The Warp Core Conspiracy

Chapters

Chapter 2: The Survivor
Chapter 3: First Contact
Chapter 4: Medical Emergency
Chapter 5: The Princess
Chapter 6: A Brief History of Equestrian Aeronautics
Chapter 7: The Burdens of a Starfleet Doctor
Chapter 8: A Minor Malfunction in Probe Seven
Chapter 9: Preparing for a Gala
Chapter 10: The Expendable Mare
Chapter 11: Small Horses in Evening Wear
Chapter 12: Salmon Dinner
Chapter 13: The Cavern
Chapter 14: Math on a Whiteboard
Chapter 16: The Spy
Chapter 17: The Council of Four Kingdoms
Chapter 18: Conducting Diplomacy
Chapter 19: Nighttime Aboard an Alien Starship
Chapter 20: Slideshow Hat
Chapter 21: Ponyville
Chapter 22: The Interface
Chapter 23: Assassination of Federation Officers
Chapter 24: A Certain Vote
Chapter 25: The Orbital Deception
Chapter 26: A Dangerous Plan
Chapter 27: The Core
Chapter 28: Disinterment
Chapter 30: Pitched Battle
Chapter 31: Failure
Chapter 32: The Fraying Thread
Chapter 33: The Fourth-Born Sisters
Chapter 34: The Fatal Incongruity of Pony and Man
Chapter 35: Epilogue
Chapter 1: Approaching a Planet
Chapter 15: Aeronautics Research
Chapter 29: An Incursion in District 51

Chapter 2: The Survivor

The situation in the transporter room was already desperate by the time Kirk and Spock arrived. The transporter technician was hiding behind his control desk as the transporter pad erupted with burning light and rays of violet energy. The entire room was shaking, and the transporter was releasing an unhealthy whine as something was repeatedly phasing in and out of existence.

“Captain, get back! I can’t get it through, the buffers, they’re overloading--”

Kirk was at that point nearly knocked to the ground as Scotty shot past him, shoving the technician out of the way, himself totally ignoring the radiation and surges of electromagnetic radiation around him.

“Scotty!” cried Kirk. “What’s happening?!”

“You asked for a miracle and I’m delivering! Whatever we’re pulling through has a signature that’s taking the bandwith—ack, we’re burning out the coils—damn it, I have to manage the pattern buffer synchronization manually!”

As technical as that statement sounded, it was punctuated with Scotty using an auto-drill to remove two of the screws from the transporter control panel and tearing it free and tearing it off the remaining two screws by hand.

“But—but that’s suicide--”

“Don’t tell me things that’re wrong!” Scotty reached his hands into the machines and began to make the adjustments, pulling wires and re-configuring them. One of the buffers erupted in flames, and the image over the pad began to fade.

“Scotty, we’re losing her!”

A look of great pain came over Scotty’s face, and he let out a long groan as he stepped back. “I’m sorry, girl, I wish there was another way!” With that, he pulled the fire suppression can from the wall—and slammed it hard into the circuits of the transporter system.

The pattern buffers exploded, taking most of the transport pad with them. The lights burst, and Scotty and the technician were thrown back. Kirk and Spock, unable to enter the room from the distortion, were mostly unharmed but partially deafened and slightly irradiated.

Kirk dropped to the floor to where Scotty lay. His arm had been burned by the blast, and the technician had taken shrapnel but not severely.

“Scotty!”

“Damn my bloody incompetence! Captain, I’ve broken the transporter!”

“Never mind the transporter, you’re burned--”

“Never mind the transporter—NEVER MIND THE TRANSPORTER?!” Scotty popped up with such force that Kirk was nearly thrown back. “Captain, you can’t just say something like--”

“Captain,” said Spock, largely amused.

“Spock, what is...”

Spock was pointing. Kirk looked, and saw something he was not at all expecting.

The pilot of the ship had survived. She lay on the center of the burned and still flaming transporter pad, flat on her side.

She was small. Barely the size of a human child, but proportioned differently in a way that Kirk could not understand until he realized to his great surprise that she was a quadruped. Her body was covered completely in a military flight suit, which was partially burned and marked with a patch depicting what Kirk supposed was a flag—a flag of two winged unicorns circling an unadorned sphere with a rocket rising upward from its surface.

In his surprise, he barely noticed as McCoy entered the room. He had not been summoned, but he hardly needed to be. Whether from the scent of burning transporter or his own doctor instincts, McCoy had clearly sensed that he was needed.

Upon seeing Scotty and the transporter technician, McCoy pointed.

“Nurse, get those burns looked at.” He put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Jim, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but she’s not.”

McCoy looked down at the creature on the transporter pad and froze. He turned angrily toward Kirk.

“Jim, I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian--”

“Technically,” said Spock, still totally calm, “a veterinarian is, in fact, a type of doctor.”

“Don’t give me your Vulcan sass, Spock! Why are you even here anyway?!”

He knelt down beside the creature, deftly manipulating the release hinge on her helmet and pulling it off. Her skin was covered in pale, cream-colored fur, and her hair was long and red and violet in color. The creature inside had her enormous eyes closed, but even at a distance, Kirk could recognize her face as distinctly equine. Equine with a spiraling horn emerging from her forehead.

McCoy seemed largely unfazed by the presence of a badly injured unicorn.

“Bones, have you ever--”

“You know I haven’t, Jim, and it doesn’t matter.” He looked up, his expression grim. “I can’t tell what she is, or how many hearts she’s even supposed to has, but whatever vital signs she has are dropping and dropping fast. She’s hurt, bad. I need to get her to sick-bay. NOW.”

“Bones, can you save her?”

McCoy picked up the unicorn and held her, prepared to rush her to the infirmary—but despite his apparent annoyance, his eyes seemed uncertain. And to Kirk, that was itself terrifying.

“I have no idea what she even is, Jim. For all I know we’ve already lost her. But I’ll try my damnedest. You know that.”

Kirk nodded, and McCoy set off.

This was indeed a First-Contact situation. Kirk knew that. He also knew that it could not possibly have gone worse.

Chapter 3: First Contact

Kirk and Spock quickly made their way back to the bridge. Kirk’s mood had become distinctly sour, although Spock, being a Vulcan, always had approximately the same mood and was apparently nonplussed by the events that had just occurred.

“Today was going so well,” sighed Kirk. “We reached the planet, saw their first warp flight. This was a First Contact, Spock, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.” He groaned. “It’s like getting halfway through your breakfast cereal and finding a tribble in it. Or ordering coffee, black, iced and getting tea, Earl Grey, hot.”

“We have not yet ascertained that this was their first warp flight or merely an early one, the tribble is in fact edible if you peel it, and I find coffee to be a repugnant substance,” replied Spock. “I do, however, appreciate the humble ingenuity of breakfast cereal.”

Kirk stared at Spock as the turbolift came to a stop. “Well I suppose that explains where all my Captain’s Crunch went.”

“We have a replicator, Captain. And I am sure that one day you will, in fact, learn how to use it. If you truly apply yourself.”

The turbolift opened, and Kirk stepped out.

“Captain on the Bridge!”

Kirk took his seat and assessed the situation. Needless to say, the situation was bad.

The ship had been moved back to the planet and was now in orbit around the planet’s moon. It was visible on the viewscreen, with the verdant planet below taking up most of the background. Truly a beautiful sight, although Kirk hardly had time to appreciate it.

“Captain,” said Uhura. “The planet is hailing us on an audio-visual UHF frequency.”

Kirk sighed. “Put them through.”

The screen flickered and suddenly revealed the sight of a pair of enormous eyes staring too closely at a grainy, primitive camera. The owner of the eyes immediately looked up at a screen and, with a squeak, recoiled in horror.

There were three of them in what appeared to be a control room or bridge, although Kirk doubted they were on a ship. One of them, the one in the center, was a pony not unlike the one that was now with Bones—except that instead of being a unicorn, she had a pair of orange wings threaded through an almost anachronistic military uniform. One of her assistants also bore wings, but the other was gray and lacked either a horn or wings. That one seemed to be the most terrified of them all.

“Sweet Celestia, aliens! They’re even more hideous than we thought they were!”

“Sir, they can hear us!”

The commander blinked. "Lieutenant Blossomforth, I am sure they are quite aware of how butt-ugly they are.” She cleared her throat and faced the screen, frowning deeply.

“I am General-Commander Spitfire of the Equestrian Space Force,” she said, her voice simultaneously raspy and almost child-like. “You have attacked our prototype FTL vessel and captured Command-Wizard Moondancer. This is an act of war. You will return her at once, alive and unprobbed, or suffer the consequences of complete and utter destruction and our hooves!”

Kirk stood up. “I am Captain Kirk of the Federation vessel Enterprise--”

“I do not care who or what you are, give her back or suffer the consequences!” She smiled threateningly. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have our planet’s four-megawatt Pegasus space-laser pointed directly at you! Do what we tell you or we’ll punch so many holes in your ship it’ll whistle when it goes through space!”

“Or at the very least,” squeaked the shy gray pony, “we will severely spoil your ship’s paint.”

Kirk looked to Spock. Spock was leaning over ensign Chekov’s sensor results. The ensign looked terrified, but Spock was not bothered in the slightest.

“Spock?”

“There is, indeed, an orbital platform that appears to contain a power signature.”

“And?”

“And the surface of the Enterprise is mostly unpainted.”

One of the subordinate horses gasped in horror, looking up at her screen but apparently farther down at the bridge toward the front. She almost shoved over her commander to get a closer look.

“Commander, look! We’re too late! They’ve already captured an adorable Abyssinian maiden and are forcing her to wear an inappropriately short skirt! They have deprived her of her basic right to PANTS!”

Spitfire gasped in horror, looking enraged, while Kirk looked around the bridge attempting to find who she meant. Eventually all eyes on the bridge fell to M’Ress, who looked as confused as the rest of them.

M’Ress faced the screen. “I am Caitian, I am afraid there must be a mistake--”

“What if they’ve dressed the Command-Wizard in fetish gear too?! What if they’re that kind of aliens?! They could have dressed her in socks and a tight saddle!”

“And blinders,” said the gray equine, her eyes widening and her breathing becoming more heavy. “And a bit...and lots and lots of leather...and they ride her around and beat her with a riding crop--”

“Petty-officer Marble, stop giving them ideas!”

Marble recoiled. “But what if—what if they’ve already laid their eggs in her? What if we get her back and—and she bursts open when we try to eat breakfast and a little Captain Kirk shoots out of her chest!?”

“STOP GIVING THEM IDEAS!” She shoved Marble off her chair, then faced the screen. “If you laid eggs in our Command-Wizard, I will personally squeeze the juices from you, you dirty alien! How dare you touch her or even get your filthy eggs near her various organs!”

“We don’t lay eggs! And there’s been a misunderstanding! Your ship lost warp-field integrity. We engaged to rescue the pilot. She is here, with us. She’s badly injured but safe, we can return--”

“A likely story! That’s exactly what alien invaders would say! I know why you’re here, Captain Kirk of the Federation! You’re here to steal our mares and trample our crops!”

“And probe us,” suggested the gray pony, only to be shoved out of her chair again.

“I’m not going to take the risk! I’m firing my laser, NOW!”

As soon as she said it, the door behind her snapped open and a tall equine in gold and white-armor entered. His face could not be seen behind his mask.

“What is the meaning of this, how dare you interrupt me during firing my laser to defend the planet from the theft of our mares and trampling of our--”

The equine gave her a letter, then departed.

Spitfire, not having hands, dexterously bit the letter open and unfolded it with her hooves and mouth. She read it quickly, muttering to herself, and then her eyes grew wide.

She sighed. “Because of course there’s an SOP for this.” She looked up to the viewscreen. “This matter has officially been pushed above my paygrade. Consider yourself lucky, alien.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that apparently the Princesses foresaw this possibility. There is therefore a written procedure for how to interact with you.” She paused, then her face scrunched. “I am technically supposed to apologize for being rude, although I’m making a judgment call not to. In any effect Princess Celestia wishes to immediately engage diplomatic relations with you. A process she will see to personally.”

“And we would be honored to pursue that channel. Thank you. I understand that this...and our appearance might be surprising to you. But please know we never meant you any harm.”

Spitfire glared at her. “I have no way to know that. So let me give you some advice, Captain Kirk of the Federation of Planets. If our Command-Wizard is harmed in any way, even slightly, this will all be over. For you. Princess Celestia is a being of limitless kindness and softness. Princess Luna is not so forgiving. And far softer.”

The transmission cut out. Kirk flopped back into his chair.

“Well, that went better than expected.” He took a breath, then stood up again. “This is a diplomatic mission now. Spock and M’Ress, start making preparations to beam down. Uhura, you’ll have the bridge. I’ll need a report on their culture and constant monitoring.”

M’Ress swiveled in her chair. “Captain?”

“You have communications and diplomacy training. And apparently you look like a species on their planet, so they might be more comfortable speaking to you. Because the rest of us are apparently ugly to them.”

“I would not feel so bad, Captain,” said Arex, looking over one of his three shoulders. “When I first witnessed a biped as a child, I cried for two days. Bipeds closely match the boogeyman of many of our ancient stories.” He stared at the screen, his eyes growing distant. “But quadrupeds...quadrupeds have a very different meaning.”

“Right.” Kirk started for the door, but stopped. “Also, lieutenant, find yourself some pants.”

“Captain,” said Spock. “Considering the sensitive nature of this diplomatic situation, I believe our greatest concern is the condition of their pilot. Her condition must be secured if success is even to be an option.”

Kirk smiled. “Don’t worry about that, Spock. Bones is the best doctor I’ve ever known. She’ll be back on all four feet in no time.”

Author's Note

Something I had never fully realized until trying to write this was just how much Shatner and Nimoy added to the characters they were playing.

These characters are hard to write. Weirdly hard to write. Because if you just take Spock or Kirk's dialogue and write it down, it sounds incredibly dull. It worked in the series because the actors had a presence to them. Expressions, motion, changes in tone, both working off each other constantly. That is very hard to convey here.

So I had to make some slight changes to their characterization.

Chapter 4: Medical Emergency

McCoy’s patient was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Her tiny body lay splayed out on the medical bed, her life signs dropping, and McCoy frantically trying to do something to slow her rapid descent.

Nurse Chapel looked on, assisting but equally confused as to what to do.

“Doctor, we’re losing her!”

“Yes, nurse, I can see that!” McCoy backed away and tapped on a datapad, trying to access the scans but finding them badly distorted. “Damn it, even the scans won’t work, they can’t get through her body!” He went back to her.

“We need to stop the internal bleeding--”

“I can see that too! But I don’t even know where to start, I’m a Starfleet doctor, I’m trained to deal with HUMANS! They give us special training for each alien on the crew, but this, I don’t even know where to start! She has massive internal injuries and burns from inside her bones, but I don’t even know what’s meant to be a heart or a lung or how her brain is put together--” He held up his hand, which was covered in a viscous and highly reflective silver substance. “I don’t even know if this is blood! How am I supposed to perform a transfusion if I don’t even know the starting basis for her biology?!”

He looked down at her little body as it struggled to take a breath. “Damn it, I need to attempt surgery!”

“But doctor, you don’t even know what her anatomy is or what kind of injury--”

“Damn it, I know that, but if I don’t do something now, we’ll lose her. I can’t even beam her down to her planet for help, the transporter tore her insides apart and she won’t survive another trip."

“I’m not qualified for this, I don’t know where to start.”

“I know.” McCoy’s rage calmed to steely resolve. “But we’re going to do the best we can. That’s all we can do.”

“We need a doctor trained in xenobiology.”

“Well that sure would be nice, but there aren’t exactly any around here apart from me.” McCoy wheeled over the surgical equipment and started attaching probes to where he suspected the brain and heart or hearts should be.

Nurse Chapel stood up. Her face had assumed its own expression of steely resolve. Then she ran to the storage area of the infirmary, pulling open an unused locker and pulling out a heavy piece of equipment.

McCoy stood up. “What in the Sam Hill are you--” Then he realized it. His eyes grew wide when he saw the machine. “No. NO! Damn it, Christine, put that back, we don’t need it!”

“You said yourself, you’re not equipped to do the job alone, and I’m no help. We need it, doctor, regardless of what your pride says.”

“NO! It will just make this harder, I can’t afford to have any distractions, get over here and--”

Chapel pulled the machine to the side of the surgical bed. It was a large mass of metal with wheels and a handle, its surface ridged with heat sinks to protect its delicate technology and an array of enormous, glimmering lenses mounted on the top facing in each direction. She attached a heavy cable to the base of it and ran it to a computer port.

“Christine, if you turn that on, I’ll have you—I’ll have you court-marshaled! You’ll be lancing boils on the lower decks of a colony garbage scow before we get to the next starbase—no, I'll have you demoted to a CALIFORNIA-CLASS ship--”

Chapel looked him in the eye. “And if this little pony makes it back home to her family, I’ll lance those boils with goddamn glee.”

She activated the system. The lenses ignited, filling sickbay with blue light that rapidly resolved into a translucent figure. This in turn resolved into a grainy, semi-human image of a barely-rendered balding man, its low-resolution hologram flickering in pulses as it moved.

It spoke with a distorted, mechanical voice. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

“I have a xeno-equine patient with massive internal bleeding, transporter-related necrosis and severe internal burns from an unknown radio logical source.”

The hologram, although it barely had a face, looked at the patient, then back at McCoy.

“I’m a doctor, not a veterinar--”

“Don’t give me your holographic sass, you leaky bucket of photons! I need to perform a transfusion but I can’t even figure out what her blood is based on, and I need assistance with this surgery! And as soon as we’re done, you’re going straight out an airlock!”

“How rude.” The hologram looked down, and picked up a datapad and began entering data with extreme speed. “I am extrapolating the circulatory system based on known quadruped species, both sentient and sub-sentient, accommodating for an expansive brain. Additionally I am amalgamating all known non-iron blood hemoglobin equivalents to attempt to generate a universal form comparable with the medical replicator. I shall also perform the necessary surgery.”

The hologram attempted to pick up a scalpel, but it fell through his hand and speared itself into the floor.

“Oh,” it said. “It appears my matrix lacks density.”

“Like hell some hologram is going to do surgery in MY sickbay! You’re not even qualified to cut in the galley on meatloaf Mondays! Stop flapping your holographic gums and do something useful! Get on the head, the cortical stimulator barely works but it’s the only thing keeping her with us right now!”

“Because it is improperly calibrated for her brain configuration. It needs to be operated in manual mode.”

“Goddamn it, that’s not medicine, it’s homicide!”

“Not for me. My processing speed is more than adequate to handle it, if you are content to perform the surgery in accordance with my anatomical predictions.”

McCoy glowered, but gestured to Chapel. “Nurse, get her on anesthesia, then get the hemostats ready, we’re going to need a lot of them.”

Chapel nodded and started work. “Is there any chance this will work?”

McCoy, his hands covered in silver, looked up. “About the same chance a snowball has of knocking Satan of his own throne, Christine. But I don’t have time to care, I have medicine to practice.”

Chapter 5: The Princess

The door hissed as it slid open, and Kirk passed through into the auxiliary transporter room. He was so focused on a datapad that he nearly ran into Spock, who easily sidestepped him.

“Reading, Captain?”

“Uhura’s reports, based on the planet’s radio noise,” said Kirk. He looked up. Spock had gotten a tricorder pack and was prepared to depart. The tricorder was one of the newer models, a great improvement over the backpack-mounted ones used when Kirk had just started in Starfleet. “You should probably read it too.”

“I already have, Captain.”

“Spock, the profile is over two hundred pages long.”

“Yes. About the length of a novel meant for human children.”

Kirk frowned. “Any thoughts?

“Yes, Captain. I cross-referenced the form of the planet’s inhabitants with the Universal Fauna Database and found them to be remarkably similar in appearance to an animal from Earth. That animal being--”

“Horses. Yes. I already noticed that.” Kirk flipped through the pad. “Although according to Uhura, they call themselves ponies, which makes sense for their size. I think we should probably avoid calling them ‘horses’ until we figure out if that is an insult to them or not.”

“Being from Earth, are you familiar with these creatures?”

Kirk looked up again, waiting to see if it was a joke. It was not. Spock seemed serious.

“Spock, these are nothing like Earth-horses.”

“Yes. I am aware of that. That was not the question I asked.”

“You mean do I know about horses? Of course I know about horses. I used to ride them on my grandfather’s farm.”

“Ride them, Captain?”

“Yes, Spock, ride them. With a saddle. Does Vulcan not have animals you ride?”

“I would not know. Maintaining an obsolete form of transportation would be illogical, as would be practicing it.”

“But aren’t Vulcan’s sticklers for tradition?”

Spock tilted his head, but only slightly. “Creating generalizations of an entire species produces dangerous lines of thinking, Captain. Especially with regard to efficient practical aspects of our daily lives, such as transportation.”

“It’s not about transportation, Spock. It’s about the joy of riding over an open field, or wondering if you can jump that one wall in the back of the garden that you never could.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk just sighed.

“You wouldn’t understand, I guess. Which is odd considering how much emphasis Vulcans put on tradition.”

“I would hope that there will be no riding of these ponies when we are on the planet’s surface.”

Kirk looked up from his data pad, and then set it down one more time. “Of course not. They are much to small to ride.” He paused. “Or...Mr. Spock, are you trying to imply something?”

“I am merely stating that you should avoid riding the ponies.” He paused. “Additionally, I am quite aware of how you conduct diplomacy.”

“If you mean ‘effectively’, then I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kirk straightened his uniform. His fortune had once again changed. The day had started good, then grown terrible, and was good again. Although the main purpose of the Enterprise was scientific exploration, Kirk himself had always greatly preferred the aspect of exploration that concerned meeting new cultures and civilizations. To interact with them, and understand their perspective on the universe at large. Riding horses on a farm was all well and good, but Kirk was certainly not born to be another Iowa farm boy.

The door hissed and Shiboline M’Ress entered, carrying her own equipment and dressed in a newly fitted alternate uniform. Uniform regulations of course demanded that all women in Starfleet wear skirts, alterations were possible, although for the current situation, an exception had been made.

“Reporting for duty, Captain,” she said. She blinked, and looked around the room. She saw Spock and Kirk, and the transporter technician, who was herself wearing a skirt. At this point, M’Ress began to become nervous.

“Where is the remainder of the away-team?” she asked.

“This is all there is,” said Kirk, confused by the question. “I don’t think we need a larger group. My presences is obligatory, and you are going to assist. Mr. Spock is going to handle basic analysis and readings of the planet for science. I don’t think we need any more than that.”

“But...” M’Ress looked down at her uniform. Specifically, at her red shirt. A color that neither Spock nor Kirk wore. “But...we need one more, don’t we?”

“If we need someone else, we can always beam them down.” Kirk pointed at the phaser on M’Ress’s belt. “Also. Uhura’s reports indicate that the ponies are purely pacifists. Her diplomatic assessment is that they would find the presence of weapons insulting and frightening. We don’t want to spook them. So leave that behind.”

M’Ress’s eyes widened. “Captain, we would be unarmed.”

“I just said that, lieutenant.” Kirk smiled. “They’re adorable ponies. I don’t think we need to worry about them attacking us.”

“Apart from their space laser,” added Spock. Which, Kirk understood, may have been meant as sarcasm.

M’Ress took a breath and set her phaser on the transporter counter. She, being the only one wearing a red shirt, did not like where this was going.

Still, she boarded the transporter pad with the captain and science officer, holding her breath for this part. Transporting was of course safe and effective, but distinctly unpleasant for a creature covered in hair, no matter how silky it may be.

“Lieutenant,” said Kirk. “Does your planet have horses?”

M’Ress frowned, uncertain as to why she was being asked. “Not quite horses, captain, although I admired them greatly while attending the Academy. But we had a very similar organism.”

“Did you ride them?”

“No, Captain. We ate them.”

Kirk’s eyes widened, and he turned to Spock, who was otherwise impassive.

“Well,” he said. “Um...beam us down?”

The transporter hummed and the world seemed to shift slightly. There was a slight tingle as their respective atoms were separated, converted to a waveform, and shot across space only to be forcibly reassembled elsewhere in roughly the same conformation.

Kirk blinked. They had arrived at the coordinates that they had been given, emerging from the transporter in the center of an enormous room. It consisted of a vast chamber topped by a narrow dome, the whole of it supported by ornate columns of gleaming, pure-white stone. The floor, likewise, consisted of beautifully assembled tiles of a similar stone. It was a kind of marble, with the veins of the stones flecked with gold.

Kirk took a deep breath and found, much to his surprise, that this world smelled remarkably fresh. There was no hint of pollution, but to an extreme degree. There was not just a lack of smoke or airborne pollutants, but a lack of the general plastic or chemical scent that permeated almost everything in the Federation built. It was as clear as the air on his grandfather’s farm, or even deeper into the high mountains he usually spent his leave camping in. The only scent he could detect was one of pine, and a strange presence of vanilla.

“Spock, the air!”

“Consists of twenty eight percent oxygen, with the remainder being a mixture of noble gasses, mostly argon and neon. How intriguing.”

“I meant the smell.”

Spock looked up from his tricorder. “It smells like air, Captain.”

“It stinks,” said M’Ress, holding her hand to her nose. “It reeks like baking cake and frosting!”

Kirk had not smelled that, but a Caitian’s nose was, supposedly, far more sensitive than the tiny nubs humans used for sniffing. “Do you not like cake, lieutenant?”

She looked at him. In the bright light of this well-lit world, her pupils had narrowed to thin vertical slits. “I’m Caitian, Captain. We are obligate carnivores. Terran baked goods smell horrific to us. They taste far worse.”

Kirk had not known that, and he had known numerous Caitian women. From what he recalled, though, they certainly did like meat—and, as he had learned from experience, had a strong preference for Terran seafood.

He did not have long to reflect on the best way to woo cat women, however, as several figures entered the far side of the room. Ponies.

Like the masked guard on the view screen, they were dressed in angular armor made of an unknown gold and white material. They appeared to universally be unicorns, and their faces were hidden with armored masks. Each of them carried a spear tipped with a peculiar and unknown metal.

Although “carrying” was not exactly the right word. They did not hold their weapons, but rather their weapons appeared to levitate beside them, supported by barely discernible swirling, glimmering plasma wrapped around their hafts—plasma that matched the colors of the plasma produced by each of their horns.

“Spock,” whispered Kirk. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“That is not a specific question, Captain. If you are referring to the psychokinesis, though, then yes, I am. It is indeed a rare ability, but not unheard of. Even the Vulcan priestesses of Mount Seleya exhibit the ability, as do some humans on occasion.”

“I regret not having my phaser,” admitted M’Ress, glaring at the spears. “I do not appreciate receiving the poke.”

“It’s for show,” called a voice from across the room. “Trust me, you have no idea how hard it is to get poked in Canterlot these days.”

The trio of bipeds turned to face a pony entering the room. Unlike the others, she was not a unicorn but rather a winged pony. Or, rather, had once been.

She wore armor similar to those of the others, although with much more white than gold. Her back was exposed, revealing her wings—although only one matched the color of her blue coat. The other was wrought of fine, silvery metal, the cybernetic component being grafted to a heavily scarred area of her back.

She approached them, smiling. It was apparent that apart from the loss of her wing, her face had also been injured, with a scar across one of her eyes and one ear mostly missing. When she smiled, it was apparent that a few of her molars were also missing on one side.

Even more peculiar, though, was the appearance of her hair. It consisted of numerous colors, forming a distinct rainbow-like effect.

“Wow,” she said, “Spitfire was right. You guys really are ugly.” She paused, then looked down at the back of her hoof, where some lettering had been scrawled with a marker. “Oops,” she said. “That was on the list, she said not to insult you guys. Sorry. You’re ugly in a good way. Like aliens are supposed to be, you know? Especially you in the shiny shirt.”

Kirk looked down at the tiny rainbow-colored horse. As he did, he realized that the relationship between ponies horses was only barely tangential. Apart from their general body type, these creatures did not look even remotely equine. Their eyes were massive, to a disturbing extent, and their facial structure flatter and more pliable. That, and the fact that they were barely three-feet tall from the floor to the top of their heads.

“Are you Princess Celestia?”

The pony snorted. “Do I look like Princess Celestia to you?”

“Considering that we have never seen the Princess,” suggested Spock, “we have no way to answer that question.”

This seemed to confuse the rainbow pony. “Don’t try to confuse me with your fancy mathematics. I’m pretty sure I’m not Celestia. I’m Rainbow Dash. Captain Rainbow Dash. In the infantry sense. I don’t own a ship. I’m with Royal Guard now. Ever since the accident.”

“I am Captain James Kirk. This is Mr. Spock and Lieutenant M’Ress.”

“Neat. I’m here to take you to the Princess. I don’t have much else to do until I finish physical therapy, so I’m helping out at the castle.”

“And the unicorns with the spears?”

“The Royal Guard. In case you’re the bad kind of alien. You know, with slime and possibly goo.”

M’Ress adjusted her equipment. “You seem awfully unafraid of us.”

“Of course I’m not afraid. I’m Rainbow Dash. What do I have to be afraid of? I could totally take you all in a fight, all on my own.”

“I don’t think you need to be afraid at all,” said Kirk, following her as she started to walk. “And if I may say so, this castle smells amazing.”

“I know, right? But altitude does that.”

“Altitude?”

Rainbow Dash motioned to one of the large windows. “Take a look.”

Kirk did, walking to the window—and he felt his breath stop from the sheer beauty of the view.

They were high above a grand city of ornate, white-and-violet buildings that appeared to be assembled on the edge of a vast cliff, built into a high mountain overlooking a seemingly endless landscape of green forests and fields. Far below, Kirk could see narrow roads leading to small country hamlets with their own small fields as well as rivers and forests stretching to other mountains in the great distance. At present, the sun was setting, casting the sky in brilliant orange and pink—even though it was not actually the sun, but an artificial satellite. The sun itself was one of several of the brighter stars emerging as night approached.

“My God,” he said.

“I know, right? Even ponies find it impressive. Especially those without wings. And seeing as I’m pretty sure you’re some kind of evolved hairless mole-rat, my guess is you’ve never seen this either.” Rainbow Dash stood beside him, looking out. “I grew up seeing views like this. For me, it was seeing Equestria from orbit for the first time. That’s what did it for me.”

“Yeah,” replied Kirk, quietly. “Me too. For Earth, I mean. For me it was the same way. It looked so small.”

Rainbow Dash nodded. “Come on. We don’t want to keep the Princess waiting.”

Kirk followed the pony through the castle. As the sun started to set, the world grew slightly cooler, but not to an unpleasant degree. Kirk, having been born in what had once been the United States of America, had little experience with castles, but he had always assumed them to be drafty hulks of stone and uneven floors. This one, though, was built more like an ornate cathedral and somehow maintained a perfect temperature.

The long, airy hallways seemed to have been cleared for their use, and there was a strange sense of quiet, save for the fresh-scented, cool wind that blew through the large windows and past the swooping, gleaming archways.

Kirk, never being a fan of silence, decided to speak.

“So,” he said to the pony leading them. “I’m going to ask a question that I’m sure you get asked a lot.”

“Figured you would eventually,” sighed the pony. “Go ahead.”

“Your hair. Is it dyed like that, or does it grow in naturally?”

Rainbow Dash stopped, looking over her shoulder in surprise. “That...isn’t the question most ponies ask.”

“Is it, though?”

“No, it grows like that. It’s a trait, I guess. My dad has it, and my grandmother had it.”

“So it actually grows in a rainbow like that?”

Rainbow Dash smiled. “I know, right? Pretty awesome, huh?”

“Sure is.”

“Captain,” sighed Spock. “It would be most effective if you did not begin your diplomacy until we reached the Princess.”

“I’m just talking to the pony, Spock. I’ve never met a blue pony before. A lot of green women, sure, but never a pony with blue...fur?”

“Yeah. I’m covered in a fine fuzz. It’s very glossy, for, you know, aerodynamics.”

“And with feathers, too?”

Rainbow Dash stretched out her good wing. “They are great feathers, aren’t they? Other than having half the number I’m supposed to.” Her smiled faded slightly, and she quickly started walking again. “That’s what I figured you were going to ask. About the wing.”

“I figured it was a sore subject.”

“It is. But I’ll tell you if you want to know.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s a cool story, though.”

M’Ress spoke up. “I am interested,” she admitted. “Considering our chief communication’s officer’s assessment of this world as one of pacifist, I had been under the assumption that there was no war here.”

“Whoever told you there’s no war in Equestria was an idiot. And even if there’s not war, I’ve known, like, four ponies that’ve gotten eaten by things.”

“So something ate it?”

Rainbow Dash laughed. “No, of course not, I’m too fast for anything to catch.” She paused, her smile fading. “Or...I guess I was. Not anymore.”

“Then what happened?”

Rainbow Dash paused for a moment. “I used to be a test pilot, with the Space Force,” she said at last. “I mean, when I was little, I wanted to be a Wonderbolt.”

“What is that?” asked Kirk.

Rainbow Dash gasped. “You don’t know what the Wond—oh. Right. Aliens. You must live somewhere really, really boring. And probably under a rock with the other mole-rat people. They were a stunt team. You know, flying and stuff.”

“Implying that your wings are functional, not decorative,” stated Spock.

“Decorative? What do you mean decorative? Are those ears decorative or do you use them for listening?”

“My ears are smaller and less pointy than yours.”

“Well I’m almost missing one of them because I got myself blown up. Did you ever get blown up? I don’t think you did, but it would probably do you good, you look stupid, all hairless and with that stupid face--”

“You blew up?”

Rainbow Dash forgot what she was yelling about. “Y...yeah. What was I saying?”

“Wonderbolts.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. I wanted to be a flyer. But then Spitfire made orbit in the Powered-Pegasus Program, and I just...that’s what I did. I rode the suits, got to orbit, and when they invented planes I started taking those. I wasn’t the first pony to get to the moon, that was years before, but by fifteen I was setting records in crystal-driven rockets for the round trip. Barely anyone would fly those things, because, you know, the reactors tended to explode.”

“And yours did?”

Rainbow Dash smiled, but without any humor. “Wouldn’t that be cool? No. It wasn’t even anything awesome like that.” She sighed. “It was foam. A tiny little piece of foam. Foam that bounced off my rocket a hundred times and did nothing. But one day it chipped a tile. And when I came back, it started to burn up. The heat melted the control wires.” She paused. “And...I guess I made a choice. I could have ejected at high altitude and brought myself down on my wings, no problem. An easy descent. But with the trajectory, the rocket would have leveled half of Baltimare. So I rode it down, burning all the way. I got it over the ocean. But by then, it was mach-six. I tried to eject, but...not all of me made it out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that bad. I was in a coma for six months. When I woke up, I had this wing.” She extended it. “And it’s pretty cool. It’s made of mithril. Celestia did the surgery herself. It...works. She says I’ll be able to fly again some day. But now it just...hurts. It always hurts.”

“If I may,” said Spock. “The most often repeated and most important of Vulcan aphorisms is the axiom that the good of the many outweighs the good of the few. Or the one. Your decision was not incorrect.”

“On Earth, we call it heroism,” added Kirk.

“That’s what they call it here, too. I don’t regret riding her down,” said Rainbow Dash. She paused. “But I’m still out a wing. And I still have the nightmares. Some days I think it would have been better if I stayed on that crystal-rocket till the end of the ride.”

Kirk did not entiretly know how to respond, but he found he did not need to. Rainbow Dash had stopped at an enormous, ornate door. “Well, this is it. Princess Celestia is waiting for you. This is probably the last time you’ll talk to me, so nice meeting you. Sorry about the ugly part.”

“We know we’re ugly,” admired Kirk.

“For a Vulcan, I am quite attractive.”

“For a Vulcan, sure.”

“Captain, there is no need to be racist.”

M’Ress just sighed, and Rainbow Dash smiled. A sincere smile, at least—and she pushed open the door.

Kirk immediately regained his full composure, intending to be on the absolute best behavior possible—and he stepped into the room.

He had not been even remotely prepared for what he found. He had, in his life, known several princesses, and many more pretenders to the throne, so to speak, but he had neglected to ask what the word meant in this context. As diligently as he had been reading Uhura’s report, he had mostly skimmed that part.

It did not mean what he thought it meant. Her presence was immediately obvious. She was surrounded by advisers, both military and civilian, in the process of completing a rushed briefing—and she absolutely towered over them.

She was not actually much larger than an actual Earth horse. In fact, she was slightly smaller, although this had the effect of making her alien proportions seem even more extreme. Her enormous eyes, her much more graceful snout, and her thin frame and comparatively tiny torso all made her seem far more unnatural and yet at once more regal and more striking. She was a unicorn, but one of a type that also included massive feathered wings. Wings that Kirk was sure were exceedingly soft and probably pleasantly scented.

She was also, unlike most ponies, almost completely nude, apart from her crown, necklace, and golden shoes. This effectively did not matter, as female horses in general did not have much to see and Kirk had come to the conclusion that these creatures probably did not have external secondary sexual anatomy, but that fact was profoundly striking in comparison to the heavily armored guards that surrounded her.

When she saw him, she gasped, and her advisers recoiled in horror. Celestia, though, did not. Instead, she stepped forward, crossing the space between them with elegance far beyond what could be expected for an earthly equine. Which unfortunately had the effect of making her seem profoundly more alien. Kirk, though, did not mind. He likewise stepped forward.

Her mane and tail trailed behind her. From a distance, Kirk saw thin threads of multi-colored hair trapped in a field of pulsating, nearly solid plasma. Even at a distance of several meters, he smelled something distinctly similar to vanilla. One of his primary hypotheses had been proven correct.

“Captain Kirk,” she said. Her voice was not as high as the others, which made her sound quite pleasant. “I am so happy to meet you. You’re so much smaller than I expected.”

“And you are so much larger than I had expected, your Highness.”

The Princess blushed slightly. “Why thank you. I am quite tall.” She turned to face Spock. “And you are?”

“Spock.”

“A mononym, how wonderfully mysterious! And so stoic!”

“Vulcans are motivated by logic, not emotion.”

“No emotion? At all? Not even a little?”

“No, your Highness.”

“How peculiar. Not that your alien culture is peculiar. I don’t mean to be insulting, of course. Just to a pony. We are very emotional. Well, some of us are. I like to think that all of my little ponies are loving, welcoming creatures.” She paused. “Where they? Rainbow Dash didn’t...do what she usually does? What was I thinking, why did I sent Rainbow--”

“Rainbow Dash was fine,” said Kirk. “Although the guards did point spears at us.”

“Yes. They do like to point spears at things. Sometimes I regret having given them those.” Celestia turned to M’Ress. “And you, miss. You are a...” She held up an index card, levitated by her psychokinesis. “Not an Abyssinian. They’re the local species of sentient cat people, very aloof sometimes but the toms have a...roguish charm. You are?”

“Lieutenant Shiboline M’Ress. I am Caitian. Form the planet Cait.”

Celestia produced a quill and corrected the index card. “How interesting! An entire planet of ponies—people—like you. Do you have cats there?”

“Yes. We do. And they are us.”

Celestia cleared her throat slightly, and then turned to Spock. “And you, the Vulcan Spock? Where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am a Vulcan. As the name suggests, I am from Vulcan.”

“It must be a harsh planet to produce stoics like you.”

“Indeed it is. The vast desserts assist considerably with the fortification of the mind. No other planet possesses its calm.”

“It sounds a bit harsh for ponies but I’m sure its beautiful.” She turned to Kirk. “And you, Captain Kirk?” She checked her cards, flipping through them. “And you are--”

The door at behind them suddenly burst open, sent flying with considerable force by a brilliant orange field of energy. The guards mobilized, but were thrown backward by the force as a teal unicorn in a tweed jacket stepped through, papers flying out of her briefcase.

“HOOMINS!!” She screamed, triumphantly.

Celestia groaned and winced. The teal pony raced in. Despite wearing a coat—complete with leather-like elbow patches—she was utterly devoid of trousers. Which Kirk found strange, although oddly appealing form an aesthetic standpoint.

“Captain Kirk, Spock, and Shiboline M’Ress, this is my university’s leading xenobiologist. Also my only xenobiologist. Because to be honest we had no idea aliens were real, so I was mostly trying to be polite, but--”

“But I was RIGHT!” screamed the teal pony, shoving a guard painfully to the ground as he attempted tackle her. She pushed herself uncomfortably close to Kirk, overwhelming him with a strange and minty odor. She lifted her head, a construct forming before Kirk of a hand—a translucent, almost holographic hand of orange plasma. A hand that was oddly misshapen and strangely veiny.

“Professor Lyra Heartstrings!” she cried, excitedly, the holographic hand waggling its excessively sausage-like fingers.

“Adjunct professor,” corrected Celestia. “Part time.”

“It still counts and it’s still on my resume! My field has LEGITIMACY!”

Kirk forced himself to smile and took the hand, shaking it. It felt distinctly unpleasant and made his palm tingle, and he was suddenly pulled forward and nearly over as the pony pulled his hand against her face.

“FINGERS! I KNEW IT!”

“Lyra!” Celestia pulled the pony away with her own psychokinesis, dragging her by her minty tail. “Be polite!”

“But HOOMINS!” She paused, and looked up. She scowled deeply at Spock. “Well, one hoomin. I’m not interested in no high-elves.”

“I am Vulcan,” corrected Spock.

Kirk smiled mischievously. “And, in fact, Spock here is actually half human, too.”

Spock showed no reaction. “Captain. I would appreciate if you did not discuss highly personal and irrelevant matters about my personal upbringing in front of complete strangers. Let alone the ruler of a planet.”

