Ponystar Celestia

T plus thirty-eight minutes. Ponystar Celestia, port passageway #04.

Major Spitfire stalked through the Celestia. She wanted to gallop—heck, she wanted to fly—but she was simply too tired. She wasn’t an old mare by any means, but she was old enough for combat flying and pony-hauling to wear her out. The darn passageway ceilings were too low for flight anyway, but at least her thunderous expression and Wonderbolts uniform were getting ponies to jump out of her way. As soon as Condition Three had been announced Spitfire had delegated her post-flight duties and set out for the CIC. It was the first time she’d done so since becoming the leader of the Wonderbolts, and it added another layer of insult to her day. Right now Soarin’ was doing Spitfire’s job: congratulating the pegasi of the Celestia for their heroism and consoling them for their losses, and helping them come down from the intense emotions of the flight. She hoped he was managing okay; Soarin’ was a good pony, but he wasn’t exactly eloquent.

Most of the ponies that Spitfire passed wore the orange jackets of the enlisted ranks, but she passed a fellow officer here and there. Most of the officers looked worried, rather than outraged by their Commander’s callousness. At first this only fed into Spitfire’s anger, but she forced herself to consider the possibility that they simply didn’t know about Agrippa’s actions at Ponyville. She stopped the next officer she saw—a young, distracted-looking cream-coated mare with a frizzy red mane—and asked, “What’s the situation?”

Jolted from her thoughts, the earth pony took in Spitfire’s Wonderbolts uniform and the rank badge sewn at her throat and snapped into a parade-ground perfect salute. “Nothing to report at thith time, Major!”

Spitfire suppressed a groan. Freaking Ensigns. She took a calming breath before replying, “Ensign, I just got out of the pegasus bay and all I know is that we’re headed into the wild skies over the Everfree Forest. Have you heard anything past that?”

The redhead’s light fuchsia eyes widened; seen though the thick lenses of her glasses, they appeared impressively large. “No, ma’am! In fact, I didn’t even know where we were going!”

Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t they teach you about coordinates at the Academy?”

The Ensign shrank in on herself a little, her ears folding back. “It—uh—wathn’t my betht clathh…”

Spitfire sighed. “So there weren’t any shipboard announcements?”

“Only the oneth over the mathter communicationth thpell,” said the Ensign.

Spitfire frowned. “Wait: you heard that?”

“Yeth, ma’am,” the young mare said sadly. “I don’t know why the Commander would broadcatht your argument…” She looked vaguely ashamed now. “It wathn’t good for morale.”

Filly, you have a gift for understatement, Spitfire thought. Aloud she said, “So you all heard the Commander leave those innocent ponies to die.”

The Ensign nodded, tears in her eyes.

“Then why does everypony look worried?” Spitfire demanded. “Sad I could see. Angry, sure—heck, I’m angry enough for everyone! But worried?”

The Ensign said, “It—it’th jutht that nopony hath been able to contact the Commander thinthe the Thelethtia thet thail.”

Spitfire had to take a moment to parse out what the Ensign was saying. “Well, if he’s not answering on the comm, I guess I’ll have to talk to him face-to-face,” she said, as though she hadn’t been planning that anyway. Spitfire hoped that the display of bravado would help lift the earth pony’s spirits—it almost always worked with pegasi. She resumed walking towards the CIC. I trusted him! she raged to herself. I was going to—I trusted him!

The Ensign walked with her, unbidden. “That won’t work,” she said. “Ma’am,” she added belatedly, upon seeing Spitfire’s glare.

“Drop the ‘ma’am’ stuff for a minute, Ensign…?”

“Twitht,” the young mare said.

“Okay, Ensign Twitht, what d—”

“Um… it’th Twitht, Major.”

Spitfire blinked, then mentally facehoofed. “Right. Sorry. So—Ensign Twist—what do you mean when you say that seeing the Commander face-to-face won’t work?”

“Nopony can get into the Thee-Eye-Thee,” Twist said. “The hatch ith clothed and thealed, and the widow’th been covered up with a cloth or thomething. Nopony’th anthwering when we knock, either. At leatht, that’th the way I heard it.”

