Mass Core 2: Crimson Horizon

The 192 was not a large vessel by any means. Despite its small size and extensive crew, however, Scootaloo often found that it was all-too-easy to be alone. She did not like to be alone. The ship itself was strange: the skeletal walls and lack of light made it seem like some kind of abandoned shell, and the engines did not make a normal sound. In fact, they sounded almost exactly like somepony whispering in a language that was almost possible to understand. Scootaloo could not move through the ship without jumping at every shadow. Sometimes, she would admonish herself for being such a coward- -but other times, she would look deep into the shadows and see the impossibly thin arms and legs of a tall alien as Bjorn stared back at her.

This meant that Scootaloo preferred to stay with the other ponies as much as she could. At this particular time, she found herself wandering through the halls with the alicorn named Nine. Nine was, at least according to her number, the youngest of the Twilight Sparkle clones. She was also slightly smaller than Eight, making her the smallest of her sisters. Scootaloo was still shorter, of course, but Nine was at least close in size.

Of all of the clones, Nine was the one that Scootaloo tended to spend the most time with. That was not because they were close, exactly, or at least any closer than Scootaloo had come with the others. Six was by far the kindest, but conversing with her was difficult. Conversation was impossible with Seven, which Scootaloo accepted as fortuitous. Seven frightened her more than slightly.

Four, meanwhile, spent literally all her time with Marc Antony, and Eight spent an exorbitant amount of time organizing and reorganizing her horded collection of supplies and weapons. Nine, meanwhile, liked to talk. A lot. Scootaloo did not mind so much; some of the stories were interesting, and Nine seemed to appreciate her company.

“And this section,” said Nine, pointing out an area where the ship had a marked difference between two welded section, “this was originally part of a small cruiser. The outer metal, though, is from a freighter. There was actually one time when a baterian torpedo hit us right there…” she pointed at an area where the metal was different. “Right through. Our atmosphere vented. It almost hit Ms. Oriana.”

“I’m glad you survived,” said Scootaloo. She was mildly distracted, not just by the possibility of Bjorn lurking in the shadows, but because she was starting to feel strange. For some reason, she felt anxious and agitated, and she kept stretching the muscles in her rear legs. No matter what she did, it seemed to remain. She blamed it on the unfamiliar atmosphere.

“We didn’t just survive. We had baterian for weeks.” Nine stuck out her tongue. “Mother makes an excellent baterian salad, but they are very greasy creatures. It is an easy flavor to get sick of.”

Before Scootaloo could formulate a comment on that, another alicorn approached from the other end of the hall. Eight paused, and looked at Scootaloo. Then she turned to Nine.

“Soeur,” she said. “Quand allons-nous lui Boucher ? En regardant son séduisant mais petites ailes qui me fait tellement faim!”

“Mère dit d’attendre au moins deux jours de plus,” responded Nine. “Nous les tuer ensuite. Je revendique une jambe.”

Scootaloo looked at the pair, perplexed. “I don’t speak French,” she said. “What are you saying?”

“Oh,” said Nine. “Eight just told me that you have pretty wings.”

“Aww,” said Scootaloo, smiling. “You have pretty wings too, Eight. I wish mine were as big as yours, though.”

“Trust me,” said Eight, “you do very, very well with a small pair.”

Scootaloo blushed, and the strange sensation that she had been feeling immediately became much stronger. She stepped back as Nine and Eight continued the conversation. Scootaloo braced herself against a wall as she felt faint, and then to her horror realized what she was feeling.

“Damn it,” she swore. “Not now…”

“Is something wrong, Scootaloo?” said Nine.

Scootaloo looked up at them, embarrassed to explain. They were both mares, though, and both older than she was. She decided that she could confide in them.

“The pills,” she said. “It’s been too long since I’ve had my pills. I’m…I’m having an estrus cycle.”

Nine and Eight looked at each other, and then at Scootaloo.

“That would explain why you smell so good,” said Eight.

“Please don’t joke,” said Scootaloo. “This is really, REALLY uncomfortable.”

“We know,” said Nine. She approached Scootaloo and put her hoof on the younger pony’s shoulder. “We know how it is. The early estrus can be…difficult. But…” she ran her hoof higher, into Scootaloo’s hair and then down her back to her wings. Scootaloo shivered. Nine was only making her situation worse. “…I remember when I had mine, mother would help me relieve it.” She smiled seductively, and Scootaloo suddenly realized just how sexy horns were. “We can help you too. If you want…”

The next thing Scootaloo knew, she was being led into a side room. She was already removing her clothing before she was laid down on a soft area. Both Eight and Nine were on top of her, taking turns kissing her and rubbing against her while Scootaloo tried to remove their clothing as well. They obliged, removing their own uniforms and helping Scootaloo out of hers.

It was not long before the others came. Scootaloo did not know what brought them; it could have been her smell, or perhaps the connection that they seemed to share with their sisters. Minutes after Eight and Nine had begun, Six and Seven arrived.

Scootaloo found herself surrounded by soft and muscular ponies and purple wings, all moaning and rubbing against her as she rubbed back. At first, it was nearly suffocating- -until Four arrived. When the eldest of the sisters came, the others parted, presenting Scootaloo to her. Four leaned forward and took Scootaloo in her forlegs, holding her softly and kissing her deeply. Scootaloo kissed back. She tasted so good.

Four disconnected, though, and ran her hoof gently through Scootaloo’s hair as she stepped away from the pile and took a seat at the edge of the room. The others took this as permission to continue, and Scootaloo felt all four of them descend upon her.

When Scootaloo woke up, the lights in the ship had shifted to night mode. Scootaloo paused for a moment, considering her situation. She was naked and soaked in sweat, both her own and that of the pile of sleeping Twilight Sparkles that surrounded her. They looked peaceful and happy, and they were clinging both to each other and her.

Scootaloo extricated herself from the tangle without waking them. Her fur felt strange, and she realized that it was matted with their shared secretions. Pausing for a moment, Scootaloo observed the pile. The only articles of clothing between them were Seven’s mask and Six wearing Scootaloo’s socks. Counting, them, though, Scootaloo saw that there were still only four. She looked at where Four had been sitting, and saw that she was gone, having left only a small puddle of her own fluids.

The whole situation seemed surreal. Scootaloo certainly felt relieved, and also a bit sore. Seven had left several deep bite marks on her body: one on her neck, one on her ear, and two on her flank. Scootaloo had actually enjoyed receiving them, but now they hurt.

Still, she did not regret what she had done. It was one of those things she had never, ever anticipated she would ever do in her life, but it had not been a bad thing. She had been willing, and so had they. The event was not nearly as intimate as her and Wintry, but it served its purpose quite well.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” said Scootaloo, smiling as she walked to the door.

“Neither can I, actually,” said a different voice.

Scootaloo jumped. Only then did she realize that there was another individual sitting near the door. Scootaloo squinted and saw Bob lurking. She also saw that Bob was completely naked.

“If you want to participate, I think you’re a little late. I think I’m spent.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” said Bob. “Like I would ever have sex with a girl. Pervert.”

She shifted position, and Scootaloo saw for the first time that humans were not as hairless as they appeared. Frankly, they looked very strange naked. Bob especially seemed bizarre with her gray, sickly skin and wiry frame.

Despite her appearance, Scootaloo approached and sat down next to the human. Up close, she could see that Bob had an extensive array of tattoos on her back and torso, including a large number on her lower neck. The tattoos extended down her left arm, but stopped abruptly on her right arm, which Scootaloo realized was just slightly paler than its twin.

“Hey, Scoots,” she said.

“Yeah- -” Scootaloos squeaked as a large srynge was jammed into her neck. Bob pulled the trigger, and Scootaloo felt something burning injected into her body. “What the buck!” she hissed, jumping back. “Why did you do that?”

“Relax,” said Bob, holding up the syringe. “It’s an immune modulator. You were just exposed to more diseases in six hours than most people are exposed to in oh, about twenty seven lifetimes. Give or take.”

“Diseases?” said Scootaloo, rubbing her neck. “You don’t mean…”

“Like mother like daughter,” said Bob, gesturing between her legs.

“So I take it I’m not their first.”

“They sometimes do it with each other when they need to. You’re the first one out of the network, though. I mean, how could they? They’re not that old.”

Scootaloo paused. “How old are they, exactly?”

“Well, let’s see…eleven months gestation, so…” Bob counted on her fingers. “Four is three. The rest just passed their second birthday.”

“You’ve got to be bucking kidd- -” Scootaloo looked at the pile. “So I just had my first orgy with a bunch of three years olds?”

“Two year olds. Only Four is three. And she usually just watches. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen- -”

“Damn! Seventeen and THIS was your first orgy?”

“That’s not the point!” Scootaloo sat down and leaned against the wall where Bob was leaning.

“Do you regret it now?”

“No, that’s the problem. They were damn good.”

“I’m glad you think so. Because those are my daughters. And when I found out what you were doing, I seriously considered snapping off your legs.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I kind of need those.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I changed my mind too.” Bob looked at the sleeping pile of clones and smiled. “You have some skills. I’ve never seen them sleep this soundly after an escapade. Especially taking them all on at once.”

“What can I say? I’m pretty awesome.”

Bob laughed softly, and continued to look at the alicorns wistfully. “You know, Scoots, I’m going to be honest with you. There is not much in this world I actually value. The money, the food, the killing, I can give that up if I see a benefit. But those ponies? Those are the I have that actually matters in this life.”

“You love them.”

“They are my daughters. They are the only thing I love. I would do anything for those ponies.”

One of Scootaloo’s wings twitched. Bob seemed to notice. “Here,” she said, reaching out. “Come here. Let me get that.”

