Chapter 23: The Consequences

The hum of the ship’s engines had stopped. It was no longer in flight, but rather had landed on a dark and distant moon. The facility that surrounded it was mostly abandoned, quiet, and silent. It was meant as a working station for Spectres, a place for them to stop for supplies and resources in times of need. With there being so few Spectres, though, it had not been used in years, remaining empty and unoccupied. Its hallways, built in the most utilitarian of turian architectural styles, were tightly coiled against each other. They were dark, but they were warm. Still, they did not feel like home to Starlight. Neither did her ship. Nothing did, really. Not anymore. Not for a long, long time, if ever at all.

On her now silent and empty ship, Starlight stood in the doorway of one particular darkened room. The one that had formerly belonged to Beri Tyros. Like the Spectre facility outside, it now stood empty, seemingly abandoned in an instant, left with no one to occupy it. All the equipment was still where Beri had left it; all the various machines that had been keeping her marginally alive. All the equipment that she would never use again.

Starlight heard the sound of hooves beside her, and she did not need to look up to here Jurneu approaching.

“I’m going to be blunt,” he said. “You are taking this far harder than you should.”

“How exactly should I take it?” snapped Starlight. “Sure. I’ll be the first to admit, I really, REALLY didn’t like her. But she was still my friend. I mean…” She paused, feeling a horrible sinking feeling wash over her. “I lost one. She died…because of me.”

“You’ve lost a lot of them. This was just the first time you had to see one go.”

Starlight pivoted swiftly and slapped Jurneu. Having hooves, it was more like a stiff punch, but even still, he barely recoiled.

“Why don’t you even care?!” shouted Starlight. “She was a Spectre! Your hero!”

“I know that,” said Jurneu, rubbing the side of his face. “Do you think I don’t? Or that I don’t feel a sense of loss? Don’t misunderstand me, Starlight Glimmer. I do. It’s just that, well, she was a Spectre.”

“And how does that make her life less valuable?”

“That’s not what I mean!” said Jurneu, suddenly sounding exasperated. “What I mean is that Spectres have one of the lowest survival rates of any military force, second only to asari Justicars. We are the best, but even then, we’re still mortal. A Spectre is lucky to last two years. Ten years is elderly. Most retire by then. She didn’t. She extended her life by almost four times, and even then, never stopped fighting. This was the end she wanted, Starlight. To go out fighting.”

“Because she was an idiot,” said Starlight. “She wanted the wrong thing.” Starlight sighed, and reached into one of the pockets in her uniform. She removed the last thing that Beri had given her: an inky violet crystal.

“What is that?” said Jurneu, his red eyes shifting to the crystal.

“The core computational matrix of a quant,” said Starlight. “All of a quant’s memories, software, programs, it’s all stored in crystals like this. Berry gave it to me. I’m not sure why.”

“A quant?” said Jurneu, sounding oddly surprised. “But I thought they were much larger. That one seems…small.”

“The core itself is actually microscopic. The outer portion is just to stabilize it. You’re thinking of the drive matrix, the part that powers ships.” She lifted the crystal. “This is actually in the center. The true quant.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Starlight. She looked deep into the crystal. “It isn’t supposed to be this color.”

“It isn’t?”

Starlight shook her head. “Only the highest purity crystals can be used to make the kind of quant that can power a ship. ‘Marvelously pure’ or higher. This should be transparent blue, like a big diamond.”

“Then what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s been changed. Corrupted somehow.”

“But you still want to try to read it.” Jurneu turned to Beri’s room. “You don’t have the equipment, but she did. I think she knew that.”

“Yeah. I think she did.”

Jurneu stepped closer to Starlight. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, softly. “I have equipment in the resupply station. We can go there if you want.”

“No,” said Starlight, shaking her head. “No. It has to be here.” She took a breath, and then stepped into the darkened room.

It did not take her long to find the necessary equipment. The actual device was a small, portable reading device the size of a briefcase and linked into the other equipment. Starlight approached it and gently set the crystal down on it. As soon as it touched the reading station, a set of small tech pylons appeared, moving and adjusting themselves to support the crystal before a reading system was quickly assembled. The crystal began to revolve, and the machine activated almost immediately.

A hologram appeared from one of the secondary pieces of equipment. It was small, at a height of barely ten inches, and though translucent had good resolution. Starlight was surprised to see that it was a representation of Beri as a biological turian.

“What is that?” said Jurneu. “The crystal?”

“No,” said Starlight. “It’s a recording. It must have been programmed into the machine.”

“So,” said the tiny model of Beri, her face automatically turning toward Starlight. “I guess I’m dead. Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me. Still not sure how I’ll get this recording to you, but I’ll find a way. Somehow.

