The atmosphere improved as the synths force Starlight and her friends toward the outer region of the wendigo ship, but only marginally. Whatever kind of starship it had once been had contained bulkheads meant to close in the event of depressurization, but it was apparent that they had either been scavenged or rendered useless decades ago. She ship was leaking like a sieve, and although the synths seemed to be taking their time, the low oxygen was forcing Starlight to panic against her will. It took all of her composure to appear as though she was not on the verge of blacking out.

What she did notice, though, was just how much death the synths had apparently produced on their way to her. The walls were spattered in blood and gore and the remnants of wendigoes, all now dead. The synths took no prisoners, and they did not differentiate between men, women, or children. Everything that was living had died in their wake.

This terrified Starlight, but it also inevitably led her to become immensely surprised when she was brought through a rusted and corroded universal dock onto the synth’s shuttle craft. Waiting for them inside was, of all things, a pony.

She- -at least Starlight assumed that she was female- -was sitting on the far side of the large interior of the troop-transport vessel, projecting a series of intricate charts, maps, and interfaces using her horn. No part of her body was exposed: her skin was covered completely in Alliance armor over which she wore a strangely out-of-place pony-sized bomber jacket. Her face was completely covered with a version of a “death-mask” helmet, save for her horn.

The pony looked directly at Starlight through her translucent projections. “Ah,” she said, her voice bearing the telltale distortion of her helmet as it remodulated her speech to make it sound as pleasant as possible. “I see you were successful, Johannsson.”

“Thank you, Supervisor,” said the lead synth. “Our objective has been completed.”

“Yes. Leave Mathews and Jameson with me. Take the rest and regroup with the others.” She shifted her interface. “The parameters of the mission may now progress. Exterminate everything. I have prepared the necessary coordinate patterns and contingency suggestions. I do not anticipate significant resistance. Of course, I expect to rely on your intuition.”

“Yes, Supervisor. The organics will die in your name.”

He turned to leave, but the pony stopped him. “And Central-Operator?”

“Yes?”

“Remember to have fun.”

Johannsson paused. “I always do, ma’am. I always do.”

He departed and the synths that the pony had requested entered the ship. The door sealed behind them, and Starlight saw the pony’s interface change. The language that was written on it was beyond her comprehension, but she could intuit the layout enough to understand that the pony had just shifted to piloting the ship in addition to commanding and observing the troops as they moved through the wendigo ship.

“Superb work indeed,” said the pony, mostly to herself. “I would recommend him for possible promotion if it weren’t for his aggression level.” Despite the modification of her voice through her helmet, Starlight was beginning to notice that the pony had a distinct French accent which, to be getting through the death-mask, must have been quite thick without it. “Hello, Starlight Glimmer,” she said. “I am enormously pleased to see that you are unharmed.”

“Hello,” said Starlight, carefully. As a resident of Equestria, she was not in direct opposition to the Alliance, although she knew and interacted with them far more rarely than she did the Council. In fact, Twilight handled almost all dealings with the Alliance directly. Despite that fact, Starlight would normally have felt relatively at ease communicating with them- -had it not been for the fact that she was accompanied by two asari and, worse, two Spectres. The situation was extremely volatile, and made worse by the peculiarity of addressing an Alliance pony. “Do I know you?”

“Not that I am aware of. My name is Quatre. I am co-commander of the ISV Antigone.”

“Co-commander?” said Beri. “Then you must be pretty brave. You know, sitting behind all your soldiers while they fight your battles for you.” She stepped forward. “Or getting into an open room with a Spectre. But I doubt you even- -”

“Beri Tyros, Turian, born CE 2206. Entered Spectre training in 2215, receiving an eighty-percent body replacement at age thirteen, a year before you were accepted as a full Spectre. Likewise, 14-Thessia Facility A7- GX7114-Subgroup 00-Heritage GEN 8869SX-Batch 01-Sibling 00 ‘Jurneu’, born CE 2489, entered into accelerated Spectre program at age two. See?” she flipped around one of her interfaces. “It’s on my screen.” Her gaze drifted to Zedok and Sbaya. “The two asari, though…they have no records at all. I don’t know who they are, but they are not Spectres.”