Scootaloo slid away, but Bob smiled. “Come on. It’s not a sexual thing. You can’t reach your own wings. And it’s not like I haven’t preened a pony before.”

After hesitating for a moment longer, Scootaloo nodded and slid close to Bob. She shivered as the human’s fingers caressed her wings.

“Careful,” she said. “They’re fragile.”

“I can tell. They’re so puny!”

“We can’t all have giant alicorn wings.”

“Really? I wouldn’t know. I don’t know a damn about pony culture.” She began straightening Scootaloo’s feathers. “Although sometimes I wish I could wonder…”

“What?” said Scootaloo. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it? Scoots, if they’re anything you need to take with you, it’s this: I’m not a nice person. At all. Cerberus is not a nice organization. There is as reason why they employ me. I am the epitome of human evolution. I don’t feel regret, remorse, or empathy. I can do anything I want to and never feel bad. I have done things you can’t even imagine.”

“It must be nice.”

“It is. And my daughters, they know this. I’m not genetically related to them, but we are the same. They know what to expect. Scootaloo, you can’t stay here. Not for much longer. Because before this is through, I’m going to do some terrible, terrible things. Things you shouldn’t be around.”

“I am a Priestess of the Cult of Harmony, and former captain in the Equestrian Navy. I don’t know what you are talking about, but trust me. I’ve seen things. A lot of things I wish I didn’t.”

“It’s a matter of perception,” said Bob, pulling out a loose feather. “Have you ever heard of Pragia?

“No. What is it?”

“Hell, essentially. Or that’s what the others said. It used to be my home.”

“Used to be?”

“It kind of…well…broke down. But that’s not the point. Do you know what Cerberus did there?”

“What?”

“Experiments. On children. On me. On the others.” Jack chuckled. “They tried to pump me up with numerous ounces of element zero. Do you have any idea how much an ounce of element zero weights?”

“Um…an ounce?”

“No. Not even close. None of it took, though. So they just made me fight. And kill. I think they thought I would die. I didn’t. How could I? I’d been feeding of humans since I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” said Scootaloo.

“For what? It didn’t bother me. Jackie boy, on the other hand…she didn’t take it so well. She gutted me. More than once. Took my arm. Oh man…I would break my ‘no girls rule’ for her. Oh wait, I already did.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. Because I like you? You’re adorable. But you’re not me. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. You put me in a situation like that? I kill and eat children. Fun for me. My daughters? Well…I’ll never let them do what they did to me to them. But I’m sure they would hold their own.”

“But not me,” said Scootaloo. “You mean I’m different.”

“Yes. You’re not meant for that life. You’re like Oriana.”

“Oriana? The other human?” Scootaloo looked up at Bob. “I saw her on the Crimson Horizon. She cut through those creatures like they were nothing. She can fight, Bob.”

“I didn’t say she couldn’t. But her mind is wrong. She still believes in ‘morality’ and ‘justice’. Worse, that Cerberus even cares about that shit. What motivates me? The lols. I do this because I like to. What motivates her? Ideology. And ideology always breaks down. Every single time.”

“Damn,” said Scootaloo. “How did you get so cynical?”

“I did just tell you about being forced to kill other children for Cerberus experiments, right? Just kidding, I was born that way.” Bob picked up Scootaloo and set her down. “In other words? Don’t trust Oriana. Because if you do, when she fails she’ll take down you with her.”

The pony pile across the room stirred, and Nine sat up. Her hair was disheveled, and she yawned groggily. Then she got down from the others and approached Bob.

“Mommy?” she said. “I had the dream again. The one where I couldn’t move…and where somebody was shooting me…”

“Aww,” said Bob, picking her up. “It was just a dream.” She set Nine down in her lap and stroked her hair. Nine smiled and almost immediately went back to sleep.

The scene was bizarre, to say the least. A naked human woman comforting an alicorn clone fresh from an orgy, her mouth no doubt still tasting of Scootaloo’s varioius parts. The dichotomy was strange, and touching in a freakish way.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” said Scootaloo. “Thanks for the preening.”

“Yeah. Any time. And get yourself some breakfast. The Krogan Puffs, not the Shepard-Commander Crunch. Eight likes to organize those by color before she eats them. She’d throw a fit if the crunchberry color ratio was off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Scootaloo.

When Scootaloo had left the room, Bob smiled, wondering exactly how much of her lies Scootaloo had accepted. She shook her head, wondering just exactly how much she had actually lied, or if it would even matter by the time this was all said and done.

Bob stood up, cradling Nine in her arms. She crossed the room and then slowly lowered herself into the pony pile. They stirred, and then surrounded her with their soft, warm bodies and feathers, holding her as tightly as she held them.

Scootaloo waited in the 192’s primary docking bay. It felt good to be clean and back in uniform. Her estrus was back under control, and she felt more focused than before. In her mind, she had begun prioritizing her future actions: she needed to return to her ship. It was impossible for her to know what state the Crimson Horizon was in, or if it had successfully reached the Crystal Galaxy, and she knew this. That was secondary, though. Returning was her top priority.

This only highlighted the ambiguity of Cerberus’ goals. Scootaloo knew that they were pursuing the Crimson Horizon. She did not know why, and she had not asked. It did not really matter. Her mission was simply to learn a way to stop it, and if Cerberus had some way to do that, then they were her allies.

On the far side of the room, the inner docking door slid open. Oriana entered the room, already wearing her form-fitting black and white Cerberus armor. Her helmet was under one arm, and in the other she was carrying a case.

“Oriana,” said Scootaloo. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Scootaloo,” said Oriana. “I hear you had a busy night last night.”

“That’s a bit intrusive, isn’t it?”

Oriana blinked. “Oh. It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I guess spending most of my time here has hampered my normal adequate.”

“It’s okay,” said Scootaloo. “How was your night?”

“Apart from the noise you were making, you mean? Not bad. I caught up on the tactical situations throughout or organization and the news from earth, then played chess with Bjorn. Then I went to bed. Oh,” Oriana lifted the case she was holding. “I brought you a present.”

“Really?” said Scootaloo. “I don’t really need- -”

“Trust me, it’s no big deal. We have a lot of these and we hardly ever use them.” Oriana set the case down on one of the counters in the room and opened it. She removed a system of white plastic-looking armor similar to her own.

“A Cerberus uniform? I’m not exactly part of your organization, you know.”

“I know. And it’s not a uniform. It’s a weapons framework. When the alicorn project started, Cerberus wasn’t sure if they would be born with the capacity to use biotics. They build these to let them fight anyway. But they were, so we never used them.”

“I’m not sure if I need guns,” said Scootaloo. “Marc Antony told me that this was a standard supply acquisition mission, whatever that means. I didn’t come expecting for a firefight.”

“I don’t expect it either. That’s the thing, though. You should always be prepared. It’s kind of the unofficial Cerberus motto.”

“If you insist, I guess,” said Scootaloo, taking the weapons array from Oriana. It was heavy and bulky, but it was not terribly unlike the weapons harnesses that the Equestrian navy used. The latches and buckles had even been designed for a pony to use them, although clearly not by a being that actually had to use hooves to don clothing. “Thanks.” Scootaloo looked up at Oriana. “You don’t have a gun, though.”

“Excess weight slows down my biotic recharge time. Even a small pistol cuts it by twenty percent.”

“So you just go in with magic alone?”

Oriana chuckled. “Magic? I’ve never heard it described that way. I think that’s a good word. But yeah. No guns.”

“That explains the others,” said Scootaloo.

“The alicorns? Oh no,” said Oriana. “They have guns. Or can have guns. It doesn’t affect them all that much.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because their magic…is different. They don’t need time to recharge between attacks.”

“Huh,” said Scootaloo. “I guess I never thought about it that way. It must be weird to be a unicorn.”

There was a sudden flash of violet light beside Scootaloo and Eight dropped to the floor.

“Hey, you!” she said. Her eyes narrowed on Scootaloo’s newly equipped armaments, and then on Oriana. “You didn’t take that from my supply room, did you?”

“No,” said Oriana. “It was from the archive section.”

“Good,” said Eight. “Because it is absolutely critical that everything is in order. I have a system!”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Scootaloo.

The others began to arrive, although not by teleportation. Nine nodded to Scootaloo and then went about her preparations, while Seven just stared at her for a long, silent moment. Six was the only one of them that approached.

“I picked these for you,” she said, holding out a group of small yellow flowers in her magic. “They’re arugula. I know, they’re not much, but it’s all that is currently in bloom in my hydroponic system.”

“Oh, come on,” giggled Eight. “Seriously, Six? Flowers? The sweetness! My pony diabetes!”

Seven made a motion that looked like laughter and clutched her chest, feigning a sudden heart attack.

“Smooth, Six,” said Nine. “Real smooth. You’re hopeless.”

“Well excuse me if I have romantic predilections,” said Six, annoyed. “I prefer there to be at least a modicum of ritual. By Dagon…the ancients understood. They at least took time with courtship.”

“You weren’t taking too much time on her last night.”

“I think they’re pretty,” said Scootaloo. She took the flowers and threaded one of them through her hair.

“And I think it’s a good gesture,” said Oriana, patting Six on the head. “I have a water bottle in my locker. I can store them there until we get back.”

Scootaloo passed the remaining flowers to Oriana. As she did, Bob entered the room. All the alicorns responded to her presence, although only Nine actually stood at attention. Oriana’s cheerful mood seemed to drop away into seriousness, and she put her helmet on.

Bob was at the very least no longer naked. She was wearing a much heavier suit of Cerberus armor, and despite being shorter than Oriana by at least half a foot, she was far more imposing. In the light, her pupils had narrowed, once again into animal like vertical slits. Scootaloo was beginning to wonder if that was something human eyes actually did under normal circumstances.

