Mass Core 3: Thebe Paridigm

The ship tremored, and Scootaloo felt her hooves grip tightly on the edges of her chair. It was not something she wanted to do, exactly, but rather an involuntary reaction to the mass-jump. The ship itself had an excellent ride- -at least when Inte could remember to maintain the inertial modulation field- -but something about the mass-jump process just made her feel uncomfortable down to her core. Somehow, it felt unnatural.

“Arrival confirmed,” said Inte.

Scootaloo let out a breath and loosened her grip. Then she looked around her. The cockpit of Inte’s ship made her feel as though she were floating freely in space, save for the chair, its platform, and the door behind it. All around her, she saw an immense asteroid field. Enormous rocks and hundreds of starships were swarming around her, and she ran her hoof across the holographically projected controls, telling Inte how to move the ship into the proper course.

As the ship slowly turned, Scootaloo finally saw it: floating in the center of the field, a single large asteroid, its rocky body covered in artificial structures that released and ominous red glow. The center itself resembled something like a jellyfish, but it had been linked to so much more. Where there had long ago been one asteroid, there were now tens of astroids, all showing signs of habitation or mining, all linked to the central tower- -which was itself linked by a long tether to a stormy, polluted planet far below.

“Omega,” said Inte, as if reading its name of a title card. “A civilization constructed in the remnants of a depleted asteroid. Initially a free-floating station until it was merged into orbit around a now-inhabited planetoid asteroid. The current government is despotic-anarchistic, ruled by Queen Aria T’Loak. It is an internal world-state with a seat on the New Council.” She smiled, proud of herself, then looked confused. “Why are we here, though?”

“Because it’s a good place to get help. Or to hide.”

“No. No it isn’t. Considering the majority of the population is criminal. And considering that this would be the first place anyone would look.”

Scootaloo frowned, and then piloted the ship forward toward one of the docking bays. “What do you know?”

“More than you, clearly,” said Inte.

From Scootaloo’s perspective, the last time she had been to Omega had been just over eleven years ago. She had a young, green naval captain attempting to search out the pony that she would eventually come to know as Starlight Glimmer. In reality, though, almost three hundred years had passed since that time, and now Scootaloo found herself pursued instead of the pursuer, and for the first time really understood what her friend must have felt like back then.

Omega, however, had hardly changed. On the outside, yes, it had gotten larger and more expansive- -but on the inside, it seemed that nobody had upgraded or changed or, in several cases, even cleaned during the duration. There was still the characteristic unpleasant scent of garbage and decay mixed with the baked-in scent of alien cooking and the even more pervasive scent of aliens, and the hallways were still stained and poorly lit.

What Scootaloo quickly realized, though, was that although Omega had not changed much, its occupants had. All of the old races- -the krogan, baterians, vorcha, asari, turians- -they were all still there in some amount. Beside them, though, sat an unusually large concentration of ponies. Yet, somehow, despite being tiny horses, every pony Scootaloo saw seemed to mesh perfectly with the Omega society: many of them were gruff and scarred, some not looking as though they had bathed in decades. They wore dirty armor and carried any kind of gun that they had been able to modify to suit their unique needs. Likewise, there were some pony shopkeepers, a few pale and nervous looking pony runners, dealers, and addicts, and Scootaloo even spotted a pair of all-white Pegasi mares standing with a pale-yellow unicorn, all dressed in saddles and stockings outside of one of the many clubs.

The only other thing of note, in Scootaloo’s mind, was the strange appearance of the humans in Omega. In her time, they had been highly varied, with numerous skin tones and hair colors. Now, though, every single human Scootaloo saw was immensely tall with the same blond hair and blue eyes. Several of them appeared to watch Scootaloo as she passed, their surprisingly dead-looking eyes tracing her through the crowd.

“Well, this is definitely an interesting place,” said Inte. Despite Scootaloo’s fond hopes, the hologram had a mobile setting. Through her somewhat translucent body, Scootaloo could see a hovering, eye-like metal sphere that served as a mobile projector.

“You know, you could wait on the ship,” muttered Scootaloo.

“I am waiting on the ship,” said Inte.

“Well, you’re attracting attention to us!” hissed Scootaloo.

“No more attention than a mare 2.78 centuries out of date would attract to herself, I’m sure.”

“Just go back to the ship!”

“No.”

“What? But you have to do anything I say- -”

“I never said that. I only stated that I do not have free will. There is a difference between independent volition and agency.”

“You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, actually. Really, I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone out here.” A salarian in a full-body environmental suit lumbered by, growling at Scootaloo. “This place appears dangerous to organics. Also, I have seen over one hundred thirty eight…nine…Equestrian health-code violations since we have arrived.”