“So you know who I am,” said Beri. “Then you know how easy it would be for me to squish you’re tiny little horse head?”

“My head is, in fact, quite normal sized and well proportioned. It is also well protected. By them.” She pointed at the pair of skeletal synth soldiers who were glaring at Beri. “And as fast as you think you are? They are faster. And you don’t have any weapons.”

“Don’t try anything, idiot,” said Zedok, sliding down to the floor and sitting. “I don’t really feel like fighting right now. I feel like napping. Hardcore.”

“How does one nap ‘hardcore’?” asked Sbaya, who was far more out of breath than her mother. “Because I believe I will now need to nap that hard.”

Quatre ignored them. “You know,” she said, addressing Beri. “I had a 3.6 second window to make a command decision on whether to have you killed on sight.”

“And did you choose the right option, horse?”

“That is impossible to know. Considering I am still actively making it.”

“Stop,” ordered Starlight, her voice becoming harsher. “They are under my protection as High Priestess of Equestria. In the interest of our continued peace- -between all three nations- -I suggest we abstain from violence.”

“Whoa, Star, did you just pull rank?” Zedok sounded impressed.

Starlight did not answer, instead facing Quatre and staring into where her eyes probably were.

“Yes, of course,” said Quatre, as cheerfully as ever. “Considering your position and the fact that the asari are likely civilians, I would be remiss of my diplomatic duties if I allowed this situation to come to blows.”

“Diplomatic duties?” said Jurneu. “You’re a diplomat?”

“I am when it is needed of me. I determined that you would be most responsive to interacting with an adorable pony as opposed to a synth. Even if some synths are equally if not more adorable than even I.”

Starlight’s eyes shifted to the thin, corpse-like machine-beings that stood on the far side of the room, waiting for the order to kill everyone in it. “Of course,” said Starlight.

“You…are you a robot-pony?” said Sbaya, sitting up.

“Firstly,” said Four, the tiniest hint of offense coming through her digitally enhanced voice, “synths are not ‘robots’, they are sophisticated living machines. Second, no. I am not a synth.”

“You’re Equestrian,” said Starlight.

“Also incorrect. I was born on the planet Dhyla Losh’d 6 in Alliance territory. I have never visited Equestria, nor do I have a desire to, despite how beautiful I have heard that it is.”

Quatre stood and started walking across the open room toward the storage closets on the far side. Starlight almost gasped when she saw her move, although it took her a moment to realize why. Quatre was graceful, but her gait was not like that of any normal pony. Her steps were smaller, more precise, and somehow lighter, as if her body were going to fall apart at any moment. Her movements were delicate but portrayed an extreme sense of fragility.

When she opened the closets, she began to move several small objects out. Strangely, though, she stood on her hind hooves to reach instead of using her horn. The nearest of the synths seemed to notice this and intervened.

“Let me help you,” she said, taking down several of the items that Quatre had been reaching for.

“Thank you, Mathews,” said Quatre. She turned to Starlight and shrugged. “The problem with being a pony in a world built for synths. I’m just not tall enough to reach a lot of things. Mathews, if you would?”

The synth nodded and approached Starlight. Beri stiffened, but Starlight gestured for her to hold her position. The synth reached down with a long-fingered had and presented Starlight with a small half-face respirator.

“What is this?” asked Starlight, noticing that others were given to Jurneu, Zedok, and Sbaya.

“A breathing apparatus,” said Quatre. “The Antigone has an atmosphere of pressurized nitrogen for heat-sinking purposes. As few as three breaths can kill you. You are going to need those.”

The shuttle docked, and the door slid open. Starlight winced, momentarily dazzled by the light on the other side. With the oxygen mask on, she was feeling slightly more awake and stable, although the prolonged low-pressure had given her a headache that only grew worse in the bright light.

Quatre was the first to exit. Jurneu followed, and Starlight momentarally caught his red eyes drifting to Quatre’s armor-plated flank. The pair of synth bodyguards fell in behind the group, hurrying Zedok and Sbaya.

“Can’t- -can’t I stay here?” pleaded Sbaya.