“But if you shed one single, solitary tear for me, I swear to whatever god my body exists in defiance of that I will come back as a ghost and beat you. Hard.” She paused, and grew slightly more serious. “But, to be honest, there is something you don’t know. I don’t know it either, because I don’t want to. I don’t even like thinking about it. But the fact is…” She sighed, and paused for a much longer time. “I might already be dead. Right now, as I’m talking.

“You don’t know what this feels like,” she said, flexing her hands in the hologram. “How the world keeps getting more and more…distant. I can still feel it, but it’s like I’m wearing a glove over my whole body. Like thins are there, but they aren’t really. Like I’m becoming increasingly trapped in this body, and there’s no way out.”

“Her neural connections must have been failing,” said Jurneu. “Her body was rejecting her brain.”

“Shut up and listen, Jurneu,” said the hologram. Jurneu stiffened in shock. Beri laughed halfheartedly. “Ha! That probably got you. I set up the hologram to say that if it detected your voice. But seriously, shut up. These are basically my dying words, so don’t interrupt me.” She paused again. “Actually…no.” She put her hand to her face. “I’m mostly sure now. I think I am dead. I have been for months. I’ve become so much machine that I can’t even tell anymore. Most of ‘me’ is just a VI in what’s left of my brain, plugging my memories and personality back into a corpse. The last time you saw me, It probably wasn’t REALLY me. Probably just that VI.

“So don’t feel bad for me. I just hope that I died doing something epic.” She looked Starlight in the eye. “But that’s not what this recording is for. I made it because I made a promise. A promise I have been waiting two hundred and fifty years to fulfill. I don’t want to, because I know what it means, but I am obliged to follow the last orders that Garrus Vakarian gave me. The last orders he gave anyone.”

There was a click from across the room, and Starlight heard something fall behind one of the weapons crates that were bolted to the floor of the room. Confused, she looked to the hologram, and it nodded. Slowly, Starlight made her way to the far side of the room and peered behind the crate.

She saw that a hidden compartment had opened, and a case inside had been exposed. With some difficulty, Starlight managed to fish it out. As soon as she pulled it into the light, both she and Jurneu’s stared in astonishment. The container, which was roughly the size of a large book, was constructed entirely out of perfect, carved crystal.

“What the hell is that?” said Jurneu in awe.

“Crystal Empire crystal,” said Starlight. “Why in Equestria would she have something like this? Unless…” Starlight shivered. “Unless she was storing something that she wanted hidden from any and all scanning apparatuses. Or to survive a supernova.”

“But what would she want to do that for?”

“Open it,” said the hologram. “You need to open it.”

Starlight did as she was told, unhooking the clasp and opening the case. She had not been sure what she was expecting, but what she got had surprisingly little emotional impact on her, largely because she did not know what she was looking at. The inside of the case was filled with foam and, at its center, a transparent tube sealed by metal caps on either side. In the very center of the tube, suspended by probes from the concealed electronic elements inside the metal caps, was a single shard of black and silver metal. Starlight had no idea what it was, although she could tell at a glance that the shard was an infinitely complex piece of something far larger.

Jurneu, however, took a large and terrified step backward. “By the goddess,” he whispered. “That- -that’s a Reaper artifact!”

“Vakarian was a turian of his word,” said Beri’s hologram. “And so am I. He promised this to you as payment for your service to the Council, and I swore to him on his deathbed that I would deliver it to you. I hesitated, though, because I know what it is. It is the core biotic modulator of a Reaper banshee, a piece of living metal designed to infect and assimilate anything it touches. Of all the kinds of artifacts banned by the Council, this is one of the worst. I would strongly recommend not opening it.”

“This…this can’t be here!” exclaimed Jurneu.

“And yet it is,” said Starlight, unable to take her eyes off of it.

“The synths, if they had only known- -”

“Well,” said Starlight, looking up at Jurneu’s terrified expression. “You asked why she had it in the crystal box, didn’t you?”

“There is one more thing,” said Beri’s hologram. “Jurneu. If you’re still there, listen to me. If I’m gone, it means you need to complete the mission now. You’re definitely no me, or even a Shepard, but you are a good Spectre. You should be, I trained you. Protect Starlight. Keep her safe. Don’t allow her to use that artifact. Serve the Council. I lived my life trying to exceed the legacy of Saren Arerius. Now it is your turn to exceed me.” The hologram shifted one last time, tracking Starlight. “Starlight. Jurneu. It has been a pleasure. More for you than me. Goodbye, friends.”

The hologram vanished. As it did, the room went dark once again. With the change in light, Starlight was suddenly able to see the silhouette of Zedok standing in the door on the far side of where the hologram had been.

“Star?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” lied Starlight. She quickly picked up the tube containing the artifact and tucked it into a secure pocket of her armor, noticing Jurneu’s eyes tracking it the whole time. “What is it, Zedok?”

“She’s conscious.”