What the flying feather is going on here? Spitfire wondered, beginning to worry despite herself. A young unicorn mare passed them, jacketless and sobbing, headed in the opposite direction. Spitfire took her for a Ponyville refugee and gave her no further thought. Spitfire said to Twist, “Well, I’m going to see for myself. I need you to try and stop the rumor mill. If anypony asks you what’s going on, let them know that I’m taking care of the situation.”

Twist didn’t reply. Spitfire turned and saw that the earth pony had stopped a few paces back; she was looking back the way they had come. Spitfire faintly heard Twist murmur, “Thweetie Belle…?”

“Ensign Twist!” Spitfire barked.

Twist jumped and hurried back to Spitfire. “Yeth ma’am! Thorry ma’am!”

“Tell anypony who asks about the situation that I’ve got it under control,” Spitfire repeated. She hadn’t resumed her journey yet, and was still facing back toward where the unicorn had gone. “And keep your head out of the clouds!”

Twist looked at her oddly. “You have it under control?”

“You’re darn right I do,” Spitfire lied. Twist looked dubious, but snapped off a salute regardless. Spitfire was about to dismiss her when the Ensign’s face contorted bizarrely. Spitfire suddenly became aware that somepony was behind her, standing unpleasantly close.

“Excuse us, please,” a coltish voice requested.

Spitfire turned and saw a dragon the size of a large earth pony stallion. By dragon standards he was tiny, but in the relatively cramped confines of the passageway he loomed threateningly. Spitfire felt her fight-or-flight instinct kick in—along with a bit of claustrophobia—but crushed both with a flex of her willpower. She’d seen the creature at the evacuation of Ponyville, and if she was right it was Twilight Sparkle’s pet. Her theory was strongly supported by the fact that the dragon was carrying the famous mare in its claws. The purple unicorn looked like she had just finished three back-to-back Runnings of the Leaves; she was barely conscious and covered in half-dried lather.

Spitfire stood her ground, not letting the creature pass; in fact she flared her wings to take up as much space as possible. “You were in the CIC before the battle,” she said to Twilight Sparkle. “What were you doing there?”

“Excuse us,” the dragon repeated. This time it came off as a demand, but in his almost-cute voice it just sounded petulant. “I’m taking Dame Sparkle to sickbay.”

“You were at the battle, too,” Spitfire said to Twilight Sparkle, doggedly ignoring the dragon. She finally had a halfway-decent target for her anger. “Why didn’t you stand up to Agrippa?” She stepped forward challengingly, eyes locked on the knight. “He murdered Celestia-knows-how-many ponies, and you didn’t say a word!” How could you let him do that to me?!

The dragon’s head darted towards Spitfire like a striking snake and the monster made a noise that was part hiss, part roar. Despite herself, Spitfire backed up a few paces. She found herself wondering whether the blade-wing enchantment was still active.

“Stop,” Twilight Sparkle said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The dragon turned to her. “We don’t have time for this, Twilight,” he said, sounding more concerned than argumentative. “You need to rest.”

“I needed to speak to her anyway,” Twilight Sparkle said weakly. “Put me down. Please.” The dragon grimaced, but complied. Once she was on the deck she said, “Major, will you please follow me?”

Seeing Twilight Sparkle swaying on her hooves and shaking with the effort of staying upright made Spitfire feel like a bully. She forced herself to save her wrath for its real target. “Wait,” she said, holding up a hoof. She gestured at the dragon as she added, “You’re right when you say that we need to talk, but it's right too. You need some rest.” Now that Spitfire thought of it, the dragon didn’t look much better than its owner. “We all do, I think. What do you say we meet up later?”

The dragon’s green spines flared slightly. “It?”

“He?” Spitfire asked hesitantly.

The dragon nodded. “Spike,” he said.