Scootaloo suddenly shushed her. They were approaching the Afterlife Club. Scootaloo could hear the noise as much as she could feel it: a dull, thudding version of what once had been a very popular pop genera on Equestria Prime.

“Are you aware that seven of the nearest mercenaries just armed themselves?” said Inte cheerfully. “It would appear that you are not welcome here.”

“Shut. IT.”

Scootaloo made her way into the club. It was as crowded as ever inside, and she saw several asari and several ponies dancing on the tables. Many of the patrons seemed to be focusing their attention either on the dancers or on the bar. Scootaloo and Inte, meanwhile, skirted their way through the back of the club toward the private section in the rear.

As they approached, though, two unusually large krogan bouncers stepped in their way, each reaching casually toward their swords.

Scootaloo, undeterred, approached them. “I need to see Aria,” she said.

“No,” said the largest of the krogan. “You don’t.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Glorg, I think she’s trying to use some sort of mind trick on us,” warned the other.

“Well, then,” said the larger, staring to draw his sword. “You should probably call the carpet cleaning salarian. He’s about to have a job to do.”

“O’Doul sent us,” piped up Inte.

The krogan looked at each other. “Did he now?”

“Oh yes. He most certainly did.”

They paused, and then they stepped aside. Scootaloo looked at Inte, and the hologram-pony trotted jauntily into the room.

“How did you do that?” whispered Scootaloo, running up to Inte’s side. “Who the hay is ‘O’Doul’?”

“It is the passcode. I heard the last person to enter use it about sixteen minutes before we arrived.”

“You- -how?!”

“I am currently tracking every conversation within the range of my long-range scanners to accumulate an understanding of the information present. At least, all conversations in languages I can understand.”

“You can do that?”

“Apparently.”

Scootaloo did not know how to feel about that, or the fact that Inte was able to lie so easily, even if it was just a password. The idea of a machine that could hide the truth was somewhat unnerving.

As they entered the rear section of the Afterlife Club, a well-dressed asari stopped them.

“Stop,” she said, looking up from a holographic datapad. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Scootaloo. I’m here to see Aria.”

The asari looked at her dtatpad. “Um, no. No you aren’t. You don’t have an appointment. Get out.”

“I need to see Aria,” repeated Scootaloo, now more firmly.

“Get out before I throw you out.” The asari’s free hand began to glow with blue energy, and although Inte took a step back Scootaloo held her ground.

A voice spoke from behind the asari. “Let them through, Jennifer,” it sighed.

Jennifer’s eyes widened slightly, and as she regained her composure she immediately stepped aside. “Yes, of course Lady Aria.”

Scootaloo paused, but then stepped forward into the space beyond. It was a relatively flat, somewhat quiet area. There were no guards, only a single asari sitting comfortably on a couch.

“What’s the matter?” she said, leaning forward. “If I recall, the last time you barged in unannounced you didn’t bother asking.”

“I’m surprised you still remember that. Or me,” said Scootaloo.

Aria’s eyes narrowed, but only slightly. “Of course I remember. You and Fenok’s wife marching into my territory, making demands and threatening me. I probably should have killed you then.”

“Fenok’s wife…you mean Lyra?”

“Yes. Her, I actually liked. The wedding was incredibly sappy, but she was a good person.”

“So,” said Scootaloo, feeling her heart fall once again. “She’s dead now, too.”

“Of course she’s dead,” said Aria, leaning back. “That’s the only reason I didn’t have Jennifer splatter you. That, and the cleaning cost. Getting pony out of my carpet is incredibly difficult. Trust me, I know.”

“Chilled saline followed by hydrogen peroxide is the recommended method for pony-blood removal,” suggested Inte cheerfully. Jennifer wrote it down, but otherwise everyone ignored her.

“It seems to me,” said Aria, “that you are way past your expiration date. I’m actually curious, for once. How are you still here?”

“I’m just that awesome.”

“Clearly not.” Aria snapped her fingers, and Jenny reached out with her left hand, projecting her omnitool. A holographic image appeared, and Scootaloo instantly recognized her own image floating in the center, surrounded by Equestrian writing that had been partially translated into alien.

“You’re a wanted mare,” said Aria, calmly. She looked Scootaloo in the eye. “Did you assume I wouldn’t know?”

“No. I assumed that if I’m a criminal, I should probably come to Omega.”

“Well, you assumed wrong. This is probably the WORST possible place for you.” She pointed toward the door. “Those people, out there? Criminals, pirates, bounty hunters. All of them are going to be gunning for you and their own weight in Equestrian gold bits. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to try to stop them. It’s not my job.”

