The Spaces In Betweenby ThatShakeWeightChaptersIntroductionChapter 1Chapter 2IntroductionThe streets were empty. A few smatterings of ponies here and there dotted the landscape, but all was quiet in New Manehattan. You know, whoever built the station did a good job of capturing everything that made Manehattan what it was. You have the skyscrapers that almost touch the high, domed ceiling; you have the small businesses and shops that line the streets; the ridiculously overpriced housing; and, finally, you have a massive number of homeless ponies that can barely scrape by on minimum wage jobs. Of course, the ponies of Equestria One never had to worry about any of that. It was a magical paradise rife with harmony, right? Wrong. There were fewer gutter rats in Manehattan before we had to move to space, sure, but I can guarantee you that there were homeless ponies roving the streets then, too. How could I know that? It’s a facet of life. The first rule of economics is scarcity; there will never be enough of anything to fully satisfy those who want for it. Even with a smaller population basis like that of on Equestria One, there were not enough resources to properly accommodate every pony that dotted its surface. That’s without even considering the other races, which took away even more resources and added to the population density of the planet; leaving each race with a homeless and impoverished population of some sort. While it was never enough of an issue that the princesses took notice, it was most definitely there. Today, 1431 A.E.P., homelessness is a massive problem because of the increased housing cost brought on by moving our population onto the huge space stations that dot the galaxy. But that’s enough of that, excuse my tendency to ramble a little bit. I am Desolate Daybreak, an impoverished pegasus with a knack for finding myself in trouble. Fortunately for me, it’s been a while since I last got myself into any sort of trouble, outside of financial problems. I work a nine to five job at Mister Espresso’s, a little coffee shop on 32 6th Avenue. I barely make enough money at my shitty job to afford an apartment, much less any sort of luxuries. I live on my own, and have done so since I was old enough to get a job. My mother, bless her soul, died when I was only 13. My father is a deadbeat piece of shit who left my mother less than a month after my birth, so I was on my own. In her wake, my mother left me with a run-down apartment, 400 bits to my name, and a shitty mattress on the floor that we called a bed. As a teenage colt on my own in the world, I was forced to do some very unpleasant things to survive. I took jobs of all kinds, from selling drugs to sweeping the floors after hours at a nightclub. I have no doubt that my employers took me in out of pity rather than because they were impressed. I was a street urchin, and now, 6 years later, I’m a cashier. The greatest thing my mother could have possibly given me, however, was my flight license. As a pegasus, the one thing we want to do most in life is fly free. This, however, is impossible to do on the stations, due to the heavy restrictions on station airspace. You accumulate a large fee very quickly if you fly for too long past your allotted time, or outside a licensed flight area. I can only afford to go to the station park occasionally, and the meager amount of flight time I get there is negligible at best, but important for my mental health. My mother gave me something great, however. Working double shifts gave her enough extra money to put into savings that she could send me to flight school to learn how to pilot a spacecraft. That remains to this day, the greatest thing anybody has ever done for me. Flight school was hard, and the subjects ranged in topic from mathematics all the way to physics. This did not deter me, however, and I threw myself into my studies, determined to make my one shot at getting a license count. I ended up with a pilot’s license but no ship to my name, and it’s something that I’ve been working hard to find. I’m not the only would-be pilot out there, and getting a job in the flight industry is tough. I’ve been on the lookout for a job, but it’s exceptionally difficult when the only flight experience you have is a license you worked your ass off to earn. Working at Mister Espresso’s isn’t quite torturous, but it’s a grim reminder that I’m trapped on the station with no way out. I make weekly trips to the port in search of open jobs, but there are no steady ones that I can find for a pilot without a ship. There’s one job, but I’m not desperate enough to take it quite yet. It’s a salvage mission to the Outer Rim, but it’s dangerous, and I’m not willing to put my life on the line until I must. I’m just a hopeless little sob-story without as much as a spare bit to his name. I have friends, sure, but they’re more like acquaintances honestly. I had to take a roommate in a while ago due to rising housing prices on my street, but we’re rarely home around the same time. There’s also the fact that he’s a thestral and stereotypically sleeps during the day, only coming out to work the night shift at a bar called The Mare’s Head on 18th St. His name is Hemlock Shadow, and his special talent is poison-making, although there’s not much use for that when you’re destitute and working at a bar. We’re on pretty good terms for guys working paycheck to paycheck, and using the one-bedroom apartment only as a crash. We have a bed and a recliner chair for the rare occasion that the bed is occupied and we’re both home. As it turns out, with me both on the lookout for a job as a pilot and working a nine to five, and him working the night shift at a bar, we don’t really use the apartment for anything except for a place to lay our heads. I’ll occasionally visit The Mare’s Head on my downtime to see him, but I have neither the bits nor the time to make frequent visits. A nice glass of beer every now and then does wonders for the stress of living sometimes. I think I’m a pretty average pony, all things considered. Living paycheck to paycheck, holding onto the slightest shred of hope that one day I could be free. Honestly, it’s more than unlikely; I just tell myself that it’s possible, so I can keep a grip on life. I’m not making any progress in life now, but who knows? Maybe I could win the lottery or something. Regardless, it’s irrelevant. I don’t know why you’d want to read it, but my name is Desolate Daybreak and this is my story. Author's Note This is the introduction. A little bit of a primer for Chapter One. This is my first story on Fimfiction, so tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading! Chapter 1Mister Espresso’s isn’t exactly the nicest coffee shop this side of the Garston Belt, but it’s not the worst either. It’s a small place, but not crushingly small like some shops. It’s got 2 tables near the back that are rarely used, and a couple stools near the counter that a lot of regulars frequent. Even though it’s a small shop, on a fast day there could be people lining up to get a coffee. Although the coffee’s not notoriously good, it works wonders and I wouldn’t be surprised if the stuff could wake the dead. I, personally, have to dump a lot of creamer into the stuff to stop from gagging at the taste. After a while, you honestly just get used to the flavor. I still dump a bunch of creamer in, it makes it taste a lot better. Despite the gasoline that we disguise as coffee, a lot of people frequent the place, and slow days don’t come often. Today, however, it’s a quiet day at the shop. A few regulars dropped by earlier, ordering some coffee and maybe a bagel for their commute to work. None of them stayed to chat, unfortunately, but it’s understandable. As lucky as I am to be working at Mr. Espresso’s, considering how many worse jobs there are out there; it’s nothing if not boring. By the moon, there’s nothing to do on slow days! My boss is a decent stallion, although we