Twilight Sparkle frowned and opened her mouth as if to protest, but yawned hugely instead. Once the yawn had passed she replied, “You know, you’re right. Our representative from the civilian ships is running behind anyway. Besides, it’s not like the Commander is going anywhere…” She giggled at nothing. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “Oookay. So what do you say we meet up in an hour-and-a-half?”

Twilight Sparkle nodded. “Very well. We’ll be meeting in Agrippa’s quarters. See you there.” She turned to walk off.

“Twilight, sickbay’s the other way,” the dragon said.

“I’m fine, Spike. I just want a nap,” Twilight Sparkle said. Looking very put-upon, Spike followed after.

Once the two had departed Spitfire dismissed Twist and headed to her own quarters. There she stripped out of her Wonderbolts uniform and threw it into her basket of dirty laundry before grabbing the wad of cloud she kept in her closet. She spread the cloud out thinly across the floor until it was spacious, yet still strong enough to hold her weight. The resulting bed was much roomier—and still a little softer—than the one built into one bulkhead of her quarters. As she contemplated the foalishness of earth pony design she got out a blanket and shaped a small lump of cloud for a pillow. She re-set her alarm clock—I suppose the decommissioning ceremony’s off—and briefly considered brushing her teeth, but flopped into bed instead.

Her alarm went off. Spitfire jerked awake, confused. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but once she did she was grateful that her sleep had been dreamless. She yawned and staggered into her private bathroom—one of the perks of being the CAG—and took a short, cold shower. Once she was toweled off Spitfire put on her dark blue Fleet jacket and checked the time. Still twenty minutes to go. She made her way to the galley.

It was between meals, so the galley was virtually empty. Spitfire made some small talk with the cooks—all earth ponies, naturally—as they poured her some coffee and made her a cucumber sandwich. She also dropped little comments designed to calm their worries and reassure them that all would be well. Subtle questions revealed that none of the cooks on duty were Ponyville natives. Must’ve taken the rest of the day off; who can blame them? She ate quickly, finishing the meal with a few candied fennel seeds to freshen her breath. By the time she arrived at the Commander’s quarters—two minutes late thanks to a roadblock of refugees—she almost felt like herself again, despite everything that had happened.

Spike the dragon was outside the hatch. He was up on his hind legs, leaning against the bulkhead and trying to look casual, but Skyfire’s daughter knew a guard when she saw one. The dragon watched her approach and blinked—an unsettling two-step process—but didn’t say anything or prevent her from entering. Spitfire likewise said nothing; in fact she tried to act like the dragon wasn’t looming there at all.

Twilight Sparkle was already there, of course, but Spitfire didn’t see Agrippa. Late to a meeting in his own quarters? With the knight were two other ponies: a white-coated unicorn stallion about Spitfire’s age and a young gray-coated earth pony mare. The stallion was primped and styled to within an inch of his life, but Spitfire had to admit that he was quite the looker despite all of that. The mare looked at Spitfire the way a shopper would size up a cantaloupe, but the stallion didn’t seem to notice her at all; he was speaking to Twilight Sparkle in a bored tone:

“—vouch for Spoon to the Commander. She’s an indispensable asset if I’m to remain on top of my various responsibilities. You did say that the Commander requested my assistance, did you not?” Before Twilight Sparkle could answer he continued. “Besides, what’s my one confidant to your collection? I’m certain you’ll be sharing this meeting with the other Element bearers, not to mention Spike.”

Twilight Sparkle glared at the stallion for a moment. “Fine. She stays,” she said. “But nopony else can know about this meeting.”

“Did I miss the deadline, or am I still invited?” Spitfire joked weakly.

Twilight Sparkle turned to her. The famous unicorn looked a little better, but she was obviously still tired. “Ah, good. Everypony’s here.” Twilight’s horn glowed briefly; Spitfire heard the hatch’s wheel behind her spin until the hatch was locked. Another pulse of red-violet caused strange little glowing runes to appear on the ceiling, bulkheads, and floor. At everyone’s questioning looks Twilight explained, “A ward against magical spying.”

The stallion sat up on his cushion, his eyes narrowing. “What exactly are we here to discuss, Dame Sparkle?”