“Oh, I don’t rule the WHOLE planet!” Celestia blushed. “Just most of it.”

Lyra blinked. “Wait a minute. You can be HALF hoomin?!”

“Sure can.”

Lyra gasped, and then made a face toward Kirk that he distinctly disliked.

“So, hey,” she said. “How about you take me out back and make ME half hoomin?”

“That’s...not how it works.”

“Lyra, if you are going to be disrespectful to our honored guests, then I will--”

“What? Dock my pay? You don’t pay me, teehee! I don’t actually teach! But now I can, because they’re REAL, they’re really REAL, and he’s totally going to turn me half-pony, and then I’ll have fingers so I can wrap them around your royal neck and give you a good and proper squeeze--”

She stopped suddenly. Celestia’s expression, likewise, changed from one of disappointment to one of grave concern. Kirk did not know why until he felt a strange sensation in the hair. The hair on the back of his neck—and on the entirety of M’Ress—had stood on end, and he smelled a strange electrical scent.

The room darkened. Then, with an explosion that nearly forced Kirk of his feet, something like lightning filled the far end of the room.

The light vanished and where it had struck three ponies were immediately walking toward them. The leader of them was, like Celestia, massive, and also one of the only ones he had seen before with both wings and a horn. Unlike Celestia, though, her body was covered almost completely in silvery metallic armor. Her color, likewise, was not white, but instead dark. From what Kirk could see, she seemed to be afflicted with the equine equivalent of vitiligo, which he supposed was technically overo. The entirety of her body consisted of a mixed pattern of dark blue and black. Her eyes, though, were the most striking part of her anatomy: they were brilliant turquoise, with vertical slits for pupils.

The two ponies that flanked her were both unicorns, clad almost entirely in black armor. One was an absolute amazon of a mare with a dark purple color and a broken horn, while the other was a much less physically imposing and much less physically fit pony who was blue in color, with a white mane, and an intact horn save for the fact that the very end had been drilled and a small ring inserted through it. A ring which contained upon it a tiny bell.

The royal guards, shaking, converged around Celestia, pointing their spears at the invader who seemed totally unfazed by their presence. The spears, though, were promptly ripped from their grasp.

“Don’t point your points at my sister!” snapped Celestia, casting the spears away and pushing through her guards. “She has every right to be here!”

She approached the dark pony who was, in fact, somewhat shorter than her.

“Dearest sister,” she said. “I was not expecting you so soon, you should have dispatched a herald--”

“We have no need for such formalities as well-powdered heralds in these dire times!” shouted the dark pony, apparently unable to regulate her volume. She pointed her armored hoof at Kirk. “These frail and foul-smelling bipedeial aliens hath committed great crimes against our empire! Absolute heresy when our divinity is taken into account as well! That they be immediately SUSPENDED!”

“Um...we don’t work for you?” suggested Kirk.

“She means hung,” whispered Lyra, who was cowering behind Kirk’s legs while the majority of the guards had now taken up their station hiding behind M’Ress.

“Well that seems severe.”

“By your leg. And then beaten until your candy comes out.”

“And his candy shall provide us with such glorious sustenance!” screamed the dark pony. “This alien has attacked my loyal subject, poor Moondancer, and done her a great harm! In the process, he has sabotaged our prototype, the work of your very own student, sister! And yet you consort with him as if he were some manner adorable furry animal, like an obese ferret or an especially pernicious owl!” She stamped her hoof. “We demand SATISFACTION!”

“Luna, you don’t need to yell.”

“WE DO IN FACT NEED TO YELL! WE ARE DISTRESSED BY YOUR LACK OF ACTION! AND YOUR LACK OF APPROPRIATE VOLUME!”

Celestia held up her hoof and her sister quieted.

“Sister, how dare you shush the Empress of the Moon--”

“We should listen to what he has to say. That is why I brought him hear. To have tea, maybe some small cakes--”

“Your cakes and tea may be shovethed where the sun doth not shine!”

The white-haired pony with the bell frowned. “Wait. The dark side? My apartment is there. Am I supposed to...feed them? The Great and Powerful Trixie needs a raise for that. Also, where’s my candy? I was promised candy. That’s the only part I heard.”

The violet pony with the broken horn elbowed the blue one with enough force to nearly knock her over.

“SILENCE, FOOL!” cried Luna. “This is no time for diplomacy! This is time for FLOGGING!”

“I would advise against that,” suggested Spock. “Rumors among the Orions indicate that the Captain may, in fact, enjoy it.”

Luna glared at Spock. “You. We like you. Thus, though shalt be flogged only lightly.”

Spock nodded. “I appreciate your judiciousness, your Highness.”

“Sister.” Celestia spoke calmly. “You are doing very well today. You haven’t once used a flaying spell, or a rending spell, or that one that turns things inside out.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “I had not thought of those things--”

“So let’s hear what the aliens have to say. Then we can pass legal judgment on them.”

“Wait,” said Kirk. “Don’t we get a jury?”

Celestia laughed. “No, no, we don’t do that here. Please, Captain. Tell us what happened to our FTL prototype.”

“And our dearest recluse. If she hath been probed but once, the vigor and sheer vim by which we shall extract your candy shall be prodigious.”

The blue pony perked up. “Candy?”

Kirk took a breath. “I am Captain of the starship Enterprise, a research vessel. We were dispatched by Starfleet from the Federation of Planets.”

“Many planets?” said Celestia, wide-eyed. “How many planets?”

“Sister,” snapped Luna. “Liveth by thine own advice. Do not put the ‘hippo’ in ‘hippocite’.”

Kirk continued. “We were dispatched to investigate your planet after it was picked up on a long-range radio telescope. When we arrived, your vessel was just launching. We observed that its warp-field was unstable, and moved to intervene.”

“At which point thouh attackethed our subject! Forfeit your candy, our judgment hath been--”

“At which point she became spooked and fled.”

Celestia and Luna looked at each other.

“We are ponies,” admitted Celestia. “We do spook. And I can see how being approached like that without expecting aliens would have been frightening.”

“Moondancer was never a fan of my work,” sneered Lyra. “She didn’t believe there were any aliens.”

“When she fled, it damaged her ship even more,” continued Kirk. “We moved for an emergency rescue and teleported her from her ship just as it exploded. Barely. She was gravely injured in the explosion, but survived. Our doctor is giving her the best care available. She is recovering on our ship and prepared to be remanded to your care as soon as she wakes up.”

Celestia nodded, and looked to her sister. “Luna?”

“We would not have come here if our intentions were anything but peaceful,” added Kirk. “Since you achieved warp-speed, this qualifies as First Contact. It’s a big deal in the Federation, so this is an important diplomatic mission now. We would not do anything to jeopardize that.”

Luna glared. “We are pleased that our subject is safe. If thou art not lying to our divine face. Because if thou art...”

“I know. The candy.”

“Indeed. And our prototype?”

“Well...about that...”

“It survived remarkably well,” said Spock, suddenly. “Our scans have indicated that the reactor core has remains intact, as well as several other large components.”

“Surely a tribute to your engineering prowess,” added M’Ress, who was doing her best to comfort the guards clinging to her legs.

“Then all is not lost. We shalt retrieve it at once. Tempest, prepare the salvage rockets!”

The violet unicorn bowed, but before she could walk away, Spock spoke again.

“At the current distance, the fastest feasible sub-light ship would take thirty seven years to reach the debris.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “Thirty seven—it was only in transit for ten seconds!”

“Ten seconds at maximum warp. It reached a considerable distance from your star system.”

“Of course,” said Kirk, quickly, “We would be glad to lend the Enterprise’s assistance in retrieving the warp core and as many fragments as possible.”

“Can that be accomplished during the time of the diplomatic proceedings?” asked Celestia.

Kirk smiled at her. “Well, that depends on what kind of proceedings you were intending.”

Celestia smiled back, but turned to her sister. “Luna. It is clear to me that the prototype’s destruction was not their fault. It was imperfect, and it is only because of them that the pilot survived. We already owe them a great debt just for that. Let alone assisting us in retrieving the wreckage.”

“We can also provide a transcript of our readings,” suggested M’Ress. “So that you can better optimize it for the next test.”

Celestia nudged her sister. Luna seemed distinctly unamused, and continued to glower. She eventually sighed.

“We elect to withhold judgment until Moondancer has been delivered to us. However, we admit that we are not...the best at diplomacy. It does not interest us. So therefore we leave that sphere to be attended to and regarded by our sister.” She glared at Celestia. “Although this is not over, Celestia. We do not trust them. We suggest that you, as well, show a degree of discretion.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we know how you conduct ‘diplomacy’,” snapped Luna. She turned sharply. “Tempest! Fool! We depart for the time being!”

The violet unicorn bowed and then forced the blue unicorn to bow as well, the bell of the latter jingling as she did so. Then they followed their Princess out of the royal chamber.

“But wait, what about the candy? The Great and Powerful Trixie is hungry!”

“Stop embarrassing us in front of the sun-goddess!” hissed the other. “You do this every single time!”

They left, and Celestia breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“I am afraid it is too late for tea. I have had rooms prepared for you here, if you are all tired, or you can return to your ship if you prefer. And I don’t mean to impose, but...Captain, is it possible you might walk with me?”

Spock let out an exasperated sigh.

“I think all of us are very grateful for your hospitality,” said Kirk. “And of course I would be happy to walk with you, your Highness.”

Celestia laughed softly. “Oh, please. You can call me Celestia.”

“And if it’s acceptable, you can call me Jim.”

“Jim? What an exotic name. Thank you, Jim.”

The two of them started walking off together. M’Ress, staring wide-eyed, turned to Spock.

“Is he...was he...”

“Conducting diplomacy. I would not say that I am afraid so, as I do not feel fear, and also because I expected this.”

“Really? I would have thought he would prefer the dark-colored and well-spoken sister. She was much more appealing.”

“That is literally heresy,” whispered Lyra. “Also, as a cat-person, do you usually give or accept belly rubs?”

M’Ress frowned. “That is harassment. I will forgive you this once because you did not know.”

“Well, yeah, but you didn’t answer the question.”

M’Ress sighed.

“Perhaps,” suggested Spock, “it is best that we retire.”

M’Ress sighed. “Agreed.”

Author's Note

This story really took off in popularity in a way I wasn't expecting at all. While I'm glad people are reading it, and even more glad that people like it, that makes me very nervous.

This story was written with an experimental tone, similar "#277", which I have been working on for some outside projects. So this may not appeal to all readers. I had really expected it would have a smaller audience. However, looking the gift horse in the mouth is uncouth. You might find Greeks.

I am also finding the discussion of Star Trek history, technology, and treaties in the comments very edifying. That's part of the risk of writing anything Trek-related, I suppose. I watched the series on television, but I have to be honest, I don't know a lot of the more detailed ins and outs of the in-universe history. So I'm making corrections as I see them and as they fit into the plot of the story.

And I suppose it's not a great defense, but something I always enjoy seeing in science fiction is prototypes of commonplace technology in the future. As in, if the EMH on Voyager was so polished, what did it look like when it still didn't work properly? I find it somewhat comical, personally. But hopefully I'm not overreaching too far.

But it wouldn't be a proper experiment if I knew the outcome! So I'll just see how this goes...

Chapter 6: A Brief History of Equestrian Aeronautics

The sun had set and, though the windows, Kirk could see that the moon had risen. He of course understood what it was, and what it represented—a strange and alien satellite, a machine built by some ancient and unknown race—and yet it looked so similar to Earth’s moon. Or what Earth’s moon might once have looked like before it had been terraformed. The moon of this world was silver and bright, although it showed the signs of a vast dark city on its crescent side and, on the darker half, the lights of distant farms and cities. Farming what, he had no idea.

“So, Captain,” said the pony beside him, walking slowly to keep pace. “The planet you are from. What is its name?”

“Earth,” replied Kirk. “I am from Earth.”

Celestia seemed immensely intrigued by this. “Earth...what a strange name. Here, that word means 'soil'.”

“Because that is what it is made of.”

“Our planet...does not have a name. But Equestria is on it, so we call it Equestria.”

“Then why not call it that?”

Celestia shrugged. Her body seemed smooth and supple, but her skin, at least from Kirk’s assessment, seemed utterly devoid of the expected silky fuzz that the other ponies had. By logical extension—something Spock would have been proud of—he assumed her bicolored sister was similar in smoothness.

“It is not up to me. Equestria is one of many nations. The largest and most powerful, of course, but there are other places too. They have their own names.”

“Other ponies, you mean.”

“No. Of course not. I rule all ponies on this planet. And Luna rules all those on the moon.”

“But then who are they? The others, I mean.”

Celestia seemed confused by this question. “Other beings. There are seventeen known sentient species on this planet with distinct evolutionary origins.”

Kirk’s eyes widened. “Seventeen?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s the same on Earth. It would be terribly lonely to have only two or three.” She paused, then looked slightly embarrassed. “But I assumed, and that’s not right, is it? I can’t make assumptions like that, can I?”

“Most planets only have one. The only one I can think of that has more than one is the Xindi. If they're even still around. There were five of them, unless you count the sixth. Or the seventh..."

Celestia considered this for a moment. “So on Earth, you are all alone, then? There are only humans?” Her expression fell slightly. “That seems...so very sad.”

Kirk paused. “I never thought of it that way, really.” Kirk looked out the glassless window at the rising moon. “Huh. I guess it kind of is.”

“What is it like? Earth, I mean?”

Kirk looked back at her and smiled. “Well, not that impressive, I suppose. It’s a lot like your planet, really. We have grasslands, and forests, and a lot of oceans. The poles are cold and icy, but there are cities there too. The planet has an axial tilt, so we get seasons.”

“Unimpressive? Like mine, then?”

“That is certainly not what I meant. Just that...” He shrugged, just as she had. “It just seems so familiar to me. But of course I’ve never been her before. Is that strange?”

“I think it is a beautiful thing,” replied Celestia, after a moment. “That there are other worlds like this one, but different. With beings like...well, like you. That aren’t ponies. It’s so...” She stared out at the night’s sky, and at the stars. “It’s so very large.”

“There are even creatures like you there, if that makes it even stranger. Except they don’t talk.”

“Yes, yes, we have a creature very similar to you as well. We call it an affenpinscher. They can sometimes talk, but only rarely.”

Kirk had no idea what manner of strange beast such a creature might be, and the thought that there were a version of humans on this world in the same sense that horses were a version of ponies on his disturbed him—but only slightly. More than that, it intrigued him.

He looked over the landscape, leaning on the windowsill, and looked out at the moon. He pointed.

“Earth has a moon like that one, too,” added Kirk. “Except it’s fully terraformed. Grass. Trees, mostly little willows. It’s own cities, lakes. We also have Mars, which is the next planet over. Not as thoroughly, it’s colder and there aren’t many plants, but mining is huge there. All our ships are made there. Even the Enterprise is made out of Martian titanium and steel.”

“The Mechanicus lands?”

Kirk frowned. “Excuse me?”

“A thought.” Celestia smiled mischievously, and began walking again. Kirk followed. “Our own system has no additional planets. They did not survive the collapse of the star eons ago.”

Kirk was confused. “You know?”

“That what we consider out world’s sun is a satellite in orbit around this planet, and that we orbit a distant star that provides neither heat nor warmth? Jim, we of course have astronomy. We orbit a dead sun, and what we call the 'sun' orbits us.”

“Why?”

Celestia laughed softly. “What a question. I like that question. Very much. But I don’t have an answer for it.” She smiled at him. A different smile. One Kirk quickly returned. “You are a curious being. There is...something I would like to show you. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Celestia. I would be glad to see anything you want to show. Anything at all.”

Celestia smiled, and walked away. Kirk followed, having to move quickly to keep up.

He soon found himself in a different hall, one with high ceilings arching overhead. Lamps in the center had been lit, and Kirk caught a glimpse of several well-dressed and winged maids lighting the lanterns. They quickly fled from his presence, or Celestia’s, but they confirmed the fact that the winged ponies could fly. Which raised a large number of other questions that Kirk preferred not to dwell on, the largest of which being whether Celestia's own massive and fluffy wings could provide enough lift to raise her aloft.

This area had windows, and these had glass. Stained glass, in fact. The hall was lined with angular, slightly abstract mosaics, and from what Kirk could gather, they represented various aspects of Equestrian mythology. In one scene, a pair of ponies, one white and one blue, fought an enormous centaur; in another, they fought an epic battle with a unicorn clad in dark colors and metallic armor. In a particularly strange one, a noodly dragon of some sort held ponies aloft by marionette strings; in another, he was banished. Kirk did not like the look of the noodle dragon. It seemed to be looking back at him.

“These are beautiful,” said Kirk.

“I greatly enjoy stained glass. But not all of these are beautiful. Not to me.”

This confused Kirk. “Then why keep them?”

Celestia looked over her shoulder, having stopped at one window. A depiction of a white pony, her body shrouded in holy light, the beam from her body rending the form of an all-black equivalent. “To remind me.”

“Of what?”

Celestia stared at the window. It was lit from the front, but pale moonlight slid through the glass, casting strange shadows and making the normally bright and pleasant colors seem darker and more sinister. “I have ruled Equestria for almost two thousand years now.”

“Two thousand? You certainly don’t look it.”

“Because I don’t age. I just grow taller, slowly. But thank you.” Celestia sighed. “And just over one thousand years ago, I failed. In the worst way a Princess could. In the worst way a pony could.”

Kirk stared at the painting, and he understood.

“That’s her. Your sister. Luna.”

“No,” said Celestia. “It was...not her. Not then.” She shook her head. “Or that’s...what I tell myself. But she was.”

Kirk put his hand on her shoulder. It was indeed hairless, but she was warm. “What happened? Is it okay if I ask?”

“I failed to see her discontent. With my rule, with my vision of Equestria. There...was a war.” Her gaze darkened as she stared into the glass. “A war far more brutal than anything I allow to be written into our history. One thousand years ago, I banished my beloved sister, the pony who had been by my side since the day I had been born. Banished her to the moon.”

“She still lives there, though.”

“Not entirely, and not always. Because there are ways back now. Runes of power to bring us forward and back. But not then. There was no way to come home...and no way for me to bring her back. And no one up there with her. She was all alone.” Her violet eyes met Kirk’s. “You must think I’m a terrible pony. Having done that the the pony I love most of all.”

Kirk paused for a moment, thinking. “I think you did a bad thing,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you’re a bad person. And I’m almost always right on that.”

Celestia did her best to smile, and continued walking slowly past more windows.

“I wish I could think that, too,” she said. “But thank you, Jim.”

“Well, she’s here now, isn’t she? And it didn't seem to me like she was too hostile. Sort of.”

Celestia paused. “Somewhat,” she said at last. “She’s getting better but...I don’t think she can be the same as she once was.” She paused. “I had thought...she might. I had considered that there was a way to take away the rage she felt, but...that did not happen.” Celestia smiled. “Perhaps I am an old fool. I spent so many centuries finding a way to bring her back. Studying magic and spells and the arcane. I knew the bridge would open again. When the stars aligned. Did you know I even trained students specifically on how to heal her?" She chuckled. "Only one of them was ever clever enough to have done it, though. Except it never came to that, did it?”

Celestia gestured to a window. One showing a Pegasus-pony with an orange mane flying heroically far beyond the others, her body strapped to strange armor and rocket-powered machines that left a brilliant orange trail behind her.

“Space travel,” said Kirk.

“Yes. About twenty years ago. It was something I had never even considered. And it was what brought us back together.” She pointed again, this time at a different image, one similar to the first in concept but showing numerous rockets departing Equestria and moving toward the moon.

“As soon as I was able,” she said, “as soon as the technology had matured, I sent diplomatic rockets to the moon. To find her. To make peace. And it was...not easy.” She smiled sadly toward Kirk. “For her and I, our bodies cannot be destroyed or injured. Not permanently. But I had hurt her very badly nonetheless. It took time. But I had come to understand that she was not a child anymore. She was not suited to the humdrum minutia of running an established kingdom. Sharing Equestria was impossible. She needed room to grow.”

“So you gave her the moon.”

Celestia nodded. At the final window, before numerous ponies of every color and shape, two princesses—one white and one black—bowed before each other. Two ponies of equal height and equal power; behind them, Kirk realized the split in the ponies, that the image was divided in two. Ponies clad in white and gold: Pegasi, unicorns, and the ponies without horns or wings; and on the other side, ponies in black and silver, mostly unicorns and something else with bat-like wings that he did not recognize.

She paused for some time, staring at it. Then, slowly, she turned to Kirk. “The Space Force intended as a joint effort between our kingdoms. I offer a great deal of support, but it is Luna’s greatest passion. Especially the FTL system. It’s more than a prototype, it’s a symbol. And our diplomatic relationship is...strained. As is our personal one. If that ship had been lost...” She hook her head. “I am afraid you have no idea the debt that Equestria owes you. That I owe you.”

“We were just in the right place at the right time.”

“Still. You saved our collaboration. And now we know that there’s a lot more in the universe than we thought there was, don’t we?”

“There is. But I think that makes the diplomatic situation a lot more complicated than it was.”

“And my sister and I will face it together. And send ponies to space, to explore all of it.”

She smiled, and started walking once more, her golden horseshoes tapping against the cold tile floor. “You certainly do have good timing, Jim,” she said. “We are having a gala to celebrate Reunification and the Space Force. As the first alien we have ever encountered, I would be honored if you and your friends would attend. It’s not an obligation, of course. Just an invitation.” She looked over her shoulder. “But I would be very pleased if you were there with me. I haven’t taken a date to a gala since...ever.”

“You would be honored? I would be honored, Princess. To serve as a representative for the Federation, of course. Understanding the culture of the peoples encounter is just as important as the scientific analysis, so I would be glad to.”

Celestia’s smile grew. She seemed immensely pleased by this decision.

Chapter 7: The Burdens of a Starfleet Doctor

The Enterprise had entered what more-or-less functioned as its night-cycle. Circadian rhythms were difficult to replicate on a Starship, so the difference between “day” and “night” was more or less arbitrary. It did, however, tend to correspond to when the Captain was sleeping.

McCoy, however, did not sleep. At least not much. Part of his insomnia was dependent on the fact that he was, in fact, in a Starship. Even though the Enterprise was perhaps the most advanced starship ever to be produced on Mars, it would still sometimes release an odd creak as the metal flexed, or suddenly shudder due to inconsistencies within the inertial dampeners. There were fans and vents that kept him up all night—and caused him to wake up suddenly if they ever stopped, because that either meant the air conditioning had turned off or life-support had failed completely. That, or the fact that he more often than not got woken up by red-alerts, explosions, horrific medical emergencies, klingons attacks, or possibly tribbles. Tribbles were by far the worst.

So, instead, he visited the infirmary. Not for any particular purpose, but to inspect that everything was going well—that things were clean, organized, and any patients present were not dead. Or, on the best days, when he was all alone and there were no patients at all, he just sat there, alone.

He entered while holding his nighttime coffee, detecting the smell of modern medicine and hearing the beeping of machines that drowned out the sound of whether or not the vents were prognosticating imminent suffocation.

No crew patients were present, so he crossed to a separate area where his most recent patient resided. Nurse Chapel was there, adjusting some of the sensory equipment.

“Doctor,” she said, not at all surprised that he was present. “Just finishing the midnight check.” She pointed at his coffee. “You should drink less of that, especially at night. That’s probably the cause of your insomnia.”

“Who’s the doctor here? I’ll cure my insomnia the next time I get to sleep in a real bed, on ground, and without a breen assassin trying to stab a pitchfork through my duodenum.”

“Did that actually happen? The breen are clearly the least aggressive race in the whole galaxy.”

“How should I know, I was probably sleeping when it happened.” McCoy sipped his coffee and looked at his patient. The surgery had been a success, at least as far as he could tell. The patient was sleeping quietly, curled up on the bed. Her vital signs had stabilized, although there was still substantial internal damage that he was mostly sure would recover in time. Seeing her sleeping, he was amazed by how small she was, at least compared to a human.

“She looks so peaceful,” said Nurse Chapel, taking her last notes for the day. “I heard stories about unicorns when I was a little girl...I had never figured they might actually be real.” She sighed. “I suppose it will be the last interesting case I see.’

McCoy frowned. “Why’s that?”

Chapel seemed confused. “Because you were dismissing me. For that.” She pointed at the holographic generator, which had been unplugged and shoved to the side.

McCoy glared at the abomination, and sighed.

“Well, considering the patient was ultimately put on a path toward full recovery, I can say I can’t even remember what I might have said during the operation. So I don’t think I ever said that.” He pointed at the generator. “But if that thing ever turns on again, I swear I’ll have Scotty beam it straight into hell.”

“I don’t think our transporter goes there, doctor.”

"Believe me, I wouldn't be surprised if it did one of these days." McCoy sighed. He was indeed tired. The surgery had been arduous. The pony, however, was safe, and that was what mattered.

Chapel approached the unicorn with a blanket. “She looks so small and so soft,” she said. “To think, such a little creature like this was piloting that ship. She seems so fragile and frail...” She reached out to touch the unicorn’s mane.

Without warning, the unicorn’s eyes opened. Their irises were brilliant violet, and in that instant, every machine measuring her brainwaves suddenly exploded in plumes of sparks—and every Geiger counter on the ship clicked to maximum.

Chapel was knocked back by a blinding explosion of violet light. McCoy raised his hands to protect himself, but instead felt his arms suddenly twisted almost to the breaking point of his shoulders, and then his whole body being crushed by some unknown and unseen force as he was lifted off the floor.

He looked down at the pony, now sitting up, her enormous eyes glaring at him and her horn coated with shimering plasma. Before he could speak, something closed around his neck, cutting off his breathing. He tried to grab for it, but he could not move. He felt himself being bent, as if he was about to be snapped in half.

The pony spoke, or released some kind of sound. It was a combination of neighing, squeaks, and occasional series of clicks. McCoy opened his mouth to try to speak, but felt a wave of light pass through his head. The effect was an almost immediate seizure, with his legs and arms struggling against the invisible force holding them.

“Where am I?!” demanded the pony, suddenly in English. “Who are you?! How many times have I been probed?!”

Nurse Chapel rushed forward, a hypo-spray in hand. The pony saw this, and Chapel suddenly stopped—or was stopped. Then she was sent upward, her body striking the ceiling with so much force that McCoy was sure he heard something inside her snap.

McCoy was suddenly lowered so that he was eye-level with the pony who was now standing on the bed.

“You’re the aliens that took me,” she said as McCoy felt a pressure on his skull that began to grow greater and greater. A pressure that would crack him like an egg—with the only consolation being that with the world already going black from his strangulation, he would not be around to feel it. “You took me from my ship, you did experiments on me, I don’t know why I’m here and what you’re FOR.” Her face was contorting with rage, but silver was already beginning to drip from the corners of her mouth as she resisted coughing.

“Do you think you can do whatever you want to me? DO YOU?!”

Her power was starting to weaken slightly as she reopened her internal wounds, and McCoy put the last of his strength into freeing one of his arms. He got free, and grasped her by her tiny neck and threw her to the side. She landed hard against the holographic projector that had been set near the bed, suddenly activating it.

The hologram flashed into existence. “Please state the nature of your medical emergency.”

“GAH!” cried the unicorn, with a squeak. “GHOST!”

She dove off the table, her telekinetic force releasing everything in the room that she had been lifting. McCoy fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath, and Chapel fell to the ground and did not move.

“Ah,” said the hologram, staring at Chapel. “You may have broke a bone. Or several. If so, I am prepared to immediately start removing them.”

McCoy did not even have the strength to argue with him. The pony, however, was cowering, peeking over the edge of the bed and staring horrified at the hologram.

“Ghost?”

“No. I am an M-6 Multitronic Computation Unit with a prototype personality matrix and portable type-three holographic display head. Now with 33% more Asenian subroutines. I am the future of doctoring.”

“Like hell you are!” gasped McCoy, slamming his fist on the power button to turn off the projector. He stood up, glaring at the pony. “Because of course you have psychokinesis, because why the HELL not?”

“Stop yelling at me, you’re the one who abducted me!”

“We didn’t abduct you, you horsey idiot, we saved you!” McCoy helped Chapel up. She coughed, and he immediately began a medical scan. Despite doing this, he continued to yell at the unicorn. “I’m a doctor! This was my nurse you were just brutalizing, and this is an infirmary!”

“infirmity?” The pony looked around. “Where? Why?”

McCoy helped Chapel up. “Because you were almost dead when we managed to transport you out of the wreck.”

The pony’s expression darkened. “Injured? How? What were the nature of my injuries?”

“You had severe internal burns that left you with internal bleeding, bones cracked in a way I’ve never seen before, and your marrow was downright cooked. Your brain was shutting down. I had to perform surgery. ”

The pony paused, looking distinctly disturbed. “That injury is called a reave. It’s fatal.. I can’t...I shouldn’t...the ship, I...” She stepped back, taking several heavy breaths but seeming to calm down. “The field...was breaking down. I cast a shield spell at the last second, but it was too much, I..." She looked down at herself, running her hoof over her underbelly and then looking at her sides. “But wait, if you did surgery, where is the scar?”

“There isn’t a scar,” snapped McCoy, administering treatment to Chapel. “What do you take me for, some sort of medieval barber-surgeon? Your epidermis is probably the only part of you that's even close to any other living thing in the galaxy. I regenerated it for you. You're welcome.”

The pony looked around. McCoy, having finished with Chapel, slowly approached her.

“I’m Leonard McCoy,” he said, slowly. “Do you have a name?”

“Moondancer. I’m sorry I tried to pop you, I...panicked. But wouldn't have anyway, so that's a good consolation I guess.”

“It isn't. And Jim didn’t tell me that you had enough psycokintic force to tear apart my sickbay.” McCoy looked at the debris round him, where the beds themselves had been torn from their now-bent frames and most of the equipment had been shattered. He sighed.

“Do you...have my personal effects?” she asked, blinking.

“What? Oh, sure.” McCoy opened a case and gave the pony back what she had been wearing when he cut if off her. She immediately grasped from it a pair of large glasses and an elastic; she tied back her hair from her eyes and put the glasses on, blinking up at McCoy.

“Dang,” she said. “That’s what you look like? Please tell me you’re a lady alien.”

“Sorry, miss. I’m a male human.”

“Dang it,” hissed the pony. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. My ship lost integrity. I remember that part. That wasn’t your fault, I watched it happen. You did chase me, though.”

“You’ll have to talk to the Captain, but what that over-talkative little Russian boy tells me we knew that your ship was in trouble and were trying to catch up.”

Moondancer nodded. “Right. That makes sense. You saw the breakdown before I did and tried to help, I spooked and blew my life’s work to pieces. Because of course I would.” She sighed. “Well, I need to make a report to the Princess, then. Thank you for healing me.”

She turned her head and started looking around. McCoy followed her as she walked to the far end of sickbay.

“We can’t send you back yet, you’re not in any state to travel,” he said, firmly. “You’re still injured and, frankly, we can’t figure out a way to get you through the transporter. It did almost as much damage to you as you did to it, and we don’t want to repeat that if at all possible.”

Moondancer was hardly paying attention. She was looking up at a corner of the ceiling. “Interesting. We're in orbit. And she's on Equestria. Probably for the gala.”

“Are you listening?”

“Not even slightly.”

Moondancer raised her horn, and it flashed with violet light. McCoy attempted to jump back as the circle closed around him—and as he suddenly lost all sense of direction, gravity, and contact with everything near him in a brilliant flash so bright it shoved him entirely out of everything and into something more similar to nothing at all—and birthed him back out a small hole of the universe again into something somewhere else.

With a deafening snap, he and Moondancer reemerged. McCoy, disoriented, nauseous, confused and angry, flopped about on the floor for a moment before, gasping and sweating, he grasped Moondancer’s shoulder and pulled himself, shaking, to eye-level with her.

“If you—if you EVER even THINK about doing that to me—again, I swear to whatever horse-gods you have, Hippocratic Oath be damned, that I’ll SQUEEZE THE JUICES CLEAN OUT OF YOU!”

“Ahem,” said a voice. McCoy turned to find that he was in a large, high-ceilinged, nauseatingly ornate room in almost total darkness—and that there were also ponies there. The largest of them was a mottled black-and-blue colored pony with nearly luminescent cat-like eyes, flanked by a tall purple unicorn with a broken horn and a fatter blue unicorn with a bell. She had apparently been engaged on receiving an address from a winged orange pony in a uniform and being measured by a cream-colored non-unicorn pony when McCoy had arrived.

The mottled pony continued. “Did you just threaten to wring forth the juices of our beloved subject?”

“Would you excuse me? I’m having a confidential conversation with my patient about her medical future and chances of survival. Getting my atoms splattered across the universe was one thing but that—that—don’t just teleport a man when he isn’t expecting it!”

He stood up and brushed himself off. He turned to face the tall winged-unicorn. She looked at him, apparently ambivalent, but when he was fully standing a strange expression crossed the faces of each pony present—the large mottled one especially.

Her face darkened, her eyes widening. “HOW DAREST THOU?!” She screamed.

McCoy jumped back, still confused as to where he was—and as his mind reconnected with his body, he realized that he might have found himself in a horrible situation much more suited for Kirk—or at the very least Spock.

“Excuse me?”

“HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO BEGUILE YOUR PRINCESS!? This—this affront to the very core of our being, to our holy purity, that you would dare to provide temptation to a divine creature such as ourselves! HOW DAREST THOU, I say, HOW DAREST?!”

“I don’t—I didn’t—you’re a really tall horse—”

“TEMPEST, this alien is attempting to seduce your princess! Have him hung AT ONCE! Have his clothes rended from his body and have him flogged! No, WHIPPED!” She smiled and giggled to herself. “Yes,” she said softly. “Whip him well and thoroughly...” She paused. “Unless, alien, you would rather plead for your princess to take mercy on you, perhaps to let you whip her instead...”

Moondancer cleared her throat, and the Princess turned her attention to her.

“Moondancer,” she said, standing. She was not at present wearing her armor, and therefore was a Princess in the nude. “It pleases us greatly to see that you were not atomized. Have you been treated properly, with a minimum of probing? Has this filthy alien attempted to seduce you as well, or has your preference for the soft and tender flesh of mares insulated you from his wiles?”

Moondancer bowed. “I am unharmed, Lunar Empress. Due to my own failure, the Prototype became unstable in flight and the containment field collapsed. It is only because of their efforts and because of the heroic efforts of this doctor that I survived.”

There was a murmuring from the other ponies. “Doctor? He’s a doctor?” The wings of the orange pony extended outward with sudden force.

“We see,” said Luna. “Then the hideous one was telling the truth.” She faced McCoy. “For having saved our beloved subject, you are excused from your crimes against our holy chastity. The whipping has now become optional.”

“Um...thank you?”

“Unfortunately,” continued Moondancer, “the Prototype was destroyed in the process. I am sorry. I have failed you, and I have failed the Moon.”

“Not all hope is lost, young Moondancer. The far more deformed alien has indicated that fragments of our work still exist. He proposed redeeming his uncouth actions against us by assisting with retrieving them for reconstruction.”

Moondancer lifted her head. “Then I will see to the salvage operation personally.”

“Yes. You indeed shall. Tempest. Her flight suit was clearly damaged and she is currently nude before her Princess. This shall not stand. Resupply her.”

The enormous unicorn stepped forward with a briefcase in her mouth. Moondancer took it, levitating it by the handle, and nodded to the armored pony. Then she bowed and, with a sudden and deafening pop, vanished, having apparently teleported back to the Enterprise.

This, of course, left McCoy alone and stranded in a room with five alien women. He immediately regretted having refused to be teleported ever again.

“As for you,” said Luna. “You may rejoin your compatriots. Unless you would prefer to accept your voluntary punishment. I have prepared a flog just in case. It is stored in my bedchambers. Unless you would have us proceed directly and forthwith to dungeon.”

“I would...rather not?”

“We see. We were too busy anyway. There is a dance to be danced and efforts that need to be coordinated. We shall summon one of the ridiculous powdered guards to allocate you to wherever it is you are to be distributed.”

“I can do it,” said the orange pony, suddenly. “Princess, the briefing is done, and I need to...um...press my dress uniform anyway, I can take him to my—HIS—room.”

“Of course. How helpful of you, Command-General Spitfire.”

The orange pony walked up to McCoy. Too close to McCoy. She looked up at him with an expression on her face that McCoy definitely did not approve of, her wings spread out to their maximum extension.

“Wow, you’re really tall. Hey, you’re a doctor.” She spread out one of her muscular wings to its fullest, fully displaying her vibrant feathers and the silky down beneath them. “I’ve been having an ache in my wing joints, and I’m worried it might be arthritis...maybe you could check my joint flexibility?”

McCoy thought that was a straightforward request. “Well, sure, that should be straightforward, but I don’t have a medical tricorder, so I’d have to do it manually--”

“That’s even better!”

The blue unicorn suddenly shoved her out of the way, striking a pose. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is, ONE: great, TWO: powerful, THREE: Trrrrrixie. There is no losing scenario. Also, I’m a member of the royal court, did you know that? If all you’ve ever seen naked is Moondancer you’re missing out, I can give you a Great and Powerful lesson on unicorn anatomy.”

“Trixie, go away--”

“You go away! He needs to inspect my wings too!”

“You don’t have wings, Trixie!”

“Not yet! But I’m a member of the royal court, if I keep moving up, I’ll get a pair before those gray hairs take over the rest of our mane!”

"Your WHOLE MANE is GRAY!"

"It's WHITE! Trixie's mane is WHITE! TRIXIE IS NOT FAT!"

McCoy stared at this, growing increasingly unnerved. He started to wish that he had just ignored the vents and actually stayed asleep. Sleep on a planet would be nice, but impossible if accosted by numerous colorful horses.

Chapter 8: A Minor Malfunction in Probe Seven

Uhura, as her first task, sat down to comms to complete and amend her cultural analysis of the transmissions emanating from the planet. Although the computer was reasonably intelligent when it came to language analysis, the cultural conclusions it tended to draw were almost always lacking.

She had already submitted and filed the Captain's logs for the day and organized them in accordance with the stardate, which was itself a rather difficult thing to accomplish due to the inerrant and constant shifting of the timeframe. Her work was further complicated by the fact that the landing party had apparently been accepted to an actual party. This required further support in that Uhura now needed to create a profile of etiquette and considerations for how this ought to be accomplished, which was of course almost impossible considering that there were only limited radio transmissions from the planet and that they had not given her any access to whatever databases the planet might have had.

Toward this end, she had considered asking the pony scientist who they had recovered from the alien ship. From what Uhura had been told, the pony, Moondancer, was to be a guest on the ship to assist in the salvage of the remnants of her own vessel. Uhura had decided to accomplish this later, though, as the pony had only recently awoken from her coma—and leveled half of sickbay in the process.

Instead, she elected to dispatch the yeoman to get the necessary clothing in order. Dress uniforms for Kirk, Spock, and M’Ress were absolutely necessary especially for the latter; considering the likelihood that as a woman—even a cat woman—M’Ress might be expected to wear a dress rather than the standard uniform. Consideration of that fact was ongoing, although from Uhura's understanding it seemed that pony civilians spent most of their time in the nude. Therefore, she was not sure if this too was a critical aspect of parties, or if nakedness was merely optional. In any event, the yeoman would be sending the uniforms to the ship’s laundry and then packaging them for transport.

As she performed these tasks, Uhura looked across the bridge at the viewscreen and at the others diligently at work. They were of course busy, but it was nice to see that nothing exceedingly critical was going on. No alien attacks, no sudden presence of tribbles, no strange disease outbreaks. Just a tense diplomatic situation with adorable ponies. That was a nice change of pace.

Uhura, though, did notice something strange. A slight expression crossing the young ensign’s face. Not something most people would notice, perhaps, but something she had been trained to identify.

“Ensign,” she said, removing her earpiece and standing up. “Is something the matter?”

Chekov nearly jumped out of his seat. “L—Lieutenant! No, no it is nothing. Nothing worth reporting. An error on my part.”

“Chekov, there is very little on a starship not worth reporting. Even if it seems small, a second set of eyes might see something you’ve missed.”

Chekov looked at her, and then down at his readings, and moved some of them onto the viewscreen. “I have been observing the satellite probes used to analyze the planet and lunar surface,” he said. “However, I have noticed that there is a point-seven nanosecond shift in probe seven’s primary spectrometer. At first I had thought it was noise, but...”

Arex looked up. “It’s too consistent to be noise. That is a calibration error in the sensor. It has been prepared improperly.”

“I had considered that, yes, but I was unable to re-calibrate the system, no matter how hard I tried. So I adjusted the course of several of the other probes to compensate.”

“You did not have permission for that.”

“Well, no, not technically but...”

“What is it you found, Chekov?” asked Uhura, calmly.

Chekov looked up at her. “The sensors, Lieutenant. Regardless of which probe passes the area, it has the same red-shift, always when pointed in the same direction.”

“Where?”

Chekov adjusted his controls, shifting the image to one of the planet. A red outline appeared over an area. “I have localized the position.”

“And what do you think it is?”

“You are asking me, Lieutenant? I’m just--”

“Yes, ensign. And yes, I am asking you. I don't see anything there. What could be causing this?”

Chekov looked at her, at his readings, and then at the screen. “It is consistent with...with a cloaking device, Lieutenant.”

Uhura paused. Things had just gone from tense but somewhat exciting to potentially highly hazardous. “How big?”

“That is very difficult to say, Lieutenant, but not large, probably about the size of a standard wessle--”

“Have you attempted to scan them directly?”