“All right, pones,” she said, “and Oriana. Is everybody ready?”

“Yes, mother,” said Nine.

Bob smiled, and noticed the flower in Scootaloo’s hair. “Nice flower, Scoots,” she said. “BTW, though, arugula SUCKS. Harder than Eight.”

“Hey!”

“Hey is for horses,” said Bob. “Come on, Eight. At least you’re not Oriana. Because she has a lot more practice sucking than you ever will.”

“Ha ha,” said Oriana, humorlessly. “At least I’m not a convicted rapist.”

“I’m a woman,” said Bob. “I can’t possibly rape anybody. And that conviction was overturned. All of the judges were found mysteriously strangled with their own intestines. With equally mysterious anal violation.” Bob shrugged.

There was a slightly muffled mechanical sound, and the ship rumbled to a stop. There were several more mechanical clanks as the 192 docked.

“We’re in,” said Marc Antony over the intercom. “I’m opening the door.”

“Right,” said Bob. “Eight is on me, Seven on the Scootapone. Nine and Six, you already know what you have to do. Oriana…just do whatever it is you actually do.”

“Since when do you give orders?” said Oriana. “Especially to me?”

“Why? Why do I do anything? Because nobody’s stopping me.”

Before Oriana could retort, the bay door opened. There was a hiss as the air inside the 192 equalized to the pressure outside, and Scootaloo felt her ears pop. There was air, though, and although it was cold it smelled fresh- -or at least as fresh as re-filtered air could feel.

Scootaloo stepped out with Seven following close at her side. They were in a large but empty docking bay. The ceiling was surprisingly high, and the pipes that ran across the walls were humming with rushing fluid.

“Where are we?” said Scootaloo.

“An orbital mining platform,” said Bob, stepping out. “And look at the walls…they even painted them. Yeah, definitly asari.”

“Asari?” said Scootaloo. “The blue people?”

“Yes,” said Bob. “The tasty, tasty blue people. Of course, this place is unmanned. Well, I suppose everything the asari make is un-manned. But this station is automated. Which works for us. Considering we’re going to rob it blind.”

“We’re not going to rob it,” said Oriana. “We are requisitioning supplies. We need fuel and metal if we’re going to go back into combat. Don’t worry, Scootaloo. This is a minor, low-producing outpost. They won’t even notice us, or miss whatever we take.”

“If it helps me to get back to my ship, I’ll tolerate it,” said Scootaloo, relieved that the ship was devoid of what was apparently Bob’s favorite prey.

“Good, good. Because clearly I need your permission.” Bob gestured to Seven, and Seven nodded. The silent alicorn started walking. “Go with Seven. She’s done this before, she knows what she needs to do. Take in the sights while you’re at it. Everything the asari make is excessively ornate and rounded.”

“As opposed to the krogan designs you idolize?” snorted Oriana.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, rifle slits on a spaceship? How cool is that!”

Oriana just shook her head and walked off with Six and Nine. Bob watched her go, and then followed after Seven and Scootaloo before she and Eight took a narrow access corridor deeper into the satellite. Scootaloo was not sure what was going on, but she accepted that she had a role to play and continued to follow Seven- -all with the strange feeling that somehow she was being watched.

The orbital satellite was quite large. It had to be to house the material processing systems that it needed to mine effectively, and to have enough power to keep itself suspended in the stormy upper atmosphere of a gas giant. Somewhere below, VI-controlled machines were working under conditions that were lethal to every known form of life to dredge up resources and send them back to the orbital platform above. At one time, they might even have been successful. After nearly a century of operation, though, the operation was nearly defunct.

This did not especially concern Bob. Not much did. She had studied the schematic of the facility in advance, and took a direct path toward the control room. This was a logical step in redirecting resources- -or at least Bob suspected that it would look like one.

When she reached the door, she stopped. It was sealed and secured. It had not been difficult to dock to the satellite, but the area that actually allowed for control had been tightly locked away.

“I bet they even triple deadlock sealed it,” sighed Bob. She looked down at her daughter and smiled. “Assez de huit? If you would be so kind?”

Eight smiled and charged her horn. Bob held her breath as her body was surrounded by a miniature explosion of violet light, and then rematerialized on the far side of the door. She shook her head, trying to clear the momentary nausea that always accompanied alicorn-based teleportation. Unlike Bjorn’s version, Eight’s method had no intermediate plane, and Bob had grown used to using transmission to and back from Voqutus to stabilize herself.

The room was wide and filled with blue-violet colored equipment. All of it had rounded edges, and everything was covered in nearly seamless plating that some professional asari designer had no doubt been payed to construct for the sole purpose of making it pleasing to look at for the few times a decade when somebody actually showed up to maintain it.

“Hideous,” said Bob. “But what do I expect from the least sophisticated race in the whole damn galaxy?”

Ignoring how ugly the room was, Bob approached a large access panel that apparently controlled the hydrogen refining system. As Marc Antony had predicted, the deuterium and tritium supplies were at their peak. A ship would be here in a month to pick them up, but until then, they were completely unguarded save for this locked room and the satellite’s internal security software.

Not that any of that mattered. Bob could not have cared less about the hydrogen isotopes. Nobody had even bothered to ask what her ship ran on. Oriana and Scootaloo had just assumed it ran on hydrogen fusion. Knowing Oriana, she probably thought that the artifact at its core was some kind of mass-effect system, because that was exactly what Cerberus likely told her.

Bob opened the computer interface and clicked through the opening menus. They were all written in asari, but that did not stop her. Like the people who had created it, the asari written language was as basic as it was florid.

When she found the information she needed, Bob reached into one of her pockets and removed a small black item. She inserted it into the main data access port of the computer and watched the screen flicker.

“Four,” she said, speaking to the intercom system in her armor. “We’re connected.”

“I can see that,” said Four as the computer screen reverted to straight code at her command.

“And I already checked,” added Bob. “This station is definitely it. Valiel Heavy Industries.”

“Confirmed,” said Four.

“Finally,” said Bob. “It took damn long to find one of these still in operation. Can you hack it, Four?”

“Can I hack it- -it’s asari, isn’t it? The race has possessed FTL technology for over a thousand years, and the best advancement they’ve made in that time is the Destany Ascension. It won’t even be hard. But it will take time.”

“Nobody’s here,” said Bob. “Nobody’s going to notice. And…” She paused, moving her fingers over a different computer, “I think I’ll siphon off their platinum supply as well. We need funds to protect the galaxy, right?”

“Funds that go directly into your personal bank account?”

“Hey, Cerberus pays well, but not that well. There is no such thing as too much money.” Bob accessed the controls and began to unload the station’s platinum supply onto her ship. It was probably isotope branded, but the baterian black market did not care. More importantly, it would look to the others like they really had come to steal resources. For this project, it would be best to keep Oriana in the dark for as long as possible.

Back on the ship, Four began her work. A large violet console had been projected out before her, interfacing her to the ship’s system. The 192did have a central computer, although to be more precise, it was a combination of incompatible computational nodes jury-rigged together. The only reason it actually worked was because Marc Antony and herself were able to act as the core processing themselves, although it was rumored that when the vessel had initially been constructed Bob had managed to fly it on her own. Which, for being a human, was incredibly impressive.

Marc Antony leaned back in his chair and looked at the visual representations of Four’s work.

“A cubic domain cycle?” he said, raising one blonde eyebrow. “Do you really think you can sustain that?”

“You’re right,” admitted Four. She paused what she was doing and entered code- -and opened up a fourth degree system.

Marc Antony laughed, and Four could not help but smile. His laughter always made her so happy. “You’re crazy,” he said.

“Crazy good, you mean,” said Four.

“Well, it’s because you have such a good teacher.”

“You mean that enormous manual I’ve had to read? Or the musty textbooks in the aft storage room?”

“Harsh,” said Marc Antony, feigning insult. “My heart! It is broken!”

“You don’t have a heart,” pointed out Four. “You don’t even have anything close to a circulatory system.”

“I know. I don’t even have oil. Because I’m totally unlubricated.”

“You had better not be.”

They both laughed. Marc Antony leaned back in his chair. “So, I was thinking. There is a new restaurant on out in the Nubian Expanse- -some boondocks colony, but a growing one- -and it has been getting rave reviews on the extranet.”

“You’ve been reviewing the snyth food reviews? Again?”

“Is it so wrong for a man to want to be cultured? Even in this line of work?”

“You don’t even eat. You can’t eat. Your mouth-hole doesn’t go anywhere. Believe me, I know.”

“Oh, not for me. That’s not what synth critics consider. It’s all about atmosphere. But they say the food is amazing. I was wanting to check it out myself. Would you care to accompany me?”

“Me? Why?”

“Why? I haven’t been able to share experiences with anyone in a long time. You know that. Don’t get me wrong, I …tolerate Bob. But she’s as ugly as sin and frankly disgusting. You are adorable and quick-witted. I’m even surprised you managed to pop out of…that.”

“I don’t even have anything to wear,” said Four, making excuses. She suddenly became far more conscious of perpetual low-level pain in the scarred stumps where her long, beautiful wings had once sat.

“Then we’ll stop at Illium and get you a dress. I’ll even pay for it. It would be worth it to see you in something other than a Cerberus uniform. Or, if you prefer, we can both go in the nude.”

Four snorted as she thought about what that would look like, and then covered her nose in embarrassment.

“You snorted,” said Marc Antony.

“Shut your synth hole,” said Four, shoving his shoulder.

“Why don’t you come over here and shut it for me?”