Scootaloo looked over her shoulder, and saw a pair of ponies watching her from a distance suddenly decide that they had somewhere better to be. She immediately began to wonder if Inte had been correct and if Illium would not have been a better choice.

“Inte,” said Scootaloo, slowly. “How many conversations are you hearing with me as a subject right now?”

“At least seven. Possibly more, although they are in a language that I cannot translate.”

“If the quant can’t read it, it’s probably Terran Proper,” suggested Aria. “The synths here tend to speak it. And if the synths are talking about you? Well, you’re more fucked than Fenok’s wife.”

“That’s why I came here. To you.”

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do? I don’t interfere with their enterprises, as long as I get a cut.”

“I need to get somewhere where they can’t find me. Then I need to work this out. This has to be a mistake. I need to contact Princess Twilight, or Starlight Glimmer.”

Aria considered for a moment. “I’m not going to intervene on your behalf. Too much is going too good for me to jeopardize my situation with Equestria, not when you’ve never really done me anything to help me.”

“Fine, then,” said Scootaloo. She turned around. “Come on, Inte. We’re leaving.”

“Did I dismiss you?” said Aria harshly. Scootaloo slowly turned around. “If I wasn’t in such a good mood right now? I would have blown a hole in you for turning your ass-end to me like that. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help.”

“Then what, exactly, are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I know someone who can help. Someone here on Omega that specializes in that sort of thing.”

“Who?”

Aria shook her head. “You have to do something for me first.”

“What?”

“Jennifer,” said Aria, looking up at her assistant and smiling. “Get her the ‘uniform’.”

About two hours later, Scootaloo stomped back into Aria’s lounge, furious and out of breath. She was still wearing her ‘uniform’: a set of sheer, thigh-height stockings, a frilly pair of miniscule panties, and an even frillier saddle.

Aria, upon seeing her, started laughing. “So, ‘Priestess’, how are feeling?”

“Absolutely humiliated,” spat Scootaloo.

“Aw, why?” said Inte, trotting in behind her. “You’re such a good dancer!”

“Frankly,” said Aria. “I find you adorable. You’re like a regular pony, except smaller. Even your wings are in miniature.” She looked out at the still-cheering crowd outside. “My patrons seem to agree. My old offer still stands. You could make me a lot of money, especially if I let them ride you.”

“I’m a Priestess of the Cult of Harmony! I- -I shouldn’t be pole-dancing on tables!”

Aria leaned forward, glaring at Scootaloo. “And yet you just did. Because I MADE you. Now tell me, Scootaloo. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” said Scootaloo. “Dirty. Violated.” She sighed. “Which I suppose was your plan. To humiliate me. For your own sick amusement.”

“Oh no,” said Aria. “Not at all. I just wanted to see if you could do it. That job you just did? Dancing on a table? That was once my job. And Jennifer’s job.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. It must have been close to five centuries ago by now. But I did the same thing you just did. Except often with less clothing.”

“Then why make me do it?”

“Let’s call it a ‘learning experience’. Because where you’re standing right now? You’re in deep shit. If you want to get out of it, you’re going to do a lot of things far worse than what you just did. I wanted to see if you had any resolve.” She shrugged as she leaned back. “And I like you. Not very much, but enough. And you look adorable in those socks. If you were a colt? I’d have you in bed by now.”

“Well if it’s resolve you want, fine. How about you put on the saddle and we do duet?”

Aria laughed. “Maybe another time. If you survive this next part.” She became more serious. “The person you need to see is named Delilah. She works down on the surface.”

“You mean the planet?”

Aria nodded. “A lot of stuff goes on down there. A lot of stuff I don’t ask about, as long as I keep getting paid. Delilah is one of those things. Corporate espionage, sabotage, trafficking…making people disappear? She does it all.”

“And you think she can help me?”

“I think she’s the only one crazy enough to try to help you, yes.” She pointed at Scootaloo. “You can keep the uniform. She tends to like fillies. And it will make paying her easier.” Aria looked up at Jennifer. “Transfer Delilah’s contact information to her quant.”

“Thank you for your help,” said Scootaloo, somewhat sarcastically as Aria waved her away. As Scootaloo turned, though, Aria spoke one last time.

“I’d be very, very careful if I were you, Scoots,” she said. “Delilah is not a normal person. A lot of people who go down there? They don’t come back up.”

“Well, if I’m lucky, I won’t be coming back up either.”