“No,” said one of the synths, prodding her slightly. “It needs to be decontaminated. It smells like wendigoes and probably now full of blue skin cells.”

“Excuse me,” said Zedok, offended. “Firstly, don’t prod my daughter. Second, I do not shed.”

“Don’t worry,” said Quatre, stopping and turning back. “Synths simply tend to value cleanliness. I’m actually surprised they don’t mind my own shedding.”

“We don’t mind you, Supervisor,” said one of the synths, quickly. “It’s just…asari germs…”

“I do not have germs!”

Quatre shrugged. “I suppose that’s one advantage I have not having wings,” she said with an unusual bitterness. “No feathers to shed.”

Starlight was not sure what that meant; unicorns, by definition, did not have feathers. Still, she was not entirely sure what to expect in a behavioral sense from a pony who had likely spent her entire life raised by and surrounded by sentient machines. She decided to try to ignore any of Quatre’s idiosyncrasies and fell into step beside her.

“Ow,” said Starlight suddenly as her ears popped.

“What is it?” said Jurneu.

“My ears.”

“Ah. Mine popped also,” he said. “The pressure is high in here.”

“Mine didn’t,” said Sbaya, confused.

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” muttered Beri. “You don’t have any.”

“I don’t?” Sbaya put her hand to her head and felt around. Her eyes went wide. “Where- -where did they go?”

Starlight allowed Zedok to explain that aspect of asari biology to her daughter while she looked around at the ship surrounding her. It was not at all what she had expected. Starlight had never been a fan of alien starships, but she had always had an impression that Alliance vessels were exclusively utilitarian and minimalist. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true. The floor she found herself walking on was a highly polished stone-like material with a rich reddish coloration, and it led to synth-height walls framed by partially decorative columns imbedded at lengths into the white walls. The corridor was well lit by what appeared to be unique transparent plasma channels above, and the walls were lined with holographic computer interfaces that in their inactive state assumed the forms of various paintings.

“This place is beautiful,” said Jurneu.

“Of course,” said Quatre. “It is Alliance, after all. There is no reason why our interior design cannot be both practical and tasteful.”

“It look so neat,” said Sbaya, poking at a hologram that had been assembled to appear like a realistic vine twining upward between two unpretentious Doric columns. Her hand simply phased through it, and she frowned as it did. “I don’t even feel spacesick!”

“Well, yeah,” said Zedok, pulling her daughter away from the wall. “I mean, packed with nitrogen? This place is probably as fresh as the day they packed it.”

“My ship is clean,” said Starlight. “Well…was.”

“Ah, yes,” said Quatre, opening a pink-violet interface panel and checking some of the scrolling data. “Your ship is the Hermes class, no?”

“It used to be, yes.”

“Well, I am pleased to inform you that we did successfully recover it. It is indeed in a sorry state, but it is covered by an extended warranty. Our technicians have already started repairing it.”

Starlight blinked. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” said Starlight.

“Star, now is not the time to look the gift-horse in the mouth.”

Jurneu frowned. “I am offended by that statement, but I don’t know why.”

Quatre ignored him. “It is not a problem. Consider it a gift from us, the crew of the Antigone, to one of our staunchest and oldest allies, the Cult of Harmony.”

“Well, thank you,” said Starlight. She was somewhat unaccustomed to people being so nice to her, and it only felt stranger when she realized that there was a strong chance that Quatre’s kindness was a product solely of her helmet reading subtle audio cues and giving her advice on how to manage social situations.

“That is very kind of you,” said Jurneu, smiling in a way that actually made even Starlight feel mildly attracted to him. “Although, I have to admit, I really am curious. In all my time as a Spectre, I never came across any intelligence that said there were ponies in the Alliance.”

“Pony,” corrected Quatre. “Singular. There is one. She is me.”

“Well, that’s the source of my curiosity. A pony, even an organic lifeform in the Alliance- -it’s novel to me. You said you were in command of this ship, but you can’t even breathe the air.”

“I have an independent air supply,” said Quatre, dismissively. “And it comes with perks. Additionally, I am not the acting Command-Supervisor, but yes. My rank is the equivalent to what you would call ‘Captain’. The Alliance is not as discriminatory as I’m sure your propaganda has led you to believe.”