aren’t permitted to do much while we’re behind the counter. No holo-mags, no e-books, nothing. Even though I couldn’t even afford holo-mags or e-books if I wanted to; it’s the principle that annoys me. Regardless, I understand why that rule’s in place. I normally zone out when there’s nopony to serve, and today is no different. My train of thought derails and crashes into a mountainside, however, when the bell jingles and a unicorn mare walks in. If I think I’m average, then this mare makes me look like a celebrity in comparison. Her mane and coat are both the blandest, most boring grey I have ever seen in my life. When she turns to me I can see that her eyes are no different. Her cutie mark is of a grey briefcase that tries its best to not be drowned out in the sea of dull colors that is this mare. I try to look cheerful as she walks up to the counter agonizingly slowly. Each step seems to take an eternity to finish and I can’t help but start to doze off by the time she makes it to the counter. I jolt awake when she looks up at me, and I muster up as much enthusiasm as I can, “Hello ma’am, and welcome to Mister Espresso’s.” I try my hardest not to let my boredom show, but it’s certainly there as I say, “what can I get for you today?” Her voice seems to drag. “A black coffee,” she drones. “As black as you can make it. Also, I’d like a plain bagel.” Her order is extremely bland, but she puts the five bits on the counter, so I comply. “Coming right up!” I reply, before grabbing a cup with one wing and depositing it under the coffee maker and brushing the change into a hoof with my other wing. I deposit the money into the register and log the purchase while the drink is being poured. After grabbing a bagel, a napkin and a bag, I deposit her order in front of her with a receipt. I give her my best winning smile, “Thank you, and have a nice day,” I say as she gives her thanks and, surprisingly, takes a seat at the counter. After a few seconds of waiting for her to say something, I look away and start to zone off again, musing on what I’ll do when my shift is over. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear her clear her throat. “Did you say something?” I ask, a little surprised that she’s interested in conversation. “I asked what your name was,” she huffs, undoubtedly annoyed that she must repeat herself. “And this coffee is quite good, I might add; I’ll have to keep this place in mind next time I’m in the area.” I give her a weird look; the coffee tastes terrible without any creamer to soften it. “My name is Desolate Daybreak, although most just call me Daybreak,” with a little nod to punctuate the statement, I continue. “Thank you for your compliment, and apologies for zoning out. It gets a little dull in here sometimes, so I tend to zone out a lot.” “It’s understandable,” she replies with a nod, “I used to work a nine to five job when I was an up and coming mare in the legal industry. I know it’s not easy to keep yourself entertained when you’re behind the counter.” “Yeah, it doesn’t help that we’re not allowed to bring anything behind the counter that could distract us too much, like a holo-mag or something. That would probably help to dull the boredom.” If I could even afford anything like that. I think dejectedly. I notice she hasn’t given me her name, so I ask out of politeness. “My name is Brief Case, I work as a lawyer at Case and Point P.A. Here’s my card, if you ever need a lawyer.” She proceeds to pull a card out of…somewhere and hoofs it over to me. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I really must be getting to the firm now. Bye.” She hops off the stool, taking her bag with her, and throws away the empty thing before leaving without a passing glance. “She seemed fairly nice, for a lawyer.” I muse, before realizing that I had just met the, possibly, most stereotypical lawyer in the galaxy. Uninspired coat and mane colors, briefcase for a cutie mark, yep, that’s pretty much as stereotypical as it gets. I think, a little amused at the prospect. Nothing much happens for the rest of the day, and so I get the greenlight from my boss to close the shop ten minutes early. After saying goodbye to the boss, I walk out onto the sidewalk and flag down one of the taxis. As the taxi takes off into the sky, I take a minute to admire the scenery. New Manehattan may be a gilded cage, but damn if it doesn’t look impressive from the sky. Skyscrapers almost as tall as the domed ceiling, small businesses dotting the ground level, and the sky. The sky is quite the sight to behold. Somehow, one of the bigwig corporations managed to figure out how to turn magic into an artificial sun that doesn’t burn your retinas when you stare for too long. Thankfully, they turn off the magic powering it at night. In addition to that, they also figured out how to use the metal thaumium to make the dome over the city transparent. The view of the stars combined with the fading light from the artificial sun streaming from behind the buildings makes for quite the impressive view. The taxi lands in front of the square of real estate that the city calls an “apartment” and drops me off. I pay him and enter with a quick swipe of a keycard. “Hey Hemlock, I’m home.” I yell as I enter the apartment. He replies by way of throwing a pillow at my face and curling up around the remaining pillow. I sit down on the recliner, laughing softly to myself as he tries to go back to sleep, and count down in my head. Five…four…three…two…one. Right on time, his absurdly loud alarm clock decides to blare its klaxon greeting. He grumbles as he slams his hoof on the snooze button and gets up, moving across the apartment floor littered with boxes of Chineighese food. “No ‘how was your day, Daybreak’?” I ask, feigning insult as he angrily brushes his teeth. “A pony might think you don’t care about me.” I state, trying my hardest not to laugh. “Go fuck yourself, Daybreak,” he says by way of reply as I burst out laughing, “how does that one work for you?” “Eh, it’s a start,” I reply, still fighting off the occasional chuckle. “Did you hear about what happened on the news?” I ask, sobering up a little bit. “Nah, what is it this time?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Another case of pirates taking over some merchant ship or something?” “Some would wish. There’s some Feronian splinter group that really doesn’t like the execution of the former head of state, Marazi Selianu.” I said, a grim expression overtaking my face. “It doesn’t really affect us, but it looks to me like they’re forming a terrorist group.” The Feronians are a recently discovered spacefaring race that the Lunar Alliance is on pretty good terms with. A terrorist group popping up could mean disaster if it evolves past a small problem. The Feronian Republic recently had a coup that deposed the head of state and brought about a big change in government. Unstable government + splinter terrorist group is not an equation that ends well. “Whatever, it’ll probably blow over soon enough,” Hemlock replied, spitting out his mouthwash and heading towards the door. “I’ll see you later Daybreak, I gotta get to work before I’m late.” I sit around for about a half hour before deciding to head over to the spaceport and check the job registry for anything new. I put on my old, worn down Thaumitec Assistance Goggles, or TAG and head out the door. As the goggles boot up, a familiar voice assaults my mind. “Welcome back, Desolate Daybreak, Thaumitec Assistance Goggles version 3.9.4 booted and ready for use. As a reminder, this hardware is still extremely outdated.” The soothing voice of L.U.N.A., my A.I. companion echoes through my brain. “Yeah, I know, and I also know that you’re aware of my current situation. I’ll get back to you on that when I can actually afford the latest version,” I scoff, a little annoyed that she still says that line of dialogue despite myself. “Apologies, but I am programmed to inform you on boot up.