“We’ll see. I’ll be interested to see if you can even make it. Because as soon as you step outside Afterlife, well…you’ll see.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Scootaloo left with Inte close in tow. She had been trying to sound self-assured with Aria, but as she returned back onto the main floor of the Afterlife Club, she could not help but feel herself becoming increasingly fearful. She had been in stressful situations before, but she was trained for space battles and combat, not for something like this. It took all she had to keep herself from panicking. That, she knew, would be the end of her.

She was partly knocked out of this state of mind as a drunk batarian slapped her flank. The sudden pain made her cry out, and she promptly kicked him in the shin. He howled in pain and attempted to kick Inte. Being a hologram, though, his foot passed through the upper part of her body and he slipped into a krogan who seemed to take immense offense to being touched.

Scootaloo, her rump still smarting, went directly to the restroom to change. Or, more precisely, to take off the ridiculous clothes she had been forced to wear. As she did, she stopped to look into one of the pony-height mirrors that had been installed in the room. She did not look terrible, just strange. She decided that it was not all that much more embarrassing than the somewhat ridiculous Priestess robes that she had needed to wear in her former position. The contrast between her institution-style nearly shaved rainbow mane and the stripper clothes was somewhat jarring, though.

She decided that as unfortunate as her haircut was, it might actually be useful. The photograph used in Jennifer’s hologram had been somewhat old, showing Scootaloo in a naval dress uniform with her characteristic short-cut violet hair. In her current state, it was possible that some of the bounty hunters might not recognize her.

When she left the restroom, she encountered Inte, who was waiting for her, cheerfully swaying to the club’s music.

“Inte,” said Scootaloo, wanting to test her hypothesis. “How many conversations are you detecting about me now?”

“Two hundred and sixty seven,” said Inte with her characteristic cheerfulness. “You are very popular! If I were as pretty as you, I would consider taking up a job as an exotic dancer as Ms. Aria offered! The fact that you somewhat resemble a young filly seems to be quite a draw!”

Scootaloo shivered, and not only because she had been wrong about people not recognizing her. She started walking toward the exit, and Inte followed, humming along to the tune of the song that was playing. When they finally reached the edge of the club, Scootaloo took a deep breath, and then stepped outside, quickly ducking into the crowd of aliens.

“Inte,” she said, immediately noticing that a pair of heavily armed Pegasi who had been ostensibly smoking outside Afterlife suddenly started moving toward her. “Do you have any weapons?”

“I’m sorry, but the Inte-Mobile platform does not normally come equipped with defensive capabilities. That would require the Inte-Hardbody Mark II equidroid or higher. Although I do have hardlight manipulation abilities, if that helps.”

“Buck,” swore Scootaloo. She noticed a pair of krogan and a small group of baterians pushing through. “Then we have to do this the hard way. We need to get back to the ship.”

“I would recommend against that,” said Inte. “The distance to the hanger bay is three hundred and twenty two percent longer than the distance to this facility’s decent elevator. Considering I am listed as being stolen by you, they will most likely expect you to go that way.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this BEFORE?”

“I tried to. But you are a bad listener.”

“Scootaloo?” said a voice. Scootaloo turned around suddenly, half-expecting to see somepony she knew. Instead, she found herself facing a slightly diseased looking dull-red Pegasus in well-worn polymer armor.

He took her reaction as adequate confirmation of her identity and lifted his wings, revealing the weapons that were mounted beneath them. Pure instinct took over, and Scootaloo grabbed Inte by her central sphere and threw her between herself and the mercenary. Inte squealed, and several shots rang out. Scootaloo barely managed to pull her hooves out of Inte’s body before she hardened, stopping the bullets.

“My warranty!” cried Inte. “My warranty is being voided! I am not recommended for ballistic defense, my hardlight projection emitters are only indended for- -”

She was innerupted as Scootaloo kicked her into the pony, knocking him off balance just long enough for her to flank him. He tried to balance himself, but with his style of under-wing guns, he had no way to turn fast enough. Scootaloo leapt up and took one of his wings in her mouth. It tasted disgusting, but she held on. Remembering her hoof-to-hoof training from the Academy, she pulled and twisted. Despite the armor over the front of the wing, it almost immediately dislocated. The combination of the taste, the popping sound, the screaming, and the way the wing twitched as it fell limp made Scootaloo want to vomit.

With one wing damaged, the mercenary immediately lost balance and collapsed onto his side. The others around them took advantage of his state and began to rush forward, slowed only by the torrent of civilians fleeing the sound of automatic weaponsfire. Scootaloo quickly grabbed Inte, who was continuing to spout her warranty information, and ran.