“I would, but the- -”

Something suddenly started beeping. Marc Antony’s expression hardened, and he suddenly leaned forward. His speed as he descended toward his own console sent shivers down Four’s spine. As an android, Marc Antony was substantially faster than the human he pretended to be, but he always moved with careful consideration to acting the part conveyed by his synthetic skin. If he was moving at full speed, something was wrong.

“Marc?”

“Proximity warning,” said Marc Antony, undocking the ship and retracting it form the station. “We have company.”

“I’ll provide code support- -”

“No, I’ll handle ship function. Keep up the decryption. We’re not going to get another chance.”

Four nodded, and redoubled her effort. She placed her confidence in Marc Antony’s piloting skills. She could not help but feel nervous, though. Her sisters and mother were still on the satellite below.

To Scootaloo, the satellite was both impressive and eerie. Everything inside it had been designed to be large enough for equipment to be moved through, which compared to her tiny frame made everything seem immense. Care had been taken in its aesthetics as well; the hallways were not cold and industrial, but often lined with long, curving, segmented windows that revealed a breaking landscape that consisted of a sea of deep-blue cloud waves over a seemingly endless planet below.

Seven seemed to be especially interested in the sight, although as always she remained silent. She still frightened Scootaloo slightly, but not as much. It was just difficult for Scootaloo to fear somepony that she had had sex with. Or, perhaps, Seven had just become more comfortable around Scootaloo.

“So,” said Scootaloo. “You don’t talk.”

Seven paused, and then nodded, the faceplate of her helmet bobbing up and down.

“But you can talk?”

Once again, she nodded.

“Oh,” said Scootaloo. “That’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

They stood there together in silence for a moment, looking out at the landscape- -when Scootaloo saw something on the horizon.

Scootaloo pressed her face against the glass and squinted, trying to make out what she was seeing through the stormy atmosphere. It looked like a light, but not something reflecting the deep orange of the system’s distant sun. Instead, it looked like a crisp white fractal.

Then something slammed into the station. Alarms went off, and Scootaloo was almost knocked off balance. Seven caught her as the station listed, and then corrected itself. Through the window, Scootaloo saw something flash past the glass. There was not enough time for her to see it clearly, but just enough for her to recognize it.

“We’re under attack,” she said, righting herself. She looked up at Seven. “We have to get back to your ship and get out. NOW.”

Seven nodded and turned around- -only to be faced with a horde of the Crimson Horizon’s creatures, all moving silently as they crawled across the floor and ceiling. This time, though, they were led by a pale unicorn dressed in heavy armor.

There had not been any ponies on the Crimson Horizon, and Scootaloo momentarily wondered if there was a way to escape bloodshed by talking to her. Something was wrong, though. Her eyes, though filled with rage and conviction, seemed blank and dead, even more so than the creatures that she led.

Scootaloo stopped. Something had been done to that pony.

“Kill them,” she said. “For the glory of Sunset Shimmer, kill them!”

Seven did not hesitate. She spread her wings and rushed forward. The unicorn projected a shield, but Seven’s magic was infinitely stronger. She crashed through it dug her teeth into the pony’s neck, tearing it out with a single motion. Scootaloo saw the look in the pony’s eyes change, as if for a moment her mind cleared- -only for her to experience the terror of coking on her own fluids.

One of the creatures suddenly dropped to the floor. Scootaloo turned and opened fire- -only to be slammed backward from the recoil. She had been expecting a magic discharge, but what she had received was a very large projectile being fired from her side. The left torso of the creature exploded in a plume of black fluid and bone fragments, but Scootaloo was knocked off balance. One of the others took advantage of this and leapt toward her, only for it to be surrounded by a violet field that twisted its body suddenly and crunched through all of its joints a hideous sound.

The ruined but still spasming corpse dropped to the floor, and Scootaloo righted herself. She fired several more shots into the nearest of the creatures, but the recoil was just too high. The weapon had been meant for a much larger pony, ideally one with useful wings to stabilize herself- -and both size and functional wings were the two things that Scootaloo lacked.

“Seven!” cried Scootaloo. “We need to get out of here! Can you clear a path?”

Seven did not answer, but instead backed away from the corpse that she had most recently disemboweled. Scootaloo thought she saw her smile, and Seven’s horn ignited with violet light. Suddenly the air was filled with a surge of spinning, whirling magical singularities stretched into long blades. They cut through everything in the room with utter disregard for what they were cutting. Parts of the creatures flew everywhere and their putrid black blood splattered on the walls.

The satellite itself took substantial damage as Seven indiscriminately cut into the walls and windows. To Scootaloo’s horror, she saw the thick glass melt, crack, and then shatter. Many of the creatures were immediately sucked out through the hole, and Scootaloo felt herself being drawn to it by the rapidly evacuating atmosphere. Her tiny wings fluttered uselessly as she tried and failed to get a grip.

Before she could reach the hole to the void beyond, though, Seven rushed by, her body charged with violet light. She grabbed Scootaloo and pulled them through an emergency bulkhead door just before it closed, and they collapsed on the ground.

Scootaloo realized that Seven was breathing heavily. Even as an alicorn, her magic was not infinite, and she had just expended a lot of it. Despite being winded, though, she stood. So did Scootaloo- -and the pair immediately found themselves face to face with yet another horde of creatures staring silently back with blank, reflective eyes.

Something caused a subtle tremor in the orbital platform, and Bob sat up, her senses suddenly sharpening. She did not know what was going on, but instinctively, she knew that something was.

“Great,” she sighed. “And everything was going so damn well.”

There was a suddenly flash and a small explosion as Eight appeared in the satellite control room. She looked panicked, and almost as soon as she entered something started pounding on the heavy steel door to the room. It was not pounding lightly, either. After several attempts the door actually started to deform.

“Holy crap, holy crap!” cried Eight. She was on the verge of hyperventilation. “Mom, there’s things out there! BAD things!”

“Eight,” said Bob, watching as the door started to glow and melt as something was cutting through the locking mechanism. “What is the first rule of our job?”

Eight blinked. “Don’t stick your pecker in a toast- -”

“No, not that one. The one in the back of the Cerberus manual. Not Oriana’s, the one I keep in the bathroom.”

“Don’t panic?”

“Exactly.” Bob held out her hand. “I could use a weapon.”

“A weapon? Oh- -right.” Eight charged her horn, and there was a flash of light in Bob’s hand. An ornate katana appeared.

Bob looked at the sword, then at Eight, and then back at the sword. “What the fuck, Eight? What on God’s brown-gray smoggy Earth am I supposed to do with this piece of crap?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Eight. “I just thought…it would be really cool to see you use it…”

“There’s a reason nobody uses swords anymore, Eight. Because all the people who knew how got shot. What do I look like, a Phantom?”

“No. Hold on.” The katan disappeared and was replaced by an exorbitantly large blue revolver.

“Huh,” said Bob, turning it over. “I don’t remember this one.”

“It’s called the ‘Pestilent Defiler’,” explained Eight. “I think you’ll like it.”

By this point, the door had sustained so much damage that it started to crumble, with the upper left corner pealing back. One of the creatures outside started to claw its way in, reaching for Eight.

“Well, let’s see,” said Bob. She pressed the end of the gun against the creature’s head and fired. There was a resounding report from the bullet, and the creature’s head was knocked back. Its body was then promptly covered with bubbling, hissing green fluid that rapidly consumed its flesh, eating at its body as the creature writhed in silent agony. Within seconds, all that was left was a blackened skeleton that promptly collapsed into dust.

“Hmm,” said Bob. “Effective. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but just letting you know, I WILL be masturbating with this gun later. Because I FUCKING LOVE IT.”

“You take the barel, I’ll take the handle.”

Bob looked at the grip of the revolver. “I’m pretty sure it won’t fit, Huit.”

“Trust me. It does.”

Bob brought the handle of the pistol to her nose and smelled it. “Well I’ll be damned.”

At that point, the door collapsed completely. A heavily armored Pegasus pony entered first, his eyes focused directly on Eight. She did not hesitate; there was a snap as she engaged her teleportation spell, and the room was immediately strewn with entrails and internal organs. The Pegasus stallion looked down in shock at his now hollow body, and then collapsed.

“Epic, Eight,” said Bob. She leveled the Defiler and fired several shots into the crowd behind the Pegasus, watching them corrode and sizzle with glee. Eight followed suit; with her mother at her side, she had become far more focused. She teleported behind the horde, and when the first creature noticed it she partially teleported it half a meter to the left, forcing its body to materialize halfway into the wall and partway into one of its comrades.

Another immediately approached from behind her, and Eight smiled as she raised one hoof. There was a surge of teleportation, and a still-beating heart appeared in her grasp. The creature saw this and took a step back, clutching its chest.

“Can’t do much without- -”

Without warning, the creature lunged at Eight, its mouth opening impossibly wide to reveal hundreds of razor sharp teeth. Eight tried to summon a shield, but the attack had come too suddenly and too unexpectedly. She ducked and covered her head.

Bob suddenly pivoted, interposing herself between the creature and Eight.

“AW FUCK!” she cried as the creature’s teeth imbedded into her right arm near the shoulder. There was a crack of bone as it bit down again and again, but Bob still managed to raise her revolver and put a round directly through its left eye.

The creature dropped, and Bob stepped back, breathing hard.

“Mom, your arm!” cried Eight, feeling as though she was about to vomit.

Bob looked down at her arm. It was mostly detached, hanging only by a thin strip of sinew and skin. “Goddamn it,” she said. “I just grew that back.”

“I’ll- -I’ll get a medkit- -”

“Don’t bother,” said Bob. She picked up the limb with her remaining arm and bit the tendons free with her teeth. “It’s too torn up to reattach.”