“No, Lieutenant, I have not. I adjusted the probes to cycle with a reasonable orbital algorithm. If someone where to see them, hypothetically, it would look like I have been taking readings of the planet’s high atmosphere. Which has its own interesting properties if the truth is to be told--”

“You can talk about the atmosphere when Spock gets back. Are you sure it’s a cloaked ship?”

“Well...no, that is a working hypothesis...we can scan it directly, if--”

“No. Because you're not wrong. Right now, they think we can't see them. We can’t alert whoever it is that we know that they’re there. If you hadn’t seen it on the probes, we would have no idea. Arex?”

“It is difficult to surmise. Romulans are believed to possess cloaking technology, although we are quite spatially distant from where their territory is believed to exist. Klingons also possess similar technology.” He paused. “It may even be a Suliaban remnant.”

“In orbit around a planet that just developed warp technology? The question there, Arex, is why?”

“Again. I do not know the answer to that question. But based on the ensign’s readings, any ship it conceals appears to be inactive or even derelict. Considering the presence of the alien satellites in orbit around the planet, this may be a natural part of the technology that sustains it.”

“Is there a way to tell?”

“Not without scanning it, no.”

“Well,” said Chekov. “Not...technically.”

“Ensign?”

“There might be a way to scan the object...without scanning it.”

“I do not know what the inverse of a tautology is,” sighed Arex. “But you seem to have made one.”

“A paradox, Arex,” said Uhura. “And how, ensign Chekov, do you propose we do this?”

“The probes, Lieutenant. They are fitted with a small antimatter charge. Not enough to do any real damage, but enough to vaporize the probe. So that they do not end up contaminating culture of pre-warp planets. The annihilation explosion releases very characteristic waveforms across the electromagnetic and subspace spectrum. It is...what is the word? Oh! It is like a lantern!”

“And if we shine it through the cloaked ship, we can use the ship’s scanner to identify inconsistencies in the cloaking field.”

“Yis! To fingerprint it, so to speak! To use the ship like it a great spectrometer!”

Uhura thought for a moment, then sighed. “Mr. Chekov, from what you are telling me, probe seven appears to be miscalculated.”

Chekov’s expression fell. “Oh...yes, I had been mistaken, I suppose, I am sorry to have bothered you...”

“I would not be surprised, then, if its orbit started to decay. In a very unpredictable way. And if it had to be terminated early.”

Chekov realized what she was saying, and began tapping on his controls. “Yes, Lieutenant, I understand. Even if this planet is warp-equipped, it would be a shame to ruin their development with a Federation probe.” He paused. “Ah, yes. I see that the orbit is indeed decaying. One of the thrusters has just accidentally fired and it is going into a fatal spin toward the planet. I am now positioning the probe into a safe position...and the probe is ready for detonation.”

“Remove it, ensign.”

There was no sound. It was extremely distant, and of course there was no sound in space. The only noise was the beep of Chekov’s controls as he engaged the explosion.

“Probe removed,” he said.

“And the results?”

“It will take time for the ship’s computer to perform the analysis,” said Arex.

“Yes,” said Chekov. “But I have already done it instead.” He looked up. “The cloak, Lieutenant. It belongs to a Klingon Bird-of-Prey, of the group-four Warbird configuration.”

Uhura looked out through the viewscreen, and sighed.

“And today was going so nicely.”

“Should we alert the Cyaptain, Lieutenant?”

“Not yet. I’m trying to think of a way to do it.”

“Lieutenant?”

“That is a cloaked spy vessel, ensign. We need to work under the assumption that every transmission we send or receive is being monitored. It seems that we are being watched.”

Author's Note

Although it may not be immediately apparent, this story is actually somewhat long. Not "Elrod" long, mind you, but about the size most of my stories end up being. With the introductions out of the way, it is now possible to move onto the development of the plot. Sort of.

Toward this end, I believe I am going to increase the upload speed from once every 7 days to once every 5 days. That way, the chapters move a little bit quicker.

Chapter 9: Preparing for a Gala

The maid cowered, shaking.

“But—but we have—we have tasty cupcakes!” She held up a platter with numerous colorful pastries, their frosting expertly decorated but the whole of the tray shaking from her fright.

M’Ress stared at her, annoyed, and did her best to retain her composure.

“Yes. I see that. I cannot eat those. They have sugar.”

“But the sugar—it is so sweet--”

“I will literally die. Feed me MEAT. Do you not have meat? Is there not somewhere I can get it?”

“We—we don’t—we can’t—that isn’t something—” Her eyes widened, and she squealed, dropping the tray. The cupcakes scattered to the floor. The maid proceeded to flee. “DON’T EAT MEEEEE!!”

“I was not going to...” M’Ress groaned. Although the environment had been relatively pleasant to sleep in, the beds were designed for small horses, not a Caitian, and she had awoken hungry only to find that the entirety of their society was herbivorous and had no concept of meat outside of the meat that they themselves were constructed of. Therefore, she was tired, hungry, and annoyed. The only consolation was that the numerous maids were unexpectedly good at brushing things, and M’Ress was consequently at her silkiest.

Spock emerged from wherever it was that Vulcans tended to hide. The shadows, M’Ress assumed, at least based on historical stereotypes. Spock was notoriously difficult to detect. While purblood humans smelled strongly—not unpleasant, in M’Ress’s opinion, but strongly nonetheless—Vulcans and even half-Vulcans were disturbingly odorless. Especially in an environment that reeked of baked goods and sweet-scented small horses.

“Ingesting our hosts will not be beneficial to our diplomatic situation,” he said, as passively as ever.

“Do you take me for a Kzint? I would not lower myself to eating sentient meat.”

“Vulcans in general consider eating any manner of meat unnecessary.”

“Yes. And Vulcans have biosynthesis pathways that allow for a vegetarian diet. I do not.”

“Nor, did I at any point, say or imply that you possessed such biochemical pathways. I was simply stating a fact about the nature of Vulcan culture.”

M’Ress gritted her teeth. “I am doing my best to be civil considering your rank. However, I have not been fed and am greatly displeased.”

“I do not know what my rank would be an impediment of, unless you were intending to eat me.”

“At this point, I may very well be considering it.”

Spock raised an eyebrow but otherwise seemed unperturbed. He shouldered his tricorder and began walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk. This castle is surrounded by what appears to be a peaceful and well-constructed city, and I intend to view the alien architecture and take ground-level scientific readings.”

“But we have a party to attend later in the day.”

“Yes. You and the Captain do. However, it would not be logical for me to attend such a function when my time and effort would be better directed toward scientifically productive activities.”

“So you will be avoiding the party? How very...Vulcan.”

“A minor insult based on an outdated racial stereotype is both inappropriate as well as pointless. But yes. I will be avoiding this function.”

“No, Spock, you most certainly will not!”

Kirk emerged into the common area. He was not alone. A pony was held under his arm. A minty-green xenobiologist.

“Captain,” said Spock, raising an eyebrow. “Where have you acquired that pony?”

“I found her staring at me while I was sleeping.”

“Captain, that would be impossible. If you were sleeping, then you would not have seen her. You would instead have seen her upon waking.”

“I told him the same thing,” said Lyra, wrapping her front legs around Kirk’s leg. “And it wasn’t weird or anything, even if I was naked, I was taking notes. I was doing it for SCIENCE. Also I stroked your hair and may have tried on your uniform...I was not naked during that part...”

Kirk set her down. The pony immediately produced a sack. A sack that was dripping a foul fluid. A fluid that smelled to M’Ress delicious.

“What is that?”

“That isn’t from me, is it?” asked Kirk.

“No, of course not, I haven’t figured out which parts hoomins grow back yet,” said Lyra, opening the sack and producing a meaty sphere. “I had an understanding that hoomins either eat or yeet meat, the translation was variable, so I made some.”

“Made..some?”

M’Ress grabbed one of the globules and, before Kirk could stop her, bit into it.

“Oh yes,” she said. “It tastes like bacon!”

“It is made of pig,” said Lyra. “So I would expect that.”

“So you slaughter pigs here?” asked Spock. “Despite being vegetarians?”

“Oh no, of course not. Ponies never kill any creature, ever, under any circumstances. They’re special pigs. Their bodies are all covered in tumors that swell up and fall off sometimes. Until you got here, I was sure they were the closest relative of hoomins, and from the look of you, I’m guessing you did, in fact, evolve from a piggy ancestor.”

M’Ress, upon realizing what she was eating, nearly ejected it from her stomach as if it were an especially virulent furball. Instead, though, she kept it down. She had eaten worse in the Academy. She had before tasted the vilest of flavors, the accursed human fruit known as the olive. Mutant tumor was far superior in flavor.

“Um, no,” said Kirk. “The cupcakes were very good, though. They also brought me fruit. It was...strangely similar to Earth fruit.”

“Why would fruit be any different?” asked Lyra. “Fruits is fruits.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a xenobiologist?”

“Yes. Specializing in anthropology. I’m not some kind of fruit-doctor.” She paused. “Unless you’d like to feed me grapes and turn me into one. One at a time. Or...or...” She began to salivate. “A banana. Peel it. PEEL IT NOW.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Kirk.

The door opened suddenly, and an especially haggard McCoy nearly fell into the room.

“Bones!” cried Kirk, moving to his side. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What makes you think I even have any idea the answer to that question?! That ungrateful little—that tiny horse—she teleported me here! Scattered my atoms across god knows where, put me on this living hell of a planet! Now I’m stuck here!”

“Bones, what are you talking about? This planet is actually really nice.”

“We have edible cysts,” said Lyra, holding up the bag. When she saw McCoy more closely, though, her face flushed. “Oh my...now that's a hoomin...I want you to peel MY banana...”

“See? This is what I’m talking about! I spent half the night giving examinations to over thirty separate ponies that had absolutely nothing wrong with them other than Munchhausen's syndrome, and then when I finally got into a bed, I woke up an hour later with half the castle’s population of maids squeezing me to death! One of them sat on my face and I almost suffocated!”

“I had a cat that did that once…”

“Jim, I’m not in the mood for your story about the Caitian twins again, not in the slightest!”

“Well, what do you expect?” asked a slightly raspy female voice.

The occupants of the room—other than Spock, who had already seen her—jumped. McCoy had been accompanied by Rainbow Dash, who was wearing her standard white armor with a white shawl or cloak wrapped around her back against the chilly morning.

“What do you mean what do I expect? I expect to not have horses in my bed when I’m trying to sleep, and not get teleported by magic ones either! I’m a doctor, not a stablehand!”

“One, super offensive, but it’s funny so I’ll let it pass. Second, what do you expect? Mares outnumber stallions seven to one and probably eighty percent of stallions aren’t into mares. If you know what I mean. Being a hetero mare is hard work. Right, Lyra? You have a husband, right?”

“I have an ex-wife.”

“Oh...well, um....same thing?"

"She didn't believe my theories...I wonder if she'll come back now that I'm right?"

Rainbow Dash winced. "Sure. Let's go with that."

A beep interrupted the awkwardness of the conversation and Kirk, much relieved, opened his communicator.

“Kirk here.”

“Preparing to beam down the package, Captain.”

“Acknowledged. Send it.”

Kirk stepped back, and the air before him shimmered. In less than a second, a container had appeared before him. Lyra stared at it, gasping.

“What was—what was that?!”

“A transporter,” said Kirk, opening the trunk. He removed a small bag of cubed meat and tossed it to M’Ress, and a medical tricorder that he handed to McCoy.

“Wait...Jim, why do I need this?”

“Because you’re part of the landing party now.”

“But you can’t be serious--”

“I am. You’re here, you might as well make the best of it. Think of it like a vacation. You’re singlehandledly absorbing half the ship’s coffee ration with your insomnia every night you're up there. If you get a few good night's sleep down here, maybe there'll be some left for the rest of us.”

“We do have a replicator,” added Spock. “I can see that neither of you have acquired the level of proficiency necessary to operate it. Perhaps you should speak with Mr. Scott. Although I recommend against mentioning anything concerning the quality of the alcohol substitutes it can prepare with him.”

Kirk ignored him, instead addressing Lyra. “We use the transporter to move things between two positions. Don’t you have something similar?”

“A machine? For teleportation? Because you...don’t have magic...” A look of awe came over her face.

“We teleport,” sighed Rainbow Dash, interrupting Lyra’s stupor. “Sort of. Only unicorns can do it. Not all of them, though. Just the really powerful ones. But even Celestia can't. I think Luna can, sometimes, and maybe five or six wizards on the planet? I never really counted.”

“You can just...do that?”

“Damn right they can,” grumbled McCoy. “That’s how that horsey vixen got me down here.”

Kirk seemed greatly surprised by this, but Spock seemed even more intrigued.

“Can you do this?” he asked Lyra.

Lyra, snapped out of her stupor, turned to him. “Huh? Me? Oh no, I can’t. Not without one of the big amplifiers. But those make me really, really queasy. Also they only go to the moon. Or back, I guess. And I don’t want to go to the moon, they’re a bunch of weirdos up there.”

Rainbow Dash frowned. “My uncle lives on the moon.”

“Then your uncle is a weirdo. Sorry, I’m a xenobiologist, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

Kirk produced one of the dress uniforms, one belonging to Spock, and passed it to the reluctant Vulcan. Then he gave M’Ress hers, and took his.

“Be sure to review Uhura’s suggested protocols. We want this to go as smoothly as possible.” He looked at McCoy. “Bones.”

“What?”

“You can stay here. With Lyra.”

Lyra released a high-pitched squee.

“Jim, you can’t be--”

“Or you can go to the party. I can have the yeoman prepare your uniform. Celestia has a sister I think you would like.”

“Giant blue and black pony with wings and a horn, and cat eyes?”

Kirk looked perplexed. “Um...yes?”

“I met her. I almost got hung.”

“Almost?”

“Clearly not, Jim.”

“No. Did you seduce her?”

McCoy looked disgusted. “Jim, she’s a pony.”

Kirk shrugged and smirked slightly. “Ms. Dash, are you attending the gala?”

“It’s obligatory. I’m a national hero.”

“Then have Bones check out your wing before you go. Maybe he can do something about the pain.”

McCoy appeared confused. “Wing?”

Rainbow Dash, her expression fallen, sighed and removed the cloak covering her back. Her cybernetic wing emerged, perfectly symmetrical with her organic one but clearly causing her great discomfort to move.

“What in the name of—why the heck were you the only one NOT asking for me to check?”

“Because I don’t need your help.”

McCoy knelt down, producing his newly-acquired medical tricorder and examining the appendage. “This is...this is cybernetic. It’s linked directly to your spine, how I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Do you not have this technology on your planet?”

“Well, no, not anymore, cybernetics is something of a dead science.”

“Dead? Why?”

“Why? Because with modern stem-cell reconfiguration, we usually just undergo treatments to grow most things back, not outright replace them like this.”

Rainbow Dash jumped back. “Wait, what? You can—you can grow things back?”

“Well, in theory, sure, it’s not very complicated. Eyes and hearts, those are hard, but limbs are usually pretty straightforward.”

“You can grow my wing back?” Rainbow Dash looked to Kirk. “Can your alien magic do that?”

Kirk looked to McCoy. “Bones?”

McCoy stood up. “From what I saw with the other one? Frankly, Jim, I have no idea. Their cell structure is unlike anything I’ve seen before. Their blood is rhenium-based, at least for the unicorns, and their bones use titanium like ours use calcium. The unicorns have neural density above and beyond anything I’ve ever seen, with a brain pattern unlike any in the galaxy. I’m pretty sure they’re not even mammals. They’re some kind of fungus. The only thing that’s even close to anything at all is the epidermis.”

“Bones, that doesn’t answer the question.”

McCoy pointed. “If you lost an arm, I wouldn’t even be able to do it. Not with what I have here, it’s a very complicated procedure. Maybe on a big starbase, or on Earth, and that’s just for a human. The Enterprise just doesn’t have the equipment.”

“But we could share the procedures, couldn’t we?”

“Well, sure, I suppose we could, if they have computers.”

“Don’t we have something self-contained?”

McCoy thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Captain. I think we do. The emergency medical hologram unit.”

“That is a test prototype from Starfleet,” stated Spock, his wording as strong as it reasonably could be. “We were assigned a duty to test it in the field for use replacing doctors due to incapacitate or emergency--”

“Spock, is your tiny Vulcan heart really that shriveled and dried up? This isn’t some special strategically important power cell or intake manifold or whatever, this is basic medical science. They deserve—no, they outright NEED—that hologram. Denying it to them would be a heinous crime.” He turned to Kirk. “I suggest you beam it down at once. As soon as possible. As in, right now.”

“Um...sure, Bones. We can do that. After the gala.” Kirk straightened his uniform. “After all, that’s the first order of business, to establish peaceful diplomatic relations. That’s it. A nice, easy task. And we get to do it at a party. Isn’t that nice?”

The others looked at him. Whether or not they agreed with his enthusiasm remained unclear.

Author's Note

Cats (on Earth) are obligate carnivores due to lacking a taurine biosynthesis pathway. While dogs can survive on vegetarian diets (with properly balanced protein), cats must eat meat to live.
Cybernetic augmentation seems rare on Federation worlds (apart from Picard's heart, Jordi's eyes, and Rutherford's brain). Considering their poor safety record, the fact that everyone still has limbs seems to suggest that that have some means to get new ones.
Cystypigs. Everyone likes eating the sausage, but they get so upset to see how it's made.

Chapter 10: The Expendable Mare

Moondancer was led through the ship by a pair of human guards dressed in red uniforms. They carried weapons, but Moondancer’s own analysis of the devices indicated that the magic they contained was exceedingly primitive by Equestrian standards. Regardless, she did not want to be phased, and as such had covertly disconnected the power supplies from the internal components using her own magic. The humans, being beings with tiny and probably color-blind eyes, had not noticed.

She had re-clothed herself. While it was not uncommon for ponies to go about their daily activities in the nude, Moondancer had never been a great fan of wandering around naked. Even during her university days, she had worn a sweatshirt constantly. The same sweatshirt, without having washed it. When she emigrated to the Lunar colonies, it was replaced with something heavier to deal with the perpetual chill. The moon was an inhospitable place; a harsh mistress, one might say.

Her flight suit had been badly damaged during her prototype’s failure, and any amounts of it that had not been burned or torn had been cut away from her as she was stripped for surgery and possible probing. The replacement was dark armor, with leathery plates held together with more flexible components. It was a legitimate uniform, but one uncommon for the standard Lunar Guard. Which made sense, considering her position. She was not one of them. She existed outside formal rank, in a category with only one member. In any event, Moondancer was not about to walk around in an alien spacecraft without some form of protection in case everything went south. It did not seem to be a pleasant or inviting place.

What surprised her most, though, was the sheer scale of the ship surrounding her. A ship capable of traveling at the same speed as hers, but hundreds of thousands of times the mass, complete with doors and hallways tall enough for the gangly bipeds that inhabited it. It seemed to go on forever as she was lead through it.

When the last door on her path opened, she did her best not to become spooked. That was another part that intrigued her, but that she very much hated. The hissing doors were surprising and unnecessary.

Through that door, numerous of the bipeds were at work. One was passing quickly, reading aloud from a datapad to one of his assistants. When he saw a small pony stepping through his door, he pushed the pad to the assistant and waved him onto whatever task it was the engineering staff tended to do aboard a starship.

The human quickly approached Moondancer, extending his hand.

“Been taking your time, have you? Montgomerry Scott, chief engineer aboard this fine vessel.”

Moondancer stared at his outstretched hand, then looked up at him. “Are you trying to grab my horn? If you do, I’ll liberate your skeleton from your meats.”

The human frowned, but then laughed. “Why, if you haven’t had your skeleton pulled out at least twice you don’t even deserve to be promoted to transporter chief, let alone allowed to open the repair panels on it.”

Moondancer frowned. “That accent...are you Dundaxian?”

Mr. Scott looked even more confused. “No, lass, I’m from Scotland. And, to be honest, I’ve never understood why more aliens don’t have Scottish accents. You sound like you’re from midwestern America, like the rest of the aliens do.”

“Because I assimilated your language from your doctor. I grew up in Canterlot, in my own language I have a Canterlot accent.”

“Canterlot...” Mr. Scott tilted his head. “Lass, is that meant to be a horse pun?”

“It is not a pun in the correct language, just in yours.” Moondancer gestured to the guards. “Do these need to be here?”

“Yes,” said one of the nameless guards, firmly.

“Aye, sure, with your damn resonance crystals unplugged, a great lot of good you’ll both do!”

The guards looked down, inspecting their firearms, and their eyes widened.

“But how--”

“Because the focusing coils make a high-pitched whine when they’re connected, you bleeding dullards, and if you aren’t even listening for it you shouldn’t even have gotten permission to have those things, let alone in engineering where we have the flammables.” He waved them off. “Go on! Can’t a man have a conversation with a tiny horse in private?”

They looked at each other, but stepped back, fumbling to reconnect the components of their phasers.

Mr. Scott sighed. “Stunning example of human intelligence for your first day here. My apologies, lass. Also for the handshake. You seem to have a lack of the proper appendages.”

“I don’t lack anything. I just can’t wrap tiny sausages around objects.”

Mr. Scott nodded knowingly. “Do ye have a name, little pony?”

“Moondancer.”

Mr. Scott stifled a laugh, but not well. This did not go unnoticed, although it did go unappreciated.

“Is something about my name funny to you?”

“No, no, not at all, lass, it’s a fine name--”

“Considering that you are a Scotsman named ‘Scott’. With a first name of Montgomery.”

Scotty’s expression fell. He had apparently never realized this. “Aye...that...that be true, lass...”

“And you reek of maple-smoked ham.”

Scotty frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't really care what it means. I’m here to help oversee the joint salvage operation of my ship.”

Mr. Scott’s expression lit up. “Aye, lass. I’ve already dispatched the tows. We can go directly to the shuttle bay as soon as you’re ready.”

“It’s my ship, and it’s in pieces. When would I not be ready? I’m not even going to be able to sleep until I at least know what I’m going to need to do to fix it.”

Mr. Scott smiled. “Well then what are waiting for, lass? It’s not about to salvage itself!”

The shuttle bay was vast, far larger than any room Moondancer would ever even have considered for use in a spacecraft. From her understanding, the Enterprise was a bizarrely shaped and spindly craft where most of the engineering aspects were kept in the lower part, away from the crew housing in the saucer. She had yet to comprehend what the nacelles were for, because she had no idea how this ship’s engine worked exactly—and as interesting an academic exercise learning about that might prove, her first priority was recovering her ship.

The rear of the bay had been opened, producing a vast doorway to space itself. The atmosphere was apparently kept within the ship through the use of a spell of unknown nature, producing a magic membrane that allowed solid objects but not gas to pass through.

As she watched, a pair of boxy, ugly human ships were in the process of pulling the forward spike of her own craft through the gateway. As soon as they maneuvered it into position, beams projected from a machine overhead took control, manipulating it into position with the other parts. They had already been pulled in and assembled on special jigs to keep them standing.

“Darn it,” swore Moondancer. “Look how many pieces it’s in.”

“Lass, you dropped out of warp with a failed forward deflector sheild. It’s a damn miracle you’re still in one piece and the ship isn’t space particulates.” He checked a datapad. “It’s an even greater miracle your warp core didn’t rupture. I’ve taken a look over Mr. Chekov’s calculations, and the boy’s admittedly a genius, but not a practical mind to him in the slightest. If his readings were right, your ship shouldn’t even fly.”

“It did,” snapped Moondancer, descending the stairs to where the forward command section of her ship had just been placed on its jig. “And it was almost faster than yours.”

Mr. Scott nearly dropped his datapad. “I was ordered to be civil, but don’t start a fight you can’t win, lassie.”

“I have enough telekinetic power to bend you without even trying. What do you have?”

“I’m a Scotsman.”

“Irrelevant.”

"Aye, you'd think, wouldn't you?"

Moondancer ignored him and passed the edge of her ship, inspecting the damage. The material did not exactly have a single color, but generally rendered as a sort of dark indigo to violet in the shuttle bay’s light, sometimes changing to a near-blue depending on the angle and a gray at others. The edges of it were badly carbonized where it had been torn apart. She could see the inside of the cockpit, and the marks on her chair of where her magic had torn apart the cloth.

Mr. Scott followed, putting his hand on the ship as he passed. He pulled it back, a confused look on his face.

“Is this...wood?”

“Of course it’s wood. It’s the only thing sturdy enough to make the carapace.”

“But...wood.” Scotty stepped back, admiring the long point of the ship and the way it gently curved in a distinctly organic shape. “You made a starship out of...wood?”

“It is a type of tree that grows on the moon’s surface. The hull was grown in a single piece around a mithril skeleton using extensive biomancy. Which took two years of continuous effort and over ninety percent our planet’s supply of mithril for a ten kilogram skeleton.” She winced, putting her hoof to her head, which was suddenly throbbing. “The pieces can’t be reattached. I’m going to have to grow another one.”

“The hull of the Enterprise is made of duranium plates.”

“Metal would interfere with field concordance. How the heck am I supposed to interact with the mass-shift field if I can’t feel it?”

“Feel it...” Mr. Scott’s eyes widened. “Lass, you’re saying you can interface with the warp field directly, that would be absolute madness--”

An alarm sounded, and Scotty grasped Moondancer by the tail, pulling her out of the way of the next fragment of her ship. Moondancer was about to complain about this harsh treatment until she looked up and saw what was being brought in.

It was the rear portion of the ship, still partially attached to the machine held within. The connections for the cables and wires had been severed, and the relay banks were exposed and badly melted, but the core had remained intact. A vast cylinder of stabilized metal, surrounded by control apertures forged from single crystals that acted as primary field lines into the central assembly.

The center of the drive core was marked with the insignia of its creator: a six-pointed violet star, surrounded by five small white ones. Moondancer felt herself grimacing when she saw it. She hated that symbol, and had done her best not to look at it when she had been assembling the craft.

The core was set down carefully, wobbling slightly on its jig. Moondancer cast her own magic, stabilizing it.

“You could at least try to be careful with it. I can build another ship. I can’t build another one of these.”

Mr. Scott, intrigued, approached. The device was about double his height, but substantially wider.

“This is your warp core, then?”

“If that is what you want to call it, sure. It’s the part that generates the spatial distortion field and reduces the effective mass of the ship to near-zero, so yes. Why not.” Moondancer approached it, and to her horror found that the internal unit was slightly charred. Some pieces of the central metal had burned and melted, and some of the critical sealed internal fragments had blown apart from a system overload.

“It’s damaged. That’s impossible.”

“Lass, as I said, it’s a miracle it even stayed intact at all--”

“You don’t understand.” Moondancer trotted back to the front part of her ship, the piloting area. “This is wrong. This is all wrong.” She jumped up through the open hole in the back of the ship, barely avoiding the shards of mithril and carbonized wood, and sat down in the seat. She lit her horn and energized part of the internal systems, the indicator lights flashing on.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m somewhat lost, lass. I’m still stuck on the fact you made it out of wood.”

“I built a failsafe into the core support feed. Because I thought something like this might happen. If the core is in danger, it’s designed to cast a shield spell around itself. A pure spatial distortion. It functionally ejects itself from this universe for eight elevenths of a second—it could survive a direct impact from a suprenova.”

Mr. Scott looked at the wreckage. “Well, the rest of the ship certainly suffered.”

“It was never designed to preserve the rest of the ship. The field loses strength to the fifth power dependent on circumference, it would be ineffective any farther than its own surface. And just doing that puts the power crystals into in inversion state. They’re mounted directly below the piloting area. They’re meant to explode to provide the power. This piece? It should have been vaporized.”

Scotty stared at it, a grim expression crossing his face. “And you with it. Why would you design it to do such a thing?”

“I can be replaced. The survival of the prototype is more important.”

“That’s a right terrible way to think about it.”

Moondancer glared at him. “I don’t bother to maintain the illusion that I’m not expendable, Mr. Scott. Nobody is waiting for me. Not on the Moon, not in Equestria.”

“That’s not what your last transmission seems to have indicated.”

Moondancer’s icy gaze did not change in the slightest. “Because if my prototype failed, I needed to have memorable last words that were culturally appropriate. So they won’t be afraid to build another. Besides. At the distance I transmitted? It would be decades before they even heard it. No one I ever knew would still be alive.” She turned back to the controls. “And that isn’t really my concern right now. Or ever. My job is to built this ship, and fly it. And now I need to find out why the core didn’t draw power like it should, and why the field was too large. Why I survived and the core got damaged.”

“Well, did you design it to record that on the ship’s computer?”

Moondancer laughed. “Computer? Maybe on this gigantic beast, but there’s no way I could ever have the space or power supply necessary to power the vacuum tubes. Just fitting the tubes for the radio in took me six months of design work, there’s no way I could ever fit a computer on a starship.”

This seemed to both perturb and intrigue Mr. Scott. “Lass, do you mean to tell me your ship has no computer? None at all?”

“Of course not.” She cycled part of the system, revealing the mechanical controls visible through the holes in the hull. “The control scheme is mechanical and electromechanical. All controlled telekinetically.”

“But you can’t fly a warp ship without a computer! The field calculations alone, let alone the thrust vectors, the power maintenance to the inertial dampeners--!”

It was Moodancer’s turn to look surprised. “You mean you...don’t?”

“Don’t what?”

“Do those yourself.”

“Lass, that’s absolute madness, no human being could possibly--”

“I am not a human. I am a pony. Specifically, a unicorn. I do all those calculations myself. In real-time. While operating the controls and using my own field to direct the primary drive force. This isn’t a space-plane or a moon rocket. Contrary to what Rainbow Dash will tell you, only a level seven-unicorn or greater can even begin to operate an FTL ship.”

“Well when you have to be a damn mentat just to turn it on, of course you do!”

“Well then how do you do it?”

“With computers!”

“I told you, computers are a system of tubes--”

“We haven’t used a vacuum tube in nigh on three hundred years! How do you have warp speed technology but not even semiconductors, let alone a material to make a ship other than wood?!”

Moondancer frowned. “What do you use if you don’t have tubes?”

“Duotronic chipsets.”

“I don’t know what that is. What is the size ratio?”

Mr. Scott chuckled. “Lass, a processor head less than a centimeter long can hold over three hundred thousand Boolean gate equivalents.”

Moondancer’s already large eyes opened to their full widest. “That—if I had that, then I could—if you break down the Boolean into arithmetic, I could—that’s a lot of gates!”

“Aye, lass.”

Moondancer nodded, and then reached back into her ship with her magic and pulled out a single glowing tetrahedral crystal.

“This is the closest I have,” she said. “I can go over this to analyze what I think went wrong, but first, I think we need to call a meeting and have a discussion.”

“Aye, lass. I think this is a rare case where our technologies evolved in completely different directions. A transfer of knowledge would do us good. And more than that, I don’t want my men laying a finger on anything you own without knowing what it does—or doesn’t—have in it.”

“Agreed.” She looked to the core. “This ship is unbelievably precious to me, and to my planet. Your arm-sausages probably have a lot of uses, but I want to be one-hundred percent sure they don’t get stuck in any critical holes.”

Mr. Scott nodded, but Moondaner was already relatively confident in his abilities at lest. She was actually stalling. Until she had time to read the crystal and try to get some idea of what was going on. It made no sense to her, and that made her feel strange. An emotion she did not fully know as fear. When she had been in the burning cockpit, even when she cast the shield spell she knew would surely break, she was not really afraid. Even then, she knew exactly what was happening. That was no longer the case.

Something was not right. And with the humans’ help, Moondancer intended to find exactly what it was.

Chapter 11: Small Horses in Evening Wear

There was a certain degree of absurdity to seeing tiny colorful horses in elegant evening wear. To Kirk, it was particularly strange, but by far not the strangest gala, party, or ball he had ever attended. He had several times attended such an event completely nude, and in at least one case he was supposed to be that way.

The vast majority of guests in attendance were female, confirming Rainbow Dash’s assertion that the population was probably mostly mares. A few were obviously military, wearing dress versions of their normal uniform, while many others wore more diverse clothing—but it usually split into two forms. Light-colored ponies, which Kirk assumed to be Equestrian, tended to wear a diverse range of creative and extravagant gowns. Darker and gray ponies—most of whom Kirk supposed were Lunar—tended to wear black, with hard components of armor and accessories made of strange silver. And of course the ruffs. Lunar ponies were apparently fans of extravagant ruffs.

From what Kirk could understand, there were at least three basic races of ponies: unicorns, Pegasi, and default ponies that had neither wings nor horns but that appeared significantly more muscular. There was an additional fourth race, apparent only in the Lunar group, that had exceptionally fluffy ears and leathery bat-like wings. Many of those wore dress uniforms in the style of the Lunar military, although not all. That seemed to make up the majority of the population. Although Kirk also could have sworn he saw a zebra somewhere. He had no idea how many types of ponies there were, or if a zebra or donkey even counted as a pony at all.

Regardless of what they may or may not have been, the ponies appeared greatly astounded by the presence of aliens in their midst. Most appeared afraid, but all stared, usually from a safe distance. There were various murmurs between them, and obviously excitement in the success of their space program. Kirk did his best to imagine how it felt to them. To a pre-warp human, the presence of an alien at a formal state function would likely have caused violent societal uphevel. Equestria, though, had numerous species of sentient beings, so perhaps the sight was not as surprising. Rather, the implication of it was. That there was far more life in the universe beyond their world. This translated, Kirk surmised, to a sense of wonder, curiosity, and a passion to answer all the questions it produced. And he was the embodiment of that sentiment.

He could not help but smile. He turned to Spock, also clad in a standard dress uniform, who could not help but not smile ever. “Lighten up, Spock, it’s a party.”

“I am demonstrating the same degree of levity as I ordinarily do.”

“And that’s exactly the problem, Spock. Try to have some fun.”

“I am a Vulcan, Captain. We do not ‘fun’.”

Kirk sighed, and started to scan the crowd for the Princess. It should not have been difficult; after all, she was three times the height of a mortal pony and slightly luminescent.

“However,” said Spock.

Kirk stopped. “What?”

Spock paused. “Captain, do you not notice something unusual with this situation? Concerning the clothing, in particular?”

“Yes, Spock, it’s ponies in dresses. We expected that already.”

“Indeed. Although the ponies within the dresses are neither my concern nor the object of my observation.”

Kirk groaned. It was apparent that Spock was extremely displeased by being forced to attend a formal function instead of being permitted to science. He was therefore making things difficult. Kirk knew the only option was to humor him.

“What exactly is the object of your observation, then?”

Spock pointed discretely at a pony with a tall, flowing hood. “That dress incorporates several shapes and seam ordinations associated with Ariolian formal wear.” He pointed to another, wearing a flowing white gown, “while that one bears the distinct profile of highland Deltan ceremonial robes.” He gestured to another, her body wrapped in flowing, colorful cloth. “And that one bears pattern motifs of traditional Earth garments. The chiropteran pony to your left also has unmistakably Klingon motifs inlaid into her armor, and the one beside her has a Romulan collar.”

“Spock, since when were you so knowledgeable about interstellar fashion?”

Spock tilted his head. “Captain, I am a Vulcan.”

“That...doesn’t answer the question.”

“Regardless, at least half of the formal wear in this room draws distinct motifs and styles from over ninety seven distinct cultures across nineteen world.”

Kirk considered this for a moment. He did not like the implications of it, but did not fully understand them either. “Spock, is there a possibility that it is a coincidence?”

“It is unlikely, however not impossible.”

Kirk nodded, unsure what to think of the new information. “I am going to find the Princess.”

“To conduct diplomacy, I’m sure.”

“Of course, Spock, we’re delegates from the Federation. We need to make a good impression. Why don’t you go and...I don’t know, mingle?”

“I am Vulcan, Captain. We do not ‘mingle’. I will, however, conduct scientific observations on the behavior of these various small horses.”

With that, Spock waded off into the crowd. Kirk sighed. He was not sure where Spock was off too, and had no idea where M’Ress had gone. Those were not technically his concern, though. His concern was finding the Princess in order to conduct diplomacy upon her.

Something brushed near his leg. Kirk looked down to find Rainbow Dash. She had worn a dress uniform, one cut specifically to allow for her wings. Several large medals were pinned to her chest, apparently for the heroism that had cost her her the ability to fly. She was also apparently eating an entire shrimp cocktail which she had managed to balance on one hoof.

“You clean up well.”

“I clean up shrimps well,” she replied as she guzzled more shrimp and drank the sauce.

“Can ponies even eat shrimp?”

“I just did. I’m going to drain the whole cider supply, I can’t do that on an empty stomach.”

“Alcoholic cider, or the kind that’s just juice?”

“I don’t ask and they don’t tell me, but it stops some of the implant pain, so who cares?”

Kirk sighed. “Do you know where Princess Celestia is?”

Rainbow Dash set the empty basin of shrimp onto the head of a passing servant and pointed. “Over there, greeting guests. Same as every year.”

“Thanks.”

Kirk left the rainbow pony to her attempt to eat another entire shrimp cocktail—and then possibly to drink her weight in cider. He instead moved in the direction she had gestured, the ponies before him parting as he passed, staring and whispering at the alien in their midst.

Then he saw her and, indeed, she was not hard to miss. Upon getting relatively close, though, he had to pause.

She was not naked. Instead, she had dressed in pure white robes fixed with various pieces of gold assembled into delicate motifs of the sun, including a component that rose high against the rear of her neck and linked to her horn through a series of fine golden chains. The dress, Kirk also noted, had a slit all the way up to the sun on her flank, revealing the large golden boots or shoes she wore.

It was a rather breathtaking sight—and was contrasted almost completely by her sister beside her. Luna had elected for something far less elegant but probably, at least in her opinion, more regal; she seemed overstuffed with black fabric in a pattern that was a cross between some kind of florid dress and a military uniform, complete with armored segments over various parts of her body apparently meant to be ornamental. Her head was almost buried in the largest possible ruff, and was engaged in thorough conversation with a somewhat frightened looking pony holding drinks.

“Indeed, it is a misconception that the moon represents a penal colony! In fact, it is a refuge for the ponies that cannot adjusteth their beings to the lifestyle of the surface! There is comparatively little penaling on the surface of the moon, and we in fact only rarely penal!”

“Except for the public floggings,” added Celestia.

“Except for the public—sister! We require the public floggings! Regular beatings boost morale!”

Kirk approached. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, you are, alien!" She glared at the server. "This heratic hath accused us of excessive penaling!”

“Luna, it’s not a verb--”

“We hath sayethed it as a verb, therefore it hath been made a verb!” She glared at the pony. “Is not this so, small mortal? Agree with your Princess!”

The pony squeaked and held up the tray of drinks. “P—punch?”

Luna’s pupils narrowed. “A threat? So you hath elected to challenge our divinity, then?”

“She means the drinks.” Celestia snatched a pair, levitating them through the air, and gave one to Kirk. She sipped from the other. “Try it,” she said, gesturing with her glass to Kirk’s. “It’s good.”

Kirk took a sip. It was excessively sweet but not terrible. At least there were not tumors in it. That he knew of.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he said, bowing.

Celestia covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh Captain, so formal!”

“It is not improper for these rabble to bow before us,” snapped Luna. She gestured to Kirk to rise. “This gesture is expected, mortal.”

Celestia elbowed her sister. “Luna, he’s a guest. You don’t have to be so stiff.”

“I already told you, we do not do that anymore--”

“Luna. No. Not what I meant. Focus.”

“On what?”

“I like your dress,” added Kirk, gesturing to Celestia. He pointed at Luna. “Yours too.”

Celestia almost blushed, but Luna darkened thoroughly. “Why thank you,” said the elder Princess, “it is tradition for the Princess to appear nude before her subjects, but I thought it might be better to change the rules. Especially considering how Lunar mores seem to require clothing most of the time.”

“The moon is a frigid mistress,” said Luna with a degree of pride.

“Clearly,” added Kirk, causing Celestia to suppress a giggle and for Luna to nod in agreement.

“It’s actually even more comfortable,” said Celestia, swishing the trail of her dress and clearly showing Kirk the impressive slit up the side. “It feels like I’m wearing nothing at all. What they say about Rarity is most certainly true.”

“Rarity? What’s that?”

“Not whatk, Jim, who. She’s Equestria’s most famous fashion designer.” Celestia gestured out to the crowd of ponies. “She designed most of the dresses here. I consider myself lucky to have gotten a place on her list with how busy she’s been in the last few years.”

“Sister. You could order her to maketh the dress whenever you please, or a hundred of them. On pain of suspension.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow. “Princess, you really do seem to enjoy corporal punishment, don’t you?”

“It be the golden rule, to treat others as you beleiveith you ought to be treated.”

“So,” said Celestia, “you’re saying you want someone to flog you?”

Luna blushed severely, her nose scrunching in the process. “No?” She immediately picked up a whole pineapple and began to munch on it with great vigor.

Kirk was about to mention something else when something caught Celestia’s attention.

“Excuse me, Jim,” she said, stepping past him toward a pair of ponies that had approached her.

Kirk observed them, sipping his overly sweet punch. They were unicorn males, a rare sight indeed, and unusually tall for their species; both were wearing what seemed to be expensive suits that were so tacky that even Kirk could notice it. Most disturbingly, one of them had a mustache. Kirk had not even realized that was possible for a pony.

“Princess!” said the mustachioed of the pair. “How pleasant to see you!”

“Yes!” said the other. “Have you grown?”

His brother elbowed him in the side, nearly tipping him over.

“I mean—have you shrunk?”

Celestia smiled at them, then looked past them. “Forgive me for asking so abruptly, but is Twilight Sparkle with you?”

The two looked at each other, exchanging a glance, and both smiled.