“MOVE!” ordered Scootaloo.

“But you could have damaged my projectors! You’re lucky I can still retain my full color spectrum- -oh, look, a quarian!”

Scootaloo barely managed to dodge a tech blade that came swinging toward her from the aforementioned masked figure. The quarian swung again, but Scootaloo ducked into a narrow alley that was too large for the biped to move through comfortably. The quarian instead raised her omnitool and fired a bolt at Inte.

“Hacking in progress,” said Inte. “Compensating!”

There was a small explosion, and the quarian was knocked back, screaming and clutching the bloody remnants of her arm where her omnitool had once been.

“Oh wow!” said Inte, her eyes literally sparkling. “Their blood is so PRETTY!”

“I said MOVE!”

“Oh.” Inte picked up her legs and, being massless apart from her hovering spherical core, floated past Scootaloo. “You know,” she said, not even out of breath. “You could just fly to the next level.”

“I can’t- -fly,” said Scootaloo. Unlike her holographic companion, Scootaloo still had to breathe- -and having substantial freezer burn in her lungs did not make that particular action especially easy.

“You can’t fly? But you’re a Pegasus!”

“Do you think- -I would- -lie?!” Scootaloo’s tiny wings involuntarily buzzed, as if to punctuate that point.

“Ah, yes,” said Inte. “Your file does indicate that you are disabled. Turn right.”

Scootaloo turned almost instantly into a dark, lightless hallway- -and tumbled down an unseen staircase.

“See?” said Inte, floating down the stairs, her body illuminating the area as she returned to the now wider floor. “If you had larger wings, you probably would have dislocated one of them doing that.”

“Yeah,” groaned Scootaloo, standing up. She was covered in trash and bruised, but she continued to move quickly into the Inte-lit darkness.

She had apparently dropped into a lower access tunnel, and the area did not seem to have been especially well developed. The lights appeared to have been made at least four centuries before, and broken sometime within fifty years of that. The entire place smelled strange, and the walls were littered with what could only be described as mechanical trash: parts of rusted-out generators, engines, damaged ship components, and other detritus from the Omegan society.

Several figures moved in the dark, stepping away from the equipment that they had been analyzing. Scootaloo could not see them well, but from their method of motion and spiny, rough-skinned bodies, she could tell what they were: vorcha.

“Sorry,” said Scootaloo, slowing as several of the vorcha moved toward her. “I just want to pass through, I don’t want any trouble and I won’t touch anything!”

The vorcha paused, and then seemed to accept this. One of them spoke to her in whatever language it was they spoke naturally.

“He says you are lucky the last pony who came down here was so filling,” said Inte.

“Good to know,” said Scootaloo, sarcastically. She understood that vorcha were sentient beings, but as grotesque as they were, in many ways she wished they were not.

Almost as soon as she started to walk quickly past the vorcha, a group of baterians and salarians burst in from a secondary entrance. Scootaloo rushed forward down the long hallway toward where she assumed there was an exit.

“Over there!” yelled a salarian. “There she is!” He ran after Scootaloo, but almost immediately bumped into a vorcha. “Out of my way, filth!” he said, pushing the mostly naked creature back. “Don’t make me have to- -”

The vorcha reacted almost instantly, charging one of his fists with an orange-tinged biotic light. With a hissing scream, he slammed it into the salarian’s chest, crushing through armor and bone and sending the bounty hunter flying backward.

The bounty hunters opened fire. Many of the vorcha were immediately filled with bullets, but they hardly seemed to notice. In response, they returned fire with a combination of improvised weapons and devastating biotic attacks. More mercenaries arrived, but they were wholly unprepared to engage a room filled with extremely angry biotic vorcha.

Where the room had earlier been dark, it was suddenly aglow with the blasts of orange light and the rapid blasts of white-blue from the weaponsfire. The sound was almost deafening, but Scootaloo did not look back. She took advantage of her pursuer’s distraction and raced toward the exit.

Then, suddenly, something very hot seemed to hit one of her rear legs. She cried out and momentarily collapsed. She looked back, and in Inte’s light she could see a deep gash on one of her rear legs.

“Scootaloo, I do believe you’ve been shot,” noted Inte.

“No shit,” said Scootaloo. She stood up, wincing at the pain in her rear leg. “It’s a graze, I can keep moving.”

“Well, you would kind of need to keep moving. Unless you want to be shot with far greater precision.”

Scootaloo growled something unintelligible at Inte, but continued to limp forward. She was still moving at a good pace, largely ignoring the pain and increasing blood loss, but she could not move nearly as fast as she had been able to before. This situation was worsening, and it was worsening quickly.

