in around them, silent. A rock passed, casting a shadow through the rings to envelop them all. Nopony said a word.

Dash sank back into her seat as Soarin's dot appeared in her sensor screen. A moment later, his fighter drifted in out of the dust. "I lost it," he said. "No readings like engine trails, either. What's your verdict, Dash?"

"Wasn't our ship," Dash answered.

"Probably a rock," Thunderlane added.

"Right," Spitfire said. "Form up. We're moving on."

They continued on, and the rings grew darker, until only twilight remained.

Time: 2:45
Location: Cafeteria A-4

Fluttershy's eyes lingered on the rings, but she couldn't find kind words for them now. A sandwich sat in front of her, uneaten, and the cafeteria lay deserted except for her. Her shift started in fifteen minutes.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't know anypony else was present until a voice came from behind her, deep as a a river. "Hey."

Fluttershy started, her shoulders going rigid, but when she snapped her head back to look a familiar face met her. Smiling.

"Snowflake," Fluttershy said, and smiled back. "Hi."

The security chief dipped his head to her. "There's a rumor going around, y'know," he said. He gestured to the seat opposite Fluttershy, and she nodded her assent. He sat, and the lacquered metal groaned slightly under his bulk. Then he grinned, red eyes shining. "I'm happy for you, kid."

Fluttershy felt her cheeks go red. "It's only two dates," she said.

"Still," Snowflake said. "I know it's been tough, but I'm with you on this." He glanced out at the rings. "Rumor is he's a pilot. He's out there right now?"

Fluttershy's smile fell away, and her wings pressed tight against her back. She nodded, and let her eyes shift, back to Hoorsuk. 

So blue. The same blue, almost, as her coat. But the sun was almost on the other side of the planet, and only a sliver of the color remained, too bright to watch.

Snowflake broke the silence. "You want to take this shift off?" he said, his voice growing soft. "Clear your head?"

"No," Fluttershy said. She shook herself, then took as big a bite of her sandwich as she could manage. Chew. Swallow. "I can do my job," she said, and took another bite.

"Medley would cover for you. You know he would."

Chew. Swallow. "It's okay, really." Bite.

Snowflake's eyes closed, and he nodded. "If you're sure." He stood. "I'll see you at the barracks, then?"

Fluttershy nodded, and Snowflake began the walk to the trams.

Chew.

Swallow.

…

Fluttershy stared at her half-eaten sandwich, listening as each hooffall landed further and further away. Her monosyllabic thoughts dissolved into incoherent static, which morphed into scenarios, counter-scenarios, playing out across the tension in her shoulders.

She remembered her father's smile, her mother's scowl. She remembered her happiness, and her fear. She remembered the feeling in her chest, when she'd first seen Rainbow Dash in the sickbay. She remembered how it felt to drive it down, to attack a part of her own soul. She remembered hiding, while her mother ranted at her father for coming home late, every excuse only making her angrier.

She remembered the kiss. She remembered feeling free.

She sucked in a breath and forced herself to stand. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Sn-S-Snowflake?"

He turned without a moment's hesitation. "Yeah?"

Fluttershy looked at him, her face red, and smiled through the tears forming in her eyes. "Her name is Rainbow Dash."

Snowflake's mouth opened, and hung there for all of two seconds. Then, suddenly and without warning, he embraced her, wrapping her tight in an ocean of white coat. He was very warm, very firm.

Fluttershy let out a little "eep," and the security chief let her go slowly, pulling back as gently as a cloud.

"So that's how it is," he said. His smile was crooked, brilliant like an uncut diamond. "I'm proud of you, Fluttershy. You're much stronger than you think you are."

Fluttershy smiled, and the tears left her eyes. She hugged him, and cried into his shoulder, and in that moment everything in the universe seemed like it'd be okay.

Time: 2:46.
Location: Fighter Alpha-Two, Traversing Hoorsuk Ring System.

So far, the fighters had been passing through the thin, outer rings, lit, however dimly, by the far-off sun.

That ended.

For a moment, there was light. A gap in the rings, left by one of the moons. Dash barely had time to register it.

The darkness crashed back over them like a wave. Dash nearly jumped out of her suit.

The composition of the rings had shifted. The dust grew thicker, more rock and less ice. No light passed through here.

Spitfire authorized her to switch on her fighter's lights, and she did—revealing two long cones of brown.

Dash could almost hear Soarin let out a nervous laugh, Thunderlane muttering curses under his breath. Spitfire would probably be quiet. She was hardcore like that. But nobody spoke, at least not over the comms, and the silence gnawed at Dash's ears.

She didn't even realize she'd spoken until her own voice startled her. "I hate this."

No response, of course. Her squadmates were a hundred meters off her wings, but to her eyes, her ears, and her voice, they might as well never have existed at all. She spoke again, just to hear something besides her breathing. "This waiting stuff sucks. I'm not even sure it's better than if somebody were bucking screaming over my comm. At least then I'd know if I've got to be so bucking tense."

But nobody screamed.

The Khar-Selim's dot appeared on her sensors exactly where she expected it to. The little golden spark blinked insistently, holding Dash's eye.

A moment later, her comm panel lit up. She tuned in. At first, there was only static.

"............"

Then, words slipped through, spoken in an ancient, dead voice.

"......ai…….steniir—"

We see.

Dash slammed her hoof down on the switch, cutting the signal.

Dash shook her head. "Buck buck buck buuuuck that's creep—shit!" She yanked the controls, pulling herself around a truck-sized rock with a meter to spare. She set her lips in a grim line, focused her eyes ahead, and suppressed a snort of stupid laughter. "I am not dying to space dust. That would suck."

Spitfire pinged her a moment later. "Dash, form up to whisper distance, ahead slow."

She complied.

The comms came alive soon after.

"All in range?"

Soarin sent confirmation. Then Dash, then Thunderlane.

"Good. The Khar-Selim should come into visual range in about two minutes. I want you all doing flyovers to determine any external damage. Dash, you take the upper section, Soarin, you cover the engines, Thunderlane, get the lower hold, and I'll head for the front and see if I can't signal—"

Then, suddenly, light.

Dash blinked as her eyes adjusted and her cockpit polarized, her wings tensing in the sleeves. The world was bright around her, and as her eyes focused, she realized that the dust had broken. A clearing.

Then her eyes finished adjusting, and she realized why.

"...steniir… "

Spitfire had just stopped talking, because their orders were now irrelevant.

The Khar-Selim was dead. Its corpse hung in space, silent as the void around it.

The front half looked like the schematics, boxy and angular, undecorated save for various antennae and scientific instruments studding the outer hull. The back half was gone.

The clearing was cluttered with debris, slowly drifting off from the larger hulk. Holes in the dust all around marked where smaller, faster pieces had shot off, to be lost within the rings forever.

Spitfire's voice was steel. "In. Slow." 

It only got worse as they closed in. Huge sheets of hull slid past Dash's canopy as the main hulk loomed up before her. The rings weren't that thick, and the dust at the top here was thin enough that the sun was clearly seen, backlighting the ship. Dash felt something in her chest go numb as she passed into its shadow.

"Celestia," Thunderlane breathed. "Look. That scarring near the… breach point."

Dash looked, and wished she hadn't. There were holes in the hull near where the Khar-Selim… ended. Yards across, ringed by popped blisters in the metal. Laser scarring, or something like it.

"Boss," Soarin said. "This is bucked. Tell me I'm dreaming, boss."

"Quiet, Soarin." Spitfire pulled her fighter to a stop, and the others followed. "Right. Plan's unchanged. Run scans of the ship, save the data for the research team to run through. Then, we send a ping to the First Hoofstep and go quiet again."

"Aye, ma'am," Dash supplied. The others followed her lead.

It really was funny. She'd seen one fight in her life, and she was the one with the most experience aside from the boss. She wasn't ready for this. Buck, Spitfire couldn't be ready for this, whatever this was. Combat experience, Sobani training, none of it mattered.

They split, heading for their designated parts of the ship. Dash took the upper section, clustered with the tall forest of antennas that made up the Khar-Selim's main sensor array. A few lights flickered at some of the tips. One of those towers was probably sending out the Vaan'ai.

Soarin had forgotten to shut off his microphone. Dash could hear him breathing, fast and hard. He swallowed, and it took him a moment before his breath came back with a faint gasp.

Dash tried to block him out as she pulled her fighter up around what remained of the Khar-Selim's upper half.

 It wasn't hard to switch focus to her sight. The laser scars were here, too. Some were single, huge blisters. Some tracked along the hull like massive, exploded welding scars. Scattered between them were more mundane marks—the kind of hole you got when a railgun shell hit tank plating.

It was almost like looking at a vehicle fresh back from a battle with the Gaalsien. Except the contexts didn't match. The Gaalsien hated space travel. That was their entire thing. You didn't get spaceships with these kinds of marks, because the weapons needed to do it were all bound in the atmosphere.

Dash forced herself to swallow.

Which meant, unless the whole squad was hallucinating, somebody else had blown the Khar-Selim in half.

Spitfire pinged her. There was no sound, just a single line of text which flashed across her helmet visor, and Dash felt her stomach drop through the floor and straight to the hells as she read the words.

Check radar. Contacts inbound. Hide. NOW.

On her sensor screen, yellow dots were blazing to life. A moment later, Spitfire turned them red.

> 2.3: The End of Silence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Date: 1/22/1216 KDS.
Time: 3:01 PM.
Location: Surface Shuttle Terminal F, Scaffold, Kharequus Orbit.
Mothership Location: Hoorsuk Orbit.

Applejack closed her eyes, and breathed out a long gush of air.

"So what you're tellin' me," she said, opening her eyes to meet the poor filly running the ticket counter, "is that we're stuck?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Nothing to be done, ma'am," the young mare said, smiling as best she could. She leaned, hooves on the counter, shoulders pressed back. Bags hung under her eyes, but it seemed like she'd started off anxious and been worn down from there, until she'd come down on the side of exhausted where she couldn't manage to be worried anymore. "They're saying the shuttle's power core just… stopped working. The ground crew hasn't heard of anything like it, certainly not on an Ambassador. And on Hiir'Sukat, too, one of the best boats in the fleet." She shook her head. "Complete fluke. And on a day like this…"

Applejack sighed, and returned the smile with a degree of understanding. You didn't blame a farmer when an old hoe finally broke. The mare sagged a little, probably thankful that Applejack wasn't going to yell at her like the last stallion had.

"It's alright, sugarcube," Applejack said. "How long d'you think it'll be?"

"Well, the other shuttles left on time," the mare said, "Which means there aren't… any other shuttles. We'll have to pull one from one of the Watchtowers, which could take…" She paused. "A few hours?" she said, wincing. "Five, give or take?"

Applejack's smile twitched. "Fine."

"The concourses are open to you!" the mare said, offering a weak smile. "And on behalf of the Scaffold I offer our sincerest apologies, and—" she turned, her horn flashing as she pulled open a drawer in her round desk. "—A discount," she finished, floating a white card out to Applejack. "Food is free, fifty-percent off everything else."

Applejack's hoof caught the card, and she slipped it deftly into her saddlebag, next to her passport with the teardrop-and-star of Somtaaw on the side. "Much appreciated," she said, nodding, and let the next pony in the line move up to the desk.

She made her way back through the seats, nearly tripping over half a dozen pieces of stray luggage. There were a lot of ponies here, crammed into the little terminal. Pegasi, unicorns, earth ponies. Some kiithid Applejack had never heard of, some she had. 

She'd been to airports before, of course. But mostly it'd been the main one in Khontala, and mostly it'd been to pick other folks up. She'd spent most of her life in the Khontala valley, and she was perfectly happy with that, thank-you-very-much. Sure, there were certainly things worth visiting, and things worth doing other places, but she was a farmer. She had her job. Her family's job, which was to feed her kiith. Other ponies could deal with the rest of the world.

But certain ponies had other ideas. Because everything had to be complicated, didn't it, Mac? Couldn't just settle in like the rest of us, no, you had to read all them books, get all antsy and fill out an application, didn't you?

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Not on any level. She knew she wasn't any less to blame for all this—it took two to have an argument, unless you were nuttier than a corn squirrel—but still. Their family had kept its place in the world by being too sand-damned stubborn to move. Losing two parents in a year had been hard, but they'd pulled through by holding onto who they had left. Now… Granny was getting too old to head the family these days. The rest of the relatives were spread out, across the valley and elsewhere, with little stake in the old homestead or the old traditions. Applejack didn't have any kids—didn't have the time or the inclination for it, really—and Mac was leaving. It might be dramatic to say the family was falling apart… but damn it! The Apple family was falling apart!

Applejack resisted the temptation to kick the next saddlebag that tried to trip her. Getting angry at some random stranger's luggage wouldn't do anypony any good. She'd figure something out, maybe see if any of the cousins were interested in coming back to help look after the farm. Maybe hire some folks. It'd been too much work for two ponies, much less one, but as long as she could keep the farm running, she had the feeling everything else would be okay. Or at least manageable.

Applejack's thoughts jarred to a halt as her eyes fell on two empty seats.

"Aw heck," she muttered. Apple Bloom was gone. Of course she was gone. Never expect a filly to sit still.

She scanned around the room, and quickly spotted her sister. She was sitting in a circle with a few other foals, mostly fillies. A smile was on her face, which was all the reassurance Applejack needed. These days, she didn't have the power in her bones to not trust Apple Bloom to live her own life, and Apple Bloom seemed to like it best when there was a little space in the family. Nothin' wrong with that. It'd been how Applejack liked it too, back when she'd been younger.

Apple Bloom laughed at something one of the fillies said, and started talking real fast. Applejack smiled and took her seat.

It'd be a little while longer before they had to leave. No sense in interrupting the kids. Let 'em have their day.

She tilted her hat down over her face. She closed her eyes.

And far below, the world spun on, lost seconds falling away as the future rushed on in.

Time: 3:01PM.
Location: Fighter Alpha-Two, Secured Against Khar-Selim Upper Hull.

It'd been a railgun slug. Dash was almost sure of it.

The shot had almost missed, slipping between the sensor masts instead of slamming into the hull five meters away. It would have gone through perfectly, but at the last moment it clipped the base of one of the towers, a tall grey spine with a wide, flat dish spreading out from the top.

The tower hadn't taken this well. From the way it now lay bent, it seemed like the force had snapped it back so hard that it'd smashed against the hull—shattering the dish—and rebounded, twisting and shearing against its mounting until it came to rest nearly perpendicular to the Khar-Selim's hull, connected to the rest of the ship only by a knot of twisted metal.

Dash had been staring past it for twelve minutes now. She'd had plenty of time to work out how it might have happened.

Her head snapped up as one of the alien ships passed. It was hard to get a good look with the angle and the light, but the profile looked a bit like one of those Ambassador shuttles. Round and stubby, with two engines on the back belching yellow plasma. Not white like the Arrows, or any other pony ship for that matter. Probably some significance to that, but Dash had no idea what. Something chemical, maybe. The scientists would know.

The ship slowed, tiny white jets of reaction gas spitting from the front. This close, Rainbow could make out a pattern on its grey hull—yellow stripes, jagged and feral. It pivoted, and the cockpit glared down at her, jet black glass ribbed with a rollcage of dirty-grey steel.

And below that, a huge rotary cannon. Dash felt her chest contract.

A light switched on, mounted next to the cannon. The dust in the space between them outlined the beam, a cone of light which cast a shining disc—on the Khar-Selim's hull, twenty feet from Dash's ship. She didn't breathe as the light swept across the comms towers, lingering on the more intact structures and casting wild shadows over the hull.

There'd been just barely enough space between the antennae to land her ship. It'd taken some careful moves to get the Arrow under the broken sensor mast, but the payoff was worth it—with her systems mostly offline, Dash's Arrow was just another piece of scrap wedged into the wrong place. Unless, of course, the aliens looked too closely.

This one didn't. After a moment of blood-freezing tension, the spotlight switched off. The alien ship pivoted again and kicked itself off towards the front of the ship. Reaching another point of interest, it turned and switched on its light again.

It reminded Dash of the tuura that circled over recent battlefields, waiting to see if any of the dead would go unburied, picking at corpses to make sure they were truly dead before calling their comrades over to begin the feast.

She craned her neck further, spotting three more trails rolling through the dust in the distance. They didn't seem to be in formation. The motions were chaotic, but not quite random. Dash leaned forward in her harness, squinting as two of the trails got closer.

They were the same type as the first. They arced down and skimmed the Khar-Selim's hull, moving within meters of one another. Then, one kicked its RCS jets, and slammed into the other.

Dash's jaw dropped.

The other recovered fast, using its own jets to recover its heading—and then some. The fighters collided again, sparks exploding from the point of impact. The first fighter careened off, then started rolling on its center axis. The other followed suit, and the two ships shot on past Dash and down out of her point of view.

Well, at least they weren't disciplined. If one of the squadmates had pulled something like that on sortie, Spitfire would've had them cooked for dinner. Then again, these guys probably didn't think this was a combat zone. It all looked pretty quiet, right now.

Until suddenly it didn't.

Something white flashed past the two alien ships, which stopped their dance and tracked it. A yellow streak followed the white—and Dash's stomach dropped through her hooves as she realized what was happening.

She started hitting switches. The moment her comms were on, a sea of noise filled her helmet.

"—hit on my sensor tower! Got no targeting! Need cover!"

"...Vaan'ai; ai nan—"

"Alpha! Move, move, move! Soarin, GO! Escape is your priority! Everypony else, cover his tail!"

Dash's engines came online. She lunged forward.

Part of her ship caught on the shattered comms dish and twisted her hard to port, before the inertial dampening spell had come fully online. The impact slammed Dash against her harness, blowing the air out of her lungs. She gasped, and shook her head, scanning her instruments.

Her docking clamps were reading as damaged, and Dash could feel a bruise forming on her side. Stupid, but she'd gotten lucky this time. She forced her breathing to a measured rate. Focus.

There were six hostiles. Five were fighters like the ones she'd already seen—twin-engined, one gun, lozenge profile. One was bigger, the farthest contact from her. It was at the edge of the dust, but it was turning. From the size and the way it was turning towards the fight, Dash hazarded a guess that they were looking at some kind of gunship.

Then again, these were aliens. Better to assume that the ship was bad news and leave it at that.

On the pony side, things were looking grim. Soarin was bolting—trailing smoke, but stable enough to fly. Two fighters were chasing him, but they were losing ground, and at that range he was easily dodging their fire. He was the best off.

Spitfire had pulled two fighters into a turning fight. Somehow, she was apparently holding her own, though Dash had no idea how long that could last. Thunderlane's fighter was powered up, but he was apparently stuck against the Khar-Selim, unable to escape. 

The last of the alien fighters had turned, and was arcing around the ship, trying to get a shot at him.

"...ai nan-steniir…"

It was an easy decision to make, really. Spitfire and Soarin could fly. They could hold their own. Thunderlane wasn't so lucky at the moment. Dash winged her ship around and bolted towards the target. "Thunder!" she shouted into her comms, then forced her voice down. Shouting wasn't going to help anything. "I'm covering you. Focus on getting off the ground."

Thunderlane's voice came through strained. "Roger, Dash. Hurry."

She saw it through the canopy. The fighter's hull flashed silver as it caught the light, already spinning on its jets to try and face her. She didn't give it the chance. She clicked the trigger, and felt her ship hum as the guns spun to life.

Her shots hit just starboard of the enemy cockpit. Some glanced off into the dust, but a few chewed into the hull, finding one of the fighter's vernier thrusters. An explosion lit the side of the ship, and it spun off out of view.

"Vaan'ai; ai nan-steniir…"

Dash checked her radar. Soarin was out of the dust and roughly on-course for the Mothership—impressive, considering he was eyeballing it. His pursuers were breaking off, too slow to catch up and too committed to their course to come back and rejoin the fight. Spitfire, on the other hand, was still dancing with her new friends.

Thunderlane pulled free of whatever had him trapped, and Dash didn't waste a second. "Thunder, on me," she said, even as she spun her ship around. "Boss! We're headed your way."

"...ai nan-heniim…"

"Roger!" Dash couldn't tell whether that had been Spitfire or Thunderlane. Possibly both. Didn't matter.

It was funny, from a distance, how slow the dogfight seemed. Still, as Dash got closer she came to an inevitable and unsurprising conclusion:

Spitfire was an absolute badass.

The two alien fighters were obviously being piloted by creatures that knew their way around 3D combat. They spun, weaved, danced, firing in bursts every time they thought they might have a shot on Spitfire's fighter. It was beautiful piloting, no question. Enemies they might be, they were bucking good.

But every time it seemed like they had her locked in, Spitfire was just ahead of them, just a little too fast or a little too slow for them to catch her out. It wasn't sustainable, it wasn't going to win her the fight, but she was unscathed.

And in doing this, she'd given the two bastards tunnel vision. They were so focused on killing that one annoying little bird that they didn see Dash coming until she opened fire.

The shot hit dead center on the cockpit, and shattered the canopy. The second, third, and fourth shots poured through, ripping through glass and hull and touching off the magazine below. Debris pinged off Dash's hull as she shot past.

"Target down," Dash called. On her sensors, the other ship winked out of existence, following its comrade.

"Target down!" Thunderlane called. "Orders, boss?"

"...ai nan-heniim…"

Dash glanced at her sensors. The largest target was breaking off, heading for the dust. She wheeled her fighter around and tried to spot it, but she could only see a faint dark shape at the edge of the clearing, shrinking to nothingness.

Spitfire responded, her voice strangely cold. "We leave. Soarin will be in contact with the Mothership by now. We need to get back, debrief, and get our next orders. Form up and clear the dust."

They flew, but as they left the rings, Dash spared a glance back towards the battle site. She switched her sensors to topographic, overlaying all the large objects in her view with orange wireframe. The wounded ship, the one Dash had saved Thunderlane from, was gone. The other two drifted silently beside the Khar-Selim. 

She saw her kill. The explosion had taken its head off, engines and hull ending at a ragged wound, quickly cooling as residual heat bled off into space. There was no sign of a corpse—the pilot, if there had been one, was almost certainly incinerated when their ammunition blew. Thunderlane's kill was much the same, truncated a little further forward. Both drifted beside the Khar-Selim, and like tiny mirrors of the shredded science ship. 

In all likelihood, they'd drift together forever, or at least until they fell into the planet's atmosphere and were lost forever.

It was a kind of cremation, a kind of burial… but not the proper kind.

"Boss," Dash said, on-comms. "Those ships we shot down…"

She trailed off into silence. Thunderlane might not get it, but she knew Spitfire understood. She was Sobani, after all, and while Dash couldn't claim to be the most religious pony in the world… this was important.

"Vaan'ai…" the ghost ship droned on. "Ai nan-heniim…"

Then Spitfire began broadcasting on an open channel. Her voice was different, softer than it'd been before. Then a commander, now a priest. In Soban, the two roles often overlapped.

"To the souls slain here today, unburied, we commend your bravery and your honor. Know that, though we know not your names, we will remember you."

She paused. Traditionally, the prayer should close with Celestiia keersaf se'traiim. Celestia guard your path.

"May your gods watch over you, whoever they might be," Spitfire said.

She closed the channel, and the squad left the dust and began the long flight home.

And in Dash's ears, the signal slowly faded down to static. 

"Vaan'ai; ai nan-steniir… Vaan'ai; ai nan-heniim… Vaan'ai……… Vaan'ai……………..Vaan'ai……………………..."
> Technological, Historical, and Cultural Briefing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

UNDERGOING REVISIONS!

This document (despite my best efforts) simply could not be adapted to fit FimFiction's formatting restrictions without removing massive chunks of information and screwing up organization. Read it as it was written here.
> Tech Supplement: Arrow
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Arrow MK-I Light-Recon Fighter


Weight: 40 tons.
Length: 20 meters.
Max Acceleration (Standard Drive): 300m/s/s.
Armament: 2x Rotary autocannon, 24mm.
Other systems: Ailero-Arcano Energy Transformer (see notes).
Lead Designers: Flywheel LiirHra, with assistance from Sunset Shimmer S’jet.
Can Be Piloted By: Pegasus Ponies.

Notes: 

The Arrow was designed as the Mothership’s dedicated reconnaissance and defense craft, and is generally regarded as a significant technological leap over earlier designs in all respects. 

The Arrow was designed contemporarily with the MK-III version of the Blade-Class Heavy Interceptor (then designated as a Heavy Scout Fighter). Given the shortcomings of the MK-III and following MK-IV, and the subsequent shelving of the Blade Project, the Arrow was left as the Mothership’s primary autonomous scout vessel. It was the only armed support craft to be constructed before the Mothership’s launch.

The Arrow is armed with two light rotary autocannons, which are sufficient for dealing with most fighter-sized threats. However, they are inefficient against heavier armor, and essentially useless against anything larger than a corvette.

The ship is capable of about five hours of sustained flight before requiring refueling, which can be extended by using the boost system. In addition, backup fuel tanks can be attached to the outer hull to extend the flight time. The ship has its own sapphire talisman micro-reactor, which powers all magical and mundane systems. Its sensor suite is highly sophisticated, matched only by those of the Mothership and Research Ship. Its cockpit is not normally pressurized, though there is a tube which can supply a pilot’s spacesuit with approximately two weeks’ worth of oxygen, and a set of vents which can be used to pressurize the cockpit in the event of prolonged stays in space. The Arrow also contains stores of preserved food and water, which can be accessed in case of an emergency, and will last approximately twelve days. Both of these limits can be extended by conservative pilots. The Arrow’s cockpit can be accessed by a hinged canopy and can also be jettisoned as a basic escape pod, along with the oxygen and other supplies.

The Arrow’s most revolutionary feature is the “boost” system, more formally known as an Ailero-Arcano Energy Transformer, or AAET. This system draws magical power from a pegasus’ wings and diverts it into the ship’s engines and maneuvering thrusters through a series of focusing talismans, greatly increasing the ship’s acceleration and maneuverability. The boost system also transfers a fraction of the power to the inertial dampeners and gyroscopes, in order to compensate for the increased acceleration. This system was designed by Sunset Shimmer, known for her work on the Mothership’s neural control interface, and is based on much of the same technology. The system itself is poorly understood, as Sunset Shimmer left few notes as to its functionality, and there seem to be several redundancies and non-functioning components built into the original schematics. Removing any of these components resulted in vastly decreased performance and increased stress on the pilot, however, and thus all in-service Arrows use the original design.

Due to the layout of the controls and the nature of the boost system, this vessel could initially only be piloted by pegasi. Later versions were developed to allow unicorn and earth-pony pilots, but test results indicated a marked decreased in boost-system performance, as well as the lower average in flight-test scores expected with non-pegasus pilots. Arrow squadrons, therefore, consisted all but exclusively of pegasi, particularly those with high levels of magical ability.

> Tech Supplement: Ambassador
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Ambassador MK-II Modular Corvette


Weight: 120-300 tons.
Length: 60 meters.
Max Acceleration: Variable (Avg: 200m/s/s.)
Armament: None (optional, see below).
Standard Crew: 2 (pilot, co-pilot). 
Carrying capacity: approx 300 tons, up to ~300 ponies.
Lead Designers: Flywheel LiirHra.
Can Be Piloted By: Ponies.

Notes:

The first iteration of the Ambassador was designed as a high-end inter-orbital shuttle for diplomats and overseers, of which only a dozen were constructed and only ten of which ever flew. The Ambassador MK-II was related to its predecessor in name only, being redesigned from the ground up as a multipurpose modular utility shuttle.

The MK-II almost never came to be, however. Due to resource cuts and restructuring within the Scaffold engineering department, many of the Mothership's proposed support craft were cut during development. Only the protests of Flywheel LiirHra, then the head of the design division, kept the Ambassador on the drawing boards. Flywheel believed in the design to such an extent that he personally took over development, a decision which would lead to the greatest success of his career. 

Under his management, seven proposals were developed for a middleweight shuttle with extensive hold capacity. The sixth of these was the familiar lozenge-shaped design known today. This design was selected, and further developed such that the entire midsection of the craft—starting at the back of the cockpit section and ending at the drives—could be removed entirely and replaced with a variety of modules. Proposed modules included scientific instrument packages, cargo and passenger configurations (which were by far the most commonly used), extended sensor/comms suites, and even some weapon emplacements. Several Ambassadors were loaned to the Coalition military and modified into adjustable spy satellites, using sophisticated imaging systems to track Gaalsien troop movements and industrial patterns. Two were even modified further, fitted with bomb-bays and used as suborbital point-strike bombers. The atmospheric-entry technology used in these latter craft—the Yuul'Naan and the Sky Bastard—would eventually be adapted to allow refitted ambassadors to serve as planetary landing craft, further broadening their role.

The versatility and reliability of the Ambassador design extended to the Scaffold and Mothership fleets as well. The Ambassador chassis forms the core around which both the Porter-Class tug corvette and the Mercy-Class rescue corvette are based, and later corvettes in the Mothership's employ would be heavily based on the Ambassador layout.

In addition, the Ambassador was known for its race-agnostic control interface—able to be piloted by any pony with four hooves—which would later be adapted into a multitude of designs, from variant Arrow fighters to system control consoles on the Mothership itself. This system was received warmly by unicorn and earth-pony pilots, proving far easier and more effective than older control schemes. While pegasus and even unicorn-specific layouts still existed, using them eventually became a taboo among Ambassador pilots—a cultural element which would translate over to most other corvette crews.

The Ambassador itself never faded out of view. Its usefulness as a general transport and reconnaissance craft, as well as the fact that it was one of the only ships in the fleet capable of being refitted for atmospheric entry, earned it a secure place in the Mothership's repertoire.
> Tech Supplement: Watchtower
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Watchtower-Type Orbital Monitoring Station


Dimensions: 500x150 meters, cylindrical.
Drives: RCS jets only. Relies on Porter tugs for extensive orbital movement.
	Armament: 64 High-Accuracy-Vacuum-Missile (HAV-M) tubes, approx 4100 missiles in magazine. 1 Large-Ground-Aimed-Hypervelocity-Cannon (L-GAHC), approx 2000 slugs in magazine.
Other systems: Extensive comm systems, relays, linked to Kharequuin GPS networks and surface comms.
Lead Designers: Ocule Kaalel, Salthoof Naabal, Steelheart Soban, Amethyst Star S'jet.
Min. crew: 12. Max. capacity: 1200
Notes: 

The Watchtower network is a series of eight, soon to be twelve, satellite-stations in low equatorial orbit. These stations form the spine of the Kharequuin planetary communication network and GPS network, and are also equipped with emergency repair and recovery facilities. The Watchtower is the second largest type of artificial satellite in Kharequuin orbit, second of course to the Scaffold itself. They are named sequentially based on letters of Lunaetum script, with Watchtowers Aleph and Bet being the first two completed in 1193, and Gimel through Het being finished over the following twenty-three years, in parallel with the Mothership's construction. The Watchtowers are a controversial project, seen by many as sapping resources and time away from the more important Mothership, but a number of influential Kiith'sa pushed the project through repeatedly, including Glamour Naabal'sa, Spyglass Kaalel'sa, Caramel Manaan'sa, and Index S'jet'sa. Notably absent this list are Stormfeather Soban'sa, who has refrained from discussing the Watchtowers in order to obfuscate any Sobani involvement in their operation, and Jetstream LiirHra'sa, who has repeatedly denounced the project as "a waste of [redacted] time," and "some [redacted]'s [redacted] moneyhole." Due to Jetstream's erratic temperament and developing senility, he has not been made aware of the Watchtowers' true purpose.

While their uses are manifold, they are best known for their extensive security protocols. Vessels seeking access to the Scaffold must first pass security screening at the Watchtowers—a protocol which has prevented multiple (476) attempted terrorist attacks on the Scaffold. In the event that a vessel attempts to break for the Scaffold without stopping at one of the Watchtowers, the Watchtowers' strike squadrons and long range missile systems have proven quite effective at eliminating the threat.

Two Porter-Class tugs are stationed at each Watchtower, to be dispatched either as rescue craft or to help adjust the Watchtower's orbit. Mercy-class rescue shuttles are stationed at six of the Watchtowers as well, serving as a more dedicated ambulance ships. In addition, each watchtower hosts a squadron of Arrow-Class light fighters, intended to patrol the orbital plane and intercept hijacked craft. Watchtowers Bet, Dalet, and Het also have dedicated anti-terrorism task forces in residence, to help defuse hostage situations and other delicate conflicts should they arise.



















WARNING:


The following is classified level RED by order of Coalition military command. If you are reading this without security clearance RED or above, close this document now and report the leak to your local authorities. Thank you.




The Watchtower network is the Scaffold's darker cousin. Officially a set of twelve relay stations used for minor orbital construction/repair projects and comm coordination, it's all but an open secret that the Watchtowers serve as key components of the Coalition's war effort against the Gaalsien. Mounting classified mass driver weapons (L-GAHCs), they are capable of precise and devastating strikes against ground targets, aided by the Coalition's domination of the orbital sphere. Furthermore, they are equipped with long range HAV missile batteries, which are capable of local and remote defense against Gaalsien-hijacked ships.

The L-GAHC systems have been fired 253 times as of this writing against Gaalsien troop formations and strongholds, successfully eliminating their target in 64% of cases. The Arrow squadrons attached to the Watchtowers have eliminated an additional 32 targets, and the anti-terror task forces have conducted 47 missions with an 83% success rate. In those situations where the Arrow squadrons were ineffective or unable to intercept the target, the HAV batteries have been fired 12 times, eliminating their target in 100% of cases. Gaalsien elements have only breached the scaffold on five occasions, four times by passing through security by various means including impersonation and/or deep-cover/sleeper operations (twice by use of sophisticated body prosthetics concealing shielded weapons and/or explosives) and once via a high-power teleport spell. Security protocols have been shored up after each incursion, making repeat breaches impossible.

Detailed deployment data and operational history of the Watchtower network is classified level BLUE. Further data on Watchtower mission parameters is classified level GREEN.



















WARNING:

The following is classified level GREEN by Coalition military command. If you are reading this without security clearance GREEN, close this document immediately and delete it and all records of its existence from your device. An embedded sub-program has already logged your access and sent detailed identification data directly to Coalition command. Failure to comply with this warning will result in detainment and severe charges.

The Watchtowers serve a final, highly classified purpose. In the event of hostile extraterrestrial incursion, by Briar Patch protocol the Watchtowers will rotate and turn their weapons outward, acting as a planetary defense grid. Based on the Goldenrod reports, we believe this will provide a 2.5565% increase in planetwide survival rates.

This protocol is to be enacted at the first confirmation of alien activity within the Kharequus system. A false alarm is infinitely better than the alternative. For more information, see reports Goldenrod A-6, B-4, J-10, and M-55.