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. “You have 13 new emails, 11 of which are marked as spam. Would you like me to display them on your HUD?” The A.I. asks, to which I give the affirmative. The emails are nothing new, just spam and two interesting discounts for food delivery that would cost less than going to the store, funnily enough. I flag the discounts and dispose of the spam, before taking a taxi down to the spaceport. As expected, there are no available jobs, but I banter a little bit with the person in charge with handing out the jobs before going on my way again. I go straight back home and order delivery from Chop Sticks’ Chineighese Food, one of the places I frequent and the reason why our apartment’s floor is swamped with empty boxes of Lo Mane. I grab the food, tip the delivery boy a little bit and sit back on the recliner, where I finish the food and drift off to sleep. Just another average day, I guess. Author's Note First chapter! I'm not great at this, I know, but please like the story if you enjoyed and leave a comment below giving me feedback, positive or negative. Tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading! Chapter 2I’m woken up by sirens in my ear. I fall out of the recliner out of surprise as Hemlock’s alarm rings with the fury of a thunderstorm. Speaking of Hemlock, the douche decides to make his presence known by snickering at my misfortune. I proceed to slam the snooze button and rub my aching ears as I get up out of the chair and head to the bathroom. I stop at the mirror. My reflection stares back; years of struggling to pay the bills making themselves known in the small wrinkles lining my forehead. My silvery white mane is unkempt, and the bedhead most definitely shows. My eyes drift down to my flanks, where my cutie mark struggles to make its appearance known through the dull black coat. The image depicts a black sun ringed with white floating in an expanse of stars, that combines with my black coat to create a decent impression of space. My eyes are the same they always are, a wave of blue cascading towards the pupil flecked with green to make it distinct. When you look closely, my pupil looks kinda like a black hole sucking in all the color from the iris around it. Hemlock’s the only one who’s ever really gotten that close to me; when he knocked me flat on my flank while rushing through the door. He said it looked, “awesome as shit, dude,” and then proceeded to run into the apartment, grab something, and run back out in what must have been ten seconds flat. Anyway, I step up to the cracked, disgusting thing that we call a sink and brush my teeth quickly. Next, I step into the cracked, disgusting thing that we call a bathtub and turn on the shower, quickly washing myself before getting out and drying with the good ‘ol shake method. Nothing particularly interesting happens at work, and nothing particularly interesting happens for the rest of the week either. I set up shop, served the customers, begged my boss for a little extra money because the price of rent in that dinky old apartment is ridiculously high, fruitlessly checked for jobs that offered a ship. You know, the usual. It was boring, it was easy, and it had no unnecessary complications. But, as they say, nothing good ever lasts. In a stroke of irony that would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad, the one day I had to set aside to relax that week was easily the most stressful one of all. My special talent lets me know when something bad is about to happen. No, it’s not divination or fortune telling or anything like that, I just get this tingly feeling like I’m charged with electricity when something’s about to go wrong. The worse the feeling is, the more catastrophic that problem is going to be; and boy was my talent going off. I woke up to pins and needles and every hair on my body was standing up like I’d received a massive shock. I waddled into the bathroom and took a hot shower to relax my muscles, but the pins and needles were just replaced by a deep sense of foreboding and a very tingly feeling. I walked back into the main room of our little apartment and sat on the side of the bed as Hemlock snorted once loudly in his sleep and rolled over. I briefly entertained the thought of waking up Hemlock, but I remembered the last time I tried to wake him up early for anything less than a universe-ending apocalypse. A phantom pain lanced through my face as I recalled the sting of that haymaker. I decided it probably wasn’t worth the pain and left through the front door without a second thought. My day was about to get much, much worse. I took a cab over to the 6th Avenue, looking for a quick cup of joe with my discount for working at Mister Espresso’s, when an explosion rocked the street. I was knocked to the ground and the wind left my lungs in a rush as a wave of hot air swept the streets. Pedestrians and cars alike scrambled to flee the vicinity as half the block was decimated by a series of explosions. I got to my feet, dazed by a possible concussion and ducked into a nearby alleyway to avoid whatever was going on out there. I heard the drone of sirens as the Poli came thundering down the block. The term was borrowed from some old Equestria-One term to describe the military bots that worked alongside pony partners to fight crime. The term originally meant government, and it was chosen because they basically acted like government’s peacekeepers more than actual police. I saw a light from behind me in the alleyway, and caught a glimpse of a tall, black figure, wearing some type of uniform. With a flash, he was gone; probably from a long-distance teleport or a warp or something. On the ground, however, he left behind something of note. Even after getting a concussion, I’m not stupid, so I went over and picked up the little patch. It had a symbol on it the likes of which I’d never seen before. I stumbled out of the alleyway, still a little in shock at the events that had just taken place, and so I decided to dip. Before I could, though, I noticed where exactly the attack had struck. Mister Espresso’s, the job that had kept me fed, housed and safe in New Manehattan, was gone; and with it went my dreams. From what it looked, there were no options left for me. Without Mister Espresso’s, it was only a matter of time before I ran out of money and Hemlock and I couldn’t afford the dingy little apartment we called home. My eyes stung with tears as I saw my life go up in flames and I had to force myself to leave the area. It was hard, but I managed to track down a taxi and got in, uncaring of the worried look he sent my way when he saw the state I was in. He dropped me off at the apartment and I rushed in before collapsing into the recliner; my lifeline. That chair’s been there though everything. It’s a ratty, moth-eaten old thing, but it’s mine. It was my mother’s and it’s the only thing of real value that I own aside from my TAG. Maybe it smells like shit and looks like it belongs in the dump. Maybe the reclining part doesn’t even work, and it has to be pushed into place manually. Maybe it’s worth less than a month of rent. All that stops mattering when you realize how much sentimentality the damned thing holds for me. The seat literally has an imprint of my flank, I use it so much. Once, I had to use the thing as shelter while I was living on the streets. Either way, the second I hit the chair, I let the tears flow. All the pent-up sadness and anguish, released in a moment. I never had time to grieve before. When my dad left, I was far too young to know what was going on or to even remember it. When my mother passed, I didn’t have much of any time to grieve her passing; I was too focused on trying to survive in a world that seemed Tartarus-bent on keeping me down. Now, though, I had plenty of time to grieve and I was going to take full advantage of it. It must have been an hour or two of me sitting there, sniffling into