“But- -but your arm- -”

“Worth it,” said Bob, raising her pistol and rejoining the battle. “They can survive without their heart. I can’t.”

Something heavy slammed into the 192. Marc Antony adjusted for the disruption to the outer shields and corrected the gravity rotor balance. He was working at the maximum speed that his structure and core processor would allow, but it was getting to the point where the ship could not respond to him as quickly as he could calculate and process what he needed to do.

Alarms went off.

“What happened?” said Four. “I’ve never heard that one before!”

“We’ve been boarded,” said Marc Antony, trying to sound nonchalant in the face of this unbelievable insult.

From down the hall, something started clicking against the floor. Something heavy.

“Damn it,” he said. “Not now…”

“Finished!” cried Four, pushing off from her swivel stool.

“Four? What are you doing?”

“Can you evacuate?” she asked.

“No, not while maintaining evasive action and recalibrating the shields. I can’t move.”

“Then what am I doing? I’m saving your tight android ass, that’s what I’m doing.”

A creature emerged from the darkness outside of the control room. Four had yet to see one of these creatures in person; she had only heard about them from her younger sisters. It was ugly, but not the worst. After all, she had stared into the eyes of a creature far more evil once before in her life.

Four charged her horn and projected a beam of biotic energy, slicing through three of the creatures. Their parts dropped to the floor, still clawing their way forward for a moment before becoming still.

As soon as the spell ended, Four cried out in pain. She dropped to her knees and coughed, producing a wide stain of blood on Marc Antony’s immaculate floor. She did not stop, though, and produced a shield over the gap as the door began to seal.

The creatures were strong, though. They slammed into the shield again and again, cracking it until one could get its sythe-like arms into the door, pushing it back. Every blow the gave to the shield was a blow to Four’s frail body, and she could feel her insides being torn apart by the expenditure of magic.

“Four! Stop!” cried Marc Antony. “You’re killing yourself!”

“I have to…protect you…” She coughed again, and vomited. This time much more blood came out of her.

“Four…Four, how long can you maintain consciousness?”

“Not long…”

“You’re going to have to! Switch places?”

Four looked up and smiled. She lifted herself quickly as Marc Antony slid off his chair. They embraced for a moment in-between, with Marc Antony helping her into his chair and shielding her as he took her place. Four immediately opened her interface and took over operation of the ship.

The creatures apparently found this amusing. One of them lifted its claw and immediately stabbed it through Marc Antony’s throat. It went in through the front and emerged near the base of his skull.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” said Marc Antony. He reached out and grabbed the creature. It struggled, but he pulled, tearing it limb from limb. Black fluid spewed everywhere. “You know,” said Marc Antony, pulling the claw out of his neck, “I abhor violence. But not because of any sort of empathy. No. I don’t actually care. I just HATE making a MESS.”

He took the creature’s arm and stabbed one of its comrades through the head with it. He twisted, and then punched it in the chest with enough force to lodge his arm up to the elbow.

Four felt herself growing weak, but she knew that Marc Antony was counting on her. She had to be magnificent. So she was, taking control, working in what he had taught her with her own design. She felt cold and numb, but if he would fight for her, then she would fight for him.

Marc Antony, meanwhile, was trying to make sure that Four did not notice that he was severely outclassed. He was certainly strong, but he had not been built as a combat unit. He had no real fighting skill or ability; he just punched and hit where he could, and he was quickly realizing that the creatures- -whatever they were- -were capable of adapting to and exploiting that failure.

Although he would never grow tired or weak, Marc Antony would not be able to hold them off for long. There were too many, and more just seemed to keep coming. He was quickly forced back into the control room.

Then, suddenly, from the shadows, two pairs of hands with immensely long fingers stretched out and gently set themselves on the shoulder of nearest of the creatures. It was only a light touch, and the creatures actually seemed confused- -until their bodies atomized into blue dust.

This set off minor chair reaction, and Bjorn moved quickly. Marc Antony shivered at just how effective the alien was. Despite his narrow frame, every motion that Bjorn made was invariably lethal- -and he showed no sign of remorse or hesitation. Within a matter of seconds, the entire contingent of creatures- -and a pair of ponies- -had been reduced to mildly luminescent dust.

“Bjorn!” said Marc Antony. “What are you doing here? You should be protecting the reactor!”

Bjorn looked down the android. “You misinterpret our roles. You have our relationship inverted.”

Before Marc Antony could even ask what that meant, the ship shook and listed. He turned around and saw Four slide off the console, leaving a long trail of blood as she fell to the floor.

“Oh no,” he said, grabbing the control. “Bjorn, please, help her!”

Bjorn said nothing. He simply stepped into the room, folding his body to fit the confines of the control area, and gently picked up the dying pony. She stirred, but only weakly. Bjorn was not sure if there was still time.

Scootaloo pushed her way through the horde, firing her weapons again and again into them. Seven, meanwhile, continued to fight alongside her. It was impossible for the two to speak, but as they cleaved their way through the horde, Scootaloo found herself suddenly knowing exactly where Seven would be, and what her intentions were. Scootaloo was not sure if this was part of her magic or if the two were just unusually synchronized, but she did not care. As a team, they were excellent. When Scootaloo wanted to fire, Seven would devote some of her magic to stabilize her; likewise, when Seven was pushed back, Scootaloo knew exactly when and where to provide cover fire.

They were moving slowly through the ship toward the docking bay when Seven paused. She looked out the window, and Scotaloo did too- -only to see that the ship was missing. Outside, in its place, was a horde of the octahedral ships whirring around the satellite like wasps.

Some of them seemed to notice that they were being watched and diverted their path- -directly toward Scootaloo and Seven’s position. The only thing Scootaloo could think to do was to take a defensive stance, but as she did, she suddenly felt a magic surge on her side pushing her toward an open door.

“Seven! Stop!”

It was too late. Scootaloo was shoved through the door, and Seven slashed through the control box, forcing the main door and the blast bulkhead to close. Seven nodded to Scootaloo, and then turned back toward the horde to fight it alone.

“Seven!” cried Scootaloo, pounding on the door. It was no use, though; with the controls broken, there was no way to open it.

She turned around and looked into the area where she had been stored. There were no creatures here, and to Scootaloo’s surprise, it was not a simple closet. In fact, it was a massive circular room. It seemed to consist of a wide mezzanine over a large circular pit that continued down the length of the satellite into the dark depths, forming one of the deep spires that extended lower into the planet’s atmosphere and contained whatever gas harvesting and refining equipment it might have needed.

“Damn it,” swore Scootaloo. “Seven, no…”

“I would not disparage a selfless act,” said a distorted mechanical voice. Scootaloo stiffened, and tried to focus her eyes on the shadows that filled the edges of the large and poorly lit room. The voice had echoed, and for a terrifyingly long moment her eyes flitted about the room- -until they landed on a small white circle.

A pony stepped forward. Not one of the dead-eyed, armored ponies, and not one of the creatures. It was the pony that Scootaloo had seen before, on the Crimson Horizon, the one whose body was completely encased in orange-violet armor.

“Hello, Scootaloo,” she said. From behind her, a large contingent of the mutated creautes clicked forward.

“So,” said Scootaloo, bracing herself against the door for a final stand. “I guess you’re not going to fight fair, are you?”

“Fair?” said the pony. She looked behind her at the creatures. “Oh. I see.” She raised a hoof, and the creatures’ eyes widened with shock at their betrayal as their bodies detonated, torn apart from within. Their organic parts collapsed into dust, and their metallic components fell to the floor and shattered, boiling and sublimating from whatever force had torn apart their original owners.

Scootaloo stared wide eyed. “But…but why?”

“Why not?” said the armored pony. “You asked for a fair fight. Unfortunately, that is still not possible. This meeting has only one forgone conclusion: I will win.”

“Like Tartarus.” Scootaloo pressed her rear against the door and fired her weapons. The projectiles never reached their target. The pony stepped forward into them, and a translucent shield surrounded her body, absorbing the blows.

“A mass-effect weapon? Primitive. Try harder, Scootaloo.”

“Why do you know my name?” demanded Scootaloo.

“Because there is always a Scootaloo. Every single time.”

Scootaloo suddenly rushed forward, charging headlong into the armored pony. Despite her small stature, Scootaloo had excelled at hoof-to-hoof combat in the Naval Academy, as she had with all things in a badly failed bid to impress Rainbow Dash. If normal weapons would not work, it meant she had to do this the hard way.

The armored pony did not defend herself. Rather, she dodged. Scootaloo was almost knocked off balance just by having missed her, but she recovered and struck again- -only to have her adversary shift and avoid that blow as well. Scootaloo struck again and again, but each time the other pony dodged. It was enraging, but at the same time, Scootaloo instinctively knew that something was wrong. The pony was not just dodging; she was anticipating blows before they happened.

“By this time, I’m sure you are wondering,” said the armored pony, shifting once again. She was not even out of breath. With the amount of armor she was wearing, she should have been slow and heavy- -or at the very least have gotten winded quickly. Instead, she seemed completely unfazed by what was occurring. “How I am managing to predict every one of your motions.”

“Just- -hold- -STILL!”

“And I find myself wondering, what exactly do you hope to accomplish by striking me? My body is completely covered in armor, Scootaloo. You cannot injure my by that method.”

“I- -don’t- -CARE! I’m gonna punch you square in the snoot!”

“Fine,” said the pony. She suddenly stopped moving, and Scootaloo landed a directly punch to her face.

As soon as she did, she realized that it was a terrible idea. She felt something in her wrist pop, and pain rushed up her leg, followed by numbness. The armored pony did not seem to care, apart from an apparent mild amusement.