“No, I’m afraid not,” said the elder. “After what happened, she was simply distraught over the failure of her core design. She hasn’t slept since it happened, going over the plans over and over.”

“Absolutely distraught,” sighed the younger brother, nodding. “Downright obsessed with figuring out what went wrong.”

“She told us to tell you that she regrets the fact that she can’t attend. There’s simply too much work to do.”

Kirk, hearing this, approached. When the smiling unicorns saw him, their smiles immediately vanished and their eyes grew wide. The younger of the twins shot a terrified glance at his older brother, who did not immediately answer it.

“From the way you’re dressed, you seem like important ponies,” he said.

“Oh, yes! Where are my manners! Flim and Flam, this is Captain Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise. He rescued the pilot from the prototype, and his crew is currently assisting us with the joint salvage operation to recover the debris, including Twilight’s core.”

“It’s...intact?”

“It certainly is,” said Kirk. “We hope to have it retrieved...probably by about now, actually.”

“You can’t!” cried the younger pony, only to be elbowed.

“The core system is extremely volatile,” said the elder. “You don’t have the equipment or procedures to manage it--”

“I assure you, my chief engineer is the very best in Starfleet. There isn’t an engine he can’t figure out.”

“And Moondancer is overseeing the operation personally,” added Celestia. “My sister puts her absolute faith in her, so I do to.” She turned to Kirk. “Flim and Flam are two of the most important ponies in Equestria. They founded Division 51, the aerospace company that built that virtually invented space travel. I dispatched my dearest, beloved student Twilight Sparkle to assist them with the FTL project. She designed and constructed the reactor core of the prototype FTL ship, what you call a warp-core, with the remainder built by dear Moondancer.”

“All by herself?”

“She is a prodigy. A brilliant young girl. I am obviously sterile, so she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter.” Her expression fell. “She used to write me letters every day...but now I hardly get any. And I haven’t seen her in almost a year. I was hoping she would be at the party.” She smiled. “Not that I’m displeased to see her two closest friends, of course.”

“She has been awfully busy,” sighed the elder brother.

“A workaholic,” said the other, agreeing and nodding, but staring at Kirk, still terrified. “A genuine workaholic, can’t stop her calculations long enough to write.”

“It’s very rare for a warp-drive to be built by just one person," noted Kirk. "The only civilization I know that ever did that was...well, Earth. Zefram Cochrane.”

Celestia smiled. “Yet another connection between our planets. I am sure Twilight would love to hear about how this Cochrane made his progress. If she were here tonight, of course. But maybe at a later date when you meet her."

Kirk gestured to the twins. “I’d like that. And I'd like to know more about your company. Commercial development of a working warp-drive is no small task.”

“Well—um—we--proprietary, a lot of secrets—griffon spies, communism--”

“He means,” said the elder, shushing his brother, “that it’s really all very boring and complicated. You can always take a tour of our Ponyville facility. It only costs twelve bits. Eleven for foals, and a special deal, only fifteen—twenty--for aliens. But right now, we need to go.”

“To the bathroom!” cried the younger twin, nervously. “I need to take a LEAK!”

He was promptly elbowed so hard he nearly fell over. “Because the Princess has many important ponies to greet. And because we’ll have to get back to work as soon as possible, won’t we?”

“We won’t?”

“No, we will. Because Twilight will be expecting to rebuilt the whole core. Again.”

The younger twin groaned. “Not again, brother.”

The two walked off. Quickly. In fact, nearly trotting.

Kirk watched them go, frowning. “They seem...nervous.”

Celestia shrugged. “They just met an alien for the first time. Weren’t you nervous the first time you met a non-human?”

“She was Arcadian. And I was no more nervous with her than I am with you.”

Celestia smiled, although there was a sense of sadness to it.

“What exactly do they do, though?” asked Kirk.

“I actually don’t know,” admitted Celestia. “Twilight is mostly in charge of the company, at least from a research perspective. You would need to talk to her.”

“And how do I do that?”

Celestia sighed. “I wish I knew. I miss her dearly.”

Author's Note

The Gala piece was actually written as three chapters (very slow, I know, but it required several perspectives) that are sort of meant to function as one unit. Therefore, I will add this chapter with the next one.

Chapter 12: Salmon Dinner

Shiboline M’Ress moved through the party, trying not to step on a herbivore. She also wore a dress uniform, although hers was obviously different than those of the men. In accordance with ancient Earth tradition and Starfleet regulations, women were expected to wear skirts at all times, ideally as short as possible. There was some ability to choose whether that was the case with standard uniforms—per the Captain’s decision—but with dress uniforms there was no possibility of deviation. There was always a skirt, and it was always short.

This did not bother M’Ress. As a Caitian, trousers were foreign and alien concept for her, both for men and women. She was only glad that she was except with the explicit Starfleet regulation that women have their legs fully shaved at all times; removing her soft, silky fur would be an intolerable insult. That, and shaved Caitians were disturbingly wrinkly.

She was pleased that the ponies agreed with this sentiment. Although the mares favored dresses, the suits worn by the stallions never included trousers, leaving them bare below the waist. Which was disturbing in its own right, but not nearly disturbing as the fact that they lacked any external male equipment of any kind. From what McCoy had explained, though, they were a form of mobile fungus. M’Ress supposed they sporulated. Which was a thought too disturbing to even consider in the slightest.

The party, in itself, was not immediately uncomfortable for her. The ponies were kind, and greeted her when they saw her, generally with the mistaken belief that she was an Abyssinian, a superficially similar native race. From her impression, that race was generally considered alluring and attractive. As such, M’Ress wished she could meet them. Feline aliens were rare. While many races looked like humans, few looked like Caitians, apart from the Kzinti, and in her opinion they were jerks of the highest order.

What was a problem for her was the smell. The odor of ponies was overwhelming. It was not the same as the odor of horses, or of any other creature. They generally smelled strongly of various fruits, flowers, and spices. It did not seem to be a form of perfume or cologne, but rather some intrinsic effluvium. I was absolutely choking. M’Ress supposed it was a natural defense mechanism, a system designed to make them smell like vegetables to confuse the senses of whatever carnivore naturally preyed upon small colorful talking horses. M’Ress, herself a carnivore, was certainly quite confused and nauseated.

Their food was also horribly pungent. The Equestrians generally provided various fruits and vegetables, as well as baked goods, all things M’Ress could not eat—while the Lunar ponies appeared to specialize in the most odoriferous possible of moon-cheese. Cheese was a food she could normally tolerate. But not this cheese. This cheese was a bad cheese.

Somewhere, though, she could smell the tantalizing scent of shrimps--but could somehow not manage to find them.

A blue colored Pegasus in an Equestrian uniform nearly bumped into M’Ress’s legs. Something in an aluminum pan was perched between his wings. He looked up, a large and adorable smile on his face.

“Hey there, ma’am? Do you want some pie? The apple pony outside is selling them super-cheap! I’ve already eaten six!”

M’Ress looked at this abomination called “pie” and nearly coated the blue Pegasus with partially-digested pig tumor. It was disgusting in appearance and smell, to her, at least. Still, as a consummate professional diplomat and slightly arrogant cat-person, she held her composure.

“No thank you. My diet is unfortunately...restrictive. Do you have meat? Or seafood?”

“Well, we had shrimp...”

M’Ress’s ears involuntarily pricked. “Shrimps?”

“Well, yeah, but Rainbow Dash...kind of ate them all.” He sighed. “Losing a wing is...a really bad thing for a Pegasus. She’s trying to adjust but...” He shook his head. “It should have been me in that ship but...is it wrong I’m glad it wasn’t?”

M’Ress had no answer. She looked outward toward the buffet, to where the rainbow-haired pony was burying her head into moon-cheese and drinking from a veritable bucket of cider. Another pony, one in a Lunar version of the Space Force uniform—the one who had confronted them by transmission—was attempting to pull her away.

“Rainbow, come on, you can’t do this--”

“It should have been me in that prototype, and you know it!” shouted Rainbow Dash, slurring her words. “I was supposed to be there! ME!”

“It doesn’t work that way and you know it--”

“If I had a dang wing, I’d have been there! What am I, a trophy? Is that all I am, you—you HORSE. You STEED. You...” She hiccuped loudly. “Can you go to the apple pony and get more cider? I need more Celestia-danged cider...”

The command pony shook her head and led Rainbow Dash away from the moon-cheese. M’Ress watched on, silently, considering what it all might have meant.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Don’t feel bad. I don’t think you can.”

He walked off to eat his disgusting pie, and M’Ress continued to stare out at the room of ponies dressed in elegant clothing. Clothing that was certainly varied, but that held little meaning to her. Instead, she scanned the room for more shrimp that were not presently absorbing cider within Rainbow Dash.

Across the room, she saw the Captain with the Princess, laughing and grinning. The Princess was laughing back to him with a similar expression, or the equine equivalent thereof. M’Ress had seen that expression enough time and on enough human males to know exactly what it meant. She had never seen it on a medium-sized magical horse, though.

Two ponies who had just been speaking to the Princess approached near her, both looking gravely concerned. Both were unicorns, apparently twins, but one had a mustache. Which M’Ress supposed was common for horses. She would not normally have noticed them, except for the fact that they seemed greatly disturbed by something and were in more of a hurry than the rest of the partygoers. They ignored the fresh fruit as well as the pressed grasses and moon-cheese.

In fact, M’Ress would have ignored them completely had they not passed close to her. She immediately turned, sniffing the air. Something was wrong, and more than just their demeanor.

She waited for them to pass and took a flute of what she desperately hoped was water from a passing servant. She dipped her finger in it, checking the level, and then took a sip before following the pair of twins at a distance. In their distracted state, and considering her shoeless and cat-like silence, they did not notice her in the slightest.

The pair entered what appeared to be a washroom. M’Ress leaned against the outside wall, sipping her water. To the casual observer, she seemed to be in repose, resting or waiting—but in fact she was listening, her sensitive ears turned toward the twins.

She heard their soft hooves against the tile floor, and the heavy breathing from one of them. Then the slapping of doors and the creak of fine golden hinges as they checked the stalls, but M’Ress already knew that they were empty. She could not hear other ponies.

“That’s a Federation officer,” hissed one of them, suddenly, sounding on the verge of panic. “A Federation officer, brother, they know! They know what we’re doing!”

“Shut. UP.” This voice was identical to the other, but far more calm. “We’re just a couple of unicorns. The aliens don’t know. And they won’t know.”

“That doesn’t help! Brother, if the Princess joins the Federation, or monopoly is done! Over! We—we need to liquidate the assets now, as soon as possible, we can’t risk this, we just can’t--”

There was a sound of a hoof slapping a face. “Little brother. Listen to me, and listen carefully. Recall that the riskier the road, the greater the profit.”

Heavy breathing from the other, then deep breathing, followed by an angry hiss. “They are in control of the prototype core, if they take it--”

“They won’t. All the recovered records indicate the same thing. The Federation is full of weak simpletons. They don’t behave logically. They’ll turn the reactor back over to the Princess, and it will come right back to our company.”

“I don’t like it, brother, it requires too much trust...”

“We are a pair of legitimate business ponies. We’ve done nothing wrong. We just need to keep doing our job, let Twilight Sparkle keep doing hers, and trust that the purple vixen is interested in her plan actually succeeding.”

Laughter. Then, in a hushed tone. “Sedition and treason are always profitable, aren't they?”

More quiet laughter. “Exactly, brother. Now you’re seeing the path to profit.”

Water turned on, and M’Ress nearly jumped out of her metaphorical skin when something touched the left side of her face.

She turned, violently hissing, as a ball of feathers on a string was slapped repeatedly against her face. She looked down, prepared to gut something, and saw that the feathery object was held by a string supported by a pole which was in turn supported by a small plume of blue plasma—plasma generated by a blue unicorn in an absolutely hideous outfit.

“Get the toy, kitty! Get it! GET IT! The GREAT and POWERFUL Trrrrrrixie demands you play!”

M’Ress stood still, allowing the toy to be bounced off her face while she suppressed her rising rage. “That,” she said, “is extremely racist. I am not a cat. I am a Starfleet officer and--” She choked slightly as the toy was pushed in her mouth, and she pulled it back out. “AND an apex predator on my planet. You either lack sense or have voluntarily elected for a rapid and sudden death.”

The pony laughed and rolled her eyes. “The GREAT and POWERFUL Trixie is far to great and powerful for you to eat, and has eaten far too much moon-cheese for you to yeet. Also, ‘rapid’ and ‘sudden’ mean the same dang thing, it’s redundant.” She make a glib face and shook her head, causing the tiny bell pierced through her horn to jingle. For no apparent purpose apart from the sound. “You know, The Great and Powerful Trixie is a member of the Royal Court. Did you now that? I can get you an audience with the Princess, put in a good word to get you in the court. If you...you know...let me pet the kitty...”

M’Ress moved with speed that could not generally be attained by most Federation races. She wrapped her fingers around the pony’s horn, directly below where the bell was located.

The pony blushed slightly and rolled her eyes. “GAH! The Great and Powerful Trixie’s long and extremely hard organ! It’s been GRASPED! Help, help, I’m being turned on!” She then laughed--and M'Ress began to apply pressure. The pony's smile immediatly vanished, and her voice rose several octaves.

“Ow ow ow ow owowowowowowow—STOP! You’re going to break it!”

“Perhaps you do not deserve it if all you are going to use it for is to wave that stupid bell in my face. I was not intending to ingest a pony, but I am now VERY hungry and VERY engaged. And you are plump and juicy.”

Trixie squeaked in abject terror, and cried out again. Another pony—one of the few dressed in Lunar dress armor—rounded the corner. The massive violet unicorn with the broken horn.

“Tempest, help me! She’s going to unhorn me! I’ll be no better than a stupid-earth pony, and ugly, and worthless as a unicorn without my magic, I’ll have to go live in a hole because nopony wants to look at a hornless uni...oh.”

Tempest shrugged, her eyes meeting with M’Ress’s. “Go ahead. Snap it if you wish. She deserves it.” She pointed at her own shattered organ. “She already did it to me. Although the Princess will be angry if you ruin her pet fool.”

M’Ress took a breath, and tried to calm herself. There were Vulcan techniques for it that Spock had incessantly spoke of, as well as almost every other Vulcan at the Academy, but they obviously did not work for anyone who was not a desert-dwelling herbivorous philosopher. Still, M’Ress forced herself to let go.

“Ow ow ow , it’s bent, is it bent?! Tempest, she bended me! She was going to boop the snoot! She was going to--”

“Fool?” asked M'Ress, ignoring the annoying blue thing.

Tempest nodded. “Trixie is the court jester. Literally, a fool.”

“Hey, hey hey! It’s more than that, there’s a lot more! Trixie is a PERFORMER! She does not only jest!”

Tempest stared impassively at her. “Your most successful act involved putting on a pair of fake wings, covering yourself in chalk dust until you were white, and rolling in cake.”

“And the Princess laughed so hard she peed slightly, I saw it! Talk about the royal wee!”

Tempest groaned and put her hoof to her temple. “Trixie, how much cider have you had?”

“Not at all. There is no room for it inside Trixie. She has been stuffed to the brim with moon-cheese.”

“Then go find me me cider. I have not had enough to deal with you.”

“You can’t tell Trixie what to do, Trixie is Great, Powerful, and a member of the Royal Court. You’re just Captain of the Guard--”

“And I will BEND YOU if you don’t take a hint and stop trying to cause an interplanetary diplomatic incident.”

“Ha, you can’t bend Trixie, Trixie isn’t that flexible--”

Tempest put her front hooves together, leaning back on her armored flank, and cracked whatever the pony equivalent of knuckles was. Trixie’s eyes widened.

“You’re about to be.”

“No Trixie is not, because Trixie has important fooling around to do, thank you very much.” She trotted off quickly, but looked over her shoulder. “Call me, cat-lady, the Great and Powerful Trixie is also the Softest and Freshest-Smelling snuggler in all of Equestria!”

“No.”

Trixie still waddled off. Tempest sighed, and turned back to M’Ress. She was taller than most ponies, and dressed in a silvery metal with components of jet-black fabric draped over her body. Her mane was tied back in a tight military style, and her eyes were enormous.

“Listening?”

M’Ress stiffened. “To what?”

“I spent most of the first half of my life in the Badlands. I knew cat-folk. And I know you have better hearing than I do.” She walked past M’Ress. “You seem like you like listening to things. Take a walk with me. Now.”

M’Ress looked back to the restroom, and then started walking—and just as she did, the two twins stepped out. They looked at her, horrified by her presence, but she was already with Tempest and away from where she had been standing. Any closer and they would surely have become suspicious.

M’Ress continued to follow the pony, though, as she was lead through the crowd, past where Kirk was standing. He had apparently gotten the Princess laughing, nearly to the point of tears.

“You are Captain of the Guard.”

“The Lunar Guard, yes.” Tempest made a gesture to one of the servants, a young girl with bat-like wings and enormous eyes with slit-pupils. She promptly trotted off toward the kitchen. “For almost two years now. I was one of the first to emigrate. Back when ponies still considered it a penal colony for...misfits.” She looked up. One of her eyes had a scar running through it, although not to the point where it had blinded her. The wound to her horn, though, had scarred quite severely. “You were interested in Flim and Flam.”

“I was drinking my water.”

“M’Ress, was it? My name is Tempest Shadow. And I’m not your enemy.” Tempest gestured toward a table separate from the others, on a small balcony. Two bat servants were already bringing a special platter, hot from the kitchen. Tempest herself smelled terrible, reeking of berries and carbonation, but whatever was under the lid of the platter smelled absolutely delicious.

“Sit.”

M’Ress refused, but Tempest did not seem to care. She slid into the chair and the servants lifted the lid of the container—to reveal perfectly prepared salmon.

The salivation was immediate. M’Ress leaned forward, about to sit down, but then looked at the pony, hesitating. “Where did you get this?”

“From the shores of Mount Aria.” She pulled a piece to her own plate and, with unusual dexterity, used a fork and knife in her mouth to cut it. It was extremely tender, and she ate a small cube of it. “I acquired a taste for it when I liberated their kingdom from the Storm King. Who I used to work for. Until I usurped him. Believe it or not, I was once a revolutionary leader. Backed with moon-silver from the Court of the Moon, of course. How do you think I got this job?”

M’Ress, still hesitant, sat down. She took a piece of salmon and did not even bother to cut it. Her teeth were sufficiently sharp to gnaw on it.

“It’s delicious.”

“I know. That’s why I had them make it. That, and ponies hate the smell. We’ll be alone. For a few minutes, at least, at the rate you’re eating that.”

M’Ress had already eaten half a piece, but put it down. “Why?”

“Flim and Flam. You have an interest in them. And my only real interest at this point is protecting the Moon. Your captain is busy trying to plant is face in royal down and I don’t like the high-elf. That leaves you. So let’s share some fish and have a conversation.”

M’Ress nodded slowly. “And what do you know about them, then?” she asked, slowly.

Tempest chewed her fish, then focused her large eyes on the cat-woman across from her. “Flim and Flam. Unicorn brothers. Probably not purebloods, no recognized house. And co-owners of Equestria’s primary aerospace research and development firm. Division 51. Which makes them the wealthiest ponies on the planet.”

“Which is relevant to me why?"

Tempest leaned forward. “They were there at the beginning. They built the propulsion drives for the Powered-Pegasus program, they built the Unification rockets. They built half of the Dancer Prototype. Fifteen years ago, our fastest flying vehicle was a hot air balloon. Because of their company, we now have FTL technology.” Tempest sat back. “You’re an alien. Tell me. Is that about the normal speed that technology develops? On other planets?”

M’Ress frowned. “No.”

“Because you know history. But ponies lack the context to notice. But I did. I looked into it. Do you know what they were doing before aerospace engineering?”

“What?”

“Selling defective juice-presses to orchard owners. Hawking patent medicine. Running a diploma mill. All poorly. Small time scams. Neither one of them even has a middle-school education.”

“I highly doubt they build the rockets themselves.”

Tempest sneered. “Obviously. I’m not a moron like Trixie. As far as I can tell, their lead researcher is Twilight Sparkle, Celestia’s personal protege. But they’ve been recruiting more. Powerful unicorns from all across Equestria.”

“As far as you can tell,” repeated M’Ress, suspiciously.

Tempest nodded. “Selenite Dynamics, on the Moon, makes our rockets. I know what goes on there. But I don’t know what goes on in Division 51. Nopony does aside from the Princess herself. Ostensibly for national security reasons. There are other nations here that don’t like ponies. There aren’t on the moon. Nightmare Moon made sure of that.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

Tempest leaned even farther forward. M’Ress felt the fur on the back of her neck stand up as some unseen static force pulled her inward.

“Don’t trust Celestia. She knows something, but I don’t know what. That ship had a purpose. The vision of the motherly, kind, gentle queen? It’s an act. I’m one of the few living ponies who has ever seen the Nightmare Monolith. I’ve read it. I know what she’s erased from history, what she IS.”

M’Ress looked over her shoulder. “She’s flirting with my captain. Your suggestion is far-fetched, and I have no interest in playing politics. It simply does not concern me.”

Tempest released her. “You’re free to believe what you want. I’ve done all I can without starting a war. You’re neutral, though.” She cut her salmon and took another bite. “Something is going on at Division 51. Something Luna doesn’t know but Celestia does.” She paused, chewing. “And I would be careful with Moondancer, if I were you."

“She is on the Enterprise right now.”

“I know. I also know they’ve contacted her. Every other unicorn even close to her ability already works for Division 51. And that she was extremely close to Twilight Sparkle during their educational period. But Moondancer herself is a recluse. She hates ponies. I don't know what she's doing, or why. So I have no hard evidence. But she knows more than she’s letting on.”

Author's Note

This chapter was written partially with the intention of merging with the previous one, I will probably upload them at the same time.

I find it easier to write M'Ress than Spock or Kirk, probably because less about her character overall is establish. Hence why there is a landing team of three. Kirk (at least for me) is a character that works better by dialogue than by internal monologue, while M'Ress is the opposite. And Spock is Spock.

Chapter 13: The Cavern

Kirk was not sure what exactly was in the sweet fruity things he was drinking, but he had downed about ten of them by the time he started to realize that they might possibly contain alcohol or some manner of equivalent strange pony juice.

The ponies, however, did not seem to be effected. Or, rather, the pair of divine immortals he was standing with were not affected. Mainly because Luna seemed to only drink water and eat moon-cheese, a product which smelled simultaneously delicious and atrocious. Kirk had yet to fathom what part of the moon, exactly, it was, but from his understanding it was not in fact dairy but rather some manner of vegetable or possibly a fungoid growth.

“No way,” he said, continuing his conversation with Celestia. “You’re a wizard? You?”

Celestia giggled. “Do I not look wizardly?”

“I would imagine there would be much more...beard.”

“No, he was the one who trained me. Us. Isn’t that right, Luna?”

“Mostly you,” muttered Luna. “He never liked us.” Kirk could not tell if she was using the royal we, as per usual, or the standard type, although it became increasingly confusing with the more pony juice he drank.

“That’s not true, he loved you!” Celestia laughed. “I remember, one time, when you learned that smoke spell?”

“On our own.”

Celestia turned back to Kirk. “Well, Luna got into his chambers and stole a tiny slice of his cake. His favorite cake. He was so mad! But I took the blame for it. He put me in front of the whole class of wizards and gave me this huge, massive chocolate cake. And told me to eat the whole thing.”

“That sounds slightly abusive and humiliating.”

“Oh no, of course it wasn’t. I ate it in less than a minute and went back for seconds. I can fit a lot of cake inside myself. Among other large things.”

Luna stiffened, and Celestia laughed. She looked over Kirk’s shoulder. “Oh, my, look at the time! Excuse me, Jim, I need to greet more guests! I see Fancy Pants and that adorable nude mare who is either his sister or wife. Or both, I could never figure it out. But tonight, I think I’m going to finally find out! Also, be sure to try the pie from the apple pony outside, it isn’t as good as cake but you certainly don’t want to miss it!”

She trotted off to greet the nobility and the wealthy, leaving Kirk alone with her sister—perhaps on purpose. The Princess of the Moon, at this point, was on her fourth pineapple.

“So,” said Kirk, leaning on a counter covered in delicious fruit, vegetables, and grasses that he had discovered were highly inedible to humans. “You come here often?”

“No,” replied Luna, dryly. “When our sister beckons. And when it is necessary. We attend these functions when she hath deemed it necessary for peace and unity, but we taketh no joy in the occasion. The balls held upon mine moon are far more lustrous and spectacular. Indeed, we have the most excellent balls of all!”

Kirk snickered. Luna glared at him, but apparently did not understand why he was laughing. “Let me guess. You have public floggings?”

“Verily, thou art a rabbit-sucking dullard. No, alien, we do not flog at a formal function. We hold a tourney! With the hoof of a fair maiden as the prize! A maiden selected by another tourney! With maximal violence! Yet art of devising a proper blunt weapon eludes us yet. Apart from ye olde mace.”

“‘Ye’ is not actually a word. It’s a misreading of ‘the’.”

“Do not correct thine Princess, foul non-hairy beast! We knoweth what comes forth from our mouth as well as what enters it!” She ate the top off the pineapple, crunching it loudly and making a face. “Egads, this fig is more prickly than we remember them being...”

“So how often have you been the fair maiden? In your tourney?”

Luna glared, puffing herself under her ruff. “Unlike SOME immortal alicorns, we still subscribe to the old ways of incorruptible divine chastity. As is appropriate for the avatar of celestial forces.” She held her nose up in the air and harrumphed repeatedly, before looking around the room before speaking in a hushed tone. “Unless that glorious specimen from your vessel wishes us to order him into service. In such a case we might permit him to produce...a slight besmirching. Relay to our future consort that he will be permitted to use the flog, whip, and crop if he so wishes...and that he consents to us using them first.”

“I’ll...let him know.”

“Of course you will, we have ordered it and so it shall be done. Do not bore us with repetition.”

Kirk felt an urge to laugh, but he resisted it. His Federation diplomatic instincts were strong—almost as strong as his instinct for self-preservation.

“So,” he said. “I heard you and her, your sister...had a bit of trouble. In the past.”

“If you art referring to the vast civil war that ravaged half our planet for a century straight conducted one thousand years ago, that we would have certainly claimed victory in had the Princess of the Sun not CHEATED, then yes. And we see your tact matches your wits.”

“Thank you.”

Luna grimaced. “Indeed we are more correct than was initially suspected...But yes. Twas a simpler era, in a time of ignorance. We had not then realized that the moon was a habitable place fit for an empire that would far exceed the sun-lit realm of Equestria. The division is indeed satisfactory. There is no true unification, and never will be, despite her honeyed words and breath of a chewed vanilla bean. There are two separate kingdoms. Two nations. One for each of us.”

“Except the Space Force.”

Luna stared at him with great vigor. Her eyes were turquoise, and her pupils thin vertical slits. “The war was devastating beyond reason. We do not intend to repeat our mistakes. Despite her naivety and severe obesity, she is still our beloved sister. We...appreciate that she is interested in our passions. But nothing more! We are filled with resentment and hatred! We are the Princess of the Night! We are dark, brooding, mysterious and dangerous! We are also thinner, younger, and have a better mane than she does.” She shrugged. “We also have telepathy, which is a power she utterly lacks.”

Kirk nearly dropped his glass. “You’re—wait, what? Are you—right now--”

“Reading your mind? Hardly. We do not wish to view your perverse fantasies of fingering our sister’s silky feathers or offering the scritches and boops in exchange for diplomatic favors. Nor does it operate on alien brains, as far as I am aware. Your brains are too small and simple, lacking the perquisite wrinklage. Far too smooth. Nay, the dream-magic only works upon the minds of ponies!”

“Dream magic?”

“Aye, ye dunce. We police and examine the dreams of all ponies. This power is amplified greatly by proximity to the moon. This is a task that even the ELDER sister cannot perform, in addition to being unable to lick her own flank due to her excessive diameter and arthritis caused on account of bearing the sheer weight of such a girthy frame. Unlike us. We are limber and flexible, and our body quite smooth. Relay this to your doctor.”

“You...see dreams, then? That sounds impressive. For the whole planet?”

“Indeed. There are nearly three hundred thousand ponies in Equestria, and another fifty thousand upon our Moon! Indeed, our numbers are LEGION! Far greater than your planet we are sure.”

Kirk nodded in agreement, suppressing his surprise at their minuscule population.

“We, more or less, dream their dreams.” Her expression of pride faltered slightly. “Although...our energy is not what it needs to be, at present. The Bad Ones have returned once more.”

Kirk frowned. “Bad Ones?”

Luna nodded. “An unusual set of dreams. But of no interest to you.”

Kirk shrugged. “I was just trying to make conversation. After all, you are one of the key rulers of this world. And I certainly appreciate the time you’re taking to talk to me.”

“You...do?”

“Of course. It’s one thing to rule an already established empire millennia old. Colonizing a planet is much more challenging. A moon, even harder than that. You’re not only building a kingdom, you’re building a civilization in a place where nobody’s ever been. It’s really quite impressive.”

Luna blushed slightly, and puffed even more. “Indeed...verily, what you speak is correct. Perhaps...your small mind possesses some manner of primitive, animalistic wisdom. An noble savage, so to speak.” She acquiesced. “The Bad Ones are a cycle of dreams that occur periodically. About every three to five years. They are...unique.”

“Why would any one dream be unique?”

“Ever dream is unique. And perhaps it is false terminology. It is a repetitive dream, but unique to us. In its sheer intensity.” Luna’s gaze grew distant. She shivered slightly. “There is...fear. Pain. A memory of suffering most intense. Far beyond what lies in the mind of any living, mortal pony in this world.”

“Who dreams it, though?”

Luna looked up at him. “This is why we hath depleted our energy, once again trying to answer the question. We do not know. The dream is fragmented. Broken. Distant. And it...hurts. To be near it. We do not know what pony possesses such a dream of untold agony, or why it occurs so seldom.”

“What happens? What’s in it?”

“We doth not prefer to share the private dreams of ponies...” Luna shivered. “However, this once, we make an exception. Because we do not know. Only shattered and distant images. Of great, horrific pain—and of a violet alicorn.”

Kirk frowned. “That's a winged unicorn. Like you and Celestia. Who is she, though? The purple one?”

“She is no one,” replied Luna. “There are but three of us upon this world. Ourself, our sister, and the mole-empress. The empress is pink. We are black. Celestia is white. None of those colors are violet, and no other alicorns exist. Or can exist. The spell necessary to create them was a failure, and it is at present lost.”

“That's unfortunate.”

Luna seemed distant in thought. “No,” she said at last. “We do not agree.”

A Lunar guard approached the Princess. She stood beside a stern looking white unicorn wearing a bizarre sort of dark, almost organic-looking armor. “Most beloved goddess,” she said, “the changeling king has arrived".

Luna nodded. “Then we must depart at once, foul alien. Stay away from our sister.” She levitated a small pile of pineapples and walked off with the pair of ponies.

Kirk watched them go, but then turned to the rest of the party. He supposed he was finally going to get a chance to eat something that was not a pineapple, and in addition to that talk to more horses. This night was, indeed, a strange one, but it was a party. So he intended to enjoy it.

He started to cross the room, and M’Ress met him halfway across it.

“Lieutenant,” he said. “Having fun?”

M’Ress did not smile. Her expression was far more serious, and Kirk felt his excitement fading from him.

“What is it?”

“I just had an interesting conversation with the Captain of the Lunar Guard.”

“And?”

“And the political situation is...complicated.”

“When is it not?”

M’Ress looked around her, to see that no ponies were close. None were. “She expressed great suspicion about the unicorns Flim and Flam. I share some of it.”

Kirk nodded. “I do to. I picked up on it when they were talking to the princess.” He pointed with the hand holding his glass. “Did you notice? They left already. Seems rude to me.”

“Captain, I am not joking.”

“Neither am I. Something’s wrong here.”

“I noticed it as well. They smelled...wrong.”

“What does ‘wrong’ smell like?”

M’Ress paused, considering how to answer the question. “If smell were a sound, Captain, every being would hold an instrument and play it constantly. Each instrument is different, and play different tunes. But they...have no instrument. They smell of empty static. Of nothing but their polyester suits.”

“That’s weirdly poetic. The guard, though. What did she say?”

M’Ress was about to answer when Kirk’s communicator beeped. He drew it, flipping it open.

“Kirk here,” he said.

“Uhura here, sir.”

“Go ahead.”

“I am informing you that one of our science probes experienced an unexpected circuitry failure,” she said. Kirk wondered why she was bothering to tell him, but continued to listen—and saw that M’Ress winced in pain, her ears flicking. Several ponies near him likewise shook their heads, wincing in pain.

“The status report?”

“The orbit began to decay and I made the executive decision activate its emergency termination system to prevent any threat to the planet. Reporting complete obliteration, with no solid material reaching the surface.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant.” He paused. “It must be a nice change of pace.”

“Sir?”

“For the only thing we need to worry about to be a bad probe guidance system.”

“Yes, sir. I would certainly take this over a Klingon attack any day.”

Kirk nodded, even though obviously Uhura could not see him. “Kirk out.”

He closed the communicator. He immediately turned to M’Ress. “What did you hear?”

“Hear?”

“You’re not exactly hard to read, Lieutenant. In Caitians, the ears are always a tell.”

“Yes...” She shook her head. “A signal. At a frequency far too high for your ears to detect.”

“An audio error?”

“No. It was in Caitian relay song. It is...was...my people’s equivalent to your Morse code. Except with much greater complexity.”

“Can you tell me what it said?”

“The song is a historical curiosity. I have not studied it since I was a child.”

“That isn’t an answer to the question.”

“Of course I can translate it, Captain. But it does not mean anything I can understand. The phrase was the word ‘Hyperion’.”

Kirk frowned. All his excitement for the party had most certainly left him.

“Then the situation isn’t good.”

“Sir?”

“It’s an Earth reference. It means someone is watching us from orbit.”

M’Ress stared wide-eyed. “But who? We would have seen them on approach.”

“Klingons.”

“Captain, it’s not always the Klingons--”

“It was the only alien name she said.” Kirk sighed and downed his glass. “It means someone is here with us. A cloaked ship. And Uhura thinks they’re monitoring our communications.”

“They are encryted--”

“And the Klingons have broken the encryption at least five times in the last decade, we can’t guarantee anything we say over the channel isn’t being picked up, especially if it's a listening ship.”

“But why are they here?”

“I don’t know yet. But if they are here, that’s a problem.”

“Sir.”

Kirk nearly jumped out of his dress uniform, and was glad he downed his drink because he would otherwise have split it.

“SPOCK don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain, I do not ‘sneak’. You are simply chronically unobservant. Even by human standards.”

Kirk turned, intending to yell something witty—but forgot what he was going to say or do when he saw that Spock was cradling a pony in her arms. A gray pony of the default-type, with a blue dress and an expression so impassive that it almost totally matched Spock’s.

“Spock. Why are you holding that pony like a baby?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain, it is simply a matter of biological dissimilarity. Due to her short stature, her inherent gait is slower than mine. This is simply the most efficient means to transport the both of us at the same rate.”

“It is the most logical means of transport,” said the gray pony, her voice utterly emotionless as she wrapped her hooves around Spock’s neck.

“That’s not--”

“The intent of your question. Yes, Captain. I am aware that you were being obtuse.”

“Then why are you holding her? With the correct intent.”

“This pony is a prominent geologist on this planet.”

“A geologist...that you’re holding like a baby.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Kirk groaned.

“We were having an edifying discussion on the tectonic nature of the planet,” said the pony. “Never before have I been so...stimulated. Intellectually.”

“Indeed,” agreed Spock. “Although I have been. However, I have acquired information that I think you may like to know, Captain.”

“And what is that, Spock?”

Spock paused. “Considering the human tendency toward incredulity, I think that in this case it is best if you see for yourself.”

There were many possible outcomes to Spock and a small gray horse in a dress offering to show Kirk something interesting. Many of these, Kirk was sure, would have been positive things. Being led below the castle to a basement and then, further, into a deep and barely habitable pit were hardly the positive outcome he had expected.

Still, Kirk was no stranger to dark, humid, funny-smelling caves. This one, at least, had no phallic rocks, as most caves were apt to contain. His only consolation as the hole grew darker and damper was that he had bought pie from the apple-pony on the way out of the ballroom, and he had elected to eat it during the descent.

“Spock, you have to try this pie,” he said, descending an uneven staircase seemingly cut from the rock surface itself. “It’s...I don’t even know how they did this, it tastes just pie on Earth.”

“I would surmise,” proposed Spock, still cradling his geologist, “that pie, in general, tastes like pie, regardless of where it is prepared.”

Kirk sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s like...I don’t know, it’s like my grandma used to make.”

“Ponyville makes apples," noted the geologist, without the slightest hint of perceptible emotion, "and apple-based products. And apple-like products. Also apple-themed ponies. That bake pies. Made of apples.”

M’Ress followed behind them, running her fingers along the wall. Being some kind of alien felid, it was apparent that she did not like moisture—however, also being a felid, she was the only one of them that had adequate vision in the poor light. Her pupils had dilated to a massive size in response to the encroaching dimness.

“Do you want some pie, Lieutenant?”

M’Ress grimaced. “That...thing reeks of death.”

“If pie smells like death to a Caitian, send me to Cait and put me in a cemetery.” He took a large bite of pie.

“That is slightly offensive, Captain. We have not done that in almost two hundred years. For the most part.”

“Done what?” Kirk realized he did not want to know. He held out the pie to the pony. “Do you want any?”

She looked at him with her cold, empty eyes. Or looked past him. “No.”

“Sugar is not ideal sustenance for these ponies, Captain," noted Spock. "They digest it poorly."

“I got given the pie by a pony, though.”

“Yes, Captain. I am aware of where the pie originated.”

“Well then what do you eat?” snapped Kirk, to the pony.

She stared into his eyes. Into his very soul, perhaps. “Rocks. To assert dominance.”

Kirk shivered. He did not like the pony.

They stopped at an area where the hallway had been partially collapsed. In the darkness, Kirk thought it had come to an end—but then he noticed a small gap in the rock surface between two large stones.

“Spock, what is this?”

“You will have to pass through, Captain. Assuming eating the entire pie has not increased your diameter too precipitously.”

Kirk stared at him in disbelief. “Spock, I’m in my dress uniform. I don’t even know where it goes!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “To my knowledge, Captain, you are one of the foremost experts in all of Starfleet concerning moist alien crevices. Second only to Dr. Maud Pie, who I am presently holding, who accomplished her doctoral dissertation primarily on the nature of crevices and their unique origin, structure, composition and implications. Truly a fascinating subject.”

The pony stared at him, and produced a piece of paper. “I can recite my thesis in verse.” She cleared her throat. “Rock. Is a substance made of Ro--”

“I’m going,” snapped Kirk, sliding into the hole. “There had better not be a cask of amontillado on the other side of this.”

“No, Captain. Had I wanted to assassinate you, I would not bother to employ a deceptive pretext.”

“That would be illogical,” added the pony.

Kirk grumbled to himself as he passed through the crevasse. It was not as moist as he had expected, which made it somewhat better than he expected—and he quickly passed to the other side.

There were no torches on the other side. Nothing at all, and no source of light. At first. But then as Kirk’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. At the staircase descending on a vast and seemingly endless cavern—a cavern filled completely with enormous, shimmering crystals on every surface.

Spock and the pony emerged from the gap without having received any dirt on either of them—and M’Ress nearly fell out of the hole after them. Spock set the pony down and produced his tricorder.

“Spock, what is this?” asked Kirk.

“As I have said, Captain.” He held out the tricorder to Kirk. “Something you needed to see for yourself. As I doubt you would have believed me otherwise.”

Kirk looked at the tricorder. Admittedly, he was not a science officer and did not completely understand how to read the dial—but he understood the gist of it, at least. And that the readings he was seeing were fundamentally impossible.

“Spock,” he said, looking up. “You surely can’t be serious.”

“The readings are correct, Captain. I believe the evidence is empirical.”

Kirk turned around and looked out at the vast cavern. A cavern that showed signs of decaying bridges and rail cars, indicating that it once might have been inhabited by ponies—apart from the universal presence of enormous clear-blue crystals that went on for acres and acres, exposed by obvious mining operations—and the mine perhaps went even far deeper. They were only on the most forward surface of what was probably a vast tunnel complex intersecting with numerous caves and chasms.

“These crystals...they’re pure dilithium.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Kirk stared, mouth agape. “To what purity degree?”

“There is not quantifier, Captain. These crystals exist far beyond the currently understood purity levels for dilithium. Vocabulary, it seems, has not yet matched reality.”

Kirk whirled around. “And she just brought you down here?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain, her description of her research was...compelling. I could not refuse an offer to see her crevice.”

“Although my primary area of study is this,” said the pony, laying down on her side quietly onto one of the few areas of basal rock that was not made of perfect-grade dilithium. “The igneous substrate. The crystals are ostentatious. But the substratum...it pleases me.”

Spock tilted his head. “This is something beyond my knowledge as a Vulcan. A strangeness of the pony race. This extreme and unbridled emotional passion, in your case for igneous rock formations.”

Maud looked up at him. “I like rocks. A lot.”

Kirk stared out at the vast amount of precious crystals before him. Dilithium was perhaps the most valuable substances known to the Federation. Manufacturing it it was impossible, even by the most advanced replicator prototypes on Mars. It had to be mined, and the vast majority of mines were on desolate, uninhabitable asteroids. The chance of finding an M-class planet with minable dilithium was almost infinitesimal, let alone enough to export. And yet this single chamber had enough to outfit all of Starfleet ten times over.