the recliner’s disgusting, stained seat; but I eventually fell asleep. I woke up just as Hemlock got back from work, and I broke the news to him. “You’re sure?” He asked, sitting down on the floor which was truthfully probably more comfortable than the recliner. “Everything’s gone?” “Yeah…” I replied remorsefully, “I saw it with my own two eyes. Mister Espresso’s gone, and my life went with it.” I, of course, didn’t realize that I had one last option left. I had ignored it on the bounty board for so long, I didn’t even remember it was there. “Go check the bounty board,” said Hemlock, “maybe a job’s opened up for you.” He sounded hopeful, but I scoffed and shot him a dirty look. “I have checked the bounty board every day it was possible for the last 6 years, and you think that now they finally have a job that could supply me a ship? Please.” Thinking back on it, I must have looked like a gigantic idiot; ignoring the thing that was right in front of my muzzle. “Hey, you have nothing left to lose. What harm could a little bounty board checkup do? Maybe Chancellor Luna’s looking out for you, who knows?” Hemlock shot back. The way he said it made me think he knew more than he let on, but I let it slide. “Fine,” I grunted, letting his logic win out over my frustration, “just know that you probably won’t like what I’m going to find.” I left him with those parting words, and grabbed my TAG before heading out the door. As it was booting up I checked out the news on a TV in a nearby tech shop. Predictably, it was all over the attack from earlier; claiming it was an attack from the Celestial Coalition. President Celestia, of course, denied any allegations of such; although photographic evidence was shown of the Celestial Coalition’s symbol found near one of the blast sites. Chancellor Luna was furious: if looks could kill, Celestia would be a pile of ashes right now. It made me think, though, just what was that thing that I saw teleporting out of the area? Either way, I soon stepped away and started off towards the docks. I could’ve sworn I saw a little storm cloud form above my head as it hung low in depression. When I got to the bounty board I told Jobs, the guy who runs the board, about what had happened, and he gave me some empty platitudes that I was too busy moping to catch. There was, however, one thing on the board. It was the job that I had never taken, to the Outer Rim. When I say the Outer Rim, I don’t mean the outer rim of known space. The Outer Rim is capitalized because it’s an actual place on the map. The Outer Rim is dangerous, immensely so. You could run into anything from a rouge pirate base to an asteroid belt. The area is mapped and charted to a degree, but nopony can really tell where the pirates choose to make their bases, nor what could be out there lurking. I was not too happy that it was my only option, but I was grateful that I had any options at all. I asked Jobs who I should look for and he gave me a TAG number and a name: Lucky Find. I headed back to the apartment to break the news to Hemlock but I bumped into a pony trying to get to the board as I was turning around. “Sorry,” I said dismissively, moving to go on my way, when Jobs stopped me. “That’s him,” he said, pointing to the unicorn I had bumped into. Now, I’m not a particularly lucky person, so I was understandably shocked when I immediately bumped into the person I was about ready to find. “Hey, uh, Lucky Find was it?” I asked the gold coated stallion who had started walking away. “Yes?” He responded with a curious glance my way. “You looking for a pilot to go to the Outer Rim?” I asked, a little bit nervous at the prospect. “And you’ve got a ship for that pilot, right?” His eyes lit up and I could swear his coat brightened a little bit as he started running at me. “Yes!” He shouted as he got uncomfortably close to me and started yammering about how long he’s waited for a pilot to finally take that job. I was not in the mood to deal with this guy’s shit after the hell I had gone through just a scant few hours earlier, so I decided to make a tactical retreat. I gave him my TAG number and retreated with a speed borne only from desperation. I made it back to the apartment without any problems, and thankfully without a chatty unicorn tailing me. “Hey Hemlock, guess what?” I said with a little more enthusiasm than I expected. “You found a job at the dock?” He asked with a bemused smirk on his face. “Well there’s that, but unless you want to deal with a foreclosed apartment, we’re both going to Xenon-223.” I said, realizing a little too late that he might not understand exactly where or what Xenon-223 was. It was silent for a few seconds. “…What.” He said it as a statement, not a question, “We’re going to Xenon-223, in the Outer Rim?” “Yep,” I responded, with a little bit of grim finality in my voice, feeling a little bit guilty at having dragged my friend along with me on this deathtrap of a journey. “That’s bucking awesome!” He exclaimed, pumping a hoof in the air. “Now I can quit my boring-ass job at The Mare’s Head!” “…What.” Now it was my turn to be surprised. I knew he was adventurous, but I never thought he was suicidal. Xenon-223 is a jungle planet, which isn’t that bad on its own. The real problem comes when you realize that its atmosphere is almost entirely composed of potassium. For those of you that don’t know much about chemistry, that may not sound so bad; however, potassium reacts violently in the presence of water. Consider the fact that pony bodies are ~70% water, and you can start to understand how dangerous Xenon-223 is. If that isn’t bad enough, the flora and fauna there have adapted to this by replacing H20 with a highly unstable compound called mercurial thaumiate (Hg2Thm4). Mercurial thaumiate is created when mercury and thaumium form an ionic bond with each other, but due to the tendency for mercury to be liquid at room temperature and the magical nature of thaumium, the compound that is formed from those bonds is also liquid. Regardless, mercurial thaumiate is dangerous and highly unstable outside of a controlled atmosphere. If you ingest any of it, it’s night-night for you. And we were going to go there. What happened to the boring, unfulfilling 7:00 A.M. to 5:00 P.M. routine? Author's Note Hey, sorry for the delay. As I said, I'm pretty busy so my time to work on this isn't exactly prevalent. Aside from that, there's not much to this chapter other than a little bit of sort of drawn-out, sort of rushed exposition and a little bit of chemistry. There's nothing much to note with the chemistry other than Thaumium's electron count: 156. This is why it can react with mercury, and is part of what gives it its magical properties. The electrons near the nucleus are pulled with incredible force due to the density of the proton core of the nucleus, forced to travel at an impressive 89% the speed of light just so that they don't wildly scatter in all directions due to the magnetic forces at work. This speed generates energy, and most of it is expelled in the form of mana, or magical energy. Thaumium can bond to mercury because its electron count allows Mercury to fully complete its valence electron shell and become a pseudo-noble element. This forms mercurial thaumiate, which is liquid at room temperature due to the properties of the elements it was build off of. Sorry if my chemistry is a little bit off, this stuff is way outta my league, but from what I can tell it's pretty solid. Oh yeah, the tense switch is on purpose. He's narrating this from the near future, the story will catch up to him in the next chapter most likely. I did it to give myself a little break from writing in the present tense; it's a lot harder than doing a third-person omniscient or a first-person, past tense narration. As always, please like the story if you enjoyed and leave a comment below giving me feedback; positive or negative. Tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading!