“And where’s Commander Agrippa?” Spitfire asked.

“The Commander’s dead,” Twilight said flatly.

The room exploded into chaos as Spitfire tried to get her perfectly reasonable questions heard over the civilians’ babbling. Twilight Sparkle weathered the barrage of noise as though she were made of stone; she seemed to be very experienced at it. After a hoofful of seconds she shouted, “Quiet!”

Spitfire clammed up grudgingly, as did the other two. Twilight Sparkle took a long breath and said, “Everypony from the CIC crew is dead. I haven’t been able to examine the scene or the bodies thoroughly, but they appear to have been killed with a gaseous neurotoxin.”

“Neurotoxin?” the stallion echoed.

“Nerve poison,” the earth pony clarified. Judging from her cutie mark, she was the “Spoon” the stallion had mentioned.

“Ah.”

“Worse yet,” Twilight Sparkle continued, “the apparent source of the neurotoxin was found in the saddlebags of one of the crew, strongly suggesting surreptitious sabotage.”

“Whose saddlebags?” Spitfire asked, her gut full of dread. She’d been on friendly terms with almost half the ponies of the CIC.

“Lieutenant Caramel of Ponyville,” Twilight Sparkle said. For some reason Spoon and the stallion looked unsettled by this. Spitfire only noticed that in a vague way, though, because her stomach had started to churn furiously. She’d never really known Caramel, but the thought that Agrippa was dead thanks to him… She fought to keep her emotions and her breakfast in check, and was only dimly aware of the others speaking around her as she did so.

“If it was him, how did Caramel get his hooves on neurotoxin?” Spitfire asked, once she could. She suspected she’d interrupted someone, but didn’t care. Weaponized poisons had been illegal in Equestria for longer than mortal memory; just having some was a one-way ticket to Tartarus. They were such a non-issue that she’d only learned of their existence from a lawyer she’d dated once; his tendency to mutter about archaic laws in his sleep had been less than endearing.

“I have a theory, but I’m not sure yet. I’d rather not say until I am,” Twilight Sparkle replied.

More melodramatically than Spitfire thought possible, the stallion asked, “But if they’re all dead… who’s flying the ship?!”

“An extremely qualified mare,” Twilight said, far too calmly. She had the air of someone who’d seen all of these questions coming and prepared accordingly.

Spitfire had been inside the CIC before. “Just one pony?” she asked, not bothering to keep the doubt out of her voice.

“Extremely qualified,” Twilight Sparkle repeated. “Though I admit that she could use a hoof in there.”

“She sure got settled in quickly,” Spoon said suspiciously. “The Commander called us to the Celestia less than two hours ago, but we haven’t heard a peep about this mass murder and there hasn’t even been a minor hiccup in the ship’s operation.” She was a sharp one; Spitfire liked that.

“Spoon! Mind your place!” the stallion chided. He then repeated her observations to Twilight Sparkle, almost word-for-word. Spitfire didn’t like him half as well as she had a few seconds prior.

“You didn’t hear about it because it’s still a secret. You didn’t notice a ‘hiccup’ because the CIC crew died just over two hours ago,” Twilight Sparkle said.

Spitfire’s blood froze. “That can’t be right. That would be before the Ponyville mission.”

“Yes.”

“Then who contacted us?” the stallion asked.

“Who’s been calling the shots?” Spoon asked.

“Who killed the civilians of Ponyville?” Spitfire demanded.

“That would be me,” Twilight Sparkle said.

Spitfire felt her right forehoof hit something and suddenly Twilight Sparkle was sprawled on the deck. Before Spitfire could really make sense of this, she was being held in the air by the purple unicorn’s magic. She couldn’t move at all.

Twilight Sparkle stood up slowly, and gingerly brushed blood from her mouth with a hoof. “I thought that might happen,” she said calmly, eyes fixed on Spitfire’s. “But don’t do it again. Especially if Spike can see you.” She released her magic suddenly and Spitfire almost took an embarrassing fall, catching herself in midair at the last second.