Starlight paused, not sure what emotion to be feeling. She wanted to feel relief, but somehow, instead she only felt grave apprehension.

“How is she?”

Zedok took a breath, but then just sighed. “You will want to see it for yourself.”

“Go,” said Jurneu. “With this equipment, it will take some time for the quant to load its interface protocol. I’ll see if I can’t optimize the system a bit. Tyros was not known for using all of the appropriate performance settings on modern equipment.”

Starlight nodded and stepped past where the crystal was still slowly revolving. She joined Zedok in the hallway, and they began walking.

For a while, Zedok did not speak. It was not until they had left the ship and started moving through the hallways of the Spectre ressuply space that Starlight actually summoned the will to ask about Quatre’s state.

“Is it bad?”

Zedok considered for a moment. “‘Bad’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. Star, she’s fucked up. Hardcore.”

Starlight stopped walking. “I- -I didn’t mean to!” she said. “She’s just so fragile, all I did was- -”

“Star, no. That’s not what I mean.” Zedok sighed deeply. “Her body…it’s just bad.”

“Zedok. Please. Tell me.”

Zedok looked more serious than Starlight had ever seen her, and she appeared to be staring at something straight ahead and very far off. “Her entire body shows evidence of massive trauma that she experienced early in life. Half of her organs barely work, and the other half are so scarred they’re not even in the right places. Almost every bone in her body has been broken and revealed, poorly. You broke several. Her level of internal scarring is consistent with a reave effect.”

“Reaving? She was attacked by a biotic?”

“Yes,” said Zedok, “but not any ordinary biotic. That’s a rare skill. Even Jack could barely do it. But this level of destruction…I hope I don’t ever have to get near whatever did this to her.”

“So then her injuries…”

“Yeah. A stiff breeze would probably do her in. I doubt she could even survive on a habitable planet for very long, and it’s a miracle that she made it through the punishment you put her through.”

“Although I’m sure that ‘miracle’ had a lot to do with you.”

Zedok barely seemed to register the compliment. “And then there are the medical scars….”

“What?”

“She didn’t heal from those injuries on her own. Even from a brief scan…” Zedok shivered. “Someone put her back together. Whoever it was, they were either a genius or an abject sadist. This pony, she just wasn’t meant to survive that. She’s not supposed to be alive.”

None of this made Starlight feel any better. If she had even had any slight idea that the pony she had so viciously attacked had already been on the verge of death, Starlight would never have touched her- -or so she liked to think. At the same time, she wondered what kind of event would have done that much damage to a living creature. She assumed that it had to have been some kind of accident.

“Star,” said Zedok. “There’s…something else.”

“Something else? What kind of ‘something else’?”

Zedok hesitated. “No. You have to see it.”

The medical bay of the Spectre outpost was located several levels below the upper portion of the base, and it took Starlight several minutes to reach it with Zedok. All the while, she felt herself growing increasingly nervous. When she finally stood outside the door, she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

“Did she say anything?” Starlight finally asked.

“She thanked me. But then nothing after that.” Zedok lifted a finger to the hologram in the center of the door, and it changed color at her touch as the door unlocked. “You are going to want to be quick, though. The internal bleeding was massive. She’s stable for now, but still very weak. I’m not a horse doctor, Star. I deal with yahg. If she goes off again, I’m not going to be able to pull her back a second time.”

The door opened, and Starlight felt herself being pushed in. Zedok, the one doing the pushing, followed her into the medical suite. The room inside was not large, but more than adequate as a field hospital. Much of the equipment and supplies were still packed in cases and dispensers, but a surprisingly large number had also been opened.

Zedok led Starlight through the facility and past the surgical room toward the quiet area in the back. As Starlight passed, she smelled something metallic from the other side of the door. She knew the smell of blood well, and she shivered wondering how much there must have been on the other side of that door.

Quatre had been placed in the most distant part of the suite. Starlight did not need to look hard to find her. Zedok had pulled the almost all of the Spectre medical equipment to that corner of the room. The bed was surrounded by machinery, and that machinery was wired to the bed’s occupant.

“If you want to talk to her, go,” said Zedok. “I’ll be here if she starts to crash again.” Starlight hesitated, and Zedok pointed. “Go.”

Starlight took a breath and nodded. She then walked toward the bed and the inured pony lying in it.

The first thing she became aware of was just how small the pony lying in the bed looked. The bed itself was not large for a creature like a turian or asari, but for a pony it was massive. It was not only that, though. Quatre herself almost seemed to have shrunk. Without her armor and wired to so many machines, she just seemed so small.

The second thing that Starlight noticed made her stop in her tracks as her heart, formerly pounding so fast, seemed to skip a beat. Quatre was lying in the center of the bed uncovered and in a fetal position, a tiny gray creature with her body linked to so many cables and sensors. Her back was facing Starlight, and on it, Starlight saw a pair of scarred stumps. There was no mistaking what they were, or rather what they long ago had been. Quatre had once had wings.