IntroductionThe streets were empty. A few smatterings of ponies here and there dotted the landscape, but all was quiet in New Manehattan. You know, whoever built the station did a good job of capturing everything that made Manehattan what it was. You have the skyscrapers that almost touch the high, domed ceiling; you have the small businesses and shops that line the streets; the ridiculously overpriced housing; and, finally, you have a massive number of homeless ponies that can barely scrape by on minimum wage jobs. Of course, the ponies of Equestria One never had to worry about any of that. It was a magical paradise rife with harmony, right? Wrong. There were fewer gutter rats in Manehattan before we had to move to space, sure, but I can guarantee you that there were homeless ponies roving the streets then, too. How could I know that? It’s a facet of life. The first rule of economics is scarcity; there will never be enough of anything to fully satisfy those who want for it. Even with a smaller population basis like that of on Equestria One, there were not enough resources to properly accommodate every pony that dotted its surface. That’s without even considering the other races, which took away even more resources and added to the population density of the planet; leaving each race with a homeless and impoverished population of some sort. While it was never enough of an issue that the princesses took notice, it was most definitely there. Today, 1431 A.E.P., homelessness is a massive problem because of the increased housing cost brought on by moving our population onto the huge space stations that dot the galaxy. But that’s enough of that, excuse my tendency to ramble a little bit. I am Desolate Daybreak, an impoverished pegasus with a knack for finding myself in trouble. Fortunately for me, it’s been a while since I last got myself into any sort of trouble, outside of financial problems. I work a nine to five job at Mister Espresso’s, a little coffee shop on 32 6th Avenue. I barely make enough money at my shitty job to afford an apartment, much less any sort of luxuries. I live on my own, and have done so since I was old enough to get a job. My mother, bless her soul, died when I was only 13. My father is a deadbeat piece of shit who left my mother less than a month after my birth, so I was on my own. In her wake, my mother left me with a run-down apartment, 400 bits to my name, and a shitty mattress on the floor that we called a bed. As a teenage colt on my own in the world, I was forced to do some very unpleasant things to survive. I took jobs of all kinds, from selling drugs to sweeping the floors after hours at a nightclub. I have no doubt that my employers took me in out of pity rather than because they were impressed. I was a street urchin, and now, 6 years later, I’m a cashier. The greatest thing my mother could have possibly given me, however, was my flight license. As a pegasus, the one thing we want to do most in life is fly free. This, however, is impossible to do on the stations, due to the heavy restrictions on station airspace. You accumulate a large fee very quickly if you fly for too long past your allotted time, or outside a licensed flight area. I can only afford to go to the station park occasionally, and the meager amount of flight time I get there is negligible at best, but important for my mental health. My mother gave me something great, however. Working double shifts gave her enough extra money to put into savings that she could send me to flight school to learn how to pilot a spacecraft. That remains to this day, the greatest thing anybody has ever done for me. Flight school was hard, and the subjects ranged in topic from mathematics all the way to physics. This did not deter me, however, and I threw myself into my studies, determined to make my one shot at getting a license count. I ended up with a pilot’s license but no ship to my name, and it’s something that I’ve been working hard to find. I’m not the only would-be pilot out there, and getting a job in the flight industry is tough. I’ve been on the lookout for a job, but it’s exceptionally difficult when the only flight experience you have is a license you worked your ass off to earn. Working at Mister Espresso’s isn’t quite torturous, but it’s a grim reminder that I’m trapped on the station with no way out. I make weekly trips to the port in search of open jobs, but there are no steady ones that I can find for a pilot without a ship. There’s one job, but I’m not desperate enough to take it quite yet. It’s a salvage mission to the Outer Rim, but it’s dangerous, and I’m not willing to put my life on the line until I must. I’m just a hopeless little sob-story without as much as a spare bit to his name. I have friends, sure, but they’re more like acquaintances honestly. I had to take a roommate in a while ago due to rising housing prices on my street, but we’re rarely home around the same time. There’s also the fact that he’s a thestral and stereotypically sleeps during the day, only coming out to work the night shift at a bar called The Mare’s Head on 18th St. His name is Hemlock Shadow, and his special talent is poison-making, although there’s not much use for that when you’re destitute and working at a bar. We’re on pretty good terms for guys working paycheck to paycheck, and using the one-bedroom apartment only as a crash. We have a bed and a recliner chair for the rare occasion that the bed is occupied and we’re both home. As it turns out, with me both on the lookout for a job as a pilot and working a nine to five, and him working the night shift at a bar, we don’t really use the apartment for anything except for a place to lay our heads. I’ll occasionally visit The Mare’s Head on my downtime to see him, but I have neither the bits nor the time to make frequent visits. A nice glass of beer every now and then does wonders for the stress of living sometimes. I think I’m a pretty average pony, all things considered. Living paycheck to paycheck, holding onto the slightest shred of hope that one day I could be free. Honestly, it’s more than unlikely; I just tell myself that it’s possible, so I can keep a grip on life. I’m not making any progress in life now, but who knows? Maybe I could win the lottery or something. Regardless, it’s irrelevant. I don’t know why you’d want to read it, but my name is Desolate Daybreak and this is my story. Author's Note This is the introduction. A little bit of a primer for Chapter One. This is my first story on Fimfiction, so tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1Mister Espresso’s isn’t exactly the nicest coffee shop this side of the Garston Belt, but it’s not the worst either. It’s a small place, but not crushingly small like some shops. It’s got 2 tables near the back that are rarely used, and a couple stools near the counter that a lot of regulars frequent. Even though it’s a small shop, on a fast day there could be people lining up to get a coffee. Although the coffee’s not notoriously good, it works wonders and I wouldn’t be surprised if the stuff could wake the dead. I, personally, have to dump a lot of creamer into the stuff to stop from gagging at the taste. After a while, you honestly just get used to the flavor. I still dump a bunch of creamer in, it makes it taste a lot better. Despite the gasoline that we disguise as coffee, a lot of people frequent the place, and slow days don’t come often. Today, however, it’s a quiet day at the shop. A few regulars dropped by earlier, ordering some coffee and maybe a bagel for their commute to work. None of them stayed to chat, unfortunately, but it’s understandable. As lucky as I am to be working at Mr. Espresso’s, considering how many worse jobs there are out there; it’s nothing if not boring. By the moon, there’s nothing to do on slow days! My boss is a decent stallion, although we aren’t permitted to do much while we’re behind the counter. No holo-mags, no e-books, nothing. Even