They barely made it twenty meters, though, before their path was impeded by a large, rusted door.

“No, not now!” said Scootaloo, trying to wrench open the enormous circular piece of steel with her hooves. She turned to Inte. “Inte, can you hack it?”

“There is not interface on this side,” said Inte. “Without and access point- -”

She was interrupted by heavy footsteps that emerged from the darkness behind them. Scootaloo looked behind her to see that an enormous, heavily armored krogan had managed to fight his way through the vorcha. His armor was covered in their blood-like fluids, and he looked angry- -and, at the same time, sadistically happy.

“Well,” he said, drawing a large hammer and activating the mass centrifuge in its head. “At least this last part is going to be easy, right?”

He took a step forward, and Scootaloo braced to defend herself, even though she without any weapons she stood not chance against a krogan in hand-to-hoof combat. The krogan seemed to understand this too, and with mild disappointment took a step forward- -and then jerked forward suddenly.

An expression of surprise crossed his face, and both he and Scootaloo looked down to his chest. Scootaloo felt sick as she realized that he had been impaled from behind, and nearly cried out when she saw the object now protruding from his chest open into a blood-soaked, five-fingered hand.

The tall humanoid woman behind the krogan pulled her arm back out with a single quick motion. The krogan, though badly wounded, now seemed more angry than anything else. He turned around, raising his hammer, and the blonde woman struck him in the head. Her expression hardly changed, as if she was swatting a fly- -and the krogan’s head was crushed in. He spasmed and fell to the floor. The blonde-haired, blue-eye woman and a pair of almost identical men looked down silently at the still-twitching body. Then their eyes slowly turned toward Scootaloo.

Behind Scootaloo, the door suddenly screeched, and Scootaloo jumped. It moved slowly, and then slid open completely. Scootaloo started to jump through, but the woman spoke.

“Scootaloo of Equestria,” she said. “Please, wait.”

Something in her voice gave Scootaloo pause. She looked back to see that although all three of the humanoids had large swords, none of them had drawn them. They had not even taken an aggressive posture. Stranger still, the horde of bounty hunters had caught up to them, but were keeping their distance far behind the group of three.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” said the female. “We abhor violence and murder.” Her blue, dead-looking eyes drifted downward to the mortally wounded krogan. Despite his substantial head trauma, he was still trying to crawl away. She quickly brought her foot down on his neck, snapping it and causing him to suddenly go limp. “At least in general. It is terribly messy work.”

“Scootaloo, the door is open,” said Inte.

“Then what? What are you here for?” asked Scootaloo, ignoring Inte.

“The same thing the rest of them are for. You. But we would like to make you an offer.”

“Scootaloo. We need to go,” said Inte.

Scootaloo paused. “What kind of offer?”

“The directives from Equestria are to capture you dead. We, however, see no reason to adhere to that requirement. If you come with us, we will guarantee your safety. You will be returned to Equestria alive and healthy to face trial there. I am told that your justice system is more than fair.” She pointed behind her. “Them? They will not grant you this guarantee. They will kill you, or worse. And even if you escape Omega? They will not stop hunting you. You will die, Scootaloo.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I would strongly suggest you don’t,” said one of the males. “Please, this can end peacefully. At least take a moment to consider out suggestion.”

As much as she did not want to- -as much as she wanted to dart through the space between the wall and slowly opening door- -Scootaloo found herself frozen. The offer, she was quickly coming to realize, was not a bad one. She had no idea why she had been declared a fugitive, but she knew that it must be some kind of a mistake. She had been nothing but loyal to Twilight Sparkle, and she had considered the elder mare among her closest friends. These bounty hunters were offering to almost guarantee that the two met, and to give Scootaloo a chance to clear her name.

Because of this, Scootaloo took a step toward the mercenaries. The female among them smiled, and when Scootaloo saw that smile, she stopped. The woman had before seemed mostly alive, but as soon as the corners of her mouth started to tilt, she suddenly appeared like a pallid corpse.

“Target locked,” said Inte, suddenly. “Firing!”

The floor suddenly started to rumble, and Scootaloo grasped at the dirty floor as all of Omega suddenly seemed to shake. Then, all at once, a blinding light shot through one of the upper decks. Scootaloo covered her eyes with one of her hooves, but not before she saw the beam strike the three humanoids and partially vaporize some of the bounty hunters who had been too close behind them.

Then came the explosion. It was like thunder, but hundreds of times louder, amplified further by the confined space. The blast nearly drove Scootaloo deaf, and the force of it suddenly pushed her outward and then, with even greater force, pulled her inward as the beam dissipated.