“Don’t stare,” said Quatre, weakly. “You have no idea what it feels like when people stare at them…”

“You’re an alicorn,” said Starlight in disbelief.

“I was, once, yes,” said Quatre. “But I already knew that. Go away.”

“No,” said Starlight. “Not until you tell me how this is even possible! At first, I just thought you looked like her- -but you can’t be an alicorn! It isn’t possible! You can’t- -”

Quatre stirred, and she rolled over to face Starlight. As she did, Starlight got a better look at her body. Before, she had always been wearing armor, so it was impossible to see just how gaunt she was or the faded scars that covered her body. Now, though, she looked even more gray and sickly than before. They only part of her that seemed to have any life was her eyes, which were icy with hatred. They were Twilight’s eyes.

“Or what? Are you going to beat it out of me? Or are you going to choke me into unciciousness as I struggle desperately to breathe through my one working lung? Would it even matter if I don’t have to look into the terrified face of my lover as you try to murder me in front of him?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, Quatre, I just- -”

“No. Don’t even say my name. Don’t even look at me. I can’t stand to look at you.” She lay back down and rolled to face away from Starlight. “You make me ashamed to have been born a pony.”

“Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t know how sick you were!”

“And does that make it okay to hurt me?”

“N…no.” Starlight paused, taking a long breath to try to quell her growing self-hatred. “No it doesn’t. I guess there isn’t an excuse for what I did to you. But I have to know. Why do you look like Twilight Sparkle? Please. At least tell me that.”

“I know the answer to that question. But I am not telling you. I refuse to tell you anything.”

“But I have to know!”

Quatre looked over her shoulder. “They you should have asked earlier. Because now, it is too late. You attacked an Alliance Supervisor on her own ship, nearly killing her, only to kidnap and put her in the care of a doctor who, though brilliant, has no previous knowledge of her physiology or the sheer volume of work it takes to keep her alive.”

“I overreacted! The Cores, you have to understand- -”

Quatre glared at Starlight. “Overreacted?” she sighed. “The peace between Equestria and the Alliance has ended. Congratulations, Starlight Glimmer. You have declared war on us- -and doomed this galaxy to destruction. I hope you are happy, and that it was worth it.”

Starlight felt her heart sink, and she suddenly felt faint. She had been so focused on how badly she had hurt an arguably innocent pony that she had failed to think about the full implications of her actions. Quatre was right, though- -Starlight had just attacked a ranking Alliance officer. She had singlehoofedly put everything that Twilight had spent her life trying to create into jeopardy, and perhaps destroyed it beyond repair.

The conversation with Quatre had failed, but in truth, it was not the conversation that Starlight was fearing the most. The mental weight of the other was simply too much to bear, though. Starlight aws not read. She likely never would be- -but even though she knew that she would eventually have to face the consequences for her actions, she wanted to delay her fate as long as she could.

As such, she decided to instead to meditate on the subject while she took the time to speak to her associates, to see if they perhaps had some insight that could redeem her from her cataclysmic failure. According to Twilight, all of the most truly successful commanders throughout history had only gotten to be so effective through open communication with their friends. Starlight tended to believe this.

So, rather than making her way to the long-range communication center, she instead ascended to a large common room on one of the upper levels. Upon entering, she was struck by the amazing view visible through the enormous window on the far side: the planet’s rocky, barely vegetated surface stretching out toward a horizon that led to a sky dominated by the stormy gas giant that the moon orbited around. Near it, she could see several other moons, their colorful surfaces standing in stark contrast to the pale planet behind them and the otherwise black sky.

On the distant edge of the room, Starlight could see Sbaya using one of the short-range communication kiosks. That surprised Starlight, as she had not expected Sbaya to be able to use any sort of modern technology. Even more surprising was who she was talking with: the hologram was recognizable even at a distance as the asari Subcouncilor Lordraia. Even through a translucent monochrome representation, Starlight could tell from the Subcouncilor’s running makeup that she was crying, and that Sbaya was doing her best to comfort her.

Closer to Starlight, though, were two very different figures. One was a synth, now stripped down to a sexless, generic face on an otherwise skinless robotic body. The other stood a distance behind him, staring up at the planet beyond, her body taking the form of an alternate and far less tortured version of Jack.

Armchair looked up from his work, which apparently seemed to involve disassembling one of his arms. He smiled. With his synth face, it was almost grotesque.

“Starlight,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you too, Armchair,” said Starlight, approaching him and pulling an overturned chair off one of the dusty and unused tables in the room. She sat down in it, and then looked up at him. He had gone back to work slowly pulling pieces out of himself and apparently attempting to recalibrate the moving parts of his new synth body.