though I couldn’t even afford holo-mags or e-books if I wanted to; it’s the principle that annoys me. Regardless, I understand why that rule’s in place. I normally zone out when there’s nopony to serve, and today is no different. My train of thought derails and crashes into a mountainside, however, when the bell jingles and a unicorn mare walks in. If I think I’m average, then this mare makes me look like a celebrity in comparison. Her mane and coat are both the blandest, most boring grey I have ever seen in my life. When she turns to me I can see that her eyes are no different. Her cutie mark is of a grey briefcase that tries its best to not be drowned out in the sea of dull colors that is this mare. I try to look cheerful as she walks up to the counter agonizingly slowly. Each step seems to take an eternity to finish and I can’t help but start to doze off by the time she makes it to the counter. I jolt awake when she looks up at me, and I muster up as much enthusiasm as I can, “Hello ma’am, and welcome to Mister Espresso’s.” I try my hardest not to let my boredom show, but it’s certainly there as I say, “what can I get for you today?” Her voice seems to drag. “A black coffee,” she drones. “As black as you can make it. Also, I’d like a plain bagel.” Her order is extremely bland, but she puts the five bits on the counter, so I comply. “Coming right up!” I reply, before grabbing a cup with one wing and depositing it under the coffee maker and brushing the change into a hoof with my other wing. I deposit the money into the register and log the purchase while the drink is being poured. After grabbing a bagel, a napkin and a bag, I deposit her order in front of her with a receipt. I give her my best winning smile, “Thank you, and have a nice day,” I say as she gives her thanks and, surprisingly, takes a seat at the counter. After a few seconds of waiting for her to say something, I look away and start to zone off again, musing on what I’ll do when my shift is over. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear her clear her throat. “Did you say something?” I ask, a little surprised that she’s interested in conversation. “I asked what your name was,” she huffs, undoubtedly annoyed that she must repeat herself. “And this coffee is quite good, I might add; I’ll have to keep this place in mind next time I’m in the area.” I give her a weird look; the coffee tastes terrible without any creamer to soften it. “My name is Desolate Daybreak, although most just call me Daybreak,” with a little nod to punctuate the statement, I continue. “Thank you for your compliment, and apologies for zoning out. It gets a little dull in here sometimes, so I tend to zone out a lot.” “It’s understandable,” she replies with a nod, “I used to work a nine to five job when I was an up and coming mare in the legal industry. I know it’s not easy to keep yourself entertained when you’re behind the counter.” “Yeah, it doesn’t help that we’re not allowed to bring anything behind the counter that could distract us too much, like a holo-mag or something. That would probably help to dull the boredom.” If I could even afford anything like that. I think dejectedly. I notice she hasn’t given me her name, so I ask out of politeness. “My name is Brief Case, I work as a lawyer at Case and Point P.A. Here’s my card, if you ever need a lawyer.” She proceeds to pull a card out of…somewhere and hoofs it over to me. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I really must be getting to the firm now. Bye.” She hops off the stool, taking her bag with her, and throws away the empty thing before leaving without a passing glance. “She seemed fairly nice, for a lawyer.” I muse, before realizing that I had just met the, possibly, most stereotypical lawyer in the galaxy. Uninspired coat and mane colors, briefcase for a cutie mark, yep, that’s pretty much as stereotypical as it gets. I think, a little amused at the prospect. Nothing much happens for the rest of the day, and so I get the greenlight from my boss to close the shop ten minutes early. After saying goodbye to the boss, I walk out onto the sidewalk and flag down one of the taxis. As the taxi takes off into the sky, I take a minute to admire the scenery. New Manehattan may be a gilded cage, but damn if it doesn’t look impressive from the sky. Skyscrapers almost as tall as the domed ceiling, small businesses dotting the ground level, and the sky. The sky is quite the sight to behold. Somehow, one of the bigwig corporations managed to figure out how to turn magic into an artificial sun that doesn’t burn your retinas when you stare for too long. Thankfully, they turn off the magic powering it at night. In addition to that, they also figured out how to use the metal thaumium to make the dome over the city transparent. The view of the stars combined with the fading light from the artificial sun streaming from behind the buildings makes for quite the impressive view. The taxi lands in front of the square of real estate that the city calls an “apartment” and drops me off. I pay him and enter with a quick swipe of a keycard. “Hey Hemlock, I’m home.” I yell as I enter the apartment. He replies by way of throwing a pillow at my face and curling up around the remaining pillow. I sit down on the recliner, laughing softly to myself as he tries to go back to sleep, and count down in my head. Five…four…three…two…one. Right on time, his absurdly loud alarm clock decides to blare its klaxon greeting. He grumbles as he slams his hoof on the snooze button and gets up, moving across the apartment floor littered with boxes of Chineighese food. “No ‘how was your day, Daybreak’?” I ask, feigning insult as he angrily brushes his teeth. “A pony might think you don’t care about me.” I state, trying my hardest not to laugh. “Go fuck yourself, Daybreak,” he says by way of reply as I burst out laughing, “how does that one work for you?” “Eh, it’s a start,” I reply, still fighting off the occasional chuckle. “Did you hear about what happened on the news?” I ask, sobering up a little bit. “Nah, what is it this time?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Another case of pirates taking over some merchant ship or something?” “Some would wish. There’s some Feronian splinter group that really doesn’t like the execution of the former head of state, Marazi Selianu.” I said, a grim expression overtaking my face. “It doesn’t really affect us, but it looks to me like they’re forming a terrorist group.” The Feronians are a recently discovered spacefaring race that the Lunar Alliance is on pretty good terms with. A terrorist group popping up could mean disaster if it evolves past a small problem. The Feronian Republic recently had a coup that deposed the head of state and brought about a big change in government. Unstable government + splinter terrorist group is not an equation that ends well. “Whatever, it’ll probably blow over soon enough,” Hemlock replied, spitting out his mouthwash and heading towards the door. “I’ll see you later Daybreak, I gotta get to work before I’m late.” I sit around for about a half hour before deciding to head over to the spaceport and check the job registry for anything new. I put on my old, worn down Thaumitec Assistance Goggles, or TAG and head out the door. As the goggles boot up, a familiar voice assaults my mind. “Welcome back, Desolate Daybreak, Thaumitec Assistance Goggles version 3.9.4 booted and ready for use. As a reminder, this hardware is still extremely outdated.” The soothing voice of L.U.N.A., my A.I. companion echoes through my brain. “Yeah, I know, and I also know that you’re aware of my current situation. I’ll get back to you on that when I can actually afford the latest version,” I scoff, a little annoyed that she still says that line of dialogue despite myself. “Apologies, but I am programmed to inform you on boot up.