Scootaloo stepped back, only to feel something tugging at her other three legs. She looked down to see what looked like tendrils of segmented wire wrapped around her legs- -all leading back to the armored pony.

The wire suddenly swept Scootaloo to the side, digging into her skin. It picked her up and flung her to one side of the room, where her back slammed into a heavy conduit. Another wave of pain went through her before she landed in a heap.

“Disappointing,” said the armored pony.

Scootaloo struggled to stand up, and looked into the masked face of her opponent. Then she smiled. She raised on wing as if to fire the weapon held under it, and the other pony braced for an attack- -only to realize that the weapon was missing.

Too late, she realized that it was sitting beside her- -within the normal circumference of her shields. Before she could react, it detonated, knocking her off balance. Scootaloo did not hesitate. Ignoring the pain in her leg and in her back, she jumped forward, tackling the armored pony, forcing her back to the edge of the machinery in the center of the room.

The explosion had apparently not caused any harm, but it had been distracting enough to allow Scootaloo to get the armored pony to the very precipice of the pit below. Now near it, Scootaloo could see that it descended far out of sight into blackness.

Scootaloo pushed her opponent out over the edge, just barely holding onto her tight enough to keep her from falling in. “Who are you?!” she demanded.

The pony paused. Then she answered, her voice as monotonous as ever. It was as though she had no concept of her present state, hanging over a pit that might be functionally bottomless. If anything, she sounded bored- -and that only enraged Scootaloo further.

“I had a name once,” she said. “A long, long time ago. But I lost it. Now, my mistress Sunset Shimmer has given me the name Xyuka. That is the only name I need.”

Scootaloo jerked her closer to the pit, and she felt the mare recoil slightly. Perhaps she really was afraid. “Do you think that MEANS anything?!”

“Are you going to drop me, Scootaloo? Would you kill me? It wouldn’t be hard, I suppose. Just let go. This pit leads to the planet’s upper atmosphere. I would fall into it. Trapped in the gravity. I would be crushed to death.”

“I’m seriously considering it unless you start talking.”

“Why? I have nothing to say.”

“Then you’re going in the hole. Is that what you want?”

“Scootaloo,” said the pony, shaking her head in disappointment. “Do you really think you have the upper hoof in this situation? I’m stronger, smarter, faster, and more durable than you ever will be. But I can also do one thing you will never be able to do.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Xyuka suddenly reached up and slapped Scootaloo’s hooves away. Already off balance, she started to fall past the rim of the pit beyond. Scootaloo reached for her, trying to regain her grip, but it was already too late.

Then the armor that covered Xyuka’s body changed. The area on her back opened and shifted, igniting with intense blue light. Her descent slowed, and the jets shifted to direct her upward- -and she soared upward.

“I can fly,” she said.

Xyuka’s armor changed once again. Scootaloo watched as several objects emerged from her, hovering around her in a slowly revolving circle. They looked like tiny, brass-colored metal orbs.

Then, at Xyuka’s command, they ignited into organge spheres of plasma and descended. Scootaloo barely managed to dodge the first one as it pierced through the deck where she had been standing, exploding with enough force to nearly knock her off balance. By some miracle, she was able to keep her footing and dodge the next one- -and then she ran, avoiding the explosions as they landed around her.

There was no way to escape. Xyuka slowly hovered behind Scootaloo, following her. From what Scootaloo could tell, the room was sealed. The only option was the pit- -and Xyuka was right: Scootaloo did not have functional wings. If there was a lower level, there was little chance she would be able to reach it.

Another explosion erupted near Scootaloo. This one finally did knock her to her side. Unlike the other explosions, though, this one was violet.

There was a flash of white, black, and purple as Seven shot through the hole she had just blasted in the wall. With her wings spread and her body charged with the glow of her magic, she charged Xyuka. Xyuka tried to dodge, but Seven managed to grab her, tearing at one of her jets with her magic. The engine burst into flames and sparked as it was ruined, and Xyuka plummeted to the ground.

A second blow knocked Xyuka back, her metal-clad hooves skidding across the floor toward the pit. Seven did not hesitate; she charged again, baring her long fangs in rage.

Xyuka dodged, but only incompletely. She shifted, driving her shoulder into Seven’s chest. At the same time, she slammed her hoof into Seven’s horn. There was a sudden surge of sparking light and violet energy, and Scootaloo heard Seven scream as she convulsed. It was a horrible sound that made every hair on her body stand on end.

“Seven!” cried Scootaloo.

The sparking stopped and Seven collapsed, her body still smoking. She did not move.

“Twilight Sparkle?” said Xyuka, her voice tinged with disbelief. Segmented cables emerged from her back and wrapped around Seven’s body, lifting her up for closer examination.

“No…” she said. “A clone. Very interesting…”

“Leave her ALONE!” demanded Scootaloo. “This is our fight! She has nothing to do with this!”

The white circle that represented Xyuka’s single eye focused squarely on Scootaloo. “You care for this clone?” she said. “Excellent.”

The cabled tightened, and then went taught. Seven’s body was contorted as she was folded backward. With a loud and sudden snap, her spine broke. She whimpered as her pelvis was pressed against the back of her head, her rear legs still twitching morbidly.

“NO!” cried Scootaloo.

Xyuka dropped Seven. “I abhor clones,” she said. “The idea of copying a pony…but my experiment indicates that you do, in fact, care for her.” She extended one of her hooves, and the metal around it warped as though it were liquid, forming a long blade. “Or did.”

Scootaloo charged her, but she was already too late. There was no way she could make it, and for a moment, she thought she would see her friend die- -until a dark shape leapt from the mechanical level above and landed on Xyuka’s back.

“Bjorn!” cried Bob, wrapping her one remaining arm arouond Xyuka’s neck. “OPEN IT!”

There was a flash of deep blue light, and Scootaloo felt herself being pulled backward along with Seven, Xyuka, and Bob, sucked toward a portal that had just opened near them. The sudden motion was disorienting, and by the time Scootaloo realized what was happening, she was falling.

She was no longer aboard the satellite. In fact, she had no idea where she was at all. The air was immensely hot and thick. It was almost unbreathable, and every breath burned Scootaloo’s lungs. Her eyes stung and watered, but even through the tears that the sulfurous atmosphere induced, she was able to see an endless sky overhead. Not blue, like the one on Equestria, but a horrible sickly yellow color.

The alien air was roaring through her ears, and Scootaloo felt herself spiraling. She tried to stabilize herself, but her wings were too small and weak to do anything more than partially regain control. Above her, she saw Seven falling, her own wings as limp and useless as the rest of her.

Farther above, Bob and Xyuka were locked in aerial combat. Unlike when she had been fighting Scootaloo, Xyuka did not seem to be able to remotely predict Bob’s actions. Bob, meanwhile, fought with absolute disregard for her own safety: she scratched and clawed and bit at Xyuka like a mad animal, all the while ignoring every blow that Xyuka landed on her. All the while, Scootaloo thought she could hear her screaming obscenities in a language that was neither Equestrian nor French.

Suddenly, something came up from below. At first, Scootaloo had no conception of what it was. Then her mind managed to realize that it was some kind of animal, a massive obese thing with a segmented body and seemingly hundreds of translucent wings. It was nearly a hundred feet long, but it flitted upward through the dense atmosphere like a dragonfly, the numerous insect-like mouths on its body pumping to breathe as it released an incredibly loud whistling sound.

Then the whistling grew even louder, and Scootaloo watched as more of them came up from below. She cried out and covered her eyes, trying to protect herself from the onslaught of creatures. They did not seem interested in her, though, and they turned in the air to avoid the falling interlopers.

While looking down, though, Scootaloo felt her heart fall into her stomach. She could see the ground below, and it was getting closer very, very quickly. It was deep red, like blood, and it looked like it might be a desert, or perhaps an ocean. That was not the problem, though.

Something was rising from the ground below. Scootaloo’s eyes could barely comprehend the scale of the mouth that was pulling its way through the sand below. Knowing that the smallest of the blubbery winged creatures was the size of a starship, though, she quickly realized in absolute terror that it dwarfed them. The teeth alone must have been miles long, and it was rising with impossible speed, pulling the flying creatures into its gaping maw.

Bob seemed to notice this as well, and Scootaloo saw her mouth a much more recognizable curse. Bob then kicked Xyuka in the chest, propelling herself toward Seven. When she reached the alicorn, she reached to her side and produced a revolver.

“Scootaloo!” she cried over the roar of the fall. “I’m sorry! But I warned you!”

She threw the gun, and at the same time took Seven under her arm. There was another flash of blue light as a second portal appeared, and Bob and Seven vanished.

At this point, Scootaloo started to panic. It was also the point in time when she realized that with Bob gone, Xyuka was now approaching her instead.

Feebly, Scootaloo did her best to swim through the air to grab the revolver that Bob had tossed her. It was almost a quarter the length of Scootaloo’s entire body, and even as Scootaloo reached it she realized that it was designed for creatures with fingers instead of hooves.

The mouth below was now growing closer. The tips of the teeth were ascending quickly past her and Xyuka to trap the creatues that had already passed. Scootaloo tried her best to ignore it and pointed the revolver at Xyuka. Xyuka did not have her jets anymore, but she was still managing to adjust her fall in such a way that she was only seconds away from overtaking Scootaloo.

Scootaloo fumbled with the revolver, desperately trying to reach her hooves into the trigger guard. Her panic only grew when she realized that it was too small, that she could not reach it. Xyuka was growing even nearer, and the mouth was starting to close. Scootaloo could smell its breath.