“Armchair,” said Starlight. “Are you…really you?”

Armchair’s smiling expression fell slightly, and he set down the tool he was using. “That is…difficult to answer. In detail, at least. My previous ‘yes’ still applies, but with exceptions.”

“What do you mean exceptions? Are you YOU or not?”

“So, the long version. No. I am not Armchair. I am AN Armchair.” He paused, looking at the ceiling. “Although that would imply that someone sits on me. That is untrue. Usually.” His eyes flitted back to Starlight. “It is simply in our nature. It is difficult for an organic to understand.”

“If anyone can understand, it’s me,” said Starlight. “I remember when you were just seven geth programs powering a starship.”

Armchair smiled. “That was a long time ago.” He suddenly frowned. “Actually…that confuses me. Why are you still here? You should must be very old.”

“Some unicorns live a long time,” said Starlight, knowing that unlike most unicorns her agelessness went far beyond physical appearance.

“I, unfortunately, did not live that long.”

That statement confused Starlight. “But you’re here.”

“No. I am here. Armchair is not. So to speak.” He paused, as if trying to determine how to phrase his statement. “The original Armchair was an evolving program. A fusion of geth and rachni technology. The geth at their inception advanced at a geometric rate, then an exponential one- -and then a logarithmic one. The first Armchair overcame this limitation.”

“What do you mean ‘the first’?”

“I am Armchair. We are armchair. Like anything, a growing consciousness eventually becomes too vast to be practical. It therefore divides. The divisions begin to grow. And divide. And so on, until the original has been diluted to nonexistence although it persists in all permutations. I am Armchair, one of billions.”

“It’s true,” said Chrysalis, turning away from the breathtaking view through the window and approached Armchair from behind, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve spent a great deal of time on their homeworld. It is…bizarre. But enjoyable.”

Starlight raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like synthetic lifeforms.”

“Times change, Starlight, and people with them. I’ve grown accustomed to them. It’s just so much…quieter. No thought, no emotion, not that I can see anyway. What they have, they keep well hidden.”

“Unfortunately, she is unable to persist there long,” said Armchair. “We universally love her, but it is not adequate to ensure her survival. Likewise, she can apparently not survive in anoxic atmospheres.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I still need to breathe.”

“I don’t understand, though,” said Starlight. “How did you know we would be there, on that ship?”

“I didn’t,” she said, smiling. Her body shifted, and she leaned forward, falling to four legs as she converted into an exact replica of Starlight. “I’m a shapeshifter, remember?” she said in Starlight’s own voice. She then shifted again, shrinking even further until she was a small black cat. “I can become what I need to be.” She expanded again, assuming the form of a wendigo, complete with armor, before finally returning to her Jack form. “I was on the cargo your asari bought on Omega. I’ve been following you since there. Watching.”

“And I was in her pocket,” said Armchair. He held his fingers close together. “I was smaller then, though.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. If nothing had gone wrong, you would never have noticed me.”

“Wait…so the first time something ‘went wrong’ was when the synths were pointing guns at me? And not, you know, the REST?”

Chrysalis shrugged. “I figured you could deal with that. You are Starlight Glimmer, after all.”

“Yes. Starlight Glimmer with no biotics and now no omnitool. I’m basically an earth-pony at this point.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being an earth-pony,” said Chrysalis. “I have been. Several times. I’ve also been an Earth pony on occasion, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” said Armchair, looking perplexed.

“Why?” said Starlight, suddenly becoming more serious.

“Why is there nothing wrong with being an earth-pony? They are sturdy, unassuming, and, frankly, well endowed with regards to- -”

“Not that,” said Starlight. “Why were you following me?”

“Oh,” said Chrysalis, her expression becoming somewhat tighter. For just a brief moment, Starlight though she something dark-colored moving underneath the replica of Jack’s face. Something that looked like some part of an insect. “Yes. That. Would it be sufficient to say that I am under orders to make sure that you stay secure?”

“No,” said Starlight bluntly. “It wouldn’t.”

“Wait,” said Armchair. “We take orders? Since when?”

“Since a long time ago,” said Chrysalis.

“Who do you work for,” said Starlight. She did not even phrase it as a question. It was a demand.

“I don’t know if that is something I should tell you.”

“It isn’t the Alliance. So the Council?”

Chrysalis shook her head. “There is no ‘Council’. Anyone who believes it to be a real, functioning institution is a fool. It is a show, a spectacle for entertainment.”

“Then WHO?”

“I work for the person who rules the Council.”

“The Benefactor.”

Chrysalis’s eyes widened. “You know?”

“Of course I know,” said Starlight. “What I don’t know is who he is, or what he wants from me.”

“He is the Benefactor. That is all. A soul cursed with disembodied immortality, trapped as the collective consciousness of the Reapers. As for what he wants with you, his motives are self-explanatory. He is the true government behind the Council. He wants to ensure that the alliance with Equestria stays intact.”