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. “You have 13 new emails, 11 of which are marked as spam. Would you like me to display them on your HUD?” The A.I. asks, to which I give the affirmative. The emails are nothing new, just spam and two interesting discounts for food delivery that would cost less than going to the store, funnily enough. I flag the discounts and dispose of the spam, before taking a taxi down to the spaceport. As expected, there are no available jobs, but I banter a little bit with the person in charge with handing out the jobs before going on my way again. I go straight back home and order delivery from Chop Sticks’ Chineighese Food, one of the places I frequent and the reason why our apartment’s floor is swamped with empty boxes of Lo Mane. I grab the food, tip the delivery boy a little bit and sit back on the recliner, where I finish the food and drift off to sleep. Just another average day, I guess. Author's Note First chapter! I'm not great at this, I know, but please like the story if you enjoyed and leave a comment below giving me feedback, positive or negative. Tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 2I’m woken up by sirens in my ear. I fall out of the recliner out of surprise as Hemlock’s alarm rings with the fury of a thunderstorm. Speaking of Hemlock, the douche decides to make his presence known by snickering at my misfortune. I proceed to slam the snooze button and rub my aching ears as I get up out of the chair and head to the bathroom. I stop at the mirror. My reflection stares back; years of struggling to pay the bills making themselves known in the small wrinkles lining my forehead. My silvery white mane is unkempt, and the bedhead most definitely shows. My eyes drift down to my flanks, where my cutie mark struggles to make its appearance known through the dull black coat. The image depicts a black sun ringed with white floating in an expanse of stars, that combines with my black coat to create a decent impression of space. My eyes are the same they always are, a wave of blue cascading towards the pupil flecked with green to make it distinct. When you look closely, my pupil looks kinda like a black hole sucking in all the color from the iris around it. Hemlock’s the only one who’s ever really gotten that close to me; when he knocked me flat on my flank while rushing through the door. He said it looked, “awesome as shit, dude,” and then proceeded to run into the apartment, grab something, and run back out in what must have been ten seconds flat. Anyway, I step up to the cracked, disgusting thing that we call a sink and brush my teeth quickly. Next, I step into the cracked, disgusting thing that we call a bathtub and turn on the shower, quickly washing myself before getting out and drying with the good ‘ol shake method. Nothing particularly interesting happens at work, and nothing particularly interesting happens for the rest of the week either. I set up shop, served the customers, begged my boss for a little extra money because the price of rent in that dinky old apartment is ridiculously high, fruitlessly checked for jobs that offered a ship. You know, the usual. It was boring, it was easy, and it had no unnecessary complications. But, as they say, nothing good ever lasts. In a stroke of irony that would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad, the one day I had to set aside to relax that week was easily the most stressful one of all. My special talent lets me know when something bad is about to happen. No, it’s not divination or fortune telling or anything like that, I just get this tingly feeling like I’m charged with electricity when something’s about to go wrong. The worse the feeling is, the more catastrophic that problem is going to be; and boy was my talent going off. I woke up to pins and needles and every hair on my body was standing up like I’d received a massive shock. I waddled into the bathroom and took a hot shower to relax my muscles, but the pins and needles were just replaced by a deep sense of foreboding and a very tingly feeling. I walked back into the main room of our little apartment and sat on the side of the bed as Hemlock snorted once loudly in his sleep and rolled over. I briefly entertained the thought of waking up Hemlock, but I remembered the last time I tried to wake him up early for anything less than a universe-ending apocalypse. A phantom pain lanced through my face as I recalled the sting of that haymaker. I decided it probably wasn’t worth the pain and left through the front door without a second thought. My day was about to get much, much worse. I took a cab over to the 6th Avenue, looking for a quick cup of joe with my discount for working at Mister Espresso’s, when an explosion rocked the street. I was knocked to the ground and the wind left my lungs in a rush as a wave of hot air swept the streets. Pedestrians and cars alike scrambled to flee the vicinity as half the block was decimated by a series of explosions. I got to my feet, dazed by a possible concussion and ducked into a nearby alleyway to avoid whatever was going on out there. I heard the drone of sirens as the Poli came thundering down the block. The term was borrowed from some old Equestria-One term to describe the military bots that worked alongside pony partners to fight crime. The term originally meant government, and it was chosen because they basically acted like government’s peacekeepers more than actual police. I saw a light from behind me in the alleyway, and caught a glimpse of a tall, black figure, wearing some type of uniform. With a flash, he was gone; probably from a long-distance teleport or a warp or something. On the ground, however, he left behind something of note. Even after getting a concussion, I’m not stupid, so I went over and picked up the little patch. It had a symbol on it the likes of which I’d never seen before. I stumbled out of the alleyway, still a little in shock at the events that had just taken place, and so I decided to dip. Before I could, though, I noticed where exactly the attack had struck. Mister Espresso’s, the job that had kept me fed, housed and safe in New Manehattan, was gone; and with it went my dreams. From what it looked, there were no options left for me. Without Mister Espresso’s, it was only a matter of time before I ran out of money and Hemlock and I couldn’t afford the dingy little apartment we called home. My eyes stung with tears as I saw my life go up in flames and I had to force myself to leave the area. It was hard, but I managed to track down a taxi and got in, uncaring of the worried look he sent my way when he saw the state I was in. He dropped me off at the apartment and I rushed in before collapsing into the recliner; my lifeline. That chair’s been there though everything. It’s a ratty, moth-eaten old thing, but it’s mine. It was my mother’s and it’s the only thing of real value that I own aside from my TAG. Maybe it smells like shit and looks like it belongs in the dump. Maybe the reclining part doesn’t even work, and it has to be pushed into place manually. Maybe it’s worth less than a month of rent. All that stops mattering when you realize how much sentimentality the damned thing holds for me. The seat literally has an imprint of my flank, I use it so much. Once, I had to use the thing as shelter while I was living on the streets. Either way, the second I hit the chair, I let the tears flow. All the pent-up sadness and anguish, released in a moment. I never had time to grieve before. When my dad left, I was far too young to know what was going on or to even remember it. When my mother passed, I didn’t have much of any time to grieve her passing; I was too focused on trying to survive in a world that seemed Tartarus-bent on keeping me down. Now, though, I had plenty of time to grieve and I was going to take full advantage of it. It must have been an hour or two of me sitting there, sniffling into the recliner’s disgusting, stained seat; but I eventually fell asleep. I woke up just as Hemlock got back