“This is...really, really bad.”

“Yes,” sighed Celestia. “Unfortunately, this mine is totally depleted.”

Kirk nearly let out a girlish scream and also nearly dropped the remnants of his pie. He leapt forward, pivoting to face the Princess, who had managed to get within inches of him.

“DON’T SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!”

Celestia chuckled. “Jim, I’m a nine-hand tall pony weighting over twelve hundred and fifty kilograms. And wearing metal shoes. Of course you heard me. If you didn’t, you really need to pay more attention.”

“But—but--the crevice--how did you--”

Celestia raised a nonexistant eyebrow. “Fit? I certainly know my way around a crevice, Jim. And I’m not nearly as thick as my sister would have you believe. I’m actually quite supple. And soft. And very, very flexible. Despite being old.” She stepped past him to the crystalline edge of the vast pit. “Although not nearly as old as this mine.”

Kirk looked back to the crevice. Considering the size of the hole and the size of Celestia, she was indeed limber for being almost twenty centuries old. This pleased Kirk greatly, despite the rate his heart was beating from having been spooked so severely by her sudden presence.

“But the party...”

Celestia laughed. “Those galas are always terribly dull. Meeting wealthy ponies, nobility, so tiring. I needed a break. And I saw Maud taking you down to my mines.” She shrugged. “So I got a little bit curious.” She gestured to Maud, the geologist, who was in the process of straddling a crystal and slowly licking it—all while maintaining intense eye contact with Kirk.

Kirk shivered.

“This is a bit of a dangerous place,” she said. “You really ought to be careful. These caverns have been abandoned for...well, probably a few thousand years by now.”

“Your majesty. You stated that these are, or were, mines,” noted Spock.

Celestia smiled. “Why yes, Mr. Spock. This area was formerly extremely rich in magical crystals. Actually, according to my old history books, that’s supposedly why the first unicorns founded Canterlot. All the way up here on a cliff, built by magic. They were ancient mages who harnessed the power of the crystals for their research and powers.”

“Which implies that the crystals were indeed mined,” suggested Spock. “Which illustrates what I am afraid is a gap in my current understanding. We are familiar with this sort of crystal, and are aware that it exists in a metastable multidimensional resonance. Harvesting the crystals in question requires cutting across both time and space. Meaning that it is time consuming, energy intensive, and nearly impossible. And yet your species appears to have accomplished it millennia ago.”

Celestia frowned. The tip of her horn lit with pure, golden light while a similar shade slashed across a long crystal growing nearby. Kirk heard a distinctive sound, one that made him instinctively hold his breath. It was a high ring, the sound that heralded the instantaneous destruction of a starship and, unknown to him, would in the distant future ring out across the galaxy and herald the end of the Federation itself. The sudden and melodious sound of dilithium fracturing.

The crystal dropped to the floor, and Celestia caught it, levitating it. She held it out to Kirk, who took it, finding that it was almost as long as his arm and twice as thick. To his great surprise—and utter horror—he found himself suddenly holding nearly twenty kilograms of pure dilithium.

“No, it’s mostly straightforward,” said Celestia. “If you know the spell for it. Unfortunately, it’s useless for anything other than as a curiosity. All of the useful crystals were mined out ages ago. These are empty. We used to grind them up for concrete, but they’re weirdly slippery.” Celestia gestured to Maud. “The Pie family actually mines a significant number of active magical crystals. That, and my niece in the Crystal Empire.” She gestured to the massive piece Kirk was holding. “You can keep that one. It makes a good paperweight. If you have a lot of papers. Which I do. Signing vetos all day and all.”

“This...you don’t need it?”

“For what?”

“For your starships.”

Celestia frowned. “From my understanding, starships need to be very light. Paper weights are not exactly helpful for that.”

“And the reactors?”

“That’s more of a question for Twilight. I don’t actually know how the FTL cores operate.”

Kirk did his best to nod. Celestia smiled at him.

“I need to get back to the party,” she said. “This has been fun, but I need to at least greet the changeling king. Also the Riches, or else I get letters. So many letters...”

She started to walk past, and sniffed slightly. “And, Jim,” she said, pausing, “if you thought that pie was good, you really need to have a bite of my cake at some point.”

She flicked her braided, gold-threaded tail as she walked past him so that it struck him in the chest with surprising force—and then she went back through the crevice and returned to the ball.

Kirk watched her go—carefully--and then turned to Spock and M’Ress. “We need to talk. Now.” He looked at Maud. “Dr. Pie, if you don’t mind.”

She looked up at him and blinked slowly. “Oh,” she said. “You mean privacy. Yes. I can do that.”

She walked to the edge of the chasm and heaved herself over the side and into complete darkness below. Kirk winced, expecting to hear at thump—but no thump came. At least not a loud one.

“I...do not like that one.”

“And yet you seem to have great appreciation for the Princess,” noted Spock. “Especially from a directional perspective. And especially considering the distinct diplomatic danger of being cavalier with respect to the divine god-ruler of a theocratic planet.”

“A planet with an excessive quantity of dilithium,” noted M’Ress. Her expression and tone showed that she already understood why Kirk was so unsettled by the crystals. “Captain, this planet has only achieved warp technology within the week. And it remains in unclaimed territory.”

“And we have a cloaked Klingon ship in orbit.” Kirk gently put down his dilithium and rubbed his temples. His hands smelled like pie.

“What are we going to do, Captain?”

Kirk paused for a moment, looking up at the crystalline ceiling before taking a breath. Then he addressed his officers—M’Ress specifically.

“I have a gut feeling that this isn’t a coincidence. This planet has untold reserves of dilithium and beings that can mine it almost instantly. And I’m being told that twenty years ago they didn’t even have airplanes until one company suddenly built a warp-drive. I don’t like it. My gut is telling me that we’re not the first here.”

“My logic appears to confirm what your ‘gut’ is asserting, Captain.”

“M’Ress. I want you to go to District 51. Without being noticed, if possible. Because they will notice if they see you, and someone might get suspicious. Pony or otherwise. I need to know if this is novel technology, or if they have a downed craft, or somebody helping them. The pony in charge is named Twilight Sparkle. Find her.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“That does not solve our primary issue, Captain,” added Spock.

“I’m way ahead of you on that, Spock. This planet needs to join the Federation. NOW.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and sighed slightly. “Captain, although the rank of captain is indeed an impressive rank within Starfleet, you do not have the diplomatic authority to unilaterally incorporate a planet into--”

“I know that, Spock, I’m not an idiot. But I offer them a formal invitation and plead the case for them to join. Then we can file an injunction with the Council for consideration. They'll have to get ships out here until the decision is made. I know it's unorthodox, but it will at least buy us some time.”

“Or start a war, if the Klingons have already claimed the planet.”

M’Ress scowled slightly. “We are already at war. But if this planet falls to them, or any other, it might end very quickly.”

Kirk sighed. “And the ponies along with it.”

Chapter 14: Math on a Whiteboard

“Oi! Thomas, McCarthy, roll it over here! Right here!”

Mr. Scott pointed as the pair of red-shirted ensigns rolled in a white board, sitting it against one side of engineering. The engineering crew had started to gather around as the board was put into position, leaning against an otherwise blank area of the warp-core shielding array. It was relatively late at night, and the ship was in orbit, so there were only a minimum of tasks to be done. And, on this particular night, the entirety of the crew had done their duties at warp-speed in preparation for the spectacle they were about to witness.

Many of them gawked at the small unicorn and her strange, partially-armored Lunar uniform, but there was overall an air of excitement. They were not afraid of her in the slightest--and she found this strangely comforting.

Scottie held out his hand and one of the crew put a dry-erase marker into it. Scottie frowned, then looked to the ensign incredulously. “Lad, I’m not giving an academy lecture here.”

“Oh, sorry, sir!” The ensign instead gave him a whole handful of markers.

“Aye, lad, that’s the stuff. Have some more on deck.” He split the pile and gave the others to Moondancer, who levitated them before her. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

At the far end of the room, a door hissed open and a man nearly sprinted in, almost knocking over a pair of engineers who were, in contrast with the others, still trying to get their work done. Unlike all the others present, he was the only one in a yellow shirt.

“Did I miss it?” he said, out of breath as he leaned over, holding his knees and panting. “Have I missed the mathematics?”

“Ensign Chekov,” called Scottie, smiling. “You’re off duty. You ought to be sleeping, lad. Uhura won’t be a might happy if you fall asleep on your console.”

“But sir, how could I be sleeping when there is maths occurring? Maths of an alien nature? The excitement of it, I would have wibrated right out of my berth!”

Scottie laughed. Even Moondancer smiled slightly.

“Now listen up!” he shouted to the room. Their murmur of excitement for the impending mathematics silenced as they began to listen intently. “This is Command-Wizard Moondancer. As you know, we are overseeing the salvage of her ship. And if ye don’t know that, then you have no business being in this room. We're here to hash out how exactly we'll be about it. She’s going to go over the theory of her craft, and from what I’ve seen so far, I think you’ll all find it a might interesting. But first! We’re going to have a nice, friendly exchange of basic warp theory.”

Moondancer looked up at him, and Scottie gestured toward the board. “It’d not be appropriate for me to go first. You’re the guest after all.”

Moondancer smiled and almost laughed. She approached the board, simultaneously uncapping all her markers. “This is just like back in school,” she said. “We used to break into the school after dark to do secret after-hours math on the boards, just me and Twi...” She stopped, and all mirth left her face. She cleared her throat, her expression now dark and serious. “A friend and I. A former friend. It doesn’t matter.”

She lifted the markers and immediately began writing, all of her markers moving simultaneously, printing perfectly shaped numbers and letters across the board. “So. The fundamental theory of faster-than-light travel is based on the basic concept of a teleportation spell. A teleportation spell moves any object, including a pony, instantaneously between any two points in space, which is governed by this limitation function which essentially translates to range but also includes limitations on the caster’s accuracy. So the question is making the teleportation field non-instantaneous, which can be accomplished by this distribution function so long as these conditions are met. These need to be calculated mentally, in real time. Because this part is done by the caster, with her own magic.”

“Wait, wait,” said Chekov. “What even is that?”

Moondancer stopped, staring at what she had just written. “This may not exist in your mathematical system. Think of it like linear algebra, but in five dimensions instead of two.”

Chekov stared. “But...then...”

Scottie held up his hand. “What just a bloody minute, lassie,” he said, stepping forward. He gestured to several of the complex equations that Moondancer had assembled. “These...if I’m understanding the basic forms of these right...lass, these are trans-warp equations!”

Moondancer stared at him, confused by his confusion. “This is fundamental teleportation theory. We’ve understood this for millenia.”

“It’s also unsolvable,” said Chekov.

“Ensign, clearly--”

“No, no, it is! Right here!” he stepped out from the crowd of generic red-shirt engineers and pointed. “Look! This function, it derivation requires a transform function that loses definition...can I have marker?”

Moondancer gave him one, and he scrawled his primitive human script to make a basic calculation. “It requires a wariable, but that wariable system cannot be derived from these systems, it is lost by the Fourier transform!”

“Because you don’t derive it. You choose it.”

Chekov stared, horrified. “But the chances of choosing the correct input equation are, they have to be one hundred billion to--”

“No. No matter what number you choose, you almost always choose the right one.”

“But there is no way to know that!”

“Except that’s how it works. The ‘how’ is still an area of research.” Moondancer snatched her marker back and completed his equation. “This was something the ancient wizards discovered long ago. When a machine—in their case, a clockwork logic array—is allowed to choose the variables, essentially the output, of a teleportation spell, the chance is probabilistic. It gets it right only by random chance. It will go where you want half the time, and where you don't on the other half. But when a living thing chooses the number, they choose a path that actually works.” She scrawled quickly with multiple markers. “That requires this equation, which is the mathematical proof of a soul. Or the mathematical equivalent of a soul, which is semantics.”

She finished the equation while filling out the others, with the engineers watching in awe. Then she paused.

“Which is the problem. Why I think I lost control. The default, low-entropy solution is to teleport. The ship wants to teleport, but the systems I built keep that from happening.”

“Because it doesn’t account for the production of tachyons,” said Chekov, leaning forward and grabbing a marker—only to be pushed back by Scottie.

“Because it doesn’t take a hint from basic warp understanding,” he snapped. “Let the tachyons damn themselves, this is right and proper backwards! You didn’t even do the necessary calculations to define the shape of the warp field!”

“Meaning?”

Scottie uncapped his marker and scrawled quickly, writing from memory what all of the engineers understood but not in so much detail. The fundamental theories of the warp drive and its operations, from basic calculations setting up the parameters of the drive to the derivation of the warp field itself, a controlled spatial distortion. Moondancer watched this, her already enormous eyes growing wider with every second until Scottie finally capped his third marker.

She stared at it, mouth open, and then slowly looked up to him. “But that...that’s cheating!”

“That’s fundamental warp theory, lass. What you have can scarcely be called a warp-drive at all, it--”

“Doesn’t meet your basic considerations for stability, I know, because I had no idea those could even be derived—what even is this?! You’re starting the ship from stationary, and just—just making it move?! You can’t do that!”

“I did the math, lass.”

“And it’s right, I can see that, I’m not stupid—” She groaned. “No wonder your computers can do it, it’s so much simpler, but it would be impossible to build, let alone achieve.” She gestured to a specific part of the formula. “This, how? How do you even get enough power to do that, let alone increase it exponentially? There’s not an energy source in the universe with enough force.”

“The warp drive is fueled by antimatter.”

Moondancer stiffened. “You mean I’m on a ship...right now...that has antimatter?”

“Aye, lass, that’s what makes it run. I’m surprised you know--”

“Of course I know what antimatter is, my planet has wizards, we've known about it for eight thousand years. And I know it EXPLODES.”

“Not if it’s contained by dilithium, lass.”

She scowled. “What in the name of Celestia’s rump is ‘dilithium’?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t care. I’d never set hoof on something driven with antimatter, there’s no way.” She groaned. “Even if it makes the math easier, it’s structurally SO much more difficult. This thing would be massive, slow and...well, frankly, Equestria just achieved a working steam engine prototype a month after the first Pegasus got into orbit.”

Scottie did a double take. “Wait, what? You invented spaceflight...before the steam engine?”

“Trust me, FTL is a LOT easier than trying to figure out how to make a boiler that doesn’t explode. I’m saying we don’t have nearly the engineering capacity to build what you’re suggesting. I have no idea how your technology even developed this backward.”

“Backward?!”

“The level of technology you would need just to get into space. It...it’s just backward. Wouldn’t you already have FTL by the time you were advanced enough to even START building a warp core?”

Scottie stared at her, dumbfounded. “Lassie, I’m afraid we’ve confounded each other.”

The expression on Moondancer’s face fell as Chekov’s mathematical excitement reached its zenith.

“Do you have any idea the implications of these mathematics and subsequent theories, Ms. Moondancer? This—this could redefine warp theory!”

“Aye,” agreed Scott, somewhat less enthused.

“Or,” snapped Moondancer, “It means that my society has met none of the normal prerequisites to compete with yours, let alone interact with it. Your backward development and priorities means we’re on a galactic stage when we haven’t even had an industrial revolution yet.”

“Lass, that’s a tad pessimistic, don’t you--”

Moondancer shoved the whiteboard back with a telekinetic thud. “One ship. That’s all it would take. JUST ONE.”

“To what?”

“To conquer all of Equetria, you fools. Just one of these metal and antimatter monstrosities. That’s all it would take.”

Author's Note

To me, it always seemed that scientific development in Star Trek is very procedural, and very much in the techno-optimist mindset of the 1960s where the epitome of technology was to build a bigger hunk of metal that went faster than all the rest. Why is it that every species always develops a warp-core and then goes out and meets aliens face-to-face? Does anyone ever develop subspace communication first and suddenly hear ships passing, or develop superior optics and sight them on a telescope?

Or, to address a problem pointed out in the comments earlier in the story, what if, through magic, creating a FTL ship is easier than something like interchangeable parts or the incandescent light bulb? What happens when a race of silly idealists never even thinks to build the warships first?

Chapter 16: The Spy

There was a town. A quaint rural town, beyond the reach of the swamp and the forest. M’Ress would no doubt have found it charming by daylight were her situation less damp, cold, and fractured. Charming in the way traditional cultural villages on Earth were, in the strange way that humans liked to make things small and calm and fanciful.

At this moment, though, M’Ress was glad that the quaintness of the village had resulted in the entire population being asleep. Thus, a Caitian and a limping pony could walk through the silent, dark streets, their path lit only the the glow of the moon and the passing of fat, alien fireflies.

“Welcome to Ponyville,” groaned Rarity.

“What are we supposed to do here? I would rather hide in the woods.”

“No, you would not. It’s filthy and cold and I need to be washed. Also, apex predators.”

“I am an apex predator.”

“On your planet, sure. There are no manticores on Cait. I’ve checked.”

“Then what are we supposed to do, expect a townspony to just let us in? Perhaps you have not noticed that I’m an alien woman.”

“Who looks like an Abyssian. I live here. If anyone asks, you’re my guest, and we just had an absolutely stunning night with some excellent Sweet Apple Acres cider.”

“I need a cider.”

“Well too bad, it’s out of season, if you ask them they will not SHUT UP about 'the timing of the apples'.”

Fortunately, they did not have a need to use the flimsy excuse. No one was about, save for a purple mare who had apparently been drinking some sort of punch, to the point where M’Ress could not tell if it was her natural smell or the smell of her insides being slowly pickled in fermented fruit juices.

Rarity’s home was a storefront building toward the center of town, labeled as “Carousel Boutique”. It was a large and ornate building overall that, again, M’Ress might have found boringly charming were this a poorly-conceived vacation. Instead, she was just glad for the opportunity to dry off. As much as she disliked to admit it, she was craving a bath with an intensity that apparently matched the small white unicorn's own desire for warm cleanliness.

Rarity unlocked the door and they stepped in to find the lights on. M’Ress blinked, allowing her pupils to narrow, and found that the room was warm and scented—and that a white unicorn of great smallness was laying on one of the stylish couches, reading a book.

“Sweetie Belle! This is the WORST possible time! Why are you in my house, how did you even get in here?!”

“Um...I live here?”

“You most certainly do not! I am NOT your mother, and I most certainly did NOT squeeze you out, I would have remembered it!”

The tiny unicorn seemed confused. “Squeezed me out…of what?”

“Of...an egg. You were born from an egg.”

“Is that...true?”

“Yes. You can go ask Scootaloo.”

“Chicken jokes are mean, Rarity.” The tiny pony stood up and looked at M’Ress. She frowned, looking surprised, and then grimaced. “Dang, Rarity, I knew you were into kinky stuff but this? This...disturbs me. I mean, furries?”

“What do you mean ‘kinky’? What are you talking about? Who have you been talking to!? Where did you hear that, it’s lies, all of it!”

“Says the mare with a furry. In a really, really tight...leotard, maybe?.”

“And if you tell mother and father, I’ll tell them that YOU know what little orange wings taste like.”

Sweetie Belle blushed. “That was one time, and you promised!”

“And now you just promised. Now get out of my house!”

“But--”

Rarity levitated her sister and lobbed her through an open window. “OUT!”

She slammed the window, closed it, and latched the lock.

“Did you just...throw a child out a window?”

“Certainly not. It was a simple toss, she'll be fine.” Rarity limped up her staircase, and M’Ress followed. When Rarity got to the next floor, she immediately started to disrobe, pausing to carefully fold her soiled uniform and place it on an assigned set of hangers to prepare it for wash. As she removed her clothing, M’Ress saw that her body was breaking out in orange spots beneath.

Rarity noticed this well, and sighed. She crossed the room to an ornate jewelry box and pulled out a drawer, reaching under it with her telekinesis and pulling out an object from a hidden compartment. A hypospray. She held it to her neck and pulled the trigger, wincing as it hissed.

“What is that?”

“An antidote for the swamp fever. Amphotericin.” She put it down on her dresser. “You do not need to worry, though. It is very specific to pony biology, you ought to be immune.”

“Ought to?”

Rarity shrugged. “Well then let us hope you are not allergic to amphotericin, I suppose.”

She removed the ornate holster holding her disrupted and set it down. The spots on her body were already starting to fade. As the weapon touched the floor, she paused, and then sighed.

“Stop being difficult.”

M’Ress, her phase pointed at the back of Rarity’s head, did not falter. “How do you know what you know?”

“That is a very vague question, darling.”

“I am no one’s ‘darling’. Answer the question.”

Rarity turned. M’Ress redirected the pistol, pointing it at the pony’s nose.

“It’s not on stun,” she warned.

“Nor would you fire it. Because Starfleet has effectively if metaphorically neutered you with their own distorted version of ‘morality’. Still, though, it is VERY rude. I invited you into my home, was going to let you use my bath, because you certainly need it--”

“WHY. Why do you know I am Caitian? Why do you have that disruptor?”

“I feel no need to answer. You won’t fire. Nor could you.”

“I am an apex predator. I can. I will. If I need to.”

“No. I mean literally. You see, that’s a defect with the type-II model. It has a mechanical trigger. And I’m holding it open. With almost trivial effort, mind you. Although I would rather not. After tonight, close concentration is very taxing.”

Confused, M’Ress attempted to pull the trigger—only to find that it was firmly stuck in the open position. The pony was using her telekinesis. M’Ress might have been able to overcome it with force, but she had no intention of actually shooting.

She set the phaser down. “We have to hurry. They saw my face. They know who I am. They will send police, or the military. There will be--”

“An investigation? Ha!” Rarity laughed. “No, dear. There most certainly will not.”

“We just raided one of the premier high-technology firms on your planet. Why would there not be an investigation?”

“Because, darling, if they came to investigate us, they would be themselves investigated. A contingent of Royal Guards. Maybe even a Lunar Inquisition. And I assure you they would be thorough. And I also assure you, my dear, that an investigation like that is the LAST thing that Twilight wants.”

M’Ress frowned. “Because you know that they are up to something.”

“No, clearly not,” sighed Rarity, rolling her eyes. “Considering the weeks of planning I put into infiltrating their facility.” She turned, flipping her tail, and began to collect some towels. She threw one to M’Ress. “I was intending to attend the staff meeting and then seduce those oddly handsome twins to get into the main tower.”

“You uncovered oddly quickly for all that planning.”

“I had assumed that their absurd clothing rule was a SUGGESTION! Forgive me for not realizing how absolutely anal they are about a rule that represents the very antithesis of my being!” She turned sharply. “As if crawling through the vents was any better!”

“I was unseen.” M’Ress knew that was a lie. She was of course seen when she jumped out—but also seen before. But not by Flim and Flam. Only by the hologram. By Twilight.

“Your should have been able to infiltrate with ease. You are the one with the friend running the company.”

“That, my dear, is what is called a LIE. Of course I don’t know Twilight Sparkle, why would I know Twilight Sparkle? Nopony knows Twilight Sparkle. Why would the Princess’s personal protege ever come to Ponyville?" She snapped, but then sighed again. "But I do know that you not only ruined EVERYTHING, but you saved me. And you put your surprisingly well pedicured foot into a pile of distressingly unpleasant filth much far deeper than you could possibly imagine.”

“Yes. I can tell that. But that’s my job.”

Rarity sighed. “I know.” She pointed to the bathtub. “You can go first. Take as long as you need. I’m afraid I don’t have a robe your size, but you would hardly be the first naked Caitian I’ve seen.”

M'Ress frowned. “What about you?”

“The drug I used has disturbingly horrific effects on the pony anatomy. To the point where some individuals are driven into a rage that causes them to literally vomit their skulls.”

"The amphotericin?"

"No, darling, obviously not. The other drug."

“How disturbing. Although...I somewhat want to bear witness to this event. Out of curiosity.”

“Curiosity is something you seem to specialize in, my dear. And unfortunately we both know what it does to cats.” She stepped forward, wrapping her magic around M’Ress’s shoulder and suddenly pulling it forward to relocate it with an agonizing snap. “And we all know what curiosity does to the feline anatomy.” She sighed. “Regardless. I need to be unconscious now.”

And with that, she flopped to her side and onto the ground. M’Ress was barely able to grab her before carefully laying her on her side. Rarity was still breathing, but certainly asleep.

M’Ress flexed her arm. It hurt badly, but the pony's abrupt technique had worked. And she decided that, since the pony was generous enough to give her permission, she would let her sleep for at least a few hours during the ensuing bath.

Which, she hoped, would calm her down. Although the pony was right. This had all grown so much more confusing—and, she knew, so much more dangerous.

Author's Note

Amphotericin is a real substance. It is yellow.

Whether or not ponys come from eggs is in dispute. Spores are also a possibility. Some say their reproduction has never been witnessed.

This chapter is small, and somewhat meant to be an add-on to the last chapter. The last chapter was simply too large to apply both at once. Therefore, I might add it with another chapter.

Chapter 17: The Council of Four Kingdoms

Kirk straightened his uniform one final time, incessantly fiddling with the various sparkly golden trim that was associated with the uniforms of high-ranking officers. It was of course green, the most stylish color known short of brown, but it had to be perfect. Which of course it was.

He turned to Spock. “How do I look?”

“Slightly overweight. Which is to be expected for a human of your age.”

“Apart from that, Spock?”

“Captain, I would say that your appearance meets at least the bare minimum of adequacy for a critical diplomatic meeting.”

“Yes, Spock, I know you don’t approve of it, but this is our only option!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I had not said that, Captain.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

“I certainly was, Captain. Your human intuition is astounding. However, my assessment of the situation is indeed correct.”

“And so is mine.” Kirk brushed the wrinkles out of his dress uniform yet again. “And considering that, Spock, I could really use your help in there.”

“And what, exactly, would you expect me to accomplish, Captain? I am a scientist, not a diplomat.”

“And now you’re starting to sound like Bones. You were never one for excuses, Spock. I’d almost say you’re afraid.”

“Of public speaking, of embarrassing myself before the god-rulers of a planet, or of creating a cataclysmic galacto-political situation from performing duties beyond my training? No, Captain, I am not afraid in the slightest, considering that I would never personally attempt a task so inadvisable.”

Kirk sighed. “Thanks, Spock. I feel MUCH better.”

Kirk was not normally one to feel nervous about much of anything in particular. Diplomacy, though, was most certainly not his forte. Mainly because Spock was right—as usual—and it was not the correct duty of a Starfeet Captain. At least not on this scale. There were diplomats for a reason. The Council and the offices of the Federation government had their own special operatives for this. Individuals dedicated specifically to the complicated minutia of interfacing with complex cultures and forging treaties, rules, and policies. It was, ironically, something the Vulcans excelled at. Supposedly because they were so incredibly and infuriatingly level-headed. Or, in Kirk’s opinion, because their long lifetimes gave them the ability to outlast other races during the paperwork.

That said, emergency situations were indeed within his purview. And this was one. A negotiation that required a rapid response without the red tape—or tape of any color, for that matter. Straight to the point. And, in that respect, Kirk was excited. This was something new. He had never done it before.

The hardest part, he was sure, was just finding the place. The castle had unusual architecture, with a design that was ornate and beautiful but quite possibly physically impossible. It was astounding that small horses had managed to construct a castle like this into the side of an enormous dilithium-packed cliff, let alone the city around it.

So, in effect, he became mostly lost. Until he felt a strange sensation and smelled something similar to vanilla cake. Still unsure how she could possibly be so silent, he turned before she could startle him.

This, however, did not work. Upon seeing her, Kirk was startled—just in a different way than he had expected. His first and most immediate thought was that he had come under-dressed.

She was beautiful, and also terrifying in a way that made Kirk feel uncomfortably confused. Her normal minimalistic clothing had been replaced with a dress of exquisite detail, or perhaps a robe of pure-white silk, draped over a breastplate and leg armor that appeared wrought with various abstract shapes, apparently from gold or something similar. Despite wearing the robes and cloth, it was apparent that this particular costume had been derived from a period when a Princess had served a far more violent role in world politics. An age where diplomacy required armor and lethal magic. It was the style that her younger sister wore constantly—but on Celestia, it was somehow desperately frightening. As if where Luna wore her armor as a symbol and a threat, Kirk got the impression that Celestia’s, though shiny and polished now, had seen a great deal of “diplomacy” in the past twenty centuries.

She smiled. “Oh my, don’t you look stunning!”

“I—uh—am—what—big—pony—”

Celestia covered her mouth go giggle. “Oh my, you’re embarrassing me! I hardly ever get a chance to wear this, and to be honest I’ve put on a bit of weight in the past two hundred years since the sugar beet was invented.”

“You...um...” Kirk bowed. “Your Majesty. Good morning.”

Celetsia giggled again. “Oh my, so formal! Why don’t you walk to the chamber with me, Federation Diplomat James Kirk?”

Kirk smiled. “I would be honored to, your Majesty.”

They began walking. Celestia of course knew the way to go. She lived in the castle for millennia--and, unknown to Kirk, had been the one who built it.

“You seem very energetic,” observed Kirk.

“I am! This is so exciting! I hadn’t even thought of calling a diplomatic meeting with the Equestrian Council. This NEVER happens. It gets so dull with the day-to-day operations, you know, but now...” She paused. “Well, it may seem strange for me to say...”

“What is it?”

“Well, it just makes it so REAL. Like, aliens. Are real. But you don’t just exist, this is...oh, this is actually happening!” She cleared her throat, and tried to regain her formal composure. “I’m sorry. I’m getting too giddy. But I feel like I’m ninety again!”

“Well, if the others are as cheerful as you are, then this should be a great time.”

Celestia’s expression fell. “Well...I mean, I don’t want to scare you, but...they might not be so enthusiastic. But you’ve already met Luna, and she seems to like you.”

“Really?”

“As much as she likes anypony I suppose. But the other two monarchs are...harder to predict. And they don’t like to be in the same room as one another.”

Kirk chuckled, and Celestia seemed surprised.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Why? Your Majesty, if this were easy, there wouldn’t be a challenge. And if there wasn’t a challenge, how would it possibly be fun?”

Celestia stared at him in awe, then cleared her throat—but part of her own apprehension seemed to have left her.

The chamber had, of course, a door, and in accordance with pony designs it was enormous and striking. Adding to the mystical atmosphere, there were two gold-clad unicorns with heavy spears standing by it. They pulled back the spears as their sovereign approached, and the door opened inward silently by some unseen and probably incomprehensible mechanism.

“I will introduce you personally,” said Celestia. “Technically I’m sponsoring you for the meeting, which is procedural minutia that you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“That’s up to you. You need to figure that part out. If it helps, imagine us all naked.” She smiled. “Or, at the very least, imagine me naked.”

Kirk did not have a chance to rebut. He found himself in the chamber, and realized that it was far more imposing than he had expected.

He had interpreted it as something like a conference room, with a table, but in fact found something more similar to an amphitheater or lecture hall. Or an angular arena. He and Celestia were at the bottom, a region surrounded by sheer walls about ten feet high to an upper terrace. That was where the delegates sat, waiting, and watching him enter.

There was of course Luna, dressed in her own silver-white armor. The design was like a heavier version of Celestia’s, at once more practical and somehow less so. There was no pretense of using it as anything except a tool for combat, but with its high segmented collar and round helmet it had somehow the opposite effect, making it seem almost silly—a silliness which was negated entirely by the piercing gaze of her cat-like, turquoise eyes.

At her side stood Tempest, the unicorn with a broken horn, and Spitfire, both in ceremonial armor. Advisors or guards, or both, Kirk assumed. Because the other delegates had similar personnel.

Celestia was meant to sit to the left of Luna, and to Celestia's left left there sat a thin pony. Like Luna and Celestia, she was a winged unicorn—although smaller than the other two, with a mane that did not have the same plasmatic effect that Celestia and Luna’s did.

Whatever culture she came from, it was apparent that it was cold. She wore a heavy coat with a hood, its shoulders trimmed with a strange white fur. Her jewelry was made from an unknown bluish metal but consisted mostly of crystal which, to Kirk’s horror, was probably dilithium—carved ornately into jewels and gemstones in various colors, some luminescent and some oddly dark. The design, though, was ominous in its own right. It did not look like jewelry. It looked like restraints.

She had brought two with her. One was, in Kirk’s view, a shambling mass of crystal in the shape of a pony. A crystalline being that was apparently alive and that regarded him with its strange, large eyes. The other was a pony as well, but one that was smaller than usual, with a slightly flattened slouching appearance. A pony whose entire body was covered in an onyx-colored pressure suit and who wore an extensive respirator mask. Kirk also noted that on his chest, he wore an intricate mechanical device consisting of a disk of strange white metal. It matched the one that the Crystal Princess wore on her chest, and both ticked quietly in unison.

The Crystal Princess looked up, and Kirk shivered. Her gaze was icy, filled with complete and utter disdain for having been brought here—and she at once seemed to be regarding him with that same disdain, and looking though him, dismissing him as something irrelevant that had interrupted her own activities. Her sclera were stained a strange and unnatural color, and her tiny pupils seemed almost luminescent.

The other delegate sat to Luna’s right. He was male, a rarity on this planet, and lacked wings. He was a white unicorn—and he looked horrifically unhealthy. His body was disturbingly gaunt and pale, the shining white of his coat replaced with a gray pallor. His blue mane, tied back neatly, was now mostly silver. His eyes were empty, cloudy green—and probably blind from whatever disease was consuming him. Like Luna, he wore armor—but it was not made of metal. Kirk was not completely sure what it was made of, but it was dark gray with green components at the joints—and Kirk took it to be the chitin of some vast insect.

His guard, though, Kirk had seen before—but this time the stallion was making no pretext of being a pony, or the pretext that the chitin that covered his body was actually armor. His face was still roughly that of a white unicorn, but his eyes were those of an insect.

The other he had brought was seated beside him. She wore the same armor, but had a much more pony-like appearance, with pale yellow fur and cyan hair tied back neatly. She had a quill in her mouth and was quickly documenting the meeting on a scroll.

“Introducing,” said Celestia, “Captain James T. Kirk of the Starfleet vessel Enterprise, delegate of the United Federation of Planets. He is a human, from the planet Earth.” Celestia stepped forward and looked to her sister, then to Kirk. “Luna, Princess of the Night, Empress of the Moon and the Lunar Empire, Guardian of the Dream Realm.” She gestured to the thin, pink-colored mare. “Princess Mi’Amore Cadenza. Empress of the Crystal Empire, Queen of Depths, and Lady of Eternal Frost.”

The Cadenza nodded slightly, finally acknowledging Kirk’s presence with anything except a glare. Celestia then turned her attention to the gaunt, sickly stallion.

“Shining Armor, Second-Scion of House Twilight, King-Consort of the Changeling Imperial Hive.”

The king bowed. “My wife sends her regrets that she cannot attend this meeting in person.”

“We do not,” snapped Cadenza, quietly, earning her a glare from the king.

Celestia spread her wings and, much to Kirk’s surprise, proved that they were actually functional. She took flight to her own seat between Luna and Cadenza. She, unlike the others, had no advisors or guards—but there was a smaller chair next to her. One marked with an image of two overlayed six-pointed stars. A chair that stood empty.

Kirk was not the only one that noticed this.

“Will my sister not be attending?” asked the king, his dull eyes turning toward Celestia.

Celestia sighed. “I’m afraid she is busy with reworking our FTL prototype.”

“She could not be bothered to attend her own brother’s wedding,” growled Cadenza, her voice icy. “I don’t see why she would bother with a pointless meeting like this one.”

“You would be wise,” snapped Luna, “dear niece, to not disparage this sacred convening. Our sister hath called it, and we hath taken the time to attend. Showeth some respect.”

Cadenza sighed, and stood up. She gestured to Celestia. “Princess Celestia, Lord of the Sun, the Divine Light of Equestria, Conqueror of Chaos, Slayer of the Death-God Daybreaker, Eternal Champion of Harmony.” She said the mandatory introduction with respect, but with no apparent reverence or emotion beyond what was necessary.

“Thank you, Cadence,” said Celestia. “But you don’t need to use all the titles--”

“You have the most out of all of us. Why shouldn’t I use them all?” She said this while staring straight at Luna.

The pony writing with her mouth set down her quill and leaned to her king, whispering into his ear. He nodded.

“My stepdaughter would like to submit a request, Captain Kirk.” He nodded to her. “Ocellus would like you to hold up your hand, if you would, so she can get a better look at it.”

Kirk found this strange. “Sure,” he said, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers.

The secretary girl held out her own hoof, mimicking the gesture, and in a flash of green light and the sound of bone splitting and reconfiguring she closed her own hand into a fist. Where a pony had been sitting before now sat a mousy human teenager, dressed in the human equivalent of her gray-black chitin armor. She gave him a weak smile and picked up her quill. “Thank you,” she said. “That will make it a lot easier to write.”

Kirk nodded. “That’s a neat trick.”

“Thank you,” said the king, nodding. “She is very talented. Almost as much so as her mother.”

“At shapeshifting into disgusting monsters?” Cadenza laughed. “Of course she is, she doesn’t need to even shift for that, does she?”

Celestia slammed her hooves down on the ground, causing all present to jump in fright.

“Need I remind you that this is a FORMAL diplomatic meeting with an alien delegate?” she snapped. “A delegate that you just insulted, as well as insulting an allied queen? This meeting is meant to SOLVE problems. If I failed at raising you and you’re going to be a brat, GET OUT OF MY CASTLE.”

“We second our sister’s opinion,” added Luna. “Although we respect your brash audacity, dear niece.”

Celestia turned to Kirk. “My apologies, Captain.”

“It’s not a problem, Your Majesty. I’ve been called much worse, but never by a Princess before.”

“Not to thine face, no,” noted Luna.

Celestia cleared her throat. “I’ve called this meeting at the request of the Captain,” she said. “Tell us, Mr. Kirk, what is it the issue you wish to bring before the Council?”

Kirk stepped forward, producing an object. A formality, one that some races found absurd or even insulting—but he had already gained enough understanding of pony culture to know that they would prefer this format over others.

He stepped forward and held out the scroll. Celestia’s horn glowed, and the scroll was lifted from his hands and to her.

Celestia smiled. “What is this?”

“This is a formal invitation to you, and to your world, to join the United Federation of Planets.”

The smile fell from Celestia’s face. “Excuse me?”

“If it would please Your Majesties, I would like to plead my case before this Council.”

“It would not please me,” sighed Cadenza. “I have a great deal of work to do, ruling my Empire. I don’t like being above ground this long. It’s bright and smells like insects.”

“I would be interested in hearing what the Captain has to say,” suggested Shining Armor, calmly. “I’m afraid I don’t really know what he is requesting.”

“We do not wish to take the time," sighed Luna. "We know our answer already. But we think we are going to hear it anyway.”

Celestia nodded. “Go ahead, Captain Kirk. I think this is something we all need to hear.”

Kirk nodded back to her, grateful for the opinion. “It came to my attention recently that this planet contains a significant quantity of natural resources. Specifically crystals. I saw them first-hand in the abandoned mines under the castle.”

“I am familiar with them,” growled Cadenza. “I was held prisoner there while a giant insect married my fiance.” She shot a withering glare at Shining Armor, who sighed.

“A legally binding marriage through which I was able to finally negotiate peace between Equestria and the Imperial Hive, ending a thousand-year cold-war and allying the two most powerful nations on the planet.”

“Yes. Impressive for a stallion who couldn’t tell the difference between his ten-year marefriend and a BUG. Or maybe you just like being surrounded by a society entirely of sterile females?” She said this while staring at Ocellus, who shrank partially beneath the table.

Shining Armor just stared at her, and then smiled weakly. “I did what I had to do.” He turned to Kirk. “My apologies, Captain. The political situation here is...messy. Please continue.”

Kirk nodded. “The crystals are what we call dilithium. If Spock were here, he could tell you the specifics of it, but essentially it produces the containment necessary for our warp-drives to operate it. Without it, our faster-than-light technology can’t function.”

“How peculiar.” Celestia actually seemed intrigued. Kirk was vaguely aware from Scottie's reports that whatever system they used did not require dilithium at all—which was completely absurd, considering the fact that their planet had a higher concentration than any known in the galaxy. “Do you need some?”

“Thank you, but no. It’s more...complicated.” He sighed. “Dilithium is normally extremely rare. We can’t manufacture it. It has to be mined.”

“The crystals in that cavern are depleted,” said Cadenza. “They are worthless.”

“To you, maybe. But to us, they are still pure, high-grade dilithium.” He paused. “We do not normally invite a planet this quick. This is a very unusual situation. But--”

“You are concerned with plundering our resources,” sighed Luna. “How typical.”

Celestia seemed gravely concerned. “Jim, is that true?”

Kirk shook his head. “No, but her insight isn’t wrong. The Federation is a peaceful union of independent planets working toward a common goal of exploration and scientific achievement to benefit all races on all worlds. But I’m not going to lie. The Federation would be interested in that quantity of dilithium—and that’s the problem. Because so would everyone else.”

“Everyone...else?”

“The galaxy is...well, I guess it’s like this planet. If you think of the Federation like Equestria. But there’s other people, and not all of them are nice.”

“So you claim,” said Luna. “If there are, let them come. None shall pillageth our resources, for we shall repel them with maximal vigor!”

“You’re not understanding me,” snapped Kirk. “You’re sitting on the largest supply of dilithium in the known galaxy, but your planet is in unclaimed space--”

“It is claimed by us. And all who dispute said claim shall meet their fate at the end of a sword.”

Kirk shook his head. “No. No they won’t.”

Luna stood up. “You doubt our VIGOR? Our very VIM?!”