Spitfire landed and shouted, “What in Celestia’s name is wrong with you?! There were dozens of ponies still down there! Dozens! One of my Wonderbolts was in love with the Mayor; he was still trying to save her when you made us leave them behind, you psychopath! You left them all to die!”

Twilight Sparkle turned away from Spitfire, towards a small table bearing a bottle of the late Commander’s favorite applejack. With her magic, she poured a tongue of the liquor into a rocks glass. As she did so she said, “Yes, I did. I’d do it again, too. I’m surprised you don’t understand, Major: you were out there too. The alchemical weapon was going to latch on to the Celestia and drag her down. There were other tentacles headed towards the civilian ships as well, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Twilight Sparkle was speaking in monotone, like a schoolfilly reciting a speech she’d been forced to memorize. The applejack hovered idly for a moment in the grip of her magic before she set it down and poured another. “Before you ask: no, we couldn’t have simply ascended. For one thing, trying to do so might have redirected the alchemical weapon’s attention to your flight teams.” She poured a third drink. “More importantly, the alchemical weapon was growing rapidly regardless of… how much biomass it consumed. The Celestia’s primary wind talismans are very limited when it comes to producing vertical thrust; by my best estimate the alchemical weapon would have overtaken the ship in another seventy-five seconds, killing every non-pegasus aboard.” Twilight poured one more applejack. “And yes, I said ‘estimate.’ That’s because I don’t have enough data to make a proper mathematical proof to back myself up. I had to go with my gut.”

Her back still to the room, Twilight Sparkle tossed back a tongue of fine liquor as though it were the dregs of a mug of cheap cider. She coughed and muttered, “I hate that.” It was the first time since the unicorn had started her little speech that Spitfire had heard emotion in her voice, and it was a dark and bitter thing.

Twilight Sparkle turned around. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wet, but Spitfire couldn’t tell if it came from emotion or drink. Probably the point, she reflected. Twilight Sparkle levitated the other three glasses over to the group. Spitfire and Spoon each sat on their rumps and took their glasses in both forehooves, more out of reflex than a desire to drink. The stallion simply wrapped his own magic around his glass. Everypony was quiet for a long moment.

“Well then!” Twilight Sparkle suddenly said with a horrible forced cheerfulness. “I’d say introductions are in order, wouldn’t you? I’m Twilight Sparkle, Ponyville’s town librarian—oops, guess I’ll have to knock that off of my résumé!—mage-apprentice to Princess Celestia, bearer of the Element of Magic, and lead enchantress for the Ponystar Project.” Was it Spitfire’s imagination, or had Twilight Sparkle’s mane somehow gotten tousled in the last couple of seconds?

Twilight Sparkle’s left eye twitched slightly as she jabbed a hoof at the unicorn stallion. “To my left we have Prince Blueblood, a member of Canterlot’s social elite and distant blood relative of everypony’s favorite Princesses. He’s pen-pals with my friend Rarity, who may well be dead for all I know!” Spitfire’s wings began to itch; nopony should ever grin that way. “Next to him is his personal assistant, the hopefully-reformed primary school bully Silver Spoon!” The young mare opened her mouth to speak, but shut it rapidly and crouched back defensively when she met Twilight Sparkle’s eyes.

“Finally, to my right we have the leader of the Wonderbolts and the Celestia’s own CAG—that’s ‘Commander of the Air Group,’ Your Highness—Major Spitfire! She’s an amazing flyer and usually very calm under pressure, but apparently not so great with running algebra in her head, becau—”

Twilight Sparkle was cut off by a sharp *crack*. She yelped and clutched at her horn as Prince Blueblood’s dark blue cravat tucked itself back into place at his collar. He stared at her evenly and said, “Comport yourself, Dame Sparkle.”

“What was that?!” Twilight Sparkle groaned.

“A little trick I learned from our mutual friend,” the prince replied. “I’m rather decent at manipulating cloth and clothing thanks to her, and it seemed an appropriate way to chide you for speaking so lightly of her potentially dire situation.” His voice was even and measured, every inch in control; his drink hadn’t so much as twitched. He climbed a notch in Spitfire’s estimation. “Not to mention the fact that someone needed to snap you out of your mounting hysteria, and the Major here had already used up her free shot.”