“So he sent a shapeshifting spy to track me?”

“You sound incredulous,” said Armchair. He glanced at Chrysalis. “Does she sound incredulous? I think she sounds incredulous.”

“Because I am. You’re not an idiot, Chrysalis. You’re not the kind of agent who ‘keeps someone secure’. He sent you to watch me.”

“Perhaps. But I do not know. Nor do I care. I serve his will. I don’t ask why.”

“Really?” said Starlight. “You went from being enslaved by a Princess to being enslaved by a shadowy puppeteer?”

Chrysalis’s eyes narrowed into a version that was certainly not human. “I am not a slave, not anymore. With the final apotheosis of Cadence, I am a free at last. I serve the Benefactor in exchange for payment. Do you care to guess what he offered me, Starlight?”

“Love?”

“Hardly. Too much of humanity is gone for that. He offered me the ability to reverse the effect of my greatest mistake, and to allow me to repent for my greatest shame.”

“He promised to bring the changelings back from extinction,” said Starlight, hardly having to pause to consider what Chrysalis meant.

Chrysalis nodded solemnly. “My people were exterminated for my hubris. I challenged a god, and violated her consort. For my crime, my people faced the consequences.” She leaned forward suddenly, her nose inches away from Starlight’s, and her overly large eyes staring into Starlight’s without blinking. “So,” she said, quietly, “I am sure you can understand why I am willing to follow his orders to the last.”

“Then you are a liability.”

“Really? An ancient matriarch following orders to protect you?”

“No. Following the order to protect me NOW. But if it would benefit our alliance, don’t you think the Benefactor would like to wrap up this particular loose end? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if I just happened to have an ‘accident’ here?”

“It would,” said Chrysalis. “But that is not my mission right now. You are barely of a concern. Or, rather, WERE barely a concern.”

Starlight felt herself suddenly growing uncomfortable. She knew what Chrysalis was referring to. It was exactly what she had come to this particular part of the facility to forget.

“The Benefactor was originally only concerned with Thebe. But if I’m not mistaken, you just dissolved the Equestria-Alliance peace treaty. I think he is going to have a very different concern very, very soon.”

“Yeah,” said Starlight. “I know. Oh how do I know.”

All alone, Starlight began to assemble the necessary coordinates for the long-range communication system. She went about doing it slowly and with great care. In part, it was because she was not able to use her omnitool to program the machine. Largely, though, it was because she had realized a solution to her problem. It had taken nearly an four hours of thought and of wracking her brain trying to find a different way, but there was only one way to repair the damage she had done.

It was not quite the reason she did not what to open the channel, though. She tried to believe that it was, that her apprehension was based on selfishness. Selfishness was something she could overcome. Really, though, deep down, the reason why she was so hesitant was shame.

When she was finally done reconfiguring the system, she paused and sat, staring at the equipment for a substantial amount of time. She listened to the clicking and humming of the racks of equipment and stared at the central projection pad for nearly thirty minutes. Finally, though, she knew that the time had come. She activated the system.

The machinery shifted imperceptibly, transmitting a signal across the universe as it opened a channel to Equestria. There was a momentary pause, and then the machine suddenly became abnormally loud. It was not intended for the strain that Starlight was putting it through, but linking its systems to those on her ship were providing it with more than enough power to accomplish what it needed to.

The central pad, originally intended for projection, began to spark with pink-violet light as the coordinate connection was established. The room began to warm from the processing power it took, and Starlight knew that seven quants in Equestria were using even more power to open the link.

Then it happened. The center of the room was filled with pink-violet light that began to assemble into the shape of a pony. Starlight had been covering her eyes against the light, and when it stopped and she lowered her hoof, she saw Twilight staring back at her, smiling.

“Hello, Starlight,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Twilight,” said Starlight, feeling an urge to run into her friend’s arms. She wished she could. More than anything, she wished for her friend to be truly solid, a being of flesh instead of hardened light that she could take into her arms. Perhaps for one last time.

“Hmm,” said Twilight, looking around. “Where exactly am I?” she paused. “Well…I am most defintly somewhere turian.”

“It’s a Spectre outpost,” explained Starlight. “I was assigned a pair of Spectres. We are using this to refuel.”

“It feels…strange,” said Twilight, her expression becoming somewhat distant. “Like there’s something very familiar here…”

“I suppose it could be me,” said Starlight.

“Probably,” said Twilight. She did not sound convinced. She laughed softly, though. “Actually, I’m almost certain it is. Now, go on.”

“Go on?”

“I’m assuming if you called me, you have something to report. I hope it’s good.”

Starlight’s expression fell, and Twilight immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Hurt? No, no. It’s not that.”

“Oh,” said Twilight, looking relieved. “Thank Celestia. I mean, I trust in your abilities. You are the best in Equestria at what you do. It’s just that…well, I worry about you.” She paused. “And…I miss you, Starlight. I miss you a lot.”

“I miss you too.”

“I wish I could be there in person. You look so sad.” She sighed. “But without the Harmony, I can’t teleport that far. Not yet.”

“I would die before I let anyone put you back in that ship,” said Starlight.

Twilight smiled, not bothering to hide her many pointed teeth. “I know, Starlight. I know.”

Starlight paused, trying to find the words she needed to say. Eventually, she decided that there was no pleasant way to state what she needed to. “Twilight, I messed up.”

Twilight’s expression changed. She did not become angry, but rather concerned. “What did you do, Starlight?”

“I failed to kill Scootaloo. But not only that…” she paused again, and took a deep breath. “In the course of events, my ship had to be rescued. By an Alliance vessel.”

Twilight produced a reserved smile. “And I assume the Alliance treated you as well as I have always treated them. They are some of our oldest allies. I know their culture can seem strange, but it is impressive in its own way, really. And their literature has surprising depth.”

“They were using Cores.”

Twilight’s expression suddenly lost all joviality. “They what?”

“Cores. Their ship…it was powered by human Cores.”

“Starlight. Are you absolutely sure?”

Starlight nodded. “I saw them. With my own eyes. It…it was horrible.”

The pair fell silent, and Twilight was forced to look away. Starlight took notice, and her eyes narrowed.

“You…you knew. You knew!”

“No,” said Twilight. “But I knew they almost certainly would come to that point eventually.”

Starlight could not believe what she was hearing. “And you didn’t try to stop them?!”

Twilight suddenly turned and locked her violet eyes with Starlight’s red ones. “And what would you have me do? Demand they give them up? They are a sovereign nation, as are we. I do not have the right to ask that of them.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“And if I had?” said Twilight, cocking her head. “If I had demanded that they cease, because we find it reprehensible? Or if I made demands whenever I found something disgusting, to the Alliance or to the Council- -how long would our alliance last? How long would it take me to become a tyrant? I rule Equestria. I do not rule them. Nor do I want to. They must be free to make their own choices.”

“But I can’t…I just can’t get the image out of my head. In tanks like that…floating there…” She shivered violently.

“Starlight,” said Twilight, stepping forward. “It is going to be okay.”

“No. No it isn’t,” said Starlight, shaking her head rapidly. She lifted her head and looked into Twilight’s eyes. “One of the Alliance officers, she attempted to defend their decision. I…I was weak. I lost control. I hurt her.”

“You attacked an Alliance officer?” said Twilight, sounding as though she hardly believed what she was hearing. “How badly?”

“I nearly killed her. And…in my panic, I let my Spectres attack them. And I took the officer as a hostage.”

Starlight expected Twilight to become angry, but the expression on her face was almost impossible to read. Her eyes seemed to be stuck into a distant stare, as though she was not able to comprehend what was being told to her. It was the expression she sometimes got when she was in deep thought.

“This is bad,” said Twilight. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” said Starlight. “I have attacked the Alliance. Everything you’ve worked for, I’ve ruined it all. But…I did find a solution.”

“Hopefully a good one.”

Starlight nodded. “You need to disown me.”

Twilight froze. “I need to…I need to WHAT?”

“I went rogue. I rebelled against your orders. My actions were my own, and I have been stripped of my title and declared a heretic for high treason against the Equestrian government. That is what you need to tell them. It is the only way. You need to sever me from the Cult. It’s the only way to preserve the peace.”

“Starlight, I can’t do that.”

“You have to!” screamed Starlight. She felt herself starting to cry. “Please! Don’t make this any harder for me!”

“I can’t do that,” repeated Twilight.

“Yes, you can. It’s the only way. There is nothing else I can think of that can undo this situation.”

“Did you not hear me? I can’t disown you. Starlight, you are like a sister to me. I love you.”

“But…you can’t. Everything you’ve worked for, everything you spent your life crafting, everything you sacrificed…” she shook her head, closing her eyes against the tears. “I ruined it! I ruined all of it!”

“Everything WE worked for,” said Twilight. “I could not have done it if it had not been for you.”

“Then do this one last thing for me! Let me fix this!”

“And do what? Starlight, you don’t understand. Do you really think I could rule without you?”

“Of course you can! And now you will have to.”

“No.”

“Twilight- -”

“NO. I don’t care. I will do what I can to attempt to fix this, and yes, I am disappointed in your actions. But I will not leave you, not when you need me like this. If our alliance fails, so be it. I would sacrifice ten thousand years of work if it meant that I could stay with you.”