Paniced, reached out and put her mouth around the trigger. She pulled it with her tongue. The first thing she became aware of as she did was an impossibly loud sound that accompanied a blast of white, star like light as the recoil of the enormous pistol slammed it into her face. She was knocked mostly unconscious, but not before seeing one of the bullets impact directly in the center of Xyuka’s mask.

Dazed from the head trauma, Scootaloo felt herself slipping into grayness. She knew she was probably going to die, and she felt a pair of hooves take her into a final embrace.

“Are you sure you are ready for this?” asked Blossomforth.

“Yes,” said Wintrygust.

“Really? Because I’m not.”

“Dr. Heart has assured me that we will have weapons.”

“And how is she supposed to make weapons? Out of what? Flatware from the galley?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Wintrygust opened a control hologram. She raised a hoof, but hesitated, keeping it hovering over the command controls. “Are we all ready?”

“I’m so ready you could paint with me! I’m so excited!” cried Pinkie, literally shaking with anticipation. Next to her, Sassaflash released a loud snore. Wintrygust turned her attention to Blossomforth.

“And you?” she asked.

“Of course. I was born ready.” She sighed. “And I guess I’ll die ready. Who knew I would be led to my death by a damn breeder.”

“Nobody’s going to die,” said Wintrygust, trying to sound confident in an assertion that she had not guarantee of. She had no idea what they were going to find when she engaged the teleport- -but she knew that this was no time for fear or thoughts of self-preservation. If the now deceased creature in the lower deck was correct, Scootaloo might well be waiting on the other side of that teleport.

“Engaging,” she said, lowering her hoof on the control. If shifted from red to violet, and the Failure shook as it was engulfed in violet light. A sphere formed arouond it, and then imploded. Blossomforth closed her eyes, but Wintrygust barely flinched. She had been through this process countless hundreds of times.

The sphere imploded, and then continued imploding in the opposite direction, pulling the universe apart as it had just sealed it closed. As quickly as the dimensional rift had formed, it unformed, pushing the starship into space.

Wintrygust had been expecting to end up somewhere near the Crimson Horizon, wherever it was. Instead, the Failure emerged in orbit around a deep blue planet and in close proximity to a satellite- -and a swarm of aggressive alien craft.

“Holy buck!” squeaked Blossomforth.

Wintrygust did not have time to exclaim. She released her control of the helm, just as Sassaflash shot awake. The blue Pegasus surveyed the scene and immediately took control of the helm, diving suddenly to avoid a direct impact with one of the unfolded octahedrons.

As she did, the Failure shuddered and quaked, and then stalled for just a moment.

“I don’t have enough power!” cried Sassaflash, trying to compensate by drawing what little there was from other systems. “There isn’t enough!”

“Then we have to retreat,” said Wintrygust. She turned to her control panel only to see it flicker- -and she realized that there was no longer enough power for the long-range antenna. “HEART!” she cried into the intercom. “Heart! We’ve lost power we- -”

A sudden surge of energy rocked the ship, tearing through the shields in a single shot. Far below, in the basement of the ship, Heart felt the ship rumble and list. She heart Wintrygust through the intercom, and then turned it off, setting it instead to a delicate classical song.

“Winter wrap up winter wrap up,” she sung to herself as she sauntered to the part of the engine where the Core was housed. She paused and looked up at the tank. Inside, the Core was floating in liquid, a thin and flickering blue light emanating from her as she charged the ship.

This Core was named Trixie. That meant little to Lemon Heart. Every Core had a name. She had known the name of every Core she had ever seen, and the name of every one she had ever created. This one was unique only in its abject weakness and in its unusual tenacity. Even know, on the verge of death, she was clinging to life to power the ship.

Her surgical scars were still fresh, and they were starting to open as her body began to tear itself apart. That was not what Heart focused her attention on, though. Instead, her eyes stared unblinkingly at a mechanical assembly built around the Core’s neck.

She smiled. “I’m not going to die here, Trixie. I refuse to.”

Heart opened a holographic panel and activated the assembly on Trixie’s neck. The locking mechanisms responded to her magic, twisting and unlocking the sealed case around the Core’s neck. Then it opened, revealing the contents: a triangular amulet, decorated with a unicorn busts and a pair of stylized wings- -and containing a large blood-red gemstone.

The reaction was immediate. The Core’s eyes opened and her mouth stretched into a silent scream as red energy suddenly poured from her body into the main reactor. Lemon Heart burst into laughter. For nearly a century she had possessed this amulet, and for nearly a century she had wanted to test it. Now she had her chance, and it performed better than she had ever expected. Power output was increasing by over five thousand fold.

On the bridge, the ship suddenly shot forward at FTL speed. Even Sassaflash was barely able to bring it under control, and her attempt to maneuver it back into position sent every pony that was not strapped down flying across the bridge.

“Detecting damage to internal superstructure!” cried Blossomforth. “Sassa, what the BUCK are you doing?!”

“I don’t- -I don’t know!”

This increase in power only seemed to attract the other ships, and Sassflash froze. She had not yet adapted to the controls, and as far as she knew attempting to fly could tear the ship apart. She was not sure what to do.

A red-colored control hologram suddenly appeared at Wintrygust’s side. “Weapons!” she exclaimed, pulling the hologram in front of her and activating them. Outside, the tractor beams normally used to maneuver probes into place or to retrieve samples erupted in red energy. With a quick and precise barrage, Wintrygust had obliterated the first five enemy ships that had approached. Their comrades turned away, looping around and taking just long enough for Sassaflash to get control of the ship and tilt it back into an evasion pattern.

By now, the only pony not strapped down was Pinkie, and she slid across the deck. Wintrygust ignored her, and instead focused on the changing horizon, targeting the ship’s newfound weapons.

“They’re unmared,” she said, reminding herself of something she could not possibly know. “There’s nopony on them. There’s nopony on them.”

She fired again and again, and the ship slowly began to clear a path toward the origin of Xyuka’s signal. “Don’t worry, Scootaloo,” whispered Wintrygust as she tore through another set of enemy craft. “I’m coming…”

Scootaloo was unceremoniously dumped onto the satellite’s deck. She coughed and sputtered, trying to clear the acrid gas from her lungs. The world was swimming, and she could barely see, let alone move straight. Her head hurt horribly, but she was at least partially aware that she needed to escape.

Something else clattered to the ground next to her. Through her slightly uneven vision, Scootaloo saw a flat mask skitter across the smooth floor. It had already erupted with a sickly, stinking green fluid that was rapidly corroding its front surface, although it was apparent that the back end, though dented, had remained intact.

“I hate corrosive ammunition,” said a voice. Scootaloo’s head reeled as a surreal sensation washed over her. It was a voice she recognized from two separate places. One of them was Xyuka’s voice, or rather the voice that existed beneath the heavy distortion that was supposed to accompany it. The other source, Scootaloo did not know.

Weakly, Scootaloo turned over and looked up Xyuka. She was expecting an attack that she would be at best able to crawl away from, but instead, Xyuka was just staring at her. Scootaloo found herself looking into a pair of large violet eyes set against a pale orange coat.

Then Scootaloo suddenly realized where she had heard that voice before. Her eyes widened, and the word suddenly came into focus. “No,” she said, “that’s not- -that’s not- -”

“Possible?” said Xyuka. She flicked her head, and the remaining armor that covered the back of her head retracted, revealing a short-cut violet mane. “Of course it is. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Scootaloo stood up and tried to back away, only to collapse.

“You have a concussion,” said Xyuka. “In addition to possible toxicity from the Voqutan atmosphere. In all honesty, I did not anticipate that the human would actually be able to bridge the gap so easily. It took a nontrivial amount of energy to pull us both back despite the simplicity of the proposition. You should be thanking me.”

“You’re- -you’re me!” cried Scootaloo.

Xyuka sighed. “No. I’m not ‘you’. I am Scootaloo, but not ‘you’. That would be ridiculous.”

“Then you’re…” Scootaloo looked around. She could not see Bob or Seven. “You’re like them…”

Xyuka’s fiery violet eyes narrowed. “No,” she said. “Are you really that limited? To think that I would be a simple CLONE?” She started to walk closer to Scootaloo. Her armored hooves clicked on the ground, and as she drew nearer Scootaloo could see the surgical scars on her head and beneath her hair.

“Stay away!” said Scootaloo, forcing herself to stand and taking a wobbly defensive position. “I don’t know- -I don’t know what you are, but if you get any closer, I’ll- -”

“You’ll what? Shoot me again with this?” One of Xyuka’s metal tendrils flicked forward. Its terminal end was wrapped around the trigger and handle of Bob’s gun, and she was pointing it at Scootaloo. “I don’t know if you would survive another blow like that to the head. I’m surprised you kept your teeth.”

Scootaloo held her ground. “So, what?” she asked. “Are you going to kill me now?”

“Kill you?” Xyuka sighed. “Perhaps I overestimated your capacity. When have I ever tried to kill you?”

“Since the first time you saw me!”

“NO. If I had wanted you dead, do you think it would have been hard? This suit has at least thirty seven weapons that could wipe out the population of a small city. I could have obliterated you at any time with a thought.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I don’t actually want you dead. At least not that way. I needed to know what kind of a Scootaloo you are. If any of the minor obstacles I presented you with had killed you, then nothing of value would have been lost.”

“You’re insane!”

“Am I? Do you think you’re the first Scootaloo I’ve met? I’ve met hundreds. Some have been kind. Some have been cruel, evil. I have killed a great many of both. There is always a Scootaloo. Always.”

Outside, the battle continued. Oriana turned around as she ran, firing several biotic bolts into the charging enemies. The blasts coated their bodies, lifting them off the ground and beginning to corrode their skin. More replaced them, though, marching onward with no regard to the possible danger. Never before had Oriana wished so much that she had brought a gun.