“Your planet is a unique case. Your technology...it didn’t advance the same way as it did everywhere else.”

“So you’re calling us primitive,” sighed Cadenza.

“Yes.”

Luna sat up. “Excuse us--”

“You have one prototype warp ship. Just one. And your only space weapon is space laser with a power output just high enough to run a coffee replicator. Celestia. Your Highness. How many ponies are on this planet?”

“Oh my...well, we only conduct the census once every seven years, but...about five hundred thousand.”

“And another fifty thousand upon mine moon,” said Luna. “Far more than on your so-called ‘advanced’ vessel.”

“That’s right. On ONE vessel. We have over eight thousand.”

The eyes of all present widened in shock, save for Shining Armor. He only listened, diligent or perhaps dead, having been finally depleted of all his various juices.

“Surely such is...” Luna shook her head. “That would be...”

“The population of Earth alone is over twenty billion. The Federation has over one hundred fifty planets. And that’s just the Federation. The Klingons, the Romulans, the Skorr, the Breen. Billions upon billions of them.”

Celestia stepped to the front of the ledge. “What are you saying, Captain?”

“That they will come. For the dilithium. And they will bring armies. And...” He paused, not sure if he wanted to say it, but decided that it needed to be said. “It’s not just the dilithium they’ll take.”

“What, then?” asked Shining Armor, sounding intrigued.

“Dilithium takes months to mechanically mine. It needs to be cut on multiple dimensions at once.” He looked to Celetsia. “But your people can do it almost instantly.”

“What...what are you saying?”

“That we will be enslaved,” said Shining Armor. “Unicorns, at least. That whatever force takes Equestria will force us to mine for them.” He faced Kirk. “Or be exported. Sent to whatever mines they use now for their ships. Be they habitable to ponies or not.”

“Exactly,” said Kirk. “Princesses. King. My only concern right now is protecting this planet. If you accept the invitation, I can transmit the acceptance right away to Starfleet HQ. Granted, your status will be preliminary, but they’ll produce an injunction, and this system will become provisional Federation Space. They’ll send ships to protect it.”

“So that they can harvest the crystals themselves, surely,” said Luna. “We do not believe thou, Kirk. Not entirely. Although our sister trusts you, we do not. This is in effect the deed to the planet. An army of aliens be an army of aliens, be they of your type or another. And we are not appreciative of them attempting to abscond with any part of this planet. Or getting near our moon.”

“We would protect your planet. Open up communications with the Federation, give you new technology and get you established on a galactic scale. Help you become a member of the galactic community. You can hide your heads in the sand if you want, but that won’t make us go away. It’s something you’ll have to face sometime. It’s better now than later. Because there might not be a later.”

Celestia stared at him, clearly thinking. Slowly, she turned to Cadenza. “What is the situation in the Crystal Empire?”

“We have barely surveyed beyond eighty kilometers deep,” she said, after a moment. “But the rough indications show a crystal network nearly seven hunred million times the volume of the Canterlot mining complex. All high-grade magic crystals, some Magnificent or even higher.” She paused, looking aslant at the pony in the respirator. He said nothing, but Cadenza nodded.

“And,” she said. “We believe that if we could find a way to activate the Crystal Heart, we may be able to manufacture this so-called ‘dilithium’ at will. In addition to making the surface habitable, giving us a place where miners can life instead of in the underground city.”

Kirk frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “I am informing my aunts and ex-fiance that there may be a substantial economic benefit to non-membership. Especially considering the value they place on useless depleted crystals. We could mine, process, carve and export them on demand. For a profit.”

“For YOUR profit,” added Shining Armor. “Making the Crystal Empire the wealthiest nation on the planet.”

“So you recommend we join the Federation,” suggested Celestia, hopefully.

“No. I reject the idea of it. Why should we sell to just one government? It isn’t our war or our conflict. We’re neutral.”

“Until they decide to stop paying and take it for themselves,” added Kirk, darkly.

She turned toward him. “And you, human, underestimate us. You claim that we’re primitive, when your species never developed even rudimentary magic. We may not be able to enter space, but let them try to invade. I have the crystals. I have the engineers. Give me the word, and we shall cannons that can tear down the very stars. No ship will ever dare enter our orbit, let alone attempt to trespass on our land.”

“So you would be willing to start a war?” Shining Armor looked horrified. “That’s madness.”

“Not a war. Political metastability. Followed by galactic symbiosis.”

“Sure,” said Kirk. “If you don’t mind putting your technological development behind by three hundred years.”

“It is thou who art delayed, mortal,” said Luna. “Thou simply hath no understanding of thine own weakness. Our technology shall advance. And we shall form our own government, our own space empire!”

“Assuming,” said Shining Armor. “That you actually mean ‘us’. Instead of the royal ‘we’.”

“Be there a difference?”

“I can’t force you,” said Kirk, not to them all but directed mostly at Celestia. “And I won’t. It’s your decision. I can only make my case. But please. There’s one thing I absolutely, ABSOLUTELY need to know.”

“What is that?”

“Have you been in contact with any other space government? Any other civilization? Has anyone given you any other offers?”

A slight change in expression crossed Celestia’s face, but she hid it well—although she suddenly could not look Kirk in the eye.

“Have you met with any other alien races?”

“No. Most certainly not.” Luna puffed slightly. “What arest thou accusing our sister of?”

“I promise,” said Celestia. “I have not contacted any alien races. You are the first. This, I promise.”

Kirk smiled. “That’s all I needed to know, then.”

Shining Armor walked to the edge of the wall and looked down. “But I was once a captain myself, although in the cavalry, not the navy. So a very different rank.” He looked up at the Princesses. “With that said. I understand the threat he’s referring to, and I strongly urge you to take his offer. Regardless of it, the Hive will begin cooperation with the aliens as Queen Chrysalis sees fit. Although we cannot join their government without your signatures.”

“And I am voting ‘no’,” said Cadenza. “We do not need this. We can handle this on our own.”

“We also reject this proposal,” said Luna. “We bow to no master. We kneel to government except our own, and all lesser governments kneel before US. The Moon shall persevere, for now and for eternity.”

Kirk sighed. “Then you reject it.”

“No,” said Celestia. “We are not voting today. There needs to be a period of consideration. To discuss it with our respective advisors.” She looked to her sister. “To think it over. Carefully.”

“We have spent one thousand years thinking, sister. We require no more.”

“But you’ve never thought about this.” She turned to Kirk. “If I may, I would like to request more information on the Federation. More documents, in detail. For all of us.”

“We do not need--”

“Yes. We do. Because this isn’t just about the crystals. It was one thing when we thought the universe was empty and we could put an Equestrian flag on every planet, moon and asteroid we found. But it’s not. And for once, we’re not the ones in power. Not on that scale. This isn’t a mandate, it’s an opportunity. One we might only get once.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“To finally get to work on real space travel.” Celestia smiled to her sister. “So that our dreams of peace and exploration finally come true.”

Luna’s expression remained harsh, but she sighed and looked away. “Yes,” she admitted at last. “Indeed. This is not a decision to be made rashly.” She looked over her shoulder at Tempest and Spitfire. “Indeed, it must be discussed. In detail.” She puffed up, making herself look large. “Our version of the list! It ought to contain a list of every known moon in Federation Space! With pictures! So that we can choose which moons we will be taking!”

Kirk smiled. “We can do that, sure.”

Cadenza sighed. “So be it. I need to spend time here anyway. We need more supplies. Eating crystals only gets us so far, and we still need to find a solution to the Balrog problem.”

Celetsia blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Not your concern, I don’t think. We just need to dig deeper.” She stared at her aunt. “And I think you have already made your decision. So let me give you a warning. Don’t let love or attraction sway you. Ever. I already made that mistake once.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying don’t be a fool, Celestia. The only things that matters in this world are money, power, and crystals, which are the marriage of both. Don’t let yourself get tricked.”

Celestia frowned, but then smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said.

She instead faced Kirk and spread her wings, dropping to his level with surprising and frightening grace. “Thank you for your consideration, Captain Kirk. And for your kind invitation. I understand that time is of the essence, but this is an enormous step for us. So please grant us the time we need to consider it.”

Kirk smiled. “Of course. The Enterprise will be here as long as it takes. We’ll keep the planet safe. I promise.”

Celestia smiled back. “Thank you, Jim. I’ll sleep well knowing you’re there for us.”

Chapter 18: Conducting Diplomacy

Celestia walked with several datapads suspended before her, scrolling at an incredibly rapid pace through all of them.

“This is astounding. Absolutely astounding.”

“Can you actually read all of that? All at once?”

Celestia smiled. “Well of course. When you love reading as much as I do but also have to rule a planet all day, you learn to read quickly.” She clicked off the datapads and stacked them neatly, giving them back to Kirk. “Simply astounding. Exactly what my dearest Twilight would find fascinating, and I'll be sure to draft her a wonderful and extensive letter about this information as soon as I can find a parchment long enough." Her wings rustled. "But for now, I think I’ve seen enough. The Federation seems like a splendid place for Equestria. I think our ideals match perfectly, at least from what I’ve seen here.”

“It is a little more--”

“Complicated? Of course it is. But to know I’m just one ruler on so many planets...It makes the game so much different. So much more exciting. I feel so much smaller.”

“Is that bad?”

Celestia laughed. “No, Jim, of course not. Joining the Federation would would be so much more responsibility, but...this gives me a different perspective. I must say I was a bit shocked when you first asked. It’s...somewhat like asking for marriage on the first date.” She paused. “You’re not married, are you?”

“No, of course not. I’ve never really found the time I suppose.”

Celestia smiled. “I know the feeling. But I understand why you asked, and what’s at stake. But I think the meeting went very well.”

Kirk frowned “Really? Because I didn’t get that feeling.”

“Call it my intuition. I’ve known Luna for two thousand years. She feels a need to seem big and strong but inside she’s very prudent and more wise than I ever was. She knows what I know, and I know she’ll make the right choice.”

“And Cadenza?”

Celestia frowned slightly. “She’s...harsh. She wasn’t always that way. She used to be such a nice loving young girl. But now she doesn’t have much left in her life except her ambition. No family, no friends apart from...well, I’m not entirely quite sure what creatures she’s in contact with, digging deeper and deeper out there. But I think she’ll make the choice that gives her the most gain. It’s Shining Armor you need to worry about.”

“But he seemed so nice.”

“He is. But he’s...more dedicated to the changelings than you would expect. I consider him like a nephew, but...”

“But what?”

“I think he’s planning on infiltrating you. Sending out changelings across the galaxy and infesting as many planets as possible. Which sounds really terrible, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like a bad thing. But they’re changelings, they infest—and I just can’t put down that shovel, can I?” She sighed. “He’s intending on spreading them. To find more love to consume.”

“Well, maybe we have love to give.”

Celestia raised a metaphorical eyebrow. “Would you love an invertebrate?”

Kirk shrugged. “To be totally honest with you? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

They approached an area where a door was opened for them, again by the gold-clad guards. Kirk sensed that they were entering a system of rooms; a specific designation of the castle for a distinct purpose. For what, he was not sure.

He found himself in a long, vaulted hall. Various maids stepped out from between the columns, and as Celestia walked between them without stopping or even slowing, the maids rapidly stripped her armor and robes, separating them and undressing her, folding the cloth and taking it away as her formal clothing was changed out for her normal crown, necklace, and shoe combination.

“That said,” she continued, without apparently noticing the mares seamlessly undressing and dressing her, “I don’t subscribe to the view that the Federation is the only ‘good-guy’. It may be a bit rude of me, but I think you’re biased.”

“Well, I am from Starfleet. Which means I see the whole thing from a Federation perspective. But I have a great deal of experience with other governments.” He paused. "And I greatly prefer the Federation."

“I think that peace in the galaxy is of course possible. The Klingons probably have their reasons for what they do, and if we can come to understand that, we might be able to make a lasting peace.”

“We? I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“But am I wrong? Who knows. Maybe some day, they’ll be a Klingon officer on the Enterprise.”

Kirk chuckled. Of course that would never happen; it was absurd. But he had the context to know why, and she did not, and there was no point in saying it. “I like your optimism.”

With the maids finished, they all suddenly seemed to be in perfect formation and bowed in unison as Celestia entered the door at the end of the hallway. She gestured for Kirk to step inside, and he did. Inside was a vast space, a room with high glassless windows gazing out at the eastern sky and a floor that reflected speckling light that seemed to flow like water as he passed over it.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Tea?”

Celestia gestured to a teapot on a small counter, supported by an ornate holder.

“Oh. Sure.”

Celestia smiled, and her horn flicked. The teapot immediately started whistling, and she took the kettle to an area toward one end of the wall where she sat down at a desk. She produced several teabags and took cups from a shelf, preparing the tea telekinetically without much apparent effort.

But as she did, she removed her shoes and necklace, placing the shoes neatly beside a high shelf of books and putting the necklace on a dedicated hook. Then, finally she removed her crown and carefully set it on the desk. As she gave Kirk his tea, she shook her head, and the plasmatic effect in her mane vanished, causing the strands of silky hair to fall around her. To Kirk’s surprise, they immediately pulled up into long, wavy curls. Celestia ran her hoof through her tricolored hair, brushing it back, and sipped her own tea.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I’m normally obligated to seem...regal. But considering it’s just the two of us here, in my chambers, I hope it’s acceptable that I can be more...comfortable.”

“I don’t mind at all. Not even a little.”

“You can remove your clothing too.”

Kirk stiffened and laughed softly. “Well, I’m afraid we humans rarely do that. In public, I mean.”

“You’re not in public. You’re in here. With me.”

“Yes, but it’s usually reserved for...more intimate situations.”

“Yes. I know.”

Kirk stood silent for a moment. “Oh...”

Celestia set down her tea and leaned forward from her chair, allowing her wings to extend somewhat. “Well, you see, to put it...to phrase it in a way...I’m a mare. An adult mare, and like all mares I have...needs. Which is perfectly natural, but most of the kingdom sees me as a mother figure, and I tend to see them as my children, which makes approaching me...difficult. And approaching them...awkward. That and the implications of being an autocrat, we originally ruled as virgin goddesses because it was meant to be symbolic of our kingdom’s walls at the time, although only Luna at this point...because I...am...older?”

“Celestia...are you trying to seduce me?”

Celestia blushed severely. “I—um—I am—oh no...” She stood up. “I’m sorry. We’re too biologically different, it wouldn’t work, I’m too equine and you’re too primate, and...” Her eyes widened in horror, and she took a step back. “And you’re going to think you need to do this for my vote in the Council! Oh no, I’m coercing you! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this isn’t appropriate and I made it awkward, and I ruined our relationship with the first alien we’ve ever met and I’m a bad pony--”

Kirk grasped her by the back of the head and, before she could even stop talking, kissed her. She tasted strongly of vanilla and, strangely, ash. Celestia, taken by surprise, squeaked—and her wings foomfed outward to their fully erect state.

She allowed him to direct her to her bed, despite being several times his mass. When she reached it, she flopped backward, face up with her wings spread below her across the silken sheets.

“Oh my,” she said. “What are we going to do on the bed, Captain Kirk?”

Kirk did not answer, because of course they both already knew the answer. Kirk removed his shirt and joined her in bed--and proceeded to do exactly what one would expect Captain Kirk to do when faced with a tense diplomatic situation and a beautiful alien princess.

Author's Note

How awkward. But, perhaps, obligatory? You cannot have Kirk without the Kirking, I suppose.

Chapter 19: Nighttime Aboard an Alien Starship

At her own instruction, the human crew had departed. It was night, or what their ship’s photocycle considered night. Nights exactly as long as they were on Equestria. They felt as long as Moondancer remembered.

She was left alone in the shuttle bay, because she worked best alone. The humans were ingenious creatures, and they worked quickly. They had a degree of intuition, of mechanical knowledge, but they were loud. Endlessly noisy and endlessly moving. Moondancer needed quiet. To consider what she was doing. Time to think.

The ship's light was only marginally dimmer—and if not dimmer, then different. A harsher color. Like the lights of her own laboratory, the facility where she had built the prototype, deep in the iridescent plains of the dark side of the moon. Few ponies dwelt there, and the silence almost never ended. There had been other ponies at her facility. Other staff. She knew none of their names. She had never met them.

A bluish light that flickered over her, originating from a single tetrahedral crystal flashing with a strange internal glow--a crystal powered by a machine devised at her instruction from the parts the humans had available and powered by her own magic.

Above it sat the image of the cockpit she had spent months painstakingly forging—an looking backward, and slightly to the left, where she had mounted the synchronization crystal to the main control array. And in this image, she saw herself, dressed in her flight suit and staring forward at her readings with terrifying resolve.

There was noise. Interference, and sparking as conduits burst and as the fire suppression attempted to contain part of the smoldering cockpit. She watched herself and, in a small and tinny voice, heard herself speaking.

“This is Moondancer, pilot of the Dancer-One Prototype FTL ship. I am presently being pursued by hostile aliens and my primary drive shell is experiencing a containment collapse. A core breach is imminent unless I redirect power.” She heard herself pause, taking a breath. “I am too far to teleport to safety. The core will survive. I will not be recovered. If any living members of my family can be found, please inform them and provide them with my liquidated estate. I am sorry I failed. . But my work will continue in my absence. Recover the core, and continue my work. Goodbye.”

Then the final spell, charging her desperate shield and diverting all power to the core protection shield—even as the center of her body started to glow with strange alien light and fade as she was pulled apart by their so-called transporter. Then a sudden burst, noise, and a blinding flash of light.

The crystal vibrated slightly, and the recording was replaced once again with the mathematical construct of tits records from the moment of detonation. Moondancer saw them and comprehended the numbers, but did not know how they came to be.

She looked up at the severed core of her starship, now surrounded by a fully constructed scaffold of gray-colored human metal linking to it at various points with sensors and supports. A complex armored device, now burned and charred in places, its central cylinder marked with the symbol that Moondancer had come to hate. It was as if it were mocking her.

“Why?” she said. “Why did you allow yourself to be damaged? Why did you protect me? I’m the only pony with nothing left to go back to. Why jeopardize everything I worked so hard for?”

She heard a footstep and felt her magic clamp around a screwdriver—but she forced herself to release it. She instead turned to find Mr. Scott approaching across the shuttlebay.

“I specifically requested that I be left alone.”

“That ye did, lassie. But I still need to walk down and have a check on you every now and then. I don’t normally tolerate working alone. Especially with unstable parts like this.”

“So you doubt my competence, then.”

Mr. Scott smiled and held up his hand. He was missing one of his fingers. “Everyone makes a mistake once in a while, lassie. And it helps if friends are there to help mop it all up.”

Moondancer grumbled but reluctantly allowed the human to approach.

“Talking to your ship, I see?”

Moondancer frowned. “Don’t you?”

“Aye. No engineer worth his salt would go his career without saying a word to the most important lady in his life, now would he?”

Rather than stand with him, Moondancer approached a badly disrupted hole in the armor and began performing forensic diagnostics to determine the extent of the damage to the control-wire interface for the forward thrust.

“For almost half my life, it’s been the only thing I’ve had to talk to.”

“You didn’t have a crew, then?”

“They would just get in my way. They would make mistakes. It has to be perfect, and I’m the only one who can do it perfectly.” She grimaced. “And even then it wasn’t enough.”

Scottie just nodded. Then he pointed upward at the star insignia. “But you didn’t build this part, did you?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Scottie shrugged. “Fine, then. I’ll leave you to it. But I heard what you said. And it’s not a good thought.”

“What?”

“That you have nothing to go back to.”

“I don’t.” She gestured upward. “Everything I ever had is right here. Blown to bits.” She paused, her eyes once again catching the star insignia—and she stared at it for much longer this time as Scottie turned to leave the shuttle bay.

“She was my friend,” she said.

Scottie stopped walking. He said nothing, but turned to listen.

“My best friend. My...only friend. We went to Celestia’s university together since we were children. I...didn’t get along well with other ponies. Spells and machines, I understand those. But not what to say when somepony is sad, or when to laugh at the right time, or how to ask a mare to a dance without looking like an idiot...it was easy for everypony else. But not for me. But her...she...”

“I see. But what happened, lass, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She left me.” Moondancer looked over her shoulders. She felt the urge to cry, but did not. There were no tears left. “She left me all alone. My only friend, the only pony who understood me, and she left. She went to go work for Division 51. To built this.” She gestured to the core. “And did she ever come to see me? Did she ever visit me, even once, or even write me a letter? No. As if I stopped existing. She forgot me, and it was that easy.” She paused, looking down at the hole in the machinery. “She...was the thing that mattered most to me in the whole world. But now I only have my work. I left Equestria. To the moon. And never bothered to have a friend ever again.”

Scottie paused, then sighed. “Lass, I might not be the best person to be having this chat with. Some of the larger ships have counselors, but the best I can do is send you to the yeoman...”

“No,” snapped Moondancer, probing the hole and grasping part of the ruined machinery, trying to get deeper, to where the cable had retracted and jammed. “This is fine. This is the way it’s supposed to be. I have a job to do, and I’m—doing—IT!”

She pulled hard, and was suddenly thrown backward as the part she was holding broke loose entirely, gutting itself on the floor. Scottie was barely close enough to catch her, but she stood up and waved him off—and then stared at what she had pulled out.

“That, lass, is why we don’t work alone, if ye had fallen on some machinery you’d be sliced to ribbons--”

“What is this?”

“What do you mean ‘what is this’, I’ve been asking that every second since I laid eyes on your damn wooden ship--”

Moondancer held the part up to him. “NO. What is THIS?”

Scottie stared at it, then the look of agitation vanished from his face. It was replaced with one of great surprise and interest. He took the hunk of burned machinery and wires from Moondancer, turning it over in his hands. Then, seeming to understand it, he grasped one of Moondancer’s borrowed tools and pried part of it out. He held it up to the light, and then up to her.

“This...this is a duotronic enhancer.”

Moondancer’s brow creased. “Are you sure?”

“Aye, lass, I’d know it anywhere I’d seen it!"

He started walking suddenly to a set of diagnostic benches that had been set up for the humans to help analyze and organize the debris from the prototype ship. He set it under one of the microscopes and immediately lit the light system and engaged the focus.

“Lassie, you said your planet was still on vacuum-tube computers!”

“We are.” Moondancer shivered. “Mr. Scott, what is that thing doing in my ship? Where did it come from?”

“That’s the harder question to answer, isn’t it?” He pulled his eyes back from the scope. “Duotronics is a universal technology, every planet has at least one manufacturer, sometimes hundreds. I don’t recognize this one. It’s not any of the main Federation sources, though. I’m sure on that at least.”

He picked up the hunk of metal and began probing it with various sparking tools. Moondancer stood on her hind legs, bracing herself against the table, watching—and the more he took it apart, the more she saw that it was and exceedingly complex system. Far more complex than it should have been.

Scottie stopped. “Lassie,” he said. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No. But...”

“But?”

“But I think there’s something I’m not being told.”

Scottie pointed at the damaged core. “How, exactly, does that thing function?”

Moondancer looked over her shoulder at the core, and took a breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’? It’s your ship, you talk to it--”

“It isn’t about to tell me, it’s a hunk of wood and metal, it’s not alive!” She pushed herself back from the table, staring at the hole. A hole that had been allowed to exist in the otherwise inviolable surface by a mistake. It should not have existed—and those parts should never have been exposed.

“The core was built by Division 51, as part of the collaborative effort between Equestria and the Lunar Colonies. It was built as a module, in one piece. I received documentation on the control scheme and interface parameters but...” But she had never thought to question beyond that. “...the documentation never said what was on the inside.”

“Maybe you just missed--”

“I do NOT miss things. I read every page I was given, and I have no idea what is in there. I never had a need to.”

“And you never thought to open it?”

“The documents stated that the core is exceedingly fragile and unstable. Piercing the containment shell could cause a fatal collapse. The radiation levels were listed as extreme and, more importantly, we only have the one. I wasn’t about to risk my life's work for curiosity’s sake.”

“I understand, but...”

Moondancer stared at the piece of machinery. “But now I need to know. That piece. It's alien technology. It isn’t Equestrian. What is it doing in my ship?”

“Well...it’s not easy to tell, is it?” Scottie poked at the hunk and it sparked slightly. “It’s right destroyed. But...in my opinion, the structure is mostly consistent with a kind of in-line replicator or sorts."

"A replicator?"

"Aye, lass, a synthesizing machine. Klingon technology. Bloody daft things most of the time, takes ten times the power as the parts fabricator and makes the foulest coffee you've ever tasted." He pointed at the damaged components. "If I'm right, and I usually am, these are the projector heads, and the matter source-feed on the back. Which means...” He picked up the duotronic chip between a pair of forcepts. “Which means that if it is, this must be its memory center. Which means...”

An idea occurred to him, and he nearly ran across the room. Moondancer had to gallop to follow.

“Means what?”

Scottie opened the front of a large machine, removing a similar chip from the internal hardware and inserting the one he had taken from the Moondancer’s ship. “Replicators all use a common code for matter generation, so it ought to be comparable with the parts fabricator.”

“Meaning what?”

“A replicator is a device which converts one form of matter to another, lassie. It can make virtually anything given the right code.”

Moondancer understood. “You’re trying to see what it was programmed to make.”

Scottie smiled. “Aye, lass. The version won't be perfect, but it ought to shed a light on this whole strange situation, eh?”

Moondancer nodded, and Scottie pressed the activation button. The space below the forge shimmered, and then the light condensed into something—and that something fell to the floor with a sickening splat, splattering across Scottie’s boots and Moondancer’s armored shoes.

“Ugh!” groaned Scottie, stepping back. “The program must’ve corrupted, it smells awful! Hold on, I can make adjustments to the system, we need a better resolution--the fabricator simply isn't designed for organic molecules like this--”

“No it doesn’t. Smell bad, I mean.” Moondancer looked at the brown liquid, poking her hoof into it and picking some up. She sniffed it.

“Lass, no, you’re making me queasy--”

“It doesn’t smell good, no, but not bad. Just...” She stuck out her tongue and licked the solution. Scottie gulped, nearly vomiting.

Moondancer’s eyes widened. “This is food.”

“Lass, just because you eat it doesn’t mean--”

“No. This is food. You can do an assay on it, but I can already taste it. Sugar. Amino acids. Salts. This is food. I’m sure of it.”

Scottie nodded, then looked back at the reactor. “Which begs the question, doesn’t it?”

Moondancer nodded, her expression growing grim. “Why there is alien technology in my core...dedicated to manufacturing food.” She paused, then sighed. “Mr. Scott, how competent would you say your crew is?”

Scottie seemed somewhat offended, but also proud. “I’d say they’re the best crew I’ve ever served with. The best in all of Starfleet on the best ship in all of Starfleet.”

“They had better be. I need them in here. Now.”

“Why, lass?”

“Because we’re going to open it.”

“But lass, you just said it’s desperately unstable, and you have no idea what’s inside--”

“I know, Mr. Scott. But I need to know. And it’s about time I did.” She started walking toward it, taking mental inventory of her tools. “Because I’ve been lied to. And I need to see what that horse Twilight Sparkle is up to.”

Scottie nodded, and joined her. “Aye, lass. Aye indeed.”

Author's Note

On replicators:

Earlier, it was noted that replicators did not exist in the Original Series and constitute an anachronism. Since they serve a plot point, I did not eliminate them from the earlier portions of the story. That might be an oversight on my part.

However, I do not think that it is inconceivable that they could exist. Instead of being a reliable food source, I image them either as an advanced 3D printer for small metallic components (you never want to run out of bolts when your ship keeps getting shot up by Klingons) or as a new-fangled luxury reserved for senior officers to dispense treats. Considering that even the replicators in Next Generation are kind of terrible, these would be even worse--and consequently little used. Why drink gross pseudo-coffee when you can drink as much yeoman coffee as you want?

That, and I posit (partially facetiously) that some of the advanced technology present in Next Generation may actually be Klingon in origin. A replicator makes far more sense on a Klingon ship. Considering that the Klingon diet is largely alive or very freshly killed, they would need something to feed their provisions until slaughter. A nice mush of random protein and sugars should keep the gagh and racht fresh longer. That, and I can hardly imagine Kligons being willing to farm vegetables when a technological solution would free up more time for various forms of violence.

Chapter 20: Slideshow Hat

“Please, please, try my cake recipe!”

“No, no, try mine, it’s far more MOIST!”

“I brought zucinni bread! The longest, HARDEST zukkinis! And lemon zest for flavor! FLAVOR!”

“Mine is the Princess’s favorite! I’m the one who made her fat! It was ME! Eat it! EAT IT AND GET FAT!”

“I think I have a cough! Cough, cough! Check me! Press on my tiny pony body as hard as you can!”

“Cure my infertility! CURE IT! Please make me pregnant!”

“Marry me! Also try my biscuits, they have MORNING-GRAVY!”

Leonard McCoy, a highly successful and relatively highly regarded Starfleet doctor, attempted to haul himself across the room against the unbearable weight of the maids clinging to his body. They were soft and warm and smelled of various fruits and spices, and their presence was making him distinctly and horribly uncomfortable.

“Ladies, please, I’m trying to do serious work, and you’re--”

“Take a break for work!”

“Eat our various desserts!”

“Medicate us! Marry us all!”

“Don’t bother marrying us, put is in a pile! Then sit on us! SIT ON MY FACE!”

McCoy stared across the room at the two red-shirted technicians assembling the power connections to the medical hologram trashcan. Red-shirts were inherently nervous on any planet for some reason, but these two were just staring, unsure of how exactly to act.

“Are you two just going to stand there like a pair of taxidermy dolphins or are you going to DO SOMETHING?!”

They did not respond. They were clearly uncomfortable, but for some reason not one of the maids would get near either of them. McCoy was the only one that they seemed to cling to, growing increasingly aggressive the longer he stayed planetside.

Suddenly, a voice rang out. “Hey! HEY! Get off the hoomin! You’ll damage it!”

There was a sound of slapping, and the maids took flight, fluttering off like a plume of agitated moths. The only one in the pile that did not have soft, fluffy wings attempted to fly but ended up falling over—only to be violently accosted by Lyra, administering a relentless and severe beating upon her flank with a small flyswatter.

The mare squeaked, flopped, and then crawled away, hiding under the nearby table. Lyra, out of breath, signed, then yelled upward to where they had fled. “You’re being VERY unprofessional! Do it while he’s sleeping like a PROPER pony!” She grunted. “So uncouth...”

“Damn these ponies,” growled McCoy. “These mares and their asinine behavior are going to drive me to drink.”

Lyra frowned. “Mares? Are you blind? Those were geldings.”

“Don’t tell me things I don’t want to know! I’m trying to do work here, I can’t get distracted by implications!” He stomped over to the technicians. “Is it actually ready?”

One of them gestured to the machine, and to the power pack it was attached to. “We built a power converter based on a schematic the angry pony with the eyebrows drew while she was drinking coffee.”

“A lot of coffee,” said the other technician. “I think she likes it.”

“Great. Now she’s going to drink us out of all the good beans. I'm not drinking out of the replicator again, I'm just not.” McCoy sighed. “So, what’s the chance of this thing exploding?”

“We have no idea how it actually works. We just assembled it and brought it here.”

McCoy stared at him. “That’s not an answer to the question, ensign."

The ensigns looked at each other, and then shrugged.

McCoy sighed. “Fine, then. If you’re done, you can go back. Let Uhura know I’ll be back as soon as I can this goddamn sugar-scented madhouse of a planet. If these mares don’t smother me to death first.”

“Geldings,” corrected Lyra.

“Well then let’s pray I get out of here before the stallions figure out I’m here.”

“They know already. Just you wait.”

The ensigns both took a step back. One of them opened his communicator and spoke quickly into it.

“Red-shirts to Enterprise, two to beam up.”

Their bodies flashed with light and made a strange whirring sound as they slowly became more translucent before vanishing entirely. McCoy watched with the utmost jealousy before stepping up to his most hated enemy, picking up a data-pad and plugging the cord into the side of the device.

Lyra took several steps closer, sheathing her flyswatter and looking at the hologram system, intrigued. “What are you doing?”

“Programming it,” he said. “With everything I have about pony anatomy and physiology. Uhura already had it updated with a cultural profile for...ugh, ‘bedside manner’, not that it has any, it’s a damn machine. Supposedly these things have learning algorithms, which is creepy as hell.”

“You don’t like machines?”

“No, I love them,” said McCoy, sarcastically. “But as much as a ship’s computer can do, it can’t be a proper doctor. It needs a human touch.”

“I need a human touch. Right on the butt.”

McCoy ignored her. He was to incensed by the idea of holographic doctors. “Thinking machines. I don’t like the idea. I never have, I never will. The idea should be illegal. Because first it’s a doctor. Then it’s an engineer. Then it’s an ‘emergency command hologram’, and that’s one step away from ‘purge the filthy organics’ and a damn robot war.”

“Wait, that’s a thing?”

“No. Because nobody’s been stupid enough to try to make a robot smarter than them. Yet.” He paused. "Except that one time..."

“Well, while it’s doing that, do you want some breakfast?”

“I just got enough cake shoved in my face to feed an army and then bury them from their own diabetes. It that all you ponies eat? Sweets?”

“No, just Celestia. I have THIS.”

She levitated a banana into McCoy’s face. McCoy stared at it, then grabbed it.

“Finally, something at least a little bit healthy. I’ve never been a fan of sweets. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good dentist in Starfleet? Damn butchers, all of them.” He turned it over. It looked like an ordinary banana, although he was slightly weary of the possibility that it was some manner of small stealth cake shaped like a fruit. “Huh. Now that I think about it, it’s surprisingly hard to get a good banana in Starfleet. They only really grow on Earth. And that one planet where they come up radioactive.”

He reached to open the banana, and saw Lyra staring at him, her eyes wide and a perverse smile on her face—and slight drool running down her mouth.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she whispered to herself. “Use those hands and peel it...sloooowwwwly...then peel this suit off me...”

McCoy frowned, then threw the banana in her face. She caught it easily.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that this whole planet is populated by—by PERVERTS! Small horsey perverts!”

“Okay, rude. One, I’m not a pervert, I’m a scientist. If it’s for science it’s inherently moral, right? I’m just doing it for science! You can’t stop my progress, no matter how many times you laugh at me and deride my theories and keep rejecting them because ‘peer review’ says that the existence of hoomins is impossible or leave a five-year marriage because I'm 'mentallyl unhinged' and 'not the same pony you fell in love with'—and also ‘horse’ is a really bad word!”

“Well they you can go horse yourself right in the horse!”

Lyra gasped. “How dare you! I’m scientist, you can’t just go seducing me like that--”

“Damn it you little teal horse I will squeeze out your juices, Hippocratic Oath be damned--”

“Could you keep it down?” Rainbow Dash groaned, sliding out from under the nearest table and and stumbling slightly. She was rubbing her head and her armor was slightly askew, and she wobbled slightly as she walked.

McCoy sighed and grabbed his medical tricorder. He bent down and scanned her.

“I’m fine,” she groaned.

“Yes, you are, but you’re dehydrated, sleep deprived, and your blood sugar is high enough to bring down an ox.”

“I’m not a doctor. Your words don't make any sense. And stop yelling, my head is killing me. I think my brain is trying to escape. Is that a real disease?”

“Of course it’s a real disease, but unless you’ve been bitten by a Varnakish bloodmoth then my diagnosis is ‘severely hung over’.” He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a hypospray. Rainbow Dash jumped back.

“NO!” she said, nearly toppling over. “I hate needles!”

“It’s a hypospray, the needle is tiny, you won’t even feel it--”

“Yes I will! Hold on, I need some cider first, then I can--”

There was a hiss as the hypospray sprayed into her neck. Rainbow Dash blinked, then moved her head. “Hey...I feel a little better.”

“Your welcome. Now I strongly recommend you reduce your consumption of cider. And sweets.”

“But I need carbs for strength!”

“Not in the form of raw sugar and alcohol! What you need is protein. And while you’re at it, try some fiber.”

“Are you seriously telling me to go eat grass?”

“That’s super racist,” added Lyra.

“Racist against who?" Snapped Rainbow Dash. "We’re ponies, we all eat grass at some point. It's just super gross.”

“I don’t eat grass. I just eat the clovers.”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened. “Wait, that was YOU?!”

“Can I get back to work?” McCoy picked up his datapad and slowly typed in the numbers he needed. The machine sparked and projected the hologram, causing Lyra and Rainbow Dash to jump back in fright—and a maid hidden behind a chair to cry out and fly away, bumping a window in the process before flying out a correct one.

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

“There isn’t one. You’re being reassigned.”

The hologram looked perturbed. “I am a prototype unit issued specifically to the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701--”

“Not anymore. These ponies need you here. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to a diplomat.”

“I’m a doctor, not a diplomat--”

“And what did I say about holographic sass?”

“You said you would eject me from an airlock. Considering that we are not currently located on a starship, I have assumed that there are no nearby airlocks. My safety therefore assured. That, and since I am not alive, I am consequently immortal.”

Rainbow Dash approached suddenly, extending her wing. “Can you fix this?”

The hologram stared at it. “That is not a medical emergency.”

“And that’s not an answer.”

“Yes,” it said. “In that I have the theoretical knowledge necessary, as I am the aggregate of all medical knowledge currently known by Starfleet and the Federation as a whole. However I would require specific equipment--”

“We can work on that,” said McCoy. “I just need to find a way to reset you to look like a pony...”

“NO. Leave it,” said Lyra, who was breathing hard. “Leave it just like that...hey, mister, can you grab a mare’s horn and force her head back so far that her mane touches her tail?”

“Yes. Is that a pony medical procedure?”

“Yes. Definitely. Then you’re going to need to give a good belly rub. For...digestion. And science. Then you shall boop the snoot...and peel the banana...”

“Is that...a euphemism?”

“That depends. Do you want it to be?”

The hologram stared at her, and then vanished, its program having been shut down from within.

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. He needed coffee and proper sleep. Sleep on a ship was bad, but sleep on a planet when soft, warm ponies kept sneaking into his bed was nearly impossible.

“Well, that will have to do,” he said. Defeated, he walked to a table, pulled out a ridiculous small-horse-sized chair, and sat down. Rainbow Dash sat across form him, flopping down on the table.

McCoy glared at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I walk around the castle and pretend I work here in between physical therapy appointments that don’t do diddly squat.”

“Rainbow Dash!” gasped Lyra. “Watch your language in front of the hoomin!”

“Why are you even here, again?”

“For SCIENCE!” Lyra cleared her throat. “Also, do you want this banana?”

“I can’t eat your stupid unicorn fruits. You can shove it in your nose.”

“That’s not where I normally shove the banana.” Lyra peeled it and sucked it down in a single bite. She crumpled up the peel and incinerated it in a plume of orange plasma, leaving nothing but blackened ash that she swept under a rug.

“Do you have coffee?” asked McCoy.

“We have tea, I think. Hey, you!” Rainbow Dash yelled into the rafters, where the reflective eyes of a maid stared back at her. “Can you get the doctor guy some t--”

A saucer dropped from the ceiling and clattered to the table, followed by a perfectly aimed cup with tea already in it and steaming. McCoy stared at it, slightly horrified but more impressed so long as he did not question where, exactly, the tea had come from.

“That’s fine,” he said, picking it up. He took a sip and found it surprisingly good. It was not Earth-tea, by far, but it was substantially better than replicator-tea. Which was really just brown water. On a good day. It was a different color on bad days.

He paused. At least it was nice to get a break.

“There’s something I was wondering,” he said, directing the question at Lyra, who was staring at him with an intensity that suggested she was attempting to analyze the fine anatomy of a hoomin by imagining his clothing being peeled away. “How is it that you knew about humans? Before us, I mean? It’s an awful suspicious thing.”

Rainbow Dash groaned loudly and slammed her head on the table. “Oh please Celestia no, why did you ask her that?”

Lyra, though, seemed overjoyed. To an extreme and disturbing degree. To a degree where McCoy immediately regretted asking, and then a few seconds later began to become afraid.

“I have theories! THEORIES! And ancient, arcane knowledge, legends, myths, mysteries, grainy photographs, numerology, prophecy—and transparencies! I HAVE TRANSPARENCIES!”

Lyra produced a breifecase overstuffed with papers. From where, McCoy did not ask. She immediately opened it, causing a plume of various papers and crudely-drawn anatomical drawings. From the case, the produced an object. It was a small system of mirrors and an large lens, with two straps dangling down from the sides. Lyra placed it on her head and tied the strap.

Rainbow Dash appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Please Celestia no not the hat...”

“I’ve spent almost two hundred years researching hoomins. I have my doctoral dissertation in it. That I awarded myself. Because no institution recognizes hoominology as a legitimate branch of scientific study, or hoominmancy as a legitimate form of magic. But I digress. Behold my knowledge about your sexy, sexy bipedial form!”

She ignited her horn and the curtains on each of the nearby windows were untied, swinging closed. Then she pointed her head toward an open wall and lit her horn with bright, nearly white light, causing her projector-hat to display a circle of light on the surface. She then riffled through her papers and produced reel of slides. The inserted it on her hat and it displayed an image on the wall. A crude and slightly stylized form of something ancient and decayed, with strange colors that appeared to have been added after the photograph was taken.

It displayed, roughly, unicorns. But they did not look like the unicorns that McCoy had seen. They were tall and thin to the point of being disturbingly gaunt. They stood at the center of the image, some standing proudly and others with their horns leveled in defense against the dark-shaded hordes approaching them from all sides. Hordes of strange, abstract creatures that were only barely recognizable. Many were bipedal. Some with spears and staffs with pointed ears, others with absurdly heavy armor and strange symbols carved into their foreheads, and one consisting of little more than a red stone with a half-formed projection of a pale woman around it.