Twilight Sparkle sat up on her rump. “I wasn’t getting hysterical,” she grumbled.

“I really like her mane,” Prince Blueblood said evenly, like he was quoting something. Spitfire had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but apparently Twilight Sparkle did because she grimaced and looked away. When she said nothing for a long moment, the stallion spoke again: “Now that the introductions are out of the way, would you be so kind as to clarify why you called us here?”

Twilight took a few deep breaths, obviously trying to settle herself emotionally. As she waited, Spitfire took a sip of her applejack and smiled sadly to herself; the taste took her back to a fine evening a couple of weeks ago. Commander Agrippa had had a full career in the Royal Guard and retired with honors shortly before the Redemption of Luna, but he had signed up like an eager colt when the Fleet was founded. He’d been hoping to serve as a CAG—“Stretch the old wings,” as he had put it—but his shining résumé had gotten him promoted straight to command. He was extremely picky with his CAGs as a result, especially CAGs who were “Overrated show-ponies.” They’d taken a while to warm up to each other, but that dinner had finally cemented their friendship. She’d spent half of the night cursing the fact that her new friend was so much older than her and the other half considering going right for the goods despite that. In the end she’d held off because she didn’t want to risk their friendship by rushing things. Yeah… Plenty of time later, she thought bitterly as she finished her drink.

“I called you here because you’re the highest-ranking civilian and military ponies I have access to right now,” Twilight Sparkle said. Spitfire blinked her stinging eyes a couple of times as Twilight Sparkle continued: “As the only vessel capable of mounting an organized defense the Celestia has to be the core of this little fleet, but right now she’s leaderless.” She turned to Prince Blueblood. “Your Highness, will you please exercise your royal prerogative to conduct field promotions in wartime, and promote Major Spitfire to the rank of Commander?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Spitfire said. “Hang on a minute here!” Everypony looked at her expectantly. Spitfire nervously set her empty glass down on Agrippa’s coffee table and tried to put her thoughts into words. “Why me?” she asked lamely.

“As I said, you’re the highest-ranking military officer aboard,” Twilight Sparkle said.

“There has to be somepony else!”

“Actually, no; I triple checked. You’re it,” Twilight Sparkle said evenly. “And even if you weren’t, I’d still pick you. Not only are you the leader of the Wonderbolts, but you’ve been offered promotions more than once based on your stellar performance.”

“And I’ve turned them down every time,” Spitfire pointed out. “I’m just a flyfilly. Agrippa told me once that being a Commander is half paperwork and half sending other ponies to risk their lives for you. The first half would bore me to tears, and the second…” With a shake of her head she said, “I couldn’t do that. Sure the Wonderbolts face some pretty dangerous situations, but at least when they do I’m right there with them. I couldn’t live with myself if I was sitting back and drinking tea or whatever while somepony else was in harm’s way.”

Twilight Sparkle raised an eyebrow. “What about the near-disaster of the Ponyville waterspout all those years ago?”

Spitfire looked away. “I couldn’t intervene that day. I was under orders,” she said, ashamed.

Twilight Sparkle nodded thoughtfully, but pressed on: “If not you, then who?”

“How about… you?” Prince Blueblood suggested.

Twilight Sparkle took a step back. “Me?”

The prince nodded, his expression serious. “While we’re sharing aphorisms, I’ll tell you one I heard from Celestia: Ruling wisely is half giving your subjects what they want, half giving them what they need, and half making hard decisions. Between what Rarity has told me in her letters and your actions today, I would say you’re fully qualified.”

Twilight Sparkle frowned. “That’s three halves.”

Prince Blueblood shrugged. “Celestia is a winged unicorn; I don’t believe the usual rules apply to her.”

“You mean she’s a horned pegasus,” Spitfire corrected reflexively.

“My mother always called her a supreme earth pony,” Silver Spoon said quietly.

“Alicorn,” said Twilight Sparkle.

“Gesundheit,” said Prince Blueblood.

“No, I mean the Princesses are alicorns,” Twilight Sparkle said.

“I thought that’s what unicorn horns were made of,” said Silver Spoon.

“Well, yes,” said Twilight Sparkle, “but you can also use it as a portmanteau of aile, or ‘wing,’ and the ‘—corn’ part of ‘unicorn,’ which refers to our horns.”

“So you’re just calling them ‘wing horns’?” asked Prince Blueblood, one perfectly-trimmed eyebrow raised.

“Hold it!” Spitfire yelled. When everypony looked to her she asked, “Why are we picking apart our choice of words?”

“Indeed,” said Prince Blueblood. “Such pettifoggery over semantics is counterproductive.”

“Stop that!” Spitfire said.

“Ah, right.”

“Sorry; it’s a defense mechanism,” said Twilight Sparkle. “I didn’t like Prince Blueblood’s suggestion.”

“Why not?” asked Spitfire.

“It’s sort of like you said: I’m just a student, with aspirations of becoming a scholar,” Twilight Sparkle said.

“But you and the other Element bearers defeated Night Mare Moon!” Spitfire said.

“Discord as well, let us not forget,” added Prince Blueblood.

“Oh, sure,” Silver Spoon sneered. “Now tell me about the time they overcame Cerberus with nothing but quick thinking and a rubber squeaky ball!” Prince Blueblood shot the young mare a glare so cold that it made Spitfire shiver. Ouch… No Hearth’s Warming Eve bonus for you, she thought.

Once Silver Spoon was properly cowed, the prince turned back to Twilight Sparkle. “At any rate,” he said, “you have faced many deadly challenges and always emerged victorious. I can think of no-one better suited to lead this fleet.”

“I only ever made it thanks to my friends,” Twilight Sparkle said quietly.

Prince Blueblood’s smile was surprisingly gentle as he put a hoof to her shoulder. “Then we are indeed fortunate that most of them are here on the Celestia. As for Rarity, well…” His smile wavered for a moment. “If one must be caught up in an alchemical weapon attack, one could do worse than to be in the same city as the Princesses.”

Twilight Sparkle looked like a drowning mare who’d just been thrown a life preserver. “The alchemical weapon! I need to research it! That’s why I can’t lead!” Her expression turned almost smug as she added, “Besides, the Right of Promotion can only be exercised on ponies who are already in the military.”

“But being a knight of the realm means that you’re automatically an honorary Ensign in the fleet,” Spitfire pointed out. Twilight Sparkle’s glare now was as hot as the prince’s had been cold, but Spitfire shrugged it off. “Well, you are.”

“I understand the need for research, and that you are the best pony for that job,” said Prince Blueblood. Twilight Sparkle’s newborn smile died as he added, “So you may step down once you find a suitable replacement. Until that time…” He leaned forward and touched his long horn to Twilight Sparkle’s shoulders as he said, “…I hereby appoint Dame Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot as a Commander of the Fleet, in command of the ponystar Celestia.”

Spitfire had read about the weight of responsibility—and had felt it before in a metaphorical sense—but right then Twilight Sparkle drooped as though the prince had placed a huge boulder on her back.

“Now, Commander,” Prince Blueblood said gently, “I have a matter that needs your attention.”

Twilight Sparkle winced. “What is it?”

The prince gestured to Silver Spoon, who pulled a notepad out of her saddlebags. Pad in mouth she nodded towards Twilight Sparkle, who reluctantly took hold of the notepad with her magic. “When you postponed this meeting by ninety minutes, we conducted a cursory survey of the civilian airships,” the earth pony said, her tone clipped and businesslike. “I’ve recorded each ship’s vital statistics—those we were able to get, anyway—and any other pertinent information.”

Twilight Sparkle was taken aback, but smiled slightly. “Thank you; this should come in handy.”

Silver Spoon didn’t acknowledge the new Commander’s thanks in any way. “If you flip to page eight you will see the data on the Charon.”