“Oh,” said Jurneu. “Well, I would be grateful if you would help me clear my misconceptions. Perhaps over a meal?”

“You disgust me, Jurneu,” said Beri.

“No, thank you,” said Quatre. “You and I do not eat the same food anyway.”

“Jurneu,” warned Starlight. He understood the tone in her voice and nodded, backing off.

“I wouldn’t mind food,” said Sbaya as Jurneu fell into step beside her. “Also, would it be rude or me to touch your horn? It looks so pointy.”

“That was awkward,” said Starlight.

“Yes, it was,” agreed Quatre. “For your own records, I do not appreciate being hit on.”

“Of course,” said Starlight. She paused for a moment. “I do have my own questions, though.”

“And you may ask them. My assignment is to ensure that our diplomatic relations run smoothly while you are here, Starlight Glimmer.”

“I am tremendously grateful for you saving me and my friends,” she said. “But how did you find us?”

“It was, more or less, incidental. We were here for other reasons when we detected you.”

Quatre did not volunteer more information than that, and Starlight did not press her. “I was on a critical mission,” she explained. “Tracking down a deadly criminal. One who I now believe may be working with some very powerful forces.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Starlight.

“And I’m assuming that you would like to return to your mission as soon as possible?”

By “assuming”, Starlight knew that she meant that her death-mask audio analysis system was detecting the stress in her voice. “Will that be a problem?”

“Frankly, yes. Not for you, but for them…”

“I already told you, they are under my protection.”

“Which prevents me from executing them. However, I’m afraid that they are still our prisoners. The asari, as civilians or property, you may be able to take, but the Spectres…”

Starlight frowned. “You aren’t going to keep them.”

“What? No, of course not. I don’t want them. Especially the breeder. I don’t like the look of his horn. But there are procedures we need to follow. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” said Starlight. “But there must be something- -”

“I can talk to my counterpart, and I can try to expedite the process, but I cannot promise anything,” said Quatre firmly. “You are of great importance, Starlight Glimmer, but you are not our ruler. Your leverage is thin here. Do not abuse my kindness.”

Starlight fell silent, surprised by the otherwise seemingly cheerful pony suddenly shifting to a much harder diplomatic stance. She quickly regained her composure and accepted that her situation, though improved from what it had been before, would still face its own set of unique challenges.

One aspect that struck Starlight was just how empty the ship was. Part of it had to do with the architecture: the ship appeared to be built in concentric circles, which made getting a clear view of the long hallways impossible. More than that, though, there seemed to be very few synths on board. As Starlight was led deeper into the ship, she saw at most four, and they were outnumbered substantially by the number of mechs that were wandering around and performing various tasks.

Seeing the humanoid mechs was somewhat disturbing, even if it was only because Starlight was able to understand that the mechs and synths were both machines. They were visually distinct, though; the mechs were shorter and had distinctly machine-like bodies, while the synths were tall and almost invariably covered in artificial skin that made them look somewhat like humans.

Zedok seemed to notice the same thing. “Machines using machines? That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” said Quatre. “The mechs are more or less puppets. They make the ship cost-effective to run.”

“Because buying that many mechs is cheap?”

“No. Because buying that many synths would be expensive.”

“You buy synths?” asked Starlight.

Quatre sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I was referring to the price of synths. Translating currency, even a simplistic synth can cost several hundred million dollars. The Command-Supervisor? He cost over a billion. Why on Earth would we waste our population staffing tiny ships like this?” She paused. “Hmm. A poor choice of expression, I think.”

Starlight shivered. She knew that she was not supposed to take sides, and that Equestria was an equal ally of both the Council and the Alliance. It was, in fact, one of the achievements that Twilight was most proud of. Despite this, though, Starlight had always felt some apprehension around synths. As alien as the Council races were, they were really just different kinds of life. The way the Council had turians or elcor or rachni was not terribly much different from the way Equestria had ponies, diamond dogs, griffons, and countless other races. Synths, though, were something different, and Quatre’s description of their reproduction in terms of cost only reinforced that. They were machines, but they did not act like geth and quants- -and because of this, they were completely alien to Starlight.