“Before Equestria, before the far-sun collapsed, before any of this and maybe even before the universe itself, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there were unicorns. Our ancestors.”

“Your ancestors,” snapped Rainbow Dash.

Lyra ignored her. “And the unicorns had a power. That we don’t anymore. They could open the Great Gate. They didn’t need rockets, or FTL drives, or crystals or even magic as we understand it. They just were, and they were limitless. They pranced across realms beyond time and space—and when there were monsters, there were unicorns to drive them back.” She paused. “And in some of these realms, there were humans. Of different kinds. Some friendly. Some not.” She pointed to something standing at the edge of the diagram, all alone. A shambling biped of strange texture, as if of machinery and deformed flesh. “And some of them were worse than the monsters.”

She clicked to the next slide, a composite image of several artifacts depicting the figures with the pointed ears. “But the worst were the elves. The High Elves fought a great war that raged for millennia trying to steal the power of the Gate. They went extinct. I think.”

“And you won?”

“No.” Lyra sighed. “The unicorns lost.”

Clicked again. In this image, the abstract representation of a human stood in the center, a plume of white hair behind her head and a sword held aloft. The unicorns around her were thrown back as if by force, but some were strange. Most were tall and thin, like the others—but some were different. They were smaller and shorter, their bodies pale violet and each of their dark purple manes bearing an identical stripe light stripe. They wore strange armor—as did the pony who stood at the feet of the human warrior. Or at least McCoy thought she was meant to be a pony. She had no horn, and no face. Only a black plate with a single white eye drawn the in the center.

“The Biggus-Hoomin,” said Lyra, in awe. “The last weapon of the elves, aided by the Xyuka-Wyrm. Her power opened the Gate and cast the unicorns through it, sending the ancient unicorns across all possible realms. Injured, lost, and alone, they lost their power. Or forgot it. And we lost the Gate.”

She changed the transparency one last time. It was a diagram, technical and drawn in scrawling telekinetic cursive. “I think that the sun and moon, or what we call them, were built by them. The ancient unicorns. To replicate something that the humans once knew, but we don’t know now. It was all lost. I’m the only one that still believes—no, the only one who KNOWS what happened. Where ponies came from. And the fact that you exist confirms my theory. That it was the HOOMINS the whole time!”

She concluded the presentation, but the slide accidentally clicked forward again. This time, instead of a scientific photograph, it showed Lyra herself, sitting awkwardly on a bench beside a white mare. Lyra's eyes widened, and she looked like she was about to cry.

"Woops," she laughed. "That shouldn't be in here--"

It clicked again. This time to show the white mare, nude except for her socks, sitting on a bed. Lyra cried out.

"No, not that, don't look!"

It clicked again, and this image McCoy only saw for the briefest time. It was a room, the walls covered in notes and inscriptions in strange alien text, with diagrams and pictures drawn in pencil and pen and charcoal. Some were tagged together with red thread and pins, and McCoy assumed it to be Lyra's office--a true mess, save for one item. On the center of her desk, in a special holder, something that looked like a disturbing rune-inscribed metal gauntlet.

Lyra tore off her hat, and McCoy felt sick for an unknown reason. Lyra was crying, but still giggled.

She whispered. "I never meant to..." This was followed by another giggle. "He told me...told me she would come back..."

McCoy shivered. “And this...Gate?”

Lyra took a breath and shuddered, then immediately went back to her normal silly self.

“Not even Celestia can open the Gate to other realms. No one can.”

“Because it doesn’t exist,” sighed Rainbow Dash.

Lyra grimaced. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? Don’t you fall asleep through every important lesson about the critical history that you listen to?”

“I am asleep. I’m just really, really good at sleeping.”

Lyra stuffed her hat and her transparencies into her briefcase. “That’s because you have a tiny brain and can’t understand what I’m saying.”

“Is that supposed to be racist, or are you making fun of the brain damage I got from my coma? You know, when I made sure Baltimare didn’t get turned into rice pudding?”

“Oh sure, pulling the ‘Hero of Equestria’ card! What’s next, you’ll laugh at me too? You’ll laugh and call me crazy, like they all did? Like SHE did?! LIKE THEY ALL DID?!”

McCoy stood up. “Now look here, you’re getting yourself overexcited! It’s not good for your blood pressure and, more importantly, it’s not good for mine!”

“I actually found it a rather fascinating discussion of equine mythology and origin theory.”

The sudden presence of Spock, now sitting comfortably at the table, caused McCoy to cry out, grasping his chest.

“My fibrillation! My atria! Spock, you son of a—maternal-rectal tribble-stuffing—pointy eared, green-blooded—MY HEART! Don’t sneak up on me like that, are you trying to do me in?!”

Spock stared at him impassively. “Doctor, I have been sitting here for most of her presentation. I did not ‘sneak’, nor do I in general. I am simply not especially loud or clumsy in my motions, and I cannot be held responsible for your own inferior observation abilities.”

McCoy was about to yell something, but sat down. He was not only getting too old for this, but had gotten to old for it many years previously. He was, after all, a doctor. Speaking to horses was not his forte. Speaking to Spock even less so.

Lyra seemed equally surprised by Spock’s presence—or rather, what he had said. “You...liked it?”

“Your overall conclusions are not unreasonable. It is presently understood that warp-capable civilization has existed in the galaxy for at least tens of thousands of years, if not tens of millions. We as Vulcans recognize that ancient races did, in fact, interact with our ancestors. It is possible that similar species may have interacted with yours.” He paused. “And the idea of a race of colonists that could cross the cosmos without the need for any formal technology is...absolutely fascinating. It offers a unique perspective. Of a civilization that achieves by natural evolution what ours has collectively achieved through technological development.”

Lyra, taken aback by his acceptance of her theory—the absurd theory that humans existed, that had earned her endless ridicule—and did not entirely know what to say.

“Although,” continued Spock, “I am mildly disturbed by the idea that humans, in particular, may have interacted with this planet within the timescale that you are suggesting.”

“Mildly disturbed?” McCoy had largely overcome his fibrillation and was once again angry. “Spock, it’s a much bigger issue than just ‘mildly disturbing’.”

Lyra was confused by this. “I...don’t understand.”

“Our foremost law, the Prime Directive, forbids any member of the Federation, including humans, from interacting with a planet on which the population has not yet developed warp-speed technology. Human interaction prior to that point would be the pinnacle of illegality. Within the constraints of the current laws, of course.”

Lyra opened her mouth, as if to say something, but she closed her mouth. Thinking about what, exactly, that meant—and why it was surely necessary.

Rainbow Dash stood up. “This is all science stuff, and I’m not exactly an egghead. If I sit to long the metal in my spine starts to seize. I’m going to to jump off things and see if I can fly.”

“Don’t jump too high,” warned Lyra. “Because, you know, you can’t.”

Rainbow Dash grimaced. “Thanks. Because I didn’t already know that.”

Rainbow Dash approached the door, but jumped back with surprising grace and reflex when it was opened from the other side. McCoy stood up as well—although Spock had claimed he was not observant, McCoy knew what human footsteps sounded like, and knew that there was only one other human on the whole damn pony planet.

Kirk stepped through the door, and McCoy stopped, feeling something strange and ominous as Celestia entered the room, smiling and attempting to quiet her giggling as she walked quietly in. It was not a fear for his safety, but rather a strange and horrible perception of a fact that McCoy surely knew but would under no circumstances allow his mind to face directly. Because there way he could possibly believe it.

The princess, though, was dressed in clothing anything but royal. Rather, she wore a sort of white, draping blouse that was extremely low cut. Which did not matter much considering the fact that she was a large-ish horse and therefore lacked breasts, but still disturbing nonetheless.

Worse than that, she was apparently not wearing trousers. Which was apparently standard fashion for ponies, nor did she normally wear them. This did, however, expose her rump—where the solar mark she bore was superimposed with a hand-shaped red mark.

Celestia giggled. “Oh, Jim! Not here! You’d think you’d be tired--”

“You’d think I would, wouldn’t you?” He reached up her neck and scratched just behind her ear. Celestia’s eyes widened.

“Oh no! Not the spot!” her neck flexed, and her rear leg on that side began to lift and start kicking. “Oh no! My leg! And in front of my own subjects, too!”

Lyra looked on with an expression of complete, utter, and unbridled envy, while Rainbow Dash stared jaw-agape, her organic wing suddenly foofing upward with all the feathers extended completely. The mechanical wing hitched and jolted, slowly rising to the same position as well.

Kirk laughed and Celestia leaned against him, nearly shoving him over with her body, her mass being substantially greater than his. “I need to get changed,” she said. “I need to join the others in the debate, and I’ll be busy for a few days. Feel free to explore Canterlot with your friends, or anywhere else for that matter. Rainbow Dash will be assigned as your personal escort.”

“Wait, I will?”

Kirk smiled. “So you’ll argue for Equestria joining the Federation, then?”

Celestia giggled and leaned in close. “I’ll argue as long and hard as it takes until it’s finished. You know that.” Then she giggled softly and stepped back. “And while you’re out there? Try to find a bakery you like. I intend to take you on a very excellent date before you leave.”

“Of course. I’d be honored, Princess.”

Celestia similed and turned to leave. Before she left, though, she turned to McCoy.

“Doctor,” she said. “After confirming with your captain, I believe my sister would be very interested in having a...private discussion. With you. I suggest you find her when our boring political talk is over.”

McCoy shuddered as she left. His intrinsic horror turned to a kind of extrinsic horror coupled with anger as he faced down Kirk, who still had a stupid smile on his face.

“Jim. Tell me you didn’t.”

Kirk continued to smile. “Bones, you need to understand--”

“No. No, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t...you...you did, didn’t you?”

Kirk shrugged. “Well...”

“Jim. She’s a HORSE. You can’t—you—I mean, I know you have a certain tendency but this—this time you went too far!”

“She’s not a horse. She’s a pony.”

“THERE IS NOT A DIFFERENCE YOU IOWAN SON OF A--”

“Hey, hey! Let's not bring Iowa into this! She’s a consenting adult. And that’s what really matters.”

“Consent WITH A HORSE!!”

“With an alien princess, Bones. So, yes, but not like that!”

McCoy felt as though he were about to vomit. He grasped the edge of the table to steady himself.

“Bones, you don’t look so good.”

McCoy shoved him away. “I can’t even look at you right now, Jim. I don’t care if she’s an alien horse, or a talking horse, or any kind of horse, you—you did...horse.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, I did learn that they taste like they smell. In her case like vanilla.”

“I knew it,” whispered Rainbow Dash.

Feeling even sicker, McCoy straightened up. “Permission to beam back to my sickbay, Captain. I...I can’t take this planet anymore. Clearly I’m not cut out for it.”

“You don’t like the idea of spreading love throughout the galaxy?”

“Not the way you do it, you perverted son of a—ahem...I have to leave. Before I say something I regret.”

“Permission granted. Be sure to check up on whatever the pony on the ship might need.”

“I know. She’s still recovering. But I don’t think I’m going to be able to look at any pony the same way. Thanks a lot, Jim.” McCoy produced his communicator, it beeping as he opened it. “McCoy here. One to beam up.”

“Aye, sir.”

The transporter lit and his body faded and dissipated in the glow.

Kirk sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Spock.”

“I am not looking at you, Captain. Do recall that I am excessively familiar with Vulcan-human relationships, and as such suspected the possibility of far less exotic pairings including but not limited to man and pony.”

“Vulcan and human is more exotic to you than man-on-pony?”

“Of course, Captain. I had expected this would be obvious.”

Rainbow Dash blinked, then looked to Lyra. “I guess eating a lot of cake makes you really thirsty?”

Lyra tilted her head. “I don’t think it’s that. I think she just has an urge to go where no mare has gone before. And her thing for xenospecies. I mean, she has...weird tastes.” She stared at Kirk with unbridled intensity. “However in this case I understand and would like to submit a formal request to be immediately fuc--”

“What if she gets pregnant?”

“That never happens,” said Kirk. “Male birth control and all.”

“And the fact that alicorns are basically necrotic on the inside.” Lyra shrugged. “It’s part of the apotheosis process. They’re sterile. It keeps them from breeding usurpers.”

“Then where do they get new ones?”

“They don’t. I mean, there’s supposedly a chance that Cadence is slightly fertile, being fresher than the others, but considering the only compatible stallion has been completely and utterly sucked dry by the changeling queen, there’s no chance of her ever giving birth. So only the three. Forever, and for always.”

“Unless I grow a horn,” suggested Rainbow Dash. She laughed, but then her smile faded. “And...and a new wing.”

Kirk sat down at the table.

“And the diplomatic situation?” suggested Spock.

“I think I made my point.”

“Yes. I am aware of that. However, whatever you did or did not point does not necessarily bear a significant effect on our present situation.”

“They’re considering it. Celestia approves of moving forward with the application. But there’s three others. Luna, their niece, and her ex-fiance.”

“I see that politics on this world are inexorable from the personal relationships of the higher nobility. Not unlike your own world.”

“Not unlike our own world was a thousand years ago. We moved beyond that. I wouldn’t be here if we were still lords and ladies fighting over who has the best castle.”

“That’s harsh,” said Lyra.

“Really? What was the last war you had?”

“The Nightmare War. When Luna as Nightmare-Moon fought her sister Celestia over taking sole princesship over the...oh...”

“We also had a changeling war,” said Rainbow Dash. “Sort of. But then they married off some shmuck from House Twilight and...oh...”

That caused Kirk to suddenly recall something. A question, and a certain line of reasoning.

“House Twilight. I’ve heard that name before.”

Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Ask Lyra. Unicorn bloodlines are...complicated. And tend to cross back on themselves a lot--”

“We do not do that,” snapped Lyra, “anymore.” She turned to Kirk. “House Twilight is of the more powerful noble families. Shining Armor is their scion. Sort of. Technically it’s supposed to be Twilight Sparkle, but she's not white. She has the purple.”

“That's the pony in charge of building the warp cores.”

“Sure, I guess. She’s Celestia’s personal student. I knew her at the Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, our university. She’s brilliant, probably beyond any pony in existence short of Celestia, but...well, she’s a Twilight.”

“And what does that mean?”

Lyra paused. “House Twilight is...known for its magical power.”

“Meaning?”

She sighed. “Necromancers. Dark lords. Mad wizards building towers and plotting devious plots.”

Rainbow Dash snickered and Lyra glared at her.

“And Twilight?”

“I don’t know. Nopony does. She never really had any friends except Moondancer.”

“The pony on my ship. The pilot.” Kirk’s brow furrowed.

“Captain?”

“I don’t like this, Spock. Something isn’t right. It just isn’t right...”

His communicator beeped, and he opened it.

“Kirk here.”

“Captain.”

M’Ress’s voice came through the speaker, and Kirk stood up suddenly. “Lieutenant. I was just about to call you. I was starting to get concerned.”

“Do you doubt my competence, Captain?”

Kirk smiled. “No. That’s why I waited. What did you find?”

“A problem. But potentially a fruitful one.”

“I...don’t like the sound of that.”

“No. Nor will you like the present situation. However, something significant is afoot. You need to come here. To Ponyville.”

“Ponyville? What kind of a name for a pony town is Ponyville--”

“I am not the one who named it nor did I waste time considering its title. I am afraid the situation may be urgent but the information is...complex. It needs to be relayed in person.”

Kirk frowned. “Of course. I’ll contact the Enterprise for a transport right--”

“No,” said a second voice. A high voice that surely belonged to a pony, but had an inexplicable Midadlantic accent.

“M’Ress, who is that?”

“You can’t use the transporter now. They’ll be watching and I don’t know if they have the ability to intercept the patterns from a site-to-site.”

“Who are you and why are you on the line? And why do you have a Midadlantic--”

“I am here because your operative disrupted three months of hard work and planning a way to infiltrate District 51. And as much as it pains me to say, I think the situation has grown beyond my abilities as a pony.”

“So you’re asking for help.”

“Ahem. Take the train. It runs directly to the town. If anypony asks, you were given a direct invitation by Rarity because I am simply overcome with irresistible inspiration and wish to design the very finest of couture for the aliens. So that you might attend formal functions in something other than those absolutely hideous green-and-gold monstrosities you Starfleet fools so enjoy.”

“How do you--”

“Just get here. As soon as you can. I will tell you everything once you are here.”

Kirk paused. “M’Ress?”

“She can be trusted. Our goals seem to align.”

“Seem.” Kirk sighed. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” He carefully closed his communicator, and sat back down.

“It would have been prudent,” suggested Spock, “to ask where Ponyville actually is.”

“I know where Ponyville is,” said Lyra. “My wife used to live there before she--never mind, not relevant. I know where it is.”

Kirk and Spock looked at each other.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You can’t exactly stop me.”

“Well...no...I mean, I suppose I could stun you with a phaser...”

“I would prefer to be choked into unconsciousness, if possible. Ideally while you also pull my tail.”

“Choking concerns an internal blockage of the windpipe,” noted Spock, “what you are referring to is strangulation, assuming that you do not mean for the Captain to put his hand down your throat.”

Lyra appeared to have visible started sweating. “That would be...also acceptable...”

“No.”

Lyra seemed to deflate. Kirk stood up, gesturing for Spock to follow. Rainbow Dash joined them as well, and Kirk stopped.

“You definitely can’t go.”

“Nope. I definitely can’t not go. The Princess assigned me, remember?”

“We can stun you if we have to.”

“How quick on the draw do you think you are, slick? I can’t fly, but I’m still faster than you on the ground.”

“I doubt that.”

“Do you want to try me?”

“Not really. But I will, if I have to.”

Rainbow Dash shrugged. “So I guess you don’t want a military escort?”

“Considering what we might be doing may end up being treason, no, we don’t.”

“I literally do not know what that word means.”

“What, ‘treason’? Aren’t you in the military, though?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash seemed annoyed. “First as a test pilot and now as a professional parade-float rider. I was an astronaut before you had even cracked open your weird alien egg and gotten born.”

“I’m substantially older than you, and we don’t come from eggs.”

“Then before I hatched out of my egg, I don’t know. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“I’m loyal to Equestria. Forever, no matter how many wings I lose. And if something’s going on that’s bad, then I’m going to put a stop to it. At least then I could finally do something instead of just standing around and having ponies compliment me for the biggest failure of my life.”

“That is not logical,” sighed Spock.

“Yeah. That, and we don’t actually have phasers to phase you. And I’m not about to choke you. Or strangle you. So...”

“So it’s settled.”

Kirk nodded. He now at least knew the next place he needed to be—and knew that it was called Ponyville.

Chapter 21: Ponyville

With sleep, there were strange dreams. They were different from dreams in space in the same way dreams in space were different from dreams on Earth—in subtle ways, the way the world became vivid and strange instead of quiet and empty or fearful and distressing. Except here, there was a sense of external influence. Of something attempting to reach within them, or an external source to them. In every dream, although he could not remember the contents, Kirk saw the moon in the sky, always watching but always so very distant.

Then, as if on cue, he awoke just as the train was pulling into the station. He sat up suddenly, just in time to watch Rainbow Dash—who was also sleeping—continue to sleep as her inertia carried her off her seat, onto the floor, and under the next one.

Spock, seated across from him and looking absolutely absurd in a miniature, pony-sized seat, had apparently been staring at him.

“I am surprised, Captain, that you are able to sleep under these conditions.”

“Well to be honest I haven’t gotten much sleep lately.”

“Yes, I had assumed so. And neither has this planet’s goddess and autocratic ruler, who is at present attempting to convince her civilization to engage in a critical diplomatic engagement. Due to your actions which are admittedly contrary to all reasonable procedures for diplomatic content.”

“Spock, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were mad at me.”

“I am a Vulcan, Captain. We are utterly incapable of anger. Only careful, logical analysis.”

“Wake up,” said Lyra, passing by and slapping Rainbow Dash on the rump. “We’re here. Now I’m finally going to prove to to all these yokels that hoomins are unequivocally REAL...teehee.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Little bit of evil laughter sneaked out there.”

“We are here because we are on a critical investigative mission.”

“Sure why not. Investigating the most trusted company in all of Equestria that Celestia herself funds. That seems reasonable.”

Rainbow Dash groaned and sat up, hitting her head on the underestimate of the seat and groaning. “Who put me under here? What do I look like, a personal item? I’m an officer in the Space Force for Celestia’s sake.” She sat up, flexing her wing and then nearly crying out as she tried to flex the other one, which barely responded. “Ow,” she said. Then she looked disappointing. “Dang, did I miss the candystriper?”

“Candystripers are in hospitals. It’s just concessions here.”

“Well that doesn’t exactly answer the question, now does it?”

Rainbow Dash continued to grumble as she joined the other ponies exiting the train. Kirk and Spock also stood up, having to duck to fit through the small space.

“You know, Spock, I’ve never actually rode a train before. They were extremely common on Earth for four hundred years. Trains just like this. Steam engines, rails, passenger cars...”

“A pity you slept through it, then.”

“Come on, Spock, you can’t tell me you don’t like trains. Everyone likes trains.”

“On Vulcan, there is no equivalent means of transportation. The noise is far to disruptive. The smallness is also inefficient.”

“The ones on Earth were human-sized. Except the ones that weren’t. Those ones were smaller.”

“That statement provides great clarity on the nature of these vehicles, Captain.”

Kirk had at least a partial intention of enjoying the pony world while he had the chance. To travel their world and gain new experiences and insights about both their world as a whole and their culture. Still, he found he could not enjoy it completely. Although the Princess had given him direct permission to explore as he saw fit, he felt as though he was betraying her trust. Of course, he was also aware that he might be uncovering something critical that she was not aware of—or, conversely, uncovering something that she already knew all-too-well and wanted to keep hidden.

In effect, he rather liked her as a person. But he most certainly did not trust her. Not completely.

He found himself exiting the train onto a quaint train platform, a neat and clean example of one that looked as though it had been plucked out directly out of Earth’s nineteenth century and shrunk to about half-scale. Not in the sense he was familiar with from the films of his youth, though; the architecture was most certainly not reminiscent of the American West. Rather, with its thatched roof and halftimbring, it looked vaguely Germanic, as if he had gotten off the train into an isolated mountain village in Austria.

“So this is where you’re from?”

“Me?” Lyra looked up at him. “No, I was born in Canterlot when this place was still part of the Everfree.”

“And I’ve never been here in my life,” added Rainbow Dash, trying to stretch. “Because why the heck would I come to Ponyville?” She paused. “Although...I think Flutters lives around here somewhere, maybe? I haven’t talked to her since I joined the Program, though. I think she dropped out of flight school. Probably literally. She probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“This town appears quaint and peaceful,” noted Spock. “And I do appreciate this change of pace from our normal away-missions, Captain. Considering they mostly end up on empty, barren planets with various monsters, or with us being captured, and always with an exchange of phaser-fire.”

“We don’t have time for peacefulness,” sighed Kirk. “Lyra, we need to find a pony named Rarity. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course I know who Rarity is. Everypony knows who Rarity is.”

“Why?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m an alien, remember? So I’m not exactly familiar with pony culture.”

“One, you’re not an alien, you’re a hoomin, there’s a difference. Two, obviously. Three, remember to grab it as hard as you can and shake it a little.”

“What?”

“She’s a famous fashion designer,” said Rainbow Dash, looking out over the crowd and at the small town in the distance, connected to the station by a neat dirt road. “Very famous. Very rich. Very prissy. Voted ‘Best Pony’ three years in a row in Pony Magazine. Which is real impressive considering she just makes dresses.”

“Just dresses? Sweet Celestia you’re a tomcolt, if you put me in a Rarity Original I’d have every mare in this town crawling up my dress to nuzzle my chest floof!”

Kirk frowned. “You have floof?”

“Why? Want to touch it? I bet its softer than the Princess’s.”

“Probably. She has no body fur at all. Totally smooth. She’s like a giant hairless cat.”

Everyone present shuddered, except Spock; his equivalent response was to look at Kirk, dissapointed.

“Not a vision I needed to have.” Rainbow Dash started trotting toward the city. “Come on, Lyra. You’re the only one who knows where we’re going.”

“Then why are you going first?”

“Because you’re being slow and I’m so boooored...”

Kirk and Spock looked at each other, and followed. Lyra, the only one who knew the way, trailed behind them.

The town was in all aspects idyllic. To a degree as to be strangely disturbing, at least to a human. The colors were vibrant, with various shades of pastels everywhere, and the buildings had ornate and still vaguely Germanic architecture at every turn. The grass was brilliant green, and flowers bloomed everywhere. In the far distance were mountains and stunning cliffs, one of which contained the city of Canterlot, overlooking Celestia’s domain. The town was filled with cheerful colorful ponies going about their day, each of them a bright and pleasant color with a pleasant scent that meshed perfectly with the overall piney-fresh scent of the village.

The ponies did not even react negatively to the presence of hideous aliens in their midst. Although they obviously were slightly wary, they still maintained their cheerful smiles in the name of harmonious tolerance of all species.

It was also apparent that Lyra had very little idea of where, exactly, she was going. Or, rather, she was apparently trying to take the most circuitous route, standing in front of them with her head held proud that her insane theories of hoomin-astronauts had finally been validated. Ostensibly. Her absurd theories about parallel universes and the Great Gate were of course still nebulous and surely false, but this did not seem to concern her especially much.

In fact, it was Kirk who eventually discerned where they needed to go, mainly because M’Ress, being a Caitian, was taller than most ponies and consequently quite visible. Not taller than Celestia, of course; Celestia and Luna were fall taller than the other ponies. Kirk actually wondered if that was how they chose their leaders, by height.

Kirk broke off from the group and approached her, pausing when he drew closer, largely out of surprise.

“Lieutenant,” he said.

“Captain,” she said, looking up.

“What...are you wearing?”

M’Ress looked down at herself. She was wearing a pleasantly colored sundress and a hat. “A dress, apparently. It is well-ventilated and makes me feel pretty.”

“Why?”

“Because I stress-dress when I’m stressed,” snapped a unicorn standing beside her, who was passing a large golden coin to a smiling pony in exchange for a bouquet of flowers.

She was, in fact, a white unicorn, wearing a coat and glasses, her head covered with a kerchief. Apparently a disguise. Or what would have been a disguise had the entire population of the town having been in the nude, with her the only one wearing any substantial amount of clothing short of Rainbow Dash in her armor.

“I hope you’re happy. Making a mare wait is so very RUDE.”

“We can summon you your standard uniform,” suggested Spock, arriving silently from behind Kirk. “Federation requirements demand that all women are constantly dressed appropriately with approved-length miniskirts.”

“Miniskirts? What is this, the sixties? Or is this one of your perverse hybrid fantasies?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Hybrid. That’s what you are, isn’t it? I know who you are. Sarek’s middle-child.” She looked up at Kirk, dropping her glasses to reveal a pair of utterly massive blue eyes. “And you, I don’t know. Another Starfleet stooge, I’m sure, but at this point I’ll take whatever help I can get.” She paused, wincing for a moment. “But there’s no need to be rude,” she said, her Mid-Atlantic accent growing significantly stronger. She looked past Kirk and saw Lyra and Rainbow Dash approaching, and she groaned loudly.

“What?”

“You see, Starfleet, when I had suggested you come, it had been with the implication of ‘alone’. Perhaps I ought to have been more clear, although I had assumed a Captain in Starfleet would at least have some level of subtlety to his understanding.”

“That was an unwise assumption,” noted Spock.

“Is it necessarily a problem?” asked M’Ress.

Rarity sighed. “No. But it makes the situation much more difficult.”

“Wow,” said Lyra, approaching. “You’re Rarity. Really Rarity. I’m--”

“I know who you are, Lyra. You’ve lived here for ten years now. I went to school with your late wife, to the extent that a sixth-grade education can truly be called ‘schooling’.” She pointed at Rainbow Dash, who was approaching more slowly. “Her, though, I don’t know. Such color, and such a sour expression.”

“Well forgive me if I’ve never really be interested in frilly, fru-fru dresses.”

“Well yes, clearly, considering your apparent utter lack of appreciation for fashion. But you are a problem. Because I am mostly sure I can’t trust the Equestrian military.”

“Then don’t. But if there’s a danger to the kingdom, it’s my job to fix it. Or I could arrest you right here.”

“You don’t have the authority.”

“Try me.”

Rarity’s horn lit, and the plasmatic glow surrounded Rainbow Dash’s artificial wing, torquing it just slightly. Rainbow Dash cried out in pain, dropping to the ground.

“Hey! Stop that!”

M’Ress put her hand on the back of Rarity’s head. “We do not have time for this.”

“No,” said Rarity. “We do not.” She pushed past them. “You will want to follow me. I suggest the ponies stay but Shiboline is not wrong. I really don’t care about arguing with any of you. There is simply too much work to be done.”

Kirk looked at M’Ress.

“‘Shiboline’?”

“It is my first name, Captain.”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I know that. Just how close are you exactly to this pony?”

“I have substantial doubts that she is, in fact, a pony. But she made me a dress, and her shampoo has made my fur silky and smooth. I suggest you hear what she has to say.”

Rainbow Dash picked herself off the ground and brushed herself off despite the humiliation and lingering pain in her wing. Or, rather, in the connection between it and her spine where wires met nerves and bolts met bone. It had only been a slight twist. Not enough to damage it. Or, rather, herself. The wing itself was essentially indestructible.

She followed the others, hanging back, but as she did, she heard something coming out of a dark alley. Or an alley dark by Ponyville standards, which was actually quite well lit. Rainbow Dash sighed, fully prepared to boop a snoot. Traumatically.

Instead, she heard a high voice calling her name.

“Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash! Oh wow, it’s really you!”

“Huh?” Rainbow Dash found herself facing a small orangish filly who seemed roughly on the verge of violent, messy self-explosion from severe overexcitement. She was in fact bouncing. “Do I know you?”

“No, of course not, but I’m your number one fan! I’m president of the Ponyville chapter of your fan club, which I founded, and I’m also the treasurer, and the only member! I can’t—I don’t know how you are even—you smell so nice—what are you even doing in Ponyville?!”

“Official military business.” She gestured to the others. “The aliens wanted a tour. So I’m on foalsitting duty I guess.”

The tiny squeaky pony’s eyes widened in awe, and she seemed on the verge of collapse. “They have you watching the aliens? That’s SO COOL!”

“I...um...yeah. It is pretty cool. I’m pretty cool. I...guess.”

“Cool? COOL? You’re a dang hero, Rainbow Dash! The GREATEST HERO! And you’re...well, you’re my hero.” She held out a pad. “Can I have your autograph?”

Rainbow Dash, flattered, accepted, signing a tattered notebook. The Pegasus looked like she was about to faint.

“Do you have a name, kid?”

“Scootaloo. I’m Scootaloo.”

“Sure. Nice to know somepony cares, I guess.”

“Why wouldn’t anypony care?”

Rainbow Dash blinked. “Why would they?” She held out her wing. “I’m washed up. You know that.”

“No way, it’s really cool! I mean, it’s metal, but that’s fine, I mean—you inspired me so much! I even applied to join the earth-pony division of the airforce. They said I was too young, but I might be able to get into junior officer training--”

“Take my advice, kid, don’t bother. Just enjoy flying on your own wings. It’s something you can take for granted way to easily.”

“But I can’t fly.”

Rainbow Dash, who had been turning away, looked back suddenly, not sure if she had heard correctly. “What?”

Scootaloo fluttered her tiny, useless wings. “I can’t fly. I got sick when I was a foal and the joints never developed. The only way I’ll ever get in the air is in an airplane. But that doesn’t matter, because I’ll still be flying, just like you!”

Rainbow Dash was silent for a moment, not quite sure of the emotion she was feeling. “Yeah. Yeah, you do that, kid.” She forced herself to smile, and took the notebook back. She wrote something else on the bottom.

“What is that?”

“My contact in Canterlot. I’ll write you a recommendation when you’re old enough. It won’t be long. I don’t like writing. But hey, I’m a hero, right? My word must be worth something. I guess it's all I've got left.”

The tiny filly seemed dumbfounded, but before she could respond, Rainbow Dash turned away. In part to hide the tears. She had the oddest feeling that she had just passed a past version of her own self—or perhaps a mirror of what she should have been.

Rarity headed for the edge of town, to where the path left the boundaries of Ponyville and led into the swamps. It was one of several roads leading out of the town, but one of the least used ones. The largest of them led to District 51, built deep in the western reaches of the Everfree, and one led outward to the network of dirt paths that connected it to other towns and other places. This one, though, went nowhere, and it never had. Just into the southern swamps, eventually fading to a mixture of bubbling, soupy mud and small mossy hillocks, some of which were more lively than others. The only being that lived out that way was the greatly-feared zebra Zecora, and her house was far from where Rarity wanted to go.

The aliens followed readily. Only the Caitian seemed to be perceptive of the danger, but had at least the courage to pretend to ignore it. The Vulcan, if he had instincts, suppressed them, although it was apparent that the very concept of a wet and soggy forest was profoundly disagreeable to him. The two ponies of course understood, Lyra especially. She had lived in Ponyville long enough to understand what the Everfree meant, or at least to know what she had been told it meant. The other, the attractive one, was less concerned, but the exact reason was concerning. Rarity recognized the expression in her eyes. She had seen it on countless thousands of faces, and no matter the species or time period, it was always the same. It usually ended up turning to surprise right before death took them.

The human, though, was a mystery. Or perhaps the simplest of all of them. Humans were definitely simple. They were either arrogant or stupid or both. He did not fear the forest either because he had no idea what was in it, or, if he did, had the assumption that he could easily wrestle a full-grown rockadile bare-chested and lubricated. A thought which Rarity found especially titillation, but only until it was corrected. She had, in a sense, met enough humans to know that they were the most dangerous species of all, and that the ultimate proof of Vulcan foolishness had been to ever allow them off their irradiated and decaying planet.

She also had a sense that the human was staring at her rump. This was annoying but of course understandable. She was quite aware of the excellence of her own figure. She was, after all, Rarity.

When she actually reached the border of the forest, though, the ponies stopped. The human, although stupid, was perceptive. He noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s...the Everfree,” said Lyra, as if that were the only explanation required.

“I don’t know,” said Rainbow Dash, ironically articulating the sentiment far further than the mare who actually (ostensibly) possessed a doctorate. “It’s like...I don’t like it.”

“Ponies instinctively fear disorder,” explained Rarity, who had already entered the shade of the strange, dark trees. “Any form of chaos. Trees that weren’t planted, that grow on their own, animals that aren’t in zoos or kept as pets. This forest is even outside the weather control scheme.”

“So it’s...a forest,” suggested Kirk.

“Yes. It is like how your kind are deathly afraid of spiders.”

M’Ress frowned, looking at Kirk. “Humans fear spiders?”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. As children we chase them. Then eat them. Except the legs. We do not ever eat the legs.”

“That’s somewhat disgusting.”

“This from a species that can ingest a water-melon without vomiting for three days.”

“Wait,” said Rainbow Dash, confused. “There’s watermelon? When did we have watermelon? How did I miss that?”

Rarity groaned. “We need to go in the swamp. The ponies can stay if they wish. Should stay, to be frank.” She then chose to ignore any further protest and marched into the dappled shade of the over-nutriated mud-trees that surrounded Ponyville.

Kirk followed, because of course he did. “So why aren’t you afraid, then?”

“What would possibly be the point of that?”

“To avoid getting eaten?”

“I haven’t been eaten yet, nor do I intend to be.” She paused. “Although that’s only technically a lie, I suppose.”

“Really? How’d you get out?”

“I didn’t. You wouldn’t really understand though.”

“Try me.”

“I’d really rather not.”

Rarity accelerated to a trot. Kirk looked behind him, seeing that Spock looked profoundly displeased, M’Ress was apparently looking for spiders, and the two ponies had apparently overcome their instinctive fear and followed them in. Which he supposed was a good sign.

The path led deeper and deeper, until it appeared to not even be a path at all. Except that all the while, Rarity led, seeming to know exactly where she was going as she dexterously maneuvered herself over hillocks and over brooks, streams, and puddles, all without staining her clothing in the slightest. M’Ress was likely dexterous. Rainbow Dash was not, instead more often than not sinking up to her tip in mud. Lyra stayed dry, though, if only because she had managed to get herself carried by Kirk.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Rarity sighed. “Once again. I could explain it to you, but I can guarantee that you’re not familiar with the landscape enough for the answer to give you the barest hint of meaning.”

Lyra nuzzled closer to Kirk. “Squeeze me harder, hoomin.”

Kirk promptly dropped her onto a mossy hillock. She bounced, and a pair of eyes on long stalks emerged from the hillock as it attempted to migrate somewhere else. Lyra, apparently disturbed by this but not to the extent that she would jump in the mud, had apparently decided that this was her life now and had elected to ride the creature in the general direction of where she was supposed to go.

“How will I even know when I’m there?” asked Rainbow Dash, barely able to keep her face above the muck.

“Because I will have stopped walking, and you will have stopped whining.” Rarity reached into the mud with her telekinesis and once again extricated Rainbow Dash. “And you’re a Pegasus. Why not just fly?”

Rainbow Dash waggled her dead wing. “Can’t.”

“How pitiful. Perhaps if part of you is made of steel, you should perhaps avoid falling into water deeper than yourself?”

“How am I supposed to know how deep it is unless I’m in it?”

“It’s a swamp, dearie. It is much, much deeper than you are.”

“Oh please, now you’re calling ME the shallow one?”

Rarity frowned and then dropped the Pegasus back in the water before crossing a small, rotting wooden bridge over a shallow ravine.

Kirk looked back at Spock, in the process noticing an unusual number of yellow eyes looking out at him from every hollow and hole in the trees, rocks, and bushes.

“Having fun, Spock?”

“Not at all, Captain. I am a Vulcan, we do not ‘fun’. However I am distinctly intrigued by the presence of the flora and occasional fauna present in this area. I believe I was stung by a bee. It was most edifying.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“I am a Vulcan, Captain. The answer to your question should be self-evident.”

Kirk did not entirely hear and certainly did not comprehend what Spock had said. Instead, something moving in the brush had caught his attention.

“Captain?”

“Rarity,” he said. “Since you’re an expert in this bog--”

“Swamp, darling. A bog is flat and acidic.”

“Are there any large predators here?”

Rainbow Dash and Lyra looked suddenly nervous.

“Yes,” said M’Ress. “I am right here.”

Rarity chuckled. “Well considering that Equestrian society has become increasingly organized, the rate of demise by predation has markedly dropped. Although do note that we evolved as a pray species. Considering that the extent of our weapons development is dull spears and unsharpened swords, there is not terribly much we can do about being eaten, is there?”

“Apart from the telekinesis.”

“Our magic. Yes, for unicorns. Although usually we do not bother to live in areas where dangerous beasts are present. Our magic gives us that luxury at least.”

“Miss, you have not answered the question.”

Kirk saw another flash of motion in the forest. Something that moved through the underbrush with total silence. Something large and the color of wood, but that moved on four legs.

“No. I have not. Because I do not wish to frighten you, darlings. With the fact that this area is well-known to be a breeding ground for timberwolves.”

Rainbow Dash and Lyra both stopped in their tracks, eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

Kirk did not have the context to understand. His vision of “timberwolf” was the earth-sort, which had of course been hunted to extinction along with every wild carnivore larger than a housecat. Such a wolf would obviously be a threat, and he immediately started thinking of a way they could fight wolves and whether or not he would need to remove his shirt—when one of them emerged from the treeline and he immediately knew that he had been horribly mistaken. He had completely and utterly failed to accommodate for the Equestrian love of descriptive puns.

It was enormous. Far larger than a wolf, or a horse, or any Earth predator born past the second-to-last ice age. It was also apparently made of wood. Logs, hundreds of them, wrapped together and bound by moss and twigs into a vast beast in the shape of a wolf.

Rainbow Dash and Lyra cried out, grabbing each other and screaming, while M’Ress hissed and immediately ascended a nearby tree. Spock remained totally impassive. Strangely, though, so did Rarity, even as four more wolves emerged from the forest and circled. Then, before Kirk could stop them, they charged.

Rarity was nearest to them. It lowered its head, opening its jaw, and charging her.

“Rarity, look out--”

The wolf promptly swallowed her up—except that Rarity did not move. The wolf simply passed through her, its surface distorting and fizzling with scan-lines and pixilation as it emerged through her. The others howled, and continued to attack. One came at Kirk, and he put up his arms. He could have sworn he felt the wind—but it passed right through him. There was not even anything to feel.

“What—what? WHAT?”

“Holograms.” Rarity looked back and rolled her eyes. “Obviously.” She gestured to the projectors in the trees, one of which was on the very branch that M’Ress was standing on, her entire body of fur poofed outward to make her seem larger. It emitted a slight glimmering light as it traced the wolves through the environment. “Part of a Klingon prototype, actually. A sort of holo-chamber, intended for lethal training practice. Although of course at this range I can’t ever get the hard-light system to work quite right.” She sighed. "And the colors, the saturation just doesn't match the lighting the way I wish it would..."

Rarity made a gesture and the wolves immediately sat down, wagging their tails.

“Why do you even have this?”

“Security darling. Ponies are deathly afraid of Timberwolves. This keeps them away.”

“From what?”

Rarity did not answer. Instead, she walked past a thinner area of tall trees that seemed to glow with delicate fungal light. Despite their height, many of the trees were thin. As if they had grown in recently.

In the center of this pleasant, quiet grove sat a large hill, covered in moss and vines and all manner of swampish mold—but not a single tree. Kirk watched as Rarity stopped, brushing the vines off an object beside the hill. A flat, gray stone, carved with strange letters.