Twilight Sparkle complied, her eyes widening as she read the description. “A prison ship?!”

Prince Blueblood spoke up. “Good news first: the Charon is carrying six ponies from the Royal Guard—two from each tribe—who could be excellent additions to our defensive force.”

Spitfire nodded. Royal Guard pegasi were the next best thing to Wonderbolts; even two would be a nice catch. If the other tribes were trained to the same standard they would be extremely helpful when the Celestia took the fight to the enemy.

“Apparently the Charon stopped by Ponyville to resupply on their way to Tartarus,” Silver Spoon said.

Twilight Sparkle blanched. “You mean they have a… passenger?”

“That’s right.”

“That would be the bad news,” said Prince Blueblood. “The Guards refuse to aid the Celestia so long as they are watching over their prisoner.”

“What is it?” Spitfire asked. Tartarus rarely received new inmates; as a rule only the most appallingly powerful monsters were sent there.

“A unicorn mare by the name of Strawberry Surprise,” Silver Spoon said. “According to the Guards she’s been charged with one hundred and twelve counts of assault, fifty-seven counts of unlawful slaying of non-equine sentients, fourteen counts of murder in the second degree—three of them Guards—and one count of practicing dentistry without a license.”

Twilight Sparkle’s face was blank. “What.” It didn’t sound like a question.

“She allegedly used her magic to throw someone by their teeth,” Prince Blueblood explained.

“Clip her wings,” Spitfire suggested immediately. When the others looked at her she said, “Yeah, I know she’s not a pegasus. I’m talking about how the pegasi used to deal with criminals long ago, before Equestria. They’d clip their wings and—” she motioned as if bucking a cloud, “—problem solved.”

Twilight Sparkle and Prince Blueblood were visibly appalled. “That’s how they used to deal with murderers?!” Twilight Sparkle asked.

“No,” Spitfire said. “That’s how they used to deal with thieves. Murderers had it worse.” Into the silence she added, “Yeah, ancient pegasus justice was kind of harsh. My point is that we need those Guards over here. Not to mention the fact that we’d be eliminating a potential threat and freeing up resources.”

“Major!” the prince exclaimed. “How can you be so callous with another pony’s life?”

“Hard decisions, remember?” Spitfire said without malice. “The Commander understands.” In fact, Spitfire could almost see the wheels turning in Twilight Sparkle’s head. The purple unicorn studied Silver Spoon’s notes on the Charon again, her head slowly thrusting forward until her neck was almost parallel to her spine. As she re-read and considered the notes she grimaced and narrowed her purple eyes until it looked like she was trying to find a bug on the notepad, and tapped her chin gently with one hoof.

“It looks like they didn’t get their supplies before the attack…” she finally said. She looked at Prince Blueblood and Spitfire in turn. “I need some time to think about this.”

Spitfire nodded in understanding. Suggesting that they execute Strawberry Surprise had been hard enough for her, but Twilight Sparkle had to decide whether to actually do it. Spitfire was even more grateful that she’d dodged that promotion.

Silver Spoon nudged Prince Blueblood and whispered something in his ear. “Ah, yes,” the prince said. “Commander Sparkle: what do you intend to do about your predecessor’s untimely demise?”

Twilight Sparkle set the survey notes aside. “The bodies have been set to the side in the CIC for now; I was hoping we could arrange for a memorial service before the day is out.”

“I rather meant in regards to announcing your promotion,” the stallion said.

Twilight Sparkle grimaced. “I’m hoping to find somepony else to replace me, remember? If we announce two changes of power back-to-back it’ll just make everyone worry more than they’re already going to. I’d like to keep it quiet for now; I suppose I’ll have ‘Agrippa’ make a status announcement for now, reassuring the crew and refugees.”

“About that,” Spitfire said, her eyes narrowing. “You said that the CIC crew died before the battle. How did you impersonate Agrippa’s voice so well?”

“That’s classified, Major,” Twilight said.

“I’m going to hate working for you, aren’t I?”

Commander Sparkle smiled grimly. “Almost certainly.”