“You feel uncomfortable around us,” said Quatre, only exacerbating Starlight’s apprehension by appearing to read her mind.

“I’m fine,” said Starlight.

“I’m not,” said Beri.

“For once we agree on something,” said Zedok.

“Why?” asked Sbaya, confused. She smiled at a passing synth, and he smiled back. Sbaya hardly seemed to notice that the limited robotics beneath his false skin-mask made him look like a waxy corpse. “Synths are people too!”

“No,” said Beri. “No they’re not.”

“Well,” said Quatre, “aside from the fact that you just blatantly insulted my people, I do have something that I think will make you feel a little bit better.”

She stopped at a large door and opened her interface. With it, she activated the door, causing it to pull open and reveal a small atrium. Starlight hesitated, but Quatre led her and the others in. Zedok and Beri remained in the rear, entering only at the behest of the skeletal synth soldiers behind them.

“I don’t like it in here,” said Sbaya. “It’s too tight in here.”

“I’ve been in tighter,” said Jurneu.

“Eew,” said Zedok. “Did not need to know that.”

Jurneu seemed confused for a moment, and then understood. “Oh. Oh my.” Then he smiled mischievously. “I still have, though.”

Starlight, who was standing closest to Quatre, heard her say something that was entirely negated by her helmet. It had been in Terran Proper, a language that Starlight only knew only marginally well. Despite her perfunctory linguistic knowledge, she thought she heard the word for “vivisection”.

A cool air current suddenly rushed into the room, filling it instantly with condensed fog. Starlight stepped back, confused and frightened by the sudden appearance of the gas, but quickly regained her composure when she realized that even if it were harmful, she was already wearing an oxygen mask.

Then the second door opened. Bright light flooded the small atrium, and Quatre stepped out onto what Starlight immediately realized was firm, green moss. Starlight, confused, looked out at what could only be described as a forest. Under the artificial lights, there were trees and vines of every type. Most were green, but some were dotted with unassuming flowers. The sound of birds seemed to come from every side.

“TREES!” cried Sbaya, pushing past Starlight and Quatre and immediately giving a full-body hug to a bushy green thuja shrub. “Oh wonderful trees, how I have missed you!”

“What…what is this?” said Starlight, stepping out into the indoor forest. Several synths were wandering the area or sitting on benches in the shade of the trees and amongst the ferns, either talking or reading. They looked up at Starlight, slightly confused, but then returned to whatever they were doing.

“The garden,” said Quatre, as though that were obvious.

“Your ship has a garden?” said Jurneu. “Why?”

“Why would a starship not have a garden?”

“Because it’s stupid as hell,” said Beri.

“Wow. What is that, the second time in one day?” said Zedok. “I have to agree. I mean, it’s pretty, but…just why?”

“As organics, you would not understand,” said Quatre, walking slowly across the moss. “The Antigone is a deep-space patrol vessel. It can go years without docking, though thank Satin it has not. Synths, they do not sleep. Imagine being awake from the moment you are born. Imagine the boredom that you would face on a long mission, and perhaps you will understand the importance of a proper aesthetic to our ship design.”

“It’s not inconceivable,” argued Starlight. “Really, I’m surprised most larger ships don’t do this.”

“Granted,” said Quatre, “it would make more sense in a ship where the crew actually breathes. That said, you are free to take off your masks here. The plants generate substantial oxygen. We normally use it to power metabolic nanoproduction cells, but we have enough to share.”

Starlight looked to her friends, but nobody acted at first. Then they looked up at Sbaya, who had now managed to climb high into one of the trees and was struggling for a large mottled fruit. She had already removed her mask, even though Starlight doubted that she had heard Quatre.

Jurneu was the first to act, pulling off the respirator and taking a deep breath. “Oh,” he said, somewhat surprised. “That smells like a real forest…and some lilacs. Are you growing lilacs here?”

Starlight and Zedok looked at each other, and then removed their own masks. Starlight took a breath, being careful to watch for the signs of inert gas asphyxiation. What she found, though, was that Jurneu was right- -the artificial forest smelled quite pleasant.