Assault rifle fire ignited in the hall as Nine took aim, opening fire on the horde on the other side. She unloaded in the nearest two as she retreated, and then projected a biotic shield as she expelled the thermal clip from her rifle.

“Reloading,” she said. “Six, cover me!”

“Got it,” said Six, taking a position beside her and slamming her own magic into the oncoming monstrosities in order to clear a path.

There was a sudden small explosion, and Eight appeared in the center of the group.

“Eight!” said Nine. “Where is mother?”

“Back on the ship,” said Eight, her expression as serious as her tone. “Seven’s down. So is Four. It’s bad. We’re evacuating. Now.”

“What about Scootaloo?” asked Six.

“We’ve already lost her,” said Eight.

“No,” said Six. “No, we can’t- -”

“If we don’t hurry, we’ll lose each other too,” said Nine. “Eight, port us out!”

“Right.”

Eight began to charge her teleportation. As she did, Oriana suddenly saw an especially large creature approaching. The others seemed to clear out of its way, and as it approached Oriana realized that there was a large spiral horn emerging from the center of its head.

She charged her biotic energy, but the creature fired first. A bolt of orange energy hit her directly in the chest. The pain was intense as every nerve in Oriana’s body suddenly back fed into her brain, and she collapsed into convulsions just as Eight’s teleportation sequence engaged. Space distorted, and she found herself falling onto the docking bay floor back on the 192.

“Miss Oriana!” said Eight.

“I’m fine,” said Oriana, rubbing her head. A terrible headache was already forming, but the world suddenly seemed much clearer than it had before. Oriana attributed it to the adrenaline of nearly being killed.

She stood up and pushed past the ponies into the main hallway outside. Almost as soon as she emerged, she was shoved to the side as Bob passed. Oriana gasped when she saw Bob: one of the older woman’s arms was missing, and her armor was covered in what Oriana assumed was her own blood.

More terrifying, though, was the expression on her face. Oriana had worked with Bob for years, but had never seen her look like that before. Immediately, she knew that something was wrong- -and that Bob was about to do something very, very stupid.

“Robette,” she said.

“Don’t FUCKING talk to me right now, filthy human, or I WILL pull your eyes out and sodomize you with them,” spat Bob.

Oriana took a step back. Such a threat would probably seem ridiculous coming from literally any other Cerberus agent, but Bob was known to mutilate her victims before cannibalizing them. What she was suggesting was a very real possibility, and with the way she said it, Oriana knew that she meant it.

Still, she followed Bob through the ship. Despite clearly having lost a significant amount of blood, Bob was still moving quickly, and Oriana nearly had to jog to keep up. Eventually, Bob entered the engine room.

“Robette,” said Oriana again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Bob stopped, but did not address Oriana. Instead, she looked up at the tall creature that stood in her path. “They hurt my daughters,” she said. “I am going to make them pay. My Seven, my Four- -they will suffer. Are you going to stop me, Bjorn?”

Bjorn looked down at her. “No,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the ship’s core. “I would not dream of it, as my Masters can always use another condemned soul.”

“I don’t have a soul,” said Bob, stepping up to the field that contained the ever-shifting relic of technology in suspension.

Oriana suddenly realized what she was going to do. She rushed forward, but it was already too late. Bob plunged her hand into the field and grasped the machine- -and it grasped back.

Wintrygust continued to fire volley after volley of magical energy into the oncoming fleet, but she was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Not only were there too many, but they seemed to be adapting to the onslaught, their shields and armor becoming thicker and more durable in response to the repeated impacts.

Then she saw it. Emerging from the planet’s horizon, a member of the fleet that was different from the others. It was large, black, and shaped like some kind of arthropod. Wintrygust felt a chill when she saw it.

“Welp,” said Pinkie. “It was nice knowing you all. And laying millions upon millions of eggs in your living space.”

Wintrygust opened fire, but to no avail. The magical beams did nothing to the slowly approaching ship. Sassaflash took evasive action as it returned fire, barely dodging its first projectile as the ship took a heavy blow from a second.

“Direct hit!” said Blossomforth. “I’m trying to compensate- -”

The smaller members of the fleet responded like a group of predators smelling blood. Wintrygust tried to manipulate the weapons toward them, but she could not get the angle right as they charged toward the hole in the wounded vessel.

Then, in the distance, she saw a ship. Not large and black, or small and angular.

“No way,” said Blossomforth. “No bucking way…”

Before Wintygust could even ask what she meant, the unknown ship erupted with a plume of deep blue energy. The shockwave spread out through space, propagating through some unseen aether- -and then splitting. It fragmented into long arcs of energy that sliced through space, striking each and every one of the fleet. They were not damaged, and they did not detonate. They simply collapsed into dust, silently falling to the gravity of the planet below.

Several of the beams converged on the largest of the ships. It seemed to shift, as though it were in pain, and then it imploded from within, disintegrating around a pitch-black singularity.

On the satellite, Xyuka’s eyes suddenly widened. She screamed in pain as the back of her armor erupted in a plume of blue energy. She was overloading, burning from within. In an instant she knew that she had lost her fleet- -and her primary communication relay.

Xyuka fell to her knees before Scootaloo.

“What- -what just happened?” asked Scootaloo. Xyuka smiled. She sounded genuinely concerned.

“Soy-chet,” she whispered. “I can’t…I can’t hear you anymore…”

In the engine room of the Failure, Heart whistled as she pulled the emergency Core release lever. The amniotic fluid that contained Trixie rushed out of the tube, and the bottom lowered. The moribund Core spilled onto the floor. At first, she did not move. Then she stirred just slightly.

“Still alive?” said Heart. “Wow. That would be impressive if you could keep it up. But…”

She had just received word that the battle was over. The enemy had been defeated, and in just the nick of time. Heart was not sure what Wintrygust was doing, but she had been using almost all of Trixie’s enhanced output. The effect had been impressive. The amplified magic had also amplified the damage that Trixie had experienced, and it appeared that she was in the process of hemorrhaging. Every one of her orifices was bleeding, and even her still-smoking Core implants were starting to dislocate from her dissolving tissues.

Heart rolled Trixie over and removed the Alicorn Amulet from her with a pair of tongs. It appeared entirely undamaged, indicating that the test had been a resounding success.

“Scoot…Scootaloo…” whispered Trixie.

“Nope,” said Heart, cheerfully. “You won’t be seeing her. Because you’re dead now. You just don’t know it yet.” Heart reached down with her magic and began yanking the cords and cables connected to Trixie’s spine free. The process was normally quite painful, but Trixie only whimpered.

“Oh come on,” said Heart. “Don’t be like that. Think of how much knowledge I can gain from you! If every Core was as tenacious, as persistent as you- -I mean, imagine if you had actually been powerful! Maybe they knew that when they picked you. Because otherwise, you’re just an ordinary unicorn.”

Heart pulled out the last of the connections along with a deep portion of the implant port connected to it. The ship’s power fluctuated, but there was enough in storage to last until a new Core could be shipped out. Assuming the Princess did not send an actual ship, of course.

“There we go,” said Heart, pulling Trixie along the floor with her magic. “To the airlock with you…”

Then, suddenly, Heart felt a sharp pain in her neck. That was curious. Even more curious was how she suddenly lost feeling in her entire body and collapsed onto the floor next to the now mostly dead Core.

“What…what just…”

Her question was answered when the pain returned, and the magically-generated knife came into view. Heart knew enough about anatomy to realize what had just happened. Somepony had severed her spine.

That somepony quickly came into view- -and she was not a pony at all. She stood on too legs, her robes and yellow-red striped hair trailing behind her as she approached Trixie. Her surface appeared strange: it was shifting and translucent, as if she was not completely there.

The human kneeled down and gently lifted the Core into her arms.

“Scootaloo…” whispered Trixie.

“Shh,” said the human, gently. “Quiet, little one. I will help you. Xyuka has failed me. But you will not.”

She stood erect, and then there was a distortion of light as she vanished, taking Trixie with her.

Heart stared up, wondering if the sensation she felt was fear. She eventually came to the conclusion that it was not just fear, but abject terror. Even with whatever that thing had been only partially existing near her, it had felt horrible, producing a sensation that was the magical equivalent of staring into a well filled with bloated, rotting corpses- -that just might be trying to claw their way out.

Almost as soon as the creature left, the door to the room slid open.

“What’s this?” said Pinkie, entering and smiling. “Lying down on the job? Tsk tsk tsk. Oh. No wait, you’re paralyzed.” She giggled. “Well, at least you’re not apple-ized. Because, you know, ‘pear-alized’? Get it?”

Heart looked up at the clingon, and realized that she was right. There was no way to effectively repair spinal damage with Equestrian technology. She would be a permenant quadrapalegic. As she contemplated this, her eyes fell onto the empty Core housing, and then on her tools.

An idea occurred to Heart. A brilliant, amazing, impossible idea. She smiled- -and then burst into laughter. Pinkie laughed too, but as Heart’s chortiling became increasingly manic the clingon began to look nervous and took a step back.

“It wasn’t that funny,” she said.

“PINKIE!” shouted Heart, causing the pink non-pony to jump. “This is perfect! Absolutely perfect! Why didn’t I see it before?! It’s what I’ve been waiting for! My whole life! Staring me in the face!” She looked over at the tools. “But I can’t move. I need your help.”

“Help? How?”

“Do you see that bone saw? Bring it over to me.”

“Bone saw?” Pinkie looked nervous, but then smiled. “Are we going to make the cupcakes?”

“Yes, Pinkie. We are going to make cupcakes. The very bestest of cupcakes…”