She paused for a moment, then smiled and placed the bouquet of flowers at the base of the stone. Then she lit her horn and with her telekinesis pushed away the vines on the surface of the hill—revealing a rusted bulkhead behind them.

“That’s a ship,” said Kirk, suddenly realizing why the hill looked so strange to him. Why it looked to even, artificial even.

“It is my ship, yes.” The access panel for the door had been torn off, leaving only broken wires, but the interior button apparently remained. Rarity tilted her head, concentrating for a moment, and the internal button engaged, causing the door locks to disengage and for the bulkhead to pull itself sideways with a hiss.

“Inside, please,” she said. “You’re letting the humidity in. Also wipe your feet and/or hooves, I HATE having mud on my nice floors.”

Rarity entered first, the lights tripping on and flickering as they did so. This revealed that the ship was much larger than Kirk had previously expected. From the angle of the floors, it was apparent that it was not on a flat surface; in fact, it was mostly buried in the swamp.

“The cloaking system was damaged in the impact, I’m afraid, but I still have a working Class-IV signal dampener. With the reactor barely active it’s virtually invisible. That combined with Starfleet incompetence is no doubt why you didn’t notice its signature.”

Rarity trotted off through the metallic hallway. Indeed, the floors were nice, but the hallways were definitely not pony in design. They were far larger, to the point where Kirk even had an additional foot of space over him, and the technology present was.

“This is a Cardassian-built ship,” noted M’Ress, somewhat in awe. “Although the Cardassians do not use dampeners.”

“I’ve had it modified substantially. For all the good it does half-sunk in the mud I suppose.” A door hissed open and Rarity passed through into a large domed room. A large, circular bridge that was surely buried beneath the ground. “The Cardassians are almost as unpleasant as humans but I find their ship design so fascinating. That it’s the one thing they don’t spare expense for. Isn’t that a strange thing, but poetic, in a way?”

M’Ress paused, looking at the bridge and the various computer consoles. Some were lit, some were dark, and a few were badly damaged. In the dim light, Rarity’s eyes reflected a silver glow.

“How do you know this?” she demanded. “ Who are you? Why do you have this ship?”

“Because she’s a Trill.”

Rarity turned sharply to Kirk. She smiled. With her eyes still reflecting, it was a disturbing sight. “You are far more perceptive than I had suspected. However, unfortunately as ignorant as that hideous green uniform suggests.”

“I am a Starfleet officer--”

“Yes. I know. And you all have the WORST uniforms. A Trill is a being from Trill. They are humanoid, with the most adorable mottling. What you are referring to is a Trill symbiote, which is a very different species. I am a pony. I am Rarity. I am also a symbiote.”

“That was the grave outside. It’s your grave, isn’t it?”

Rarity sighed, and stepped forward, maintain her smile but also an air of either grave sadness or substantial aggression. “You would not, and could not, know what it feels like. To have your host mortally wounded. The surprise, the shock, and then the fear. The terrible, terrible fear. Then hearing it...hearing as a part of you that you love so, so dearly fades and ends.” She grimaced. “Then you’re alone, all alone, and you feel it. The suffocation. The organs that keep you alive shutting down. The knowledge that you’re next...and you’ll be all alone.”

“I’m sorry,” said M’Ress.

“Why? There was nothing you could have done about it.” She gestured to the ship around her. “My ship crashed here about fifteen years ago now. I don’t know what I hit. Some sort of tachyon wave. It came out of nowhere and fried half the forward computer. It tore the right wing off.” She paused, looking desperately forlorn. “My host was critically injured in the impact. But I was uninjured. His body protected me but I...I could not...help him.” She looked up at Kirk and took a deep breath, regaining her composure and using a kerchief to blot her tears so her makeup did not smudge. “This pony was still a filly then. I was a filly, then. She--I--had been examining the caverns near here for rare gemstones when she saw the impact. She came to help.” She chuckled humorlessly. “Although I have no idea how exactly I intended to do that...”

“And she...you...”

“She found me. Outside the ship. In the last moments of my host. I...he...was able to give myself the instructions.”

“How? This planet has barely nineteenth-century technology, there’s no way they could perform an implantation procedure.”

“We...didn’t do it that way. I was dying. I needed to hurry.”

“But then?”

“Captain,” said Spock, “although my understanding of symbiote biology is admittedly somewhat lacking on the granular details, it is apparent that the symbiotes did not always implant themselves surgically. Otherwise the species could not possibly have evolved its relationship to the humanoid Trill.” He paused. “However, the process as it most likely existed in ancient times is nearly impossible. The organ necessary is largely vestigial. And, even with it intact, the process was so painful and carried such high risk to both host and symbiote that even primitive, ancient surgery without anesthetic was preferable over the natural process.”

Kirk felt somewhat ill. “You...didn’t...”

“It is possible for a symbiotic to enter through the digestive system. To tear its way through and enter the body that way. And I explained this. To me. I explained the pain. I explained the risk. And I explained that I was dying...but that I was prepared for that. And of course I accepted.” Rarity laughed. “Because how could I refuse? When I have something to give that another needs so utterly...” She paused. “And I...she didn’t even make a peep. It must have hurt her so much, but she didn’t even cry out. She...” She shook her head. “I have never before witnessed such an expression of pure generosity. To me. To a bastard like me.” She chuckled, then looked Kirk in the eye. “Do you know what I was, Captain Kirk? Before I was Rarity?”

“No.”

“Yes you do. My name is Ioic.”

Kirk’s expression became much more severe. “I don’t know that name.”

“You’re lying. Because I’ve had many names over many centuries. Do you know what I was, Kirk? I was a pirate. A dirty, filthy pirate. I did nothing but steal and hurt people of every race and every species. And not even for money. I’m a symbiote. It was for the EXPERIENCE. And then I come here, dying, and ready to die, and this innocent, beautiful creature gives everything she had to give me new life. And by some miracle, she is more compatible than any Trill could ever hope to be.”

“Is that why you didn’t leave?”

“Yes. And no. I didn’t leave because I have seen this planet. Through her eyes. How...how very beautiful it is. And I found that we...that I...share a common interest.” She smiled. This time it seemed genuine. “Whatever you say about me, you can never say I didn’t know how to make an entrance. Always stunning. Always dramatic. Always dressed to make an impression as I stole their loot and booty alike. But Rarity has far more creativity than Ioic ever did. So I whisper in her ear. Memories. Images. I give her inspiration and tell her of the grand world, and from it, she builds the most stunning clothing I have ever witnessed.”

“At the party,” said Kirk. “Those dresses...”

“Her creations. Our creations. My creations. I am Rarity. I am a beautiful, fashionable pony. I make dresses, the very best of them.”

She suddenly trotted away toward one of the computers. “Although needless to say, ponies adore dresses almost as much as I do. As such I have become fabulously wealthy. I have branches in Manehattan, Canterlot—I even have a storefront in the Imperial Hive free-trade district because somepony has to teach the damn changelings how to dress properly--”

“And?”

Rarity paused. “And what?”

“And why are we here?”

Rarity’s expression grew serious. “Because. I adore this planet. And I understand the mind of a pony better than most. Better than you ever could. And I know that there are things that...that Rarity as a pony cannot see. That I keep hidden from myself, locked away, because of the fragility of this world, you see. In multiple senses. I know what’s out there, and what it means. So I have dedicated myself to protecting this world. In my spare time.” She huffed. “Which formerly did not mean much, until your absolutely hideous ship came into orbit.”

She activated a screen, then gestured for the others to gather around. Kirk walked up to it, and although it was written in a different language, he understood at least the gist of it.

“What is this?”

“A warp signal. My ship’s passive sensors still work. I track everything. About ten years ago, this signal appeared near the planet. Then, within a year, Equestria went from self-drawn carts to lunar rockets.”

“You think there was an incursion.”

“No. I guarantee it.”

“And are you sure it wasn’t you?”

“Darling, please. I make dresses.”

“With alien designs.”

“With alien inspiration. But I have done everything in my power to keep this ship secret, and it has remained that way for the duration.”

“That is logical,” added Spock. “From what we have observed concerning the Equestrian prototype, their architecture appears very different from any known alien vessel, including this one.”

“But if it appears different, Spock, then whose technology helped make it?”

“I do not yet have the information necessary to draw that conclusion.”

Kirk looked down at Rarity, who looked up at him. “Our sensors have picked up a cloaked Klingon warbird in orbit around the planet.”

“That’s impossible,” said Rarity.

“I assure you. I trust my crew. And they know what they saw.”

“It is literally impossible.” Rarity switched the screen to a system of records. “There has been no record of warp signatures in the past ten years. Not until this one, which is yours.”

“If it was cloaked--”

“A cloaked ship still leaves a warp trail, if you know how to look. Which is why the cloak is basically useless at speed. Any pirate can tell you that. It’s for ambushes, not free passage.”

“It’s not moving.”

“No, but it had to get there somehow. And I would have seen it. There are no warp-capable ships in orbit apart from yours.”

“And the prototype.”

A strange look crossed Rarity’s face. “That...that’s right.”

“You must have picked that up too?”

She looked at her records. “No,” she admitted. “It must have been too small. The passive sensors aren’t perfect, and the field is much, much weaker. But it’s a moot point, because I would surely have seen an entire warbird.”

“We can’t guarantee that.”

Rarity sighed. “No. I don’t think we can. I just don’t want to think about it.” She stepped back from the console and walked to another. “My primary concern right now is District 51.”

“Mine too,” said Kirk. “M’Ress, what did you find there?”

“Nothing of importance,” she admitted. “We had both infiltrated simultaneously. We did not get close to the center of the facility. But it is apparent that Flim and Flam are working for Twilight Sparkle, a unicorn.”

“Celestia mentioned her. More than once.”

Rarity sat down in a listing captain’s chair. “And that is exactly the problem.”

“What?”

“Are you aware of Celestia’s record with students? The last one attempted a coup and was banished to an unknown hell-dimension. Those prior have been utterly erased from history. But they are prone to attempting to grasp power beyond their station. Twilight, I believe, is not different. Unless.”

“Unless what?” asked M’Ress.

“Unless Celestia already knows,” sighed Kirk.

Rarity nodded. “And there you see my dilemma.”

“What do you mean ‘dilemma’?” snapped Rainbow Dash, stepping forward and promptly tripping over a stair designed for Cardassian-length legs. She righted herself and glared at Rarity. “What do you mean by what you mean, dress-girl?”

Rarity sighed. “And this is exactly why I had no intention of informing a military officer of my findings. Because the Equestrian Royal Guard is almost as idiotic as Starfleet.”

“Excuse me. I’m in the Space Force, so your track record is already bad from the start line. And I can guarantee Celestia has nothing to do with this. She’s basically our mom. She would never do anything to hurt Equestria or hurt anypony at all, I’m sure of it!”

“Then clearly you’ve never asked why, exactly, her sister lives on the moon with the lunar bombards faced toward us.”

“But I’m sure of it! I feel it in my gut! Whatever happening, Celestia doesn’t know!”

“Then what about Twilight Sparkle? Have you ever met her?”

Rainbow Dash faulted. “Well, no...”

“Of course not. Nopony has since the day she left for the Division. I don’t trust her. I don’t trust Celestia. And I don’t trust YOU.”

“Then who do you trust? Other than the alien living in your guts?”

Rarity glared at her. Her horn flickered, then a screen activated on the far wall. The primary viewscreen used for communication and observing space as it passed. It was perfectly cleaned, but cracked, the pixels dead on one corner where the impact with the planet had damaged it. It displayed a tower made of some unknown type of dark bricks. It was devoid of windows, and the architecture oddly threatening and devoid of any of the finesse and ornamentation of normal pony buildings.

“What is that?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“I know,” said M’Ress. “I saw it. Looming, as towers are apt to do. It is in the center of District 51.”

“Indeed. This is the central research tower. Where I was attempting to get and, given different circumstances, I surely would have gotten. As well as you with some effort. It is the center of the company. The only ones who enter and exit are Flim and Flam. Twilight Sparkle lives inside, as well as others.”

“Others?”

“Very powerful wizards. Recruited from all over Equestria.” Rarity threw down a stack of photos on a broken console. They spilled out of their manila folder. An image of a gray child, a golden stallion with a messy beard, a yellow mare posing with a blue one, and many others.

Kirk frowned. “But you said only Flim and Flam come out.”

“I know.”

He nodded. “And the tower?”

“I have no idea what’s in it. My sensors can’t penetrate the surface. It is either plated in pure dimeritium or, more likely, protected by a dampening field. One much stronger than my own. The only thing I could ever detect is this.”

A layout of complex mathematical diagrams appeared overlayed to the image in diagram form. Rainbow Dash approached it, tilting her head in confusion.

“What is this? Did you spill alphabet soup on the picture? Except these aren’t even real letters—oop!”

She was promptly picked up by Spock and moved to the side as he approached the computer screen, staring up at it, his face illuminated by the violet light. Although superficially impassive, as always, Kirk recognized that his Vulcan facade had produced the tiniest of cracks. The only thing that could truly make Spock show the barest of excitement had appeared before him: fancy mathematics.

“Fascinating...” he whispered.

“I admittedly do not have quite have the background to understand it,” sighed Rarity. “Considering my sixth-grade education. And also considering a four-hundred-year-old pirate grafted into my neural architecture. Perhaps you might make sense of it.”

“It’s a spell,” said Lyra, looking at it from a distance and causing everyone present to jump as they had forgotten she was even there. “I can see that at least. I remember it...a little. It’s...Equestrian, but somehow...wrong. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“This is a quantum resonance signature,” said Spock. He began tapping the screen, moving the variables around and setting up some of the equations into a more formal systematic style. “Quantum signatures are notoriously difficult to shield against since it is impossible to compensate for something that can exist in manifold quantum states. Although what exactly could produce a signal with this many alternating states...this level of power, so to speak...is a most intriguing scientific conundrum.”

He resolved part of it. Kirk saw it out of the corner of his eye, thinking it looked familiar. A system of figures, something similar to:

“.... . .|.. .|.. ||| | .|. .. .|.. .|.. .|. .| .|. .. | |.||”

What that meant, though, he did not have time to discern.

“Do you think it’s alien, Spock?”

Spock paused for a moment. “I cannot discern that from the quantum signature alone, as I am unfamiliar with the extent of the technology which these ponies refer to as ‘magic’. Its extent may exceed in some fields our understand of the world through a mechanical sense. However, the presence of a dampening field suggests the strong possibility of alien technology being used to create it.” He turned slowly. “And the presence of a dampening field implies, logically, that they are attempting to keep something hidden.”

Kirk once again nodded. He faced Rarity. “And it has something to do with the dilithium, doesn’t it?”

Rarity burst out laughing, causing Kirk great confusion. “The dilithium? The DILITHIUM? Captain, do you really not understand how deep this situation truly is? How far this all goes? The dilithium is an irrelevant waste resource compared to what it contains.”

“I don’t understand. Have you even seen it? I've never seen so much dilithium in my life--”

Rarity dropped out of her chair and walked to another screen. She pressed a sequence of controls on its console, then slapped it to get the screen to boot. It flickered to life, and by the time it did, Spock had already gotten as close to it as possible. Which was a good thing, because the diagram present was far beyond Kirk’s understanding of theoretical physics.

“That...doesn’t help.”

“Yes,” said Spock. “Yes it does.”

Rarity pressed another set of buttons, and an image appeared on the screen. Of a vibrating gray sphere. “This. This is what truly matters. The resource of actual value on this planet. It exists intercalated in the dilithium crystals because they’re the only inorganic material capable of containing it. Which is likely why it exists nowhere else in this universe.”

“What is it, though? You’re taking a long time to answer the question.”

“A supermassive, metastable subatomic particle, Captain. One capable of existing in a biased quantum stage, oscillating between and unifying the primary universal fields of matter and yet capable of interacting as if it were a hadronic atom.”

“In English, Spock?”

“I was speaking English, Captain. You simply lack the capacity to understand my admittedly simple description.”

“It is a unique substance,” said Rarity. “Unique to this planet, at least. When energized with, say, an electric or magnetic field, it causes either a gravity bias or quantum stepping. Essentially creating a minuscule warp field.” She reached behind her with her telekinesis and lifted a battered wrench, rotating it through the air toward Kirk. She smiled. “Unicorns are not a genetic phenomenon. We are an adaptive metabolic phenomena, a result of massive in-utero exposure to this substance. Our very bones intercolate it, as the dilithium does. Our ‘magic’, our telekinesis…it relies on the presence of this substance from our environment. The more we have, the more powerful we can be.”

“Like Celestia.”

Rarity shook her head. “She is not even a pony. Not anymore. A thin skin over something...terrible. Something I have no desire to understand. But powerful unicorns, like Twilight Sparkle, well, with enough of this they do virtually anything. Teleport. Reconfigure matter at will. Pull entire starships out of orbit.” She paused. “Or, in the right hands, it could be used to build weapons of untold devastating power. Enough to snuff out a star in an instant, or wipe entire planets off the star-charts in an instant. Considering that it behaves like matter but is in fact a single, unique particle, I have started referring to it as ‘Element Zero’.”

“And you think this is what they’re after? What they’re mining, why they’re here?”

“Captain, do not think that in the slightest. I am one hundred percent sure of it. And Flim, Flam, and Twilight Sparkle are at the very heart of it all.”

Chapter 22: The Interface

Elsewhere in the world, Flim was attempting to breathe into a paper bag to control his outright panic. Despite his best efforts, though, the bag was refusing to inflate. This only caused him to panic more.

Flam pushed past him. “Stop doing that, you know it won’t work!”

“But I have to! Brother, you saw her! You saw her too, you had to have! The cat-girl from the party! She was in our base! In our base”

They started walking together through the cold and windowless concrete tower. They moved in a near trot, although they had nowhere in particular to go. As much as he tried to hide it from his younger brother, Flam was just as nervous. That everything they worked for would soon come crumbling down around their ears. Fifteen years of continuous, careful effort, all about to be wasted.

“She was from the Federation! And she was HERE!”

“No. She wasn’t.”

“Don’t gaslight me, brother, I have eyes--”

“She was at our facility, but she wasn’t HERE. She never made it to the central tower, never found the ship, she saw NOTHING. What is she going to do? File an injunction?”

“If she calls an investigation--”

“She won’t call an investigation, because that would show Celestia that aliens tried to break into a top-secret research factory. They’re Federation. They’ll try expensive, costly diplomacy and make even more expensive concessions then leave feeling good about themselves. They won’t do something to sacrifice their image.”

“Which begs the question,” said a third voice. As Flim and Flam walked, her body materialized in front of them, a translucent hologram of pink-violet light cast from holographic projectors placed at highly regular intervals down the hallway, connected by thin and glimmering fiberoptic conduits.

Flim blinked. “What question?”

The hologram of Twilight Sparkle turned to face him, its enormous and unblinking eyes seeming to stare into his very soul. He reached for his bag again, fumbling and dropping it.

“I don’t know, nor do I care. Because it’s not my job to care. I don’t know what the Federation is, aside from the place where the cat-girls live and dance their cat-girl dances. It is not, in fact, my chair; and, consequently, not my problem.”

“But it is ours. If they find us, if they find out what we’ve been doing, who we’ve been working for--”

“They won’t,” snapped the elder, mustachioed brother. “Because that’s the question she’s asking. She wants to know what we want to do about the problem.”

The hologram nodded and giggled. Her pace increased slightly, the holographic projectors that made her body flashing faster and faster. “I’m here to do the work. To make the machines, to do the science, to wallow in the math and shelve the books—SHELVE ALL OF THE BOOKS! SHELVE THEM SO VERY HARD! Ahem. With both vim and occasionally with vigor. Raw, musty vigor.” She shrugged. “Apart from not having eyes anymore, so I guess I can’t read the books. Oh well.” She giggled again. “You two were hired to manage the plant. To get the resources. To build the engines to my instructions. To paint the mares for some reason. Or pay someone to paint them, I guess it doesn’t really matter. But I like to imagine you both do it with paintbrushes in your filthy little organic mouths...” She shivered. “Oh yes, filthy heretics, paint those dirty, dirty mares...”

“Brother, she’s making it weird again!”

Flam ignored his brother, as usual. “And having the Federation here jeopardizes our possibility of getting paid. So we need to solve the problem. Immediately.”

“Yes! Solve the problem! SOLVE IT! Your princess demands it!”

Flam glared at her. “You are not a princess.”

The hologram stopped. She rotated to face him. Then her back distorted and ruptured, expressing a pair of enormous holographic wings.

“Behold my enormous, fluffy, and exceedingly ticklish wings! BEHOLD THEM! I am not functionally a god on this planet for some reasons that’s beyond me.” She sighed and the wings severed, falling to the ground and dispersing their photons, reduced to random muscles and holographic bone that crumbled to dust. “Except, one, I do't actually have wings and, two, in this state I am quite immortal regardless and, second two, I don’t actually have the capacity for volition. By definition. So I pay you to make orders, and you give me the orders so I can execute them. That’s how this relationship works. It's a give-and-take.”

“We have a relationship?” asked Flim, blushing slightly.

Flam shoved him. “Like I said. We need to eliminate the problem.”

“By subterfuge!”

“We don’t have the time for subterfuge. I was thinking a more direct approach.”

Flim blanched. “Brother, I know we have done...terrible, terrible things...but that...that is beyond all of it. And to a Starfleet crew?”

“Ah,” said the hologram, who had once again started walking, although she was not actually moving forward but rather floating in place, “you want to bump them off. Whack them. Rub them out. Buy them the farm. Kick their bucket. Squeeze out their juices. Feed them to the wolves. Let them sleep with the fish. And the fishes. Which is when there is more than one type of fish in the same place. A good-old myrtling. Sure. Go do that.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not? Organic life is fragile. Pinch them or something.”

“What am I supposed to do, raise an army? Ponies don’t kill. They can’t. Not ever. I’m certainly not about to go there and do it, I’ll get phased. And phasing HURTS.”

“When were you phased?” asked Flim.

“When YOU were cleaning a PHASER that you DEFINITELY took the power-cell out of, dearest brother.”

“I said I was sorry! We were five--”

“I don’t even know where they are, how am I supposed to find them?”

Flim blinked. “Oh. I know where they are.”

Flam and the hologram—still walking—stared at him.

“How would you possibly know that?”

“It’s not hard. I scanned for Caitian lifesigns, and hoomin ones. They’re really close.”

“Where?”

“They went into the swamp.”

“This whole place is swamp, that’s not helpful--”

“I found the location, actually. At least where they dissipated.”

“Dissipated? Did we check for transporter signals?”

“I’m intercepting them,” said the hologram. "They go to a fun, fun place. For me. It rhymes with 'flender'."

“Wait, you can do that?”

“Mostly. Catching them is easy. Getting all the squiggly bits into something other than, well, sausage is harder. The transporter is a really dumb design. Why not just teleport? It’s so much easier.”

“Then where did they go if they didn't transport?”

“I looked into that. I scanned the area with the optic scope, and saw there were timberwolves--”

“I do not care about wolves, timber or otherwise. We are looking for a CAT. Not a DOG.”

“I’m getting to that! I was talking to one of the pretty florist girls in the village, and--”

“Village? You were talking to the locals? We do NOT talk to the locals, we are businessmen! We are above them!”

“Would you stop interrupting me?! Timberwolves aren’t mobile this time of year, they’re blooming and they don’t move much when they do that. We had a date to go pick a flower. So I did spectra analysis and the results indicated that they’re not wolves at all.”

“Then what are they?”

“Holograms. Like her.”

They both looked at holo-Twilight. She was still walking in place, although she had now progressed to a dead sprint.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning there’s someone else here.”

The two looked at each other, and Flim sighed.

“Peace is good for business. Let’s handle this as quickly as possible.”

“Why?” The hologram tilted her head. “I like the sounds of their screams.”

“Quick. No screaming. No witnesses.”

Her smile grew. She flickered slightly. “I have started preparing a warhead. Five hundred megatons ought to do the trick. I shall also load it with nuclear-grade confettii. Also cobalt.”

“NO! We would be caught in the blast radius!”

She tilted her head. “So?”

“We’d die.”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t.”

“No warheads!”

The hologram’s smile grew. “You’re no fun.”

“Because we also have to deal with their ship.” Flim was at this point shaking. “Because they’ll find out, and then the rest of them will come, and--”

“Not if it looks like an accident. This planet is very, very dangerous. Ponies get eaten all the time, or stole, or lost. So can cat-girls and hoomins.” He faced the Twilight hologram. “I was hoping our benefactors might have something that could assist? Other than nuclear weapons?”

The hologram giggled and reversed quickly, almost at trotting speed. Flim and Flam followed until she passed into a vast and dark room. Flim almost stepped into the void, but his brother pulled him back as a pair of floating holo-drones separated from the wall, projecting both Twilight and the holographic catwalk she walked on to enter the darkness. The only light came from her body—and then the sparking blue glows of the enormous machines below as they began fabrication.

“I think the Klingons would be glad to help. They aren’t like ponies at all. They sure do love killing things. And they don't have an personality shell that stops them whenever they try...” She then giggled, her giggle growing into a strange and mechanical sound that made both of the organics watching her shiver in atavistic horror at the sight of something that neither of them had ever had the foresight to attempt to comprehend.

Chapter 23: Assassination of Federation Officers

Something started beeping. Rarity turned her head sharply, then quickly flounced to a computer and examined the stream of alien text crossing the screen.

“What is that?” asked Kirk.

“Nothing of consequence.”

“You’re a bad liar. Nothing unimportant ever beeps. Beeps are always important. And always a bad thing.”

“It’s a proximity alarm.”

“Then it’s a bad beep. Like I said.”

“We’re in a swamp, darling, there are every possible manner of creatures here. Sometimes they set off the sensors. Why, last winter It would go off every hour from the winterchillas zipping by until I had the town’s weird animal-mare shoo them out.”

M’Ress stared at the screen. “It is not winter.”

Rarity looked at the screen. “Squirrels, then. The sensors aren’t detecting any lifesigns larger than a rat.”

“A rat is generally smaller than a squirrel,” noted Spock. “And, additionally, rats and squirrels are not highly similar animals.”

“While the second is true, you’ve clearly never seen the rodents in Equestria. Especially in the fire-swamp. They are of a very unusual size.”

“As in smaller than normal rats?” asked Kirk.

Rarity sighed. “No. I’m afraid to the other extreme, dear. They are quite large. That was implied by my statement. So large that some of the more chromosomally-challenged earth-ponies ride them about the swamp with various ‘hooting’ and ‘hollering’.”

M’Ress seemed greatly intrigued by this. “I would very much like to see these large rats.”

“Well then go outside. They’re likely wandering about my ship, chewing on my wiring. Going round and round, laying it down and coming back for more and all thing rats are apt to do.”

“Coming out of the cellar and invading your privacy, perhaps?” suggested Spock.

“There’s a cellar?” asked Rainbow Dash, looking around. “Where? Is there cider in it? Or that cider they make from grapes?”

“Wine, dear.”

“No I’m not, I was just asking! Celestia’s succulent rump, stop being so—so--”

“Irascible?”

Rainbow Dash stared blankly. “You know, with a coat that white, you’ll bruise like a banana. If I had a dictionary right now...”

“You’d beat me with it, surely.” Rarity picked Rainbow Dash up with her magic and reversed her. “I am not concerned with rats. At the moment. I am concerned with what we are meant to do about Flim and Flam, and by extension their boss and most-probably shared snuggling partner, Twilight Sparkle.”

“It seems that I do not fully comprehend the situation,” said Spock, raising a thin Vulcan eyebrow. “It would appear to me that there is no clear evidence of wrongdoing on their part.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re using alien technology, being secretive, plotting something terrible--”

“Again. I have yet to see any clear evidence that supports that accusation.”

Kirk frowned. “Spock, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Captain, that while they may indeed be utilizing alien technology to develop their warp-drive, this is unfortunately not an uncommon situation. Many cultures in the galaxy have developed warp technology either from archaeological sources or, in this case, from what appears to be a crashed vessel. Considering the proximity of this world to inhabited space and the empirical proof of at least one ship crashing here, it is entirely possible that they are doing nothing especially illegal.”

“Unless they are in league with aliens,” said Rarity.

“They are currently in communication with us. Would communication with another political entity be so unreasonable?”

“Spock, what are you saying? The dilithium, if any other race finds it, this planet could be torn apart!”

“Indeed, Captain. I recognize that possibility. However, contact with an alien race is not, for its own sake, intrinsically devious or harmful.”

Kirk sighed, knowing that Spock was technically right—although he had a gut feeling that the situation was far worse than it seemed, and was increasingly headed downhill toward something far more terrible.

“Of course a Vulcan couldn’t understand,” snapped Rarity.

“I agree with him,” said Lyra.

“Of course you would.”

“They’re a company. They built space-ships. Space-ships we need to find the aliens. Why would they be bad? Since when is a mysterious corporate entity ever evil?”

“If they’re keeping secrets, it’s a problem,” snapped Rainbow Dash. She looked at Rarity. “And I can’t say if they’re ‘evil’ or not, but if something is going on there and Celestia doesn’t know, then something smells rotten in Denmarek.”

Kirk nodded. “Either way, I’ve already taken steps to try to keep the planet from coming to any additional harm. Whether it’s from District 51 or from Klingon invaders.”

Rarity seemed confused by this. “Really? How?”

“I submitted an invitation to the Federation to the Princesses. Once they decide, I’m going to file an injunction and get ships out here to defend the plan--”

“You WHAT?!”

Kirk was suddenly thrown back by a telekinetic blast. It was not particularly strong, feeling something akin to a strong gust of San Francisco wind, but it caught him off balance and knocked him into a broken computer console. M’Ress immediately drew her phaser, only to have it yanked out of her hand.

“You—You filed an INVITATION? To the FEDERATION? You—you’re trying to steal this planet! You’re after the dilithium, and the Element Zero!”

“I’m trying to PROTECT this planet!” shouted Kirk, pushing back against her telekinesis and causing her to stumble. “Because it’s already being invaded! You know that! That’s what you were just saying!”

“I thought I could trust you! How dare you—you have no idea what you’ve done! You couldn’t possibly understand what this planet means to me, to US—and what the Federation will do it if they get their filthy hands on it!” She pushed harder, suddenly enraged, and Kirk and M’Ress were both knocked back. Rarity did not have enough force to attack Spock, who was watching the ongoing events quietly and with great interest.

Suddenly, Rarity's blue plasma shorted and was replaced by orange that wrapped around her horn, then her body, pulling her back. She tried to struggle, but this field was vastly more powerful than her own—a field that was emanating from Lyra’s horn.

“Unhorn me, you fiend!”

“I’d rather not, but I will if I have to.” Part of Lyra’s magic resolved into a single, brilliant blade, and Rarity immediately stopped resisting.

“You of all ponies should understand—what am I saying, of course you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t care if you’re secretly an alien, or if you have a cool spaceship, or if you’re trying to help. That was out of lines and you know it. Stop being uncouth and use your dang words!”

“UNCOUTH! How dare you, I am—I am—” Rarity’s eyes widened with realization, and she cleared her throat. “Ahem. I see your point. I have indeed lost my composure. My apologies. However, this human’s actions have been horrifically misguided and he has utterly betrayed my trust. I will therefore be escorting him, and the rest of you, off my ship.”

“No, I’m not leaving, my choice was--”

“Get. OFF.”

Rainbow Dash sighed. “Come on. There’s no sense arguing with a unicorn once she’s made up her mind.”

Kirk hesitated. Then, slowly, acquiesced. “Fine. But at this point I’m wondering if I was wrong. Whatever there up to, maybe it doesn’t really matter.”

“You mean maybe you’ve already fixed it? You haven’t. You are like every other Starfleet officer I’ve ever met. A damn fool.” Rarity poked him with her magic. “I will escort you and your friends out. Go back to your ugly ship, and I’m going home. I’ll need to throw my sister out a window before she ruins any more of my expensive fabrics.”

Kirk allowed himself to be forced back toward the exit. Neither Spock nor M’Ress seemed to need much coaxing, and Rainbow Dash was more than pleased to go. Lyra, though, seemed sad to leave. Kirk supposed he could make it up to her by showing her an actually intact ship. She was, after all, not unattractive. He quickly realized, though, that doing so would be a terrible idea.

It was overcast when he was forced out the door. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he immediately stopped.

“Please move, dear, I can’t throw all of you out on your rumps if you’re blocking the door.”

“Um...Rarity?”

“Don’t say my name and don’t talk to me. We are not friends.”

“Rarity.”

“What did I just--”

“I don’t think they were rats.”

Rarity, severely annoyed, looked out at the area surrounding her ship—and she immediately blanched, to the extent that it was possible for an all-white unicorn to blanch.

They were humanoid, and they were numerous. All crouched, their head down and arms wrapped around their legs, all in the exact the same posture. Despite that fact and their superficial body-plan, they were most certainly not human. They were thinner, and almost feminine in appearance, save for the fact that they were covered in extensive, highly angular armor. Armor painted largely in dull green, save for linear feather-like motifs in a rusty maroon color. They appeared to be holding weapons, but not at the ready. Instead, they hung down, not pointed at anything in particular. Most held pistols of a sort, but a few had rifles.

“Oh wow,” said Lyra, walking out of the ship with Rainbow Dash with apparently no sense of their own mortality. “Eesh. I have a pretty severe hoomin fetish, but even these things are creepy as noots.” She looked over her shoulder at Rarity. “Weird choice of statues.”

“They weren’t here before,” said Rainbow Dash, approaching one closely. “Wait, are these the ones where you can’t stop looking at them or they get you?”

“What? Like the big spraypaint baby one, or those ones that look like Pegasi covering their faces?”

“Either. Either of those things are very, very...bad...” Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened and her wing floofed. “Oh no, I’m in danger.”

The central eye of the nearest machine suddenly lit, and it hummed to life, standing upright and shouldering its rifle. The others hummed and beeped, releasing strange mechanical and gurgling sounds as they each activated in turn.

“Definitely not rats! DEFINITELY NOT RATS!”

The nearest humanoid opened fire. In a flash of orange, Lyra projected a shield around herself. The projectiles from its rifle rebounded off the partial dome, cracking it on impact as though it were made of matter instead of telekinetic energy, but Lyra held firm.

“MOVE! I can’t hold this for--”

It cracked suddenly and with resounding force, just as a phaser beam struck the humanoid in the head. The phaser had been adjusted to its maximum setting, and the head exploded in a plume of sparks and metal. Lyra and Rainbow Dash both screamed and held each other, especially as the body—now with sparking wires and the severed components of its metallic cervical spine emerging from its neck—lifted the gun once again—only to receive another blast to its shoulder, liquefying part of its arm and causing it stumble back and finally fall.

“They’re robots!” cried M’Ress. She winced as she turned her phaser on another drone that charged her, vaporizing its gun and then slashing at its head with her claws, leaving only the barest of scratches in its heavy armor. The phaser was already scalding hot from firing at maximum without cooling, and M’Ress was fully aware that the power cell was not large enough to issue more than five or six more shots at that setting. She was also fully aware that she had the only phaser.

“Not hoomins? Just robots?”

Another pair of them fully activated and charged toward Lyra. Rainbow Dash attempted to tackle one, but instead the pair of drones were instantaneously sliced cleanly in half with a compressed blade of brilliant orange energy, assembled roughly into the shape of a sword. Lyra jumped forward, rolling and projecting a shield as well as a suit of translucent armor around herself, impaling another robot in the process. Another pair charged but were suddenly crushed by, of course, a pair of summoned hands. Small hands, though, but adequate to squeeze their heads into piles of circuit boards and plastics. The sword-spell then took their legs, and, as they fell, their arms—with Lyra gathering the hands as she disassembled them.

“All your hands! ALL YOUR HANDS!! All your hands are belong to LYRA NOW!” At this point, she was screaming, laughing, and probably crying at once as she charged head-long into the robots, absorbing bullets like a tiny pony sponge and severing hands left and right. “Hands for the Hand God! PHALANGES FOR THE PHALANGES THRONE!!”

This turn of events left little for Kirk and Spock—both unarmed—to do, aside from duck behind a conveniently-placed rock for cover. Kirk instinctively reached for his phaser, only to find that he did not have it. So instead he grabbed his communicator.

“Kirk to Enterprise! KIRK TO ENTERPRISE!”

All that came back was static.

“It would seem,” said Spock, calm over the sound of gunfire, “that our signal is, at present, being jammed.”

“What a keen observation, Spock, I would never have--”

Kirk cried out as part of the rock was shattered, spraying him with mossy fragments.

“There is no need for this excessive display of emotion, Captain,” said Spock, calmly.

“Like hell there isn’t!” A robot suddenly loomed over Spock, lifting its pistol in both hands, and the best Kirk could think of was to try to throw a rock at it. He did, and when the rock impacted it, the robot’s chest suddenly imploded in a plume of carbonizing robotics.

Even Spock looked somewhat surprised. Kirk looked down at the rocks, half expecting them to be special rocks of some manner. Instead, though, he saw Rarity holding a Romulan disruptor-rifle nearly as large as she was.

“I Celestia-dang hate Celestia-danged ROBOTS!” She fired the disruptor again, liquefying another robot. Then another and another, apparently with absolute accuracy and absolute disdain for their existence. “As if that idiot Soong wasn’t bad enough, now I have to deal with THIS!” She then proceeded to shoot the legs off one of them and bayonet it in the head.

M’Ress skidded into cover behind the rock, bleeding from a bullet-hole in her shoulder.

“You’re injured--”

“It’s fine! The shoulder is not a vital organ! Rarity!”

M’Ress was promptly tossed a second gun, a Federation-style phaser-rifle.

“Why does she get the gun?!” cried Kirk.

“Because I like her, you darn ninny! I don’t like you!”

She fired another blast into the crowd, projecting a shield around herself to deflect the incoming bullets. A process which was, apparently, difficult for her; although unlike Lyra, she was nowhere near strong enough to actually stop the bullets. Instead, she deflected them around her, sometimes within millimeters of herself. A few whizzed through her mane, leaving unfortunate holes, and some scratched across her body leaving thin wounds that bled silver. She did not appear to notice apart from wincing and becoming increasingly peeved.

At this point, Kirk realized that he was now being totally defended by females of various species—apart from the Trill symbiote, which he tended to think of as male despite it being a genderless slug-like creature. Kirk was not sure how to feel about that, but noticed that it left him somewhat more aroused than normal. He did not have much time to consider it, though, because two objects came plummeting down from above, tearing through the canopy of trees and landing on the smaller machines, crushing several of them.

They were the same color as the androids, and, as Kirk watched, they began to unfold. And continued to unfold. And as they did, Kirk realized that they were much, much larger than the smaller androids.

They stood nearly twenty feet high, massive armored tank-like bipedal machines coated in green and rust-colored plating, their single red eyes igniting as they took a combat stance. When they spoke, it was more than noise, but too deep and low to understand. Kirk heard it, though, and even through the universal translator he understood it to be Klingon.

“pegh'eghtaHvIS. BISo'Qo'.”

One of them pointed its arm toward them, its hand retracting to reveal the terminal end of a massive cannon. Kirk had barely a moment to think before he grabbed Spock and hurled him out of cover, jumping in the process and barely avoiding the distinct “sploink” of a projectile firing and immediately reducing the rock they had been hiding behind into sand.

Rarity charged, firing with the disruptor—and the beam was instantly absorbed by the force-field that ignited around the android’s body.

“le'be' jIvHa'wI'. BISuqqa'choHmoH.”

The machine moved forward, kicking Rarity full-force in the face and sending her careening backward with enough force that she shattered through two tree-trunks before going somewhere out of sight. The trees seemed softer than Earth trees, but not by much.

“Oh no. I think she--”

“She’s fine,” said Lyra, sliding beside Kirk and projecting a dome around him. She had threaded a piece of robot-sinew through a large number of robot hands, which she was now wearing as a necklace. “We’re basically indestructible as long as we don’t--”

The machine proceeded to punch her shield with so much force that not only did it shatter, but Lyra herself was shoved neck-deep in the swampy soil. Her translucent armor faded and disintegrated into small sparkly dust and glitter.

“--run out of magic. Well, buck. I guess I get to see Bonnie sooner than I thought...”

“I’ll get Rarity!” shouted Rainbow Dash, running past. “Cover me!”

“Are you blind?! I’m about to--”

The drone raised both its hands, both unfurling into a pair of weapons. As it prepared to fire, though, it was interrupted by M’Ress. Rather than firing at it, she had instead scaled a tree only to jump down on its head, grabbing its neck. The robot stepped back, releasing sounds of robotic surprise, and attempted to reach her. Its overly thick armor prevented its arms from reaching its own head, though, and it could not grab her. M’Ress held on as it attempted to buck her off, grabbing its head with one hand and pressing the barrel of her phaser-rifle directly against its shoulder, giving no space for the shield to absorb the impact. She fired, charring a hole directly into the robot and out the other side. Then, with a cry of rage, she grasped its head and tore it partially off before reaching her hand into the hole and repeatedly and wildly pulling out fists of wires.

One of the robot’s arms went limp, and with its head damaged, it was unable to target appropriately, allowing Kirk to start attempting to pull Lyra out of the ground.

“Why are you so heavy?!”

“I might have swallowed some hands, just pull me out! I don’t want to get eaten by robots!”

This, though, proved to be exceedingly difficult.

Several yards away, Rarity did her best to stand, woozy from having hit her head repeatedly. Her naturally resistant frame had protected her from any substantial internal injury, although as Rainbow Dash had previously suