Remora
Fomalhaut system
Right ascension: 22h 57m 39.1s
Declination: −29° 37′ 20″
"He's an…associate, of sorts," the gray mare said. "He's with me. It's OK."
The guard ponies grimaced, but let Spike through; he adjusted the baldric around his tuxedo as he passed through the door, which he closed behind him. "Thanks," he acknowledged.
The musicians' room, Spike thought, was surprisingly poor—he'd expected it to have been maintained better. The air inside was damp and had a musty note about it. The red knotted carpeting was torn and worn, with stains along the wall; the ceiling fared little better. The walls were unexpectedly concrete, an odd choice for a hotel set in the clouds of a gas giant, and had suffered some cracking as the hotel's structure had settled. The only doors were the one through which he'd just passed and one on the opposite wall. Some fluorescent tube lights lined the ceiling; a few had gone out, and one flickered and buzzed. Inside, there was one pony tending to a cello, the quality of which stood out in contrast to the failure of the rest of the room. "You really ought to keep a lower profile if you want to keep your head," she noted, not looking up from her task.
The dragon snorted. "Says the world-class cellist. Your reputation precedes you."
"As a cellist, maybe, but that's the secret—hiding in plain sight. Your problem is the hiding part."
"You said you had something for me?"
The musician opened the cello case but did not store her instrument. "I had to call in a lot of favors for this," she said, her voice lowered in volume. With her mouth she picked up a bag.
Spike detected an oblong form inside—one that looked fairly heavy despite the small profile it offered through the velvet pouch. He grabbed it and upended the bag, dropping the item into his free hand. "A rock," he observed.
"Turn it over."
Spike did as instructed; the opposite face of the rock contained an inset grid of tiny square jewels, whose color distribution appeared more or less random. "A very pretty rock."
"You have a Singer on call, don't you?" asked Octavia. Spike's head snapped upwards; his pupils contracted. The pony smirked. "I'll take that as a yes. She should tell you all you need to know about it. I don't know all that much myself, I'm afraid, only that my contacts said you might find it of use."
"So why help me?"
The pony faced him. "Even before the war, I was a mare of some prestige. I fared better during the war than most."
"That doesn't answer my question."
She swallowed. "The way I see it, it is my lot to help others when I can. You are hardly the first, and I hope you won't be the last."
A muffled murmur broke through the door; both Spike and Octavia instinctively turned to look. The murmur turned to dulled screams, and Octavia backed up nervously. "I was afraid of this."
Spike reached for his sidearm. "Friends of yours?"
The musician shook her head. "They are rather the opposite, I fear."
"Is that door secured?" asked Spike, pointing.
"Have we any other choice?"
Spike opened the back door and came face-to-face with four tall diamond dogs, weapons drawn. "Get down!" he bellowed, pushing Octavia to the floor and upending a table for cover.
The enemies fired their weapons as Spike fired his; his aim was true and the attackers fell. He noted that he wasn't dead and felt the sensation of shattering crystal on his scales—gem projectiles.
A stain on the floor caught his eye, one that looked different than the traces of moisture he'd seen coming in. He followed it until it changed its path, wandering up the pony's front legs. It finally clicked—blood.
"Find her," said Octavia. She went limp.
Spike looked at her body for a second, then closed her eyes. He grit his teeth and barreled through the door he had come in.
Spike wondered why whatever he tried to do always seemed to end up going sideways. Several diamond dogs and griffins stood in the lobby, islands of stability amongst the rushing onslaught of terrified attendees. His eyes found a sign reading "UNDER CONSTRUCTION" taped to a slab of drywall and he headed for it, throwing his shoulder into the plaster. It collapsed; he broke through into a corridor choked with pipes and wiring.
Regaining his footing, he noticed light streaming in through the far end of the corridor and ran for it. He turned his head back; a griffin was following him. Thinking quickly, he aimed his pistol at the largest pipe and fired. His intuition was correct—a geyser of steam rushed out. He heard the startled cry of pain from the griffon and faced forward again, slapping the panic button on his baldric as he ran and hoping his friends would get the message.
He rushed through some dirty translucent plastic flaps and noticed the area he was now escaping through was open to the atmosphere. Pipes and scaffolding littered the exterior; a few work lights stood on platforms, one set knocked over. The piping was either brass or covered in some shade of white, complementing the beige-and-pink clouds. The dragon skidded to a stop near an unfenced edge, almost falling into the depths of the planet below. Despite the gravity of the situation, he found himself wondering what sorts of safety codes were on the books in this jurisdiction.
The arrival of his pursuers broke him of his distraction. As they walked closer he inched his way out onto a beam jutting out into the clouds, his weapon darting back and forth between targets. His pursuers aimed their guns at him, expectant. He hoped that his plan would work.
A spacegoing vessel bobbed up with a metallic roar, its weapons systems slewing to aim at his attackers. Success.
Spike hopped onto one of the landing feet below one of the thrusters, breaking his gaze with the intruders only long enough to secure his footing. The ship gained altitude as the entry ramp opened, and as it flew away the foiled enemies could see three blue diamonds painted on its side.
Spike walked up the closing entry ramp past the weapons interfaces and onto the flight deck. A few rarefied clouds sunk down below the field of view of the windshield as the ship climbed through the atmosphere, and switches, gauges, dials, indicators, and lighted buttons assaulted him from all sides. Scootaloo sat in the pilot's chair, staring at the console; Apple Bloom was under a console, fixing something like always. Babs Seed sat on a chair on the lower deck in front of the ordnance controls, which exuded yellow and orange light into the relative darkness of that area. Sweetie Belle sat in her own seat on the flight deck, head turned so she could look out the window.
"Welcome back," Babs said.
Spike paid her no mind and dropped the item in front of Sweetie Belle, removing it from its pouch. "Can you tell me what this is?"
The unicorn looked at it. "A rock."
"Besides the obvious, thank you. Somepony died giving me this."
Sweetie Belle sat up. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Now, can you tell me what this is?"
The glowing magic of Sweetie Belle's horn enveloped the rock. Instantly, her eyes widened and her voice hushed. "Rarity made this."
All eyes—Spike's, Scootaloo's, Apple Bloom's, and Babs' as she craned her neck to see—turned to Sweetie Belle. "Are you sure?" asked Spike, slowly.
The unicorn nodded. "I think I would remember my sister's aura, even after all this time."
"What else can you tell me about it?"
"I'll have to study it," said Sweetie Belle. "You'll have to give me a few minutes."
Scootaloo grabbed a pair of earmuffs.
Sweetie Belle was a Singer, her Cutie Mark an eighth note based on a padlock. Inside her skull sat a library of information encoded in verse and melody, regurgitated by recitation. Using her horn she tumbled the rock gently in front of her, humming so she could recall the required details. Several times, she undertook jarring changes in key and meter as she switched songs and topics. Finally, she softly placed the rock on the console with the ornate side up.
"This was made for diamond dogs," she explained. "The jewels are a code of sorts—this one was made for someone in the capital."
"On Granite."
"How are we going to get to Granite?" asked Scootaloo. "I mean—no offense, Apple Bloom or Babs—but the family names can only get us so far. Same goes for the ship."
"None taken," replied Apple Bloom.
"I suppose blasting our way through the blockade is out of the question," said Babs, joining the others on deck.
"Treason is punishable by death," Sweetie Belle mentioned.
"I wasn't actually suggesting that."
Scootaloo raked her hooves through her mane. "I don't suppose we can just ask them."
"No, that's exactly the plan," said Spike.
"What do you mean?"
"Set a course for Bellerophon."
"Bellerophon?" It took Scootaloo a second to register what Spike implied. "You mean…"
Spike moved to his chair and sat. "This plan needs a dash of authority."
Bellerophon
51 Pegasi system
Right ascension: 22h 57m 28.0s
Declination: +20° 46′ 08″
"I thought you said we were going to wink in behind the planet," Scootaloo said.
Sweetie Belle drank from a bottle of soda, sitting in a thrown-together pile of old blankets and insulation. "We did."
The pegasus grimaced. "Looks like we're in front of the star."
The unicorn shook her head. "No, that's the night side."
"The night side? Why is it glowing?"
"Because the atmosphere is so hot."
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. "Wonderful."
"Systems check," Spike ordered.
Apple Bloom, her Cutie Mark a red apple with a wrench in front of it, sat up. "Ah've shored up everythin' ah could. Ah got all th' power ah can spare into th' heat control, but it says ah'm pickin' up sodium on th' scanners?"
Sweetie Belle answered. "Right, the atmosphere is getting blasted off since the planet's so close to the primary."
"Is there any good news?" Babs asked.
"The sugar-water dispenser is working," Scootaloo said, taking a sip from her mug. She went to refill it but only received a few sputters. "Never mind."
"Sorry, Scoots. Ah needed that off too." The earth pony turned to Rarity's sister. "Are ya sure ya can handle this?"
The unicorn nodded.
Spike handed Sweetie Belle another soda. "Can we go over the plan once more?"
"Fly just above the atmosphere until you get to the terminator. Then I bring up the bubble and we plunge into the sky right before night turns into day."
"Where are we aiming for again?" asked Scootaloo.
"The hot spot on the day side, west of the center, if my hunch is correct."
The pegasus sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Got it." She brought the ship in closer to the atmosphere, which cast dim shadows inside the spacecraft.
"Forty bits says th' number four manifold bites it," Apple Bloom wagered.
"I'll take that bet," replied Babs.
"Ya got that ordnance stowed? Ah'd hate t' blow up in an oven."
"All deactivated and accounted for."
"Be sure to put your best hoof forward when we land," Spike said. "Everypony strapped in?"
Scootaloo didn't reply; she pushed the controls forward and the ship grazed the top of the atmosphere.
"Sweetie Belle?"
The unicorn closed one eye and squinted. A translucent purple sphere appeared around the ship. "Hurry."
Just before the sun would have peeked out from over the limb of the planet, they dipped into the boiling clouds. The ship rocked and listed under the protest of the shockwave the bubble produced against the atmospheric gases. Instantly, alarms began screaming; dozens of lights and buttons flickered red and white, and the main cabin lights failed. Even through the protective bubble Sweetie Belle produced around the craft, the Windigo-like howls of the supersonic winds jockeyed for priority among the warning sirens blaring on the flight deck. A deep red sky gave way to smoky black clouds below, visibly tracking against the lower atmosphere even from the perspective of a ship at speed. A sliver of the star began to creep over the horizon, looming massively above the planet below.
"The sun's coming up!" Scootaloo shouted.
"Keep going!" grunted Sweetie Belle.
The ship screamed forward into the day side of the planet, rocking and swaying in the powerful rivers of air. Scootaloo activated the sunshade; the windshield instantly turned dark.
"There's too much noise on the display!" Scootaloo shouted. The navigation hologram was indeed useless; static permeated through the field of view, already confounded by density contrasts and swiftly-moving air streams that tricked the scanners into displaying near-opacity. "I can't see where I'm going!"
"On it!" Apple Bloom responded, twisting dials and flicking switches at her station. The sound of squealing metal reverberated through the cabin as she did; she glanced upwards at the unhappy status signals. "Ya owe me forty bits, Babs!"
"What's our speed?" Spike demanded.
Scootaloo looked at the indicator. "Not fast enough!"
"Guys…hurry…" Sweetie Belle pleaded.
The spacecraft lurched and a volley of sparks erupted from a junction box. "She can take it!" Apple Bloom screamed.
A zone of calm appeared to the extremes of the detection range. "Dead ahead!" shouted Scootaloo. "Looks like you were right! Do we still have inertial control?"
"Barely!"
The pegasus kicked the engines into higher output; since they were already fighting the wind, she figured they might as well throw caution to it. "Hang on to your horseshoes!" she yelled. Her wings fluttered as she jammed the stick forward, gritting her teeth.
Rainbow Dash stirred, lying on one of the spongy, smoky clouds. Some empty bottles lay scattered around her slumbering figure; farther off was a roughshod cloud-hut that she only slept in half the time. "No," she whispered, the paralysis of sleep muddying her voice. "Don't leave me. Please don't turn your backs on me."
The sonic rush of rocket engines fighting to stop a multi-ton mass did not wake her, nor did the shadow passing over her face. She rolled over on the cloud under the yellow-red sky and half-sighed, breathing out and drifting back into deeper slumber.
Some minutes later she woke, though her eyes remained closed. She felt something near, something distantly familiar. It took a few seconds for it to register that something was blocking the light from the nearby star. Opening her eyes halfway, she found herself staring at an orange pegasus with a purple mane. A surge of adrenaline provided the rush to wake her up fully. "You!" she growled.
"Hiya, Rainbow Dash!" said Scootaloo, smiling a bit too wide.
Rainbow Dash bolted up to all fours, jabbing a hoof at the mare she had known as a filly a lifetime ago. "Not you. Tell me I drank too much and I'm seeing things again."
Scootaloo dropped her posture slightly. "No, I'm real."
"How—this planet is huge! How did you know where to look?"
"Sweetie Belle figured you'd punish yourself by going for the hottest place you could."
The blue pegasus' jaw dropped for a split second, but then her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"
Scootaloo looked down at the ground and dug her hoof in. "We, uh, need your help."
Dash snorted. "From a traitor? And who's 'we', anyway?"
"The hearing cleared you of all charges!"
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "The inquest. Lesson number…" She searched for the correct value. "Number whatever: Don't believe everything you hear."
"Just because you didn't die with the rest of the Wonderbolts doesn't mean you're not a hero!" Scootaloo countered.
"Listen, kid," Rainbow Dash said, heading back into the crude cloud-house, "I ended up half a light-day away from Cloudsdale all by myself with the rest of my squad dead. I'm not showing my face in Equestria ever again. I don't deserve the luxury. So why don't you and the rest of 'we' head back where you came from and never barge in here again." She paused. "You never said who 'we' was, anyway."
Scootaloo blinked and inhaled. "Spike, Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, Babs, and me."
Rainbow Dash laughed. "The whole gang, I see. Plus Spike," she added, as an afterthought. "Hopping between the stars, wasting your time on pointless missions."
"We're looking for Rarity."
The blue pegasus blinked, her face falling in sudden concern. "Rarity?" she repeated.
"She went missing."
"Missing?"
"OK, are you just gonna repeat everything I say or are you gonna help us or not?"
"How long?"
"Since not too long after you left."
Rainbow Dash blinked. "How long ago was that?" she asked, slowly. She scratched at her mane. "I've kind of lost track of time here."
"Ten years."
"Ten years?" Dash asked, incredulous. A scowl broke across her face. "Why didn't anypony tell me?!"
"You didn't want to be found."
"Exactly. And yet you're here now."
"In case you haven't noticed, you're living in a magical bubble floating in a gas giant the temperature of lava. Believe me, we only came here because you're our last resort. We need your help."
"My help?"
Scootaloo swallowed. "We think we found something big, but it leads us to Granite."
"So why don't you just go there and find out whatever it is you want to find out?"
"There's a blockade. Nopony in our out unless they're on official business."
"And you need me why?" asked Rainbow Dash.
The orange pegasus paused a moment, trying to find the right wording. "You were never stripped of your title and rank. Officially, you're still a Sky Marshall and a Wonderbolt. You could get us in."
The Wonderbolt scowled. "The Wonderbolts," she spat. "That was a long time ago and something I was never worthy of."
"Why are you beating yourself up like this?"
"Because loyalty is a standard to live up to, and I, the Element of Loyalty, the symbol of what that means…I failed."
Scootaloo poked her face into Rainbow Dash's. "So even if literally nopony else believes you betrayed Equestria, you still do? Lesson number whatever plus one: Maybe you should stop listening to yourself, if you want to start not believing everything you hear!"
"It—I—you—ugh!" Rainbow Dash stammered.
Scootaloo gestured wildly with her front hooves, her wings unfurling for emphasis. "You're talking about loyalty? What about being loyal to Rarity, huh? What happened to the Elements of Harmony? Last I checked it took six to make a complete set."
"What do you know?" growled the Wonderbolt.
"That Rarity is out there somewhere and could use some loyalty right about now!"
Rainbow Dash started, pulling herself physically back from the other pegasus. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"Come on! Stop hiding and stand with your friends!"
The azure pegasus gazed down at her hooves, pawing at the ground. She drooped her head even further, but when she brought it back up, Scootaloo could see she held her head high in determination, albeit a reluctant determination. "Maybe you're right after all, kid," she said. "I'll go."