“Oh crap,” said Zedok, holding her nose. “Is THAT what lilac smells like? That’s disgusting!”

“To asari, probably,” said Quatre. “But not to synths.”

Starlight looked up at the unicorn expectantly. Quatre seemed to notice this and looked back, the violet lines of her helmet looking almost like long verticle eyes. “What is it?” she said.

“Aren’t you going to remove yours too?”

“Me?” she said, sounding confused. “No. Of course not. This mask helps improve my ability to interface and negotiate with you.”

“No,” said Beri, “no it doesn’t. There’s a reason why the death-mask system never caught on.” She leaned forward, projecting her turian hologram arouond herself. “It’s because nobody trusts someone who hides their face.”

“It’s true,” said Jurneu. “I’ve run the studies. It makes you look…frightening.”

Quatre turned to Jurneu, and then to Starlight. “Fine,” she said. “If you think that would help the situation, although I doubt it will.”

She reached into the rear of her helmet, disengaging the locks that held it onto the armored uniform that she was wearing beneath her jacket. There was a slight hiss as her oxygen line purged and a click as it automatically sealed. She then removed the mask.

Starlight smiled and was about to say something diplomatic, but she froze, her mouth dropping when she saw what Quatre actually looked like. Her color was distinctly gray, with only the slightest hint of purple, but her face was unmistakable. She had large violet eyes that were slightly pointed at the bottom, and even her hair- -though gray and silvering in some places- -still maintained a stripe of pink running through its left side.

It was not that she looked LIKE Twilight Sparkle, it was that she was IDENTICAL. Not just her face, either, but her age. Despite the white in her mane and slightly sunken appearance of her eyes, she still appeared no older than Starlight. Far more frail and thin than the real Twilight, of course- -as if she were suffering from some kind of disease- -but there was no way that Starlight could ever mistake the face of her closest living friend.

“Starlight?” said Zedok, realizing that something was wrong.

“I- -I’m sorry,” said Starlight, trying to find some logical explanation for the pony standing before her. “I just…it’s…” She looked up at Quatre. “You look so familiar.”

“I get that a lot,” said Quatre, shrugging. Without the helmet, her French accent was far thicker, but Starlight still shivered. With the distortion of the helmet she had not noticed, but augmented, there was no doubt: she spoke in Twilight’s voice. Worse still, when she spoke, Starlight saw the ends of her teeth: they were sharp and pointed, just like Twilight’s.

“I think you look beautiful,” said Jurneu.

Quatre’s large violet eyes shifted toward him. “Attempt to mount me and I will have you gutted.” She paused for a moment, appearing to consider what she had just said.. “See, and that’s something I should not have said. This is why I prefer to wear the helmet.” She sighed, and began to walk back to the airlock. “There are several rooms off of the main conservatory that were intended either for auxiliary nanomanufacturing suites or to entertain oxygen breathers. Pick one. Or don’t, I don’t actually care.” She paused, looking up at Beri before looking back over her shoulder at Starlight. “You, High Priestess, are free to move about the ship as you like. They are not. They will be under guard. Attempts to leave this room without permission will be dealt with. Fatally.”

“Will you come back and visit us, though?” said Jurneu.

Quatre ignored him. “That said,” she continued, “I would strongly recommend avoiding our engine room.”

“Why?” said Beri. “What’s in there?”

“An engine. Or does that VI in your brain make you simple? That’s exactly the problem. It tends to have an unfortunate resonant effect with unicorns.”

“Or,” said Starlight, “it has a proprietary design, perhaps? One that you’re not willing to share?”

“That too. But is that not within our rights?”

“It is,” said Starlight. “And in the spirit of friendship, yes. I will ignore the area.”

“Good,” said Quatre. “I am going to go change. I have to discuss this with my co-commander. I may be back.” She pointed at Jurneu. “Not for you, though. You are a pervert and I do not like you. Do not look at my flank when I leave. It is not yours.”

As promised, she then left. As she did, Jurneu immediately defied her orders.

Author's Note

I imagine a nitrogen-packed ship would be kept very fresh. That, and bananas would never spoil.