from work, and I broke the news to him. “You’re sure?” He asked, sitting down on the floor which was truthfully probably more comfortable than the recliner. “Everything’s gone?” “Yeah…” I replied remorsefully, “I saw it with my own two eyes. Mister Espresso’s gone, and my life went with it.” I, of course, didn’t realize that I had one last option left. I had ignored it on the bounty board for so long, I didn’t even remember it was there. “Go check the bounty board,” said Hemlock, “maybe a job’s opened up for you.” He sounded hopeful, but I scoffed and shot him a dirty look. “I have checked the bounty board every day it was possible for the last 6 years, and you think that now they finally have a job that could supply me a ship? Please.” Thinking back on it, I must have looked like a gigantic idiot; ignoring the thing that was right in front of my muzzle. “Hey, you have nothing left to lose. What harm could a little bounty board checkup do? Maybe Chancellor Luna’s looking out for you, who knows?” Hemlock shot back. The way he said it made me think he knew more than he let on, but I let it slide. “Fine,” I grunted, letting his logic win out over my frustration, “just know that you probably won’t like what I’m going to find.” I left him with those parting words, and grabbed my TAG before heading out the door. As it was booting up I checked out the news on a TV in a nearby tech shop. Predictably, it was all over the attack from earlier; claiming it was an attack from the Celestial Coalition. President Celestia, of course, denied any allegations of such; although photographic evidence was shown of the Celestial Coalition’s symbol found near one of the blast sites. Chancellor Luna was furious: if looks could kill, Celestia would be a pile of ashes right now. It made me think, though, just what was that thing that I saw teleporting out of the area? Either way, I soon stepped away and started off towards the docks. I could’ve sworn I saw a little storm cloud form above my head as it hung low in depression. When I got to the bounty board I told Jobs, the guy who runs the board, about what had happened, and he gave me some empty platitudes that I was too busy moping to catch. There was, however, one thing on the board. It was the job that I had never taken, to the Outer Rim. When I say the Outer Rim, I don’t mean the outer rim of known space. The Outer Rim is capitalized because it’s an actual place on the map. The Outer Rim is dangerous, immensely so. You could run into anything from a rouge pirate base to an asteroid belt. The area is mapped and charted to a degree, but nopony can really tell where the pirates choose to make their bases, nor what could be out there lurking. I was not too happy that it was my only option, but I was grateful that I had any options at all. I asked Jobs who I should look for and he gave me a TAG number and a name: Lucky Find. I headed back to the apartment to break the news to Hemlock but I bumped into a pony trying to get to the board as I was turning around. “Sorry,” I said dismissively, moving to go on my way, when Jobs stopped me. “That’s him,” he said, pointing to the unicorn I had bumped into. Now, I’m not a particularly lucky person, so I was understandably shocked when I immediately bumped into the person I was about ready to find. “Hey, uh, Lucky Find was it?” I asked the gold coated stallion who had started walking away. “Yes?” He responded with a curious glance my way. “You looking for a pilot to go to the Outer Rim?” I asked, a little bit nervous at the prospect. “And you’ve got a ship for that pilot, right?” His eyes lit up and I could swear his coat brightened a little bit as he started running at me. “Yes!” He shouted as he got uncomfortably close to me and started yammering about how long he’s waited for a pilot to finally take that job. I was not in the mood to deal with this guy’s shit after the hell I had gone through just a scant few hours earlier, so I decided to make a tactical retreat. I gave him my TAG number and retreated with a speed borne only from desperation. I made it back to the apartment without any problems, and thankfully without a chatty unicorn tailing me. “Hey Hemlock, guess what?” I said with a little more enthusiasm than I expected. “You found a job at the dock?” He asked with a bemused smirk on his face. “Well there’s that, but unless you want to deal with a foreclosed apartment, we’re both going to Xenon-223.” I said, realizing a little too late that he might not understand exactly where or what Xenon-223 was. It was silent for a few seconds. “…What.” He said it as a statement, not a question, “We’re going to Xenon-223, in the Outer Rim?” “Yep,” I responded, with a little bit of grim finality in my voice, feeling a little bit guilty at having dragged my friend along with me on this deathtrap of a journey. “That’s bucking awesome!” He exclaimed, pumping a hoof in the air. “Now I can quit my boring-ass job at The Mare’s Head!” “…What.” Now it was my turn to be surprised. I knew he was adventurous, but I never thought he was suicidal. Xenon-223 is a jungle planet, which isn’t that bad on its own. The real problem comes when you realize that its atmosphere is almost entirely composed of potassium. For those of you that don’t know much about chemistry, that may not sound so bad; however, potassium reacts violently in the presence of water. Consider the fact that pony bodies are ~70% water, and you can start to understand how dangerous Xenon-223 is. If that isn’t bad enough, the flora and fauna there have adapted to this by replacing H20 with a highly unstable compound called mercurial thaumiate (Hg2Thm4). Mercurial thaumiate is created when mercury and thaumium form an ionic bond with each other, but due to the tendency for mercury to be liquid at room temperature and the magical nature of thaumium, the compound that is formed from those bonds is also liquid. Regardless, mercurial thaumiate is dangerous and highly unstable outside of a controlled atmosphere. If you ingest any of it, it’s night-night for you. And we were going to go there. What happened to the boring, unfulfilling 7:00 A.M. to 5:00 P.M. routine? Author's Note Hey, sorry for the delay. As I said, I'm pretty busy so my time to work on this isn't exactly prevalent. Aside from that, there's not much to this chapter other than a little bit of sort of drawn-out, sort of rushed exposition and a little bit of chemistry. There's nothing much to note with the chemistry other than Thaumium's electron count: 156. This is why it can react with mercury, and is part of what gives it its magical properties. The electrons near the nucleus are pulled with incredible force due to the density of the proton core of the nucleus, forced to travel at an impressive 89% the speed of light just so that they don't wildly scatter in all directions due to the magnetic forces at work. This speed generates energy, and most of it is expelled in the form of mana, or magical energy. Thaumium can bond to mercury because its electron count allows Mercury to fully complete its valence electron shell and become a pseudo-noble element. This forms mercurial thaumiate, which is liquid at room temperature due to the properties of the elements it was build off of. Sorry if my chemistry is a little bit off, this stuff is way outta my league, but from what I can tell it's pretty solid. Oh yeah, the tense switch is on purpose. He's narrating this from the near future, the story will catch up to him in the next chapter most likely. I did it to give myself a little break from writing in the present tense; it's a lot harder than doing a third-person omniscient or a first-person, past tense narration. As always, please like the story if you enjoyed and leave a comment below giving me feedback; positive or negative. Tell me what I can do better so I can improve! Also, let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors that I missed in my self editing. Thanks for reading!