Though knocked free of her senses for a moment, Scootaloo quickly regained her composure.

“Direct hit!” said Inte, as though she were somewhat surprised herself.

“You- -what did you do?!” cried Scootaloo. “I thought you said you didn’t have weapons!”

“The Inte-Mobile projection unit does not. However, my main body does.”

“You mean- -”

“I successfully struck enemy combatants through two hundred and eight decks! And with only thirty seven civilian casualties, which is lower than the acceptable civilian casualty threshold of [acceptable civilian casualty threshold not specified]!”

Scootaloo was about to protest the wisdom of firing one of the ship’s weapons through Omega when she saw motion on the other side of the room. At first, the bounty hunters who had survived the blast began to step forward- -but then they suddenly stopped and backed away quickly.

From the ashes and shattered pieces of Omega’s decks that the beam had knocked loose, three figures slowly stood. The blast had certainly affected them: a substantial part of their armor, clothing, and skin had been burned away. What was underneath, though, remained completely intact: skeletons of whitish ceramic and metal, animated by advanced robotic components.
“Hmm,” said Inte. “It appears that the beam strength has been somewhat attenuated by having passed through two hundred and eight decks.”

The synth leader leader, the “woman”, looked at Scootaloo and her one remaining blue eye narrowed. Half her face had been burned away, the artificial skin separating from the network of facial robotics beneath it and, ultimately, her face beneath.

“The offer is now rescinded,” she said, tearing away the skin from her face. She and her compatriots drew their swords and charged with almost impossible speed. Scootaloo and Inte barely managed to jump through the small gap that the door had made in time.

Almost as soon as they did, the door snapped shut with unexpected speed. Scootaloo rolled backward just in time to avoid a second blast door that sealed over the first. Inte was not as fast; her rump was caught in the door. Being a hologram, though, it simply ceased to exist. She looked down at the “injury” with a look of mild annoyance. “How rude,” she said, stepping forward and re-projecting her rear legs.

“Wow,” said Scootaloo, suddenly finding herself out of breath. “That was close.” She stood, shaking somewhat from having barely escaped danger. “You got the door just in time.”

Inte looked confused. “That was not me. I did not have access.”

They both looked to the door’s rusted control panel, which sparked with purple energy and suddenly began to combust.

“Well, they won’t be able to get through now,” said Scootaloo.

Almost on cue, she felt a small amount of heat coming from the door. She turned, and felt it growing hotter. Then she saw the metal starting to shift color, becoming slightly redder and slowly gaining more heat in a small area near the center.

“It would appear that they are attempting to cut through it,” said Inte. “Considering the thickness and strength of the door, that must be taking a prodigious amount of energy.” She turned to Scootaloo. “You must be extremely valuable.”

“How long until they get through?”

“Well, assuming they cut at equal power output and the door is consistent in material- -”

“HOW LONG?”

“Fifteen minutes thirty eight seconds. Absolute maximum.”

“Then we need to keep moving.” Scootaloo started walking. Having stopped even for a moment had made her injured leg start to freeze up, and walking was extremely painful. She gasped, and began to realize that the gash was deeper than it looked.

“You need medical attention,” said Inte.

“Yeah. And who’s going to give me that? You?”

“No. I am not approved for medical use.”

“Then I’m just going to have to deal with it, aren’t I?” Scootaloo continued to limp, trying to ignore the pain. “You know,” she said. “It isn’t even that bad.”

“Since ‘bad’ is purely subjective, I have no means of judging that.”

“You want to know what is bad? There was one battle that Rainbow Dash never talked about, even though we all knew what happened to her. It was during the Crystal War. They hit her ship. Hard. It sheared off one of her wings, and she still managed to pull herself into the captain’s seat and keep fighting, even if she was the only one still alive. If she can do that, I can do this…”

That thought was what allowed Scootaloo to continue. She walked for several more minutes until she reached the nexus port to the elevator unit that led down to the planet. Approaching the door, she collapsed against it, sliding down to the floor.

“I am entering a request for the elevator to stop at this floor,” said Inte, accessing one of the panels on the side of the large cylindrical housing. “There are eight in continuous operation, but only three that are pressurized for the descent. It will take eight minutes for it to arrive.”

“Then it’s going to be close.”

“Yes. Although based on my current calculations, you will most likely be overtaken and killed before it arrives.”

“I’m not dying here, Inte,” said Scootaloo. She sighed. “But if I’m going to make it out, I need your help.”