“Twilight…”

“Perhaps it is for the best,” mused Twilight, darkly. “This situation has grown too tenuous. I love the Alliance, but this galaxy seems to every day become more and more of a lost cause. Perhaps it is a sign for me to focus on Equestria instead.” She sighed. “Perhaps I will try again in ten or twenty thousand years. It is a shame to have wasted so much effort and so much hope already, though. I really wish this could end differently.”

“I’m sorry,” said Starlight. “I’m so sorry.”

“And you should be. You have failed, badly. But I will never leave your side, Starlight. Not even when you’re a big fat idiot.”

Starlight looked up at her friend’s smiling face, and she could not help but smile too. “And I will never leave yours,” he said. “As long as you will have me.”

“We can’t give up hope yet,” said Twilight. “Babylon is levelheaded, to the point of frigidity. Convincing her will depend purely on whether or not she has already made her decision. And no doubt she already has. The officer, though. Is she alive?”

“Yes. She is.”

“Good,” said Twilight. She looked surprised for a moment. “Actually, I’m surprised that you were able to even injure a synth at all. They tend to be extremely durable.”

“She is not a synth,” said Starlight. “Actually, that was something else I needed to talk to you about.”

“Not a synth?” Twilight seemed intrigued. “A human, then? No, they are extinct. And not a wendigo…”

“She’s a pony.”

Twilight seemed surprised. “A pony?”

“And not just any pony, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t going to believe me, but she looks like you. EXACTLY like you. She’s even an alicorn, or was. Her wings look like…I don’t even know. Like someone tore them off.”

Something seemed to pass across Twilight’s eyes, a dark appearance of recognition that was apparent even through the hologram. “An alicorn? That looks like me?”

“Right down to the pointed teeth.”

Twilight seemed to freeze. It was several seconds before she spoke. “This is…concerning,” she said.

“You know something,” said Starlight.

Twilight stared at Starlight, and for a moment, Starlight wanted to take a step back. For just a moment, the holographic pony standing in front of her was not Twilight. She looked like Twilight, but a her expression, demeanor, and body language was that of someone completely different.

“When I was in the Harmony,” she said, “back when I was a Core, something happened. You remember the Agrostation Six incident?”

“Of course,” said Starlight. “Rainbow Dash essentially raped you.”

“No more than I allowed any other Core to be raped, unfortunately. I was rendered unconscious, the same state as all ordinary Cores. But do you know what did that to me?”

Starlight realized that she did not. It was something Twilight very seldom spoke of.

“A human attempted to kill me. A woman named Bob. We never knew why. Now we do.”

“I don’t understand. Twilight, what are you saying?”

“She took part of my bone marrow. That thing? It is a clone. They cloned me.”

“A clone? Of an alicorn? Is that even possible?”

“You were the one who said she had the remnants of wings. Besides, it is not inconceivable…just absurdly complicated. No doubt Cerberus played a role.”

“A clone,” said Starlight to herself. “That makes sense, though. It would also explain why she is so physically weak.”

“Perhaps,” said Twilight. “Although there might be more. Perhaps even properly constructed ones.”

“More?” Starlight had not considered that. “Is that a bad thing, though?”

Twilight seemed somewhat intrigued by that through. “Well, no. Not in and of itself. Actually, it’s kind of nice knowing that I have the equivalent of a daughter. But she is not a daughter. She is something built from me without my permission. And I cannot abide by that.”

“Wait,” said Starlight, growing agitated at the sudden tonal shift in her friend’s voice. It was clear that Twilight was actually rather disturbed by this development. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I was going to suggest that you kill it, but…”

“What? Twilight, you know I can’t do that! Especially her! She’s an Alliance officer!”

“I know…but her presence is a variable I had not anticipated. But I know you, and I know I can’t ask you to finish it. But…I do suggest that you kill it. Strongly. If necessary, we can claim it was an accident.”

“Twilight!” cried Starlight. “You- -what is wrong with you?!”

“I- -I just found out that someone stole a part of me and made a child!” cried Twilight, loudly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about that! I’m…scared, Starlight. What if…” she paused, her eyes growing wide. “What if they are intending to replace me?”

“Replace you? With a clone?”

Twilight nodded. “You said she looks just like me. How would you even know?”

“Because I know YOU,” said Starlight. “I’ve known you since the start of all this. Come on, Twilight.” Starlight smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody could replace you with a clone without me noticing. Besides, I don’t think that’s what they made her for.”

Twilight hesitated, but then smiled herself. “Yes,” she said. “Just me being paranoid, I guess. Thank you, Starlight.”

“For what?”

“For helping me see the right thing to do. For reassuring me when I’m afraid. I’ll decide what to do with the clone later. But for now, try to avoid speaking to her. This situation is bad, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. She’s not exactly a fan of me at this point.”

Twilight smiled. “Good. Then we know what to do. We can move on from here. Even if the place we’re going to is neither easy nor pleasant from here on in.”