A sudden thud echoed through the empty metal hall. Then another. Finally, there was a third and a tannish colored hoof punched through a vent grate. The grate clattered to the floor, and a pony pushed out into the hall. Another followed, and then another. After several seconds, seven pony bounty hunters had emerged from the vent.

One of them, a brick-red Pegasus, looked back to where the other mercenaries had almost half-completed their cut through the blast door.

“Ha,” he chuckled. “Idiots.”

“It’s not their fault they were born with hideous oversized bodies,” said another. He paused. “Well, except for the synths. I think they get to choose.”

One of the bounty hunters lifted his rifle in his magic. “Right,” he said. “Let’s say we go get a filly?”

They all smiled and drew their various weapons. As none of them were especially rich- -and because they all lacked fingers- -they were forced to use firearms instead of the more practical swords and hammers favored by larger species. Of course, in their line of work, it hardly mattered. Few of their targets had the kind of shields that stopped bullets.

“Hey, I hear she’s some sort of military hero,” whispered one of them, smirking.

“And that’s why we’re not going to shoot quick,” said another, a slightly slack-jawed earth pony. “No offers. No chances. Just make her dead right quick.”

“But preserve the head,” said the red Pegasus. “We need that to collect the reward.”

“Head? Hell no. Kneecap her. Can we at least try to keep that tight flank intact?”

The leader frowned. “Come on, Push, don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m not! It’s just that, well, with her tail cut that short? When she runs, you can see EVERYTHING! And her body? Ohhh…she looks just like a little filly.”

“If I get a bead, I terminate her.”

“Oh, come on, Shot! We’re going to kill her anyway, can’t we at least have some fun first? We can even take turns!”

“You can have your fun after I put a slug in her neck.”

Push grinned. “Well…not ideal, but it works for me.”

Their leader motioned with a wing to silence them as they approached the elevator platform. They moved as stealthily as they could through the darkness. It seemed that somepony had carefully removed and stacked the lightbulbs from the area, forcing the entire region into complete darkness.

Suddenly something orange shot by.

“There she is!” cried Shot. The group immediately opened fire.

“Ahh!” cried the mare. “No give hurties! Am only little filly!”

All of the initial shots seemed to miss, and Scootaloo ducked into a parallel hallway. The crew of pony bounty hunters gave chase.

“How the hell is she so fast?” shouted one of them.

“Just keep moving,” said another, checking the Omega schematic on his omnitool. “If I’m right, we should be coming to an opening right about…”

They all entered an area where the hallway suddenly widened. It was another one of the ancient hallways that had originally been used to house equipment when Omega had been an active mining colony but now housed nothing but random old junk and sometimes vorcha. In this case, though, it was completely empty.

The group fanned out and searched through the darkened hulks of metal and overturned barrels of rusted, useless machine parts.

“I’m not detecting any life signs,” said one.

“Over here,” said the leader, who had already reached the other side of the hallway. He pointed up a large door. “She must have gone through here. Macro, can you crack it?”

“Of course I can crack it,” said a smallish unicorn. He approached the door and began hacking the control.

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” said another, clicking at his omnitool. “That door is supposed to be locked…”

“Here, filly filly filly,” said Push, ignoring his comrades and shining the light on his gun into the debris. “Just come out, I’m not going to hurt you. Well, it will hurt at first, but then I promise you’ll like it!”

While he was so concentrated on checking the debris for his prize, he failed to watch where he was going and slipped on a piece of debris. He cried out and clattered to the ground.

“Come on, Push, SHUT. IT,” said Macro. “I’m trying to concentrate. You have no idea how hard it is to move the little ball with no fingers!”

“Damn it,” said Push, rubbing the back of his head. He sat up and picked up the piece of detritus he had slipped on. It was a metallic sphere about the size of his head with several multicolored lenses inlaid into its sides. “Fucking vorcha, leaving trash all over the place.” He threw the sphere across the room into the heaps of other worthless garbage.

“Almost…got it…there!” said Macro. He entered the final sequence to open the door.

“WAIT! STOP!” cried another one, his omnitool suddenly blaring out a warning.

His realization came too late. The door pulled open, exposing the hallway to the depressurized deck on the far side. The ponies screamed, but the sudden rush of air was too strong for them to overcome. They were instantly pulled through and to their near-instant deaths on the other side.

The door then slammed closed and locked. The debris that had been pulled toward the opening by the rush of air fell to the ground, including the sphere. After several seconds, it rose into the air and Inte reignited her hologram, now set to her default pattern instead of Scootaloo’s.

“Fatalities confirmed! Yay!” She produced a plume of holographic confetti. “Captain Scootaloo will be so pleased by my ability to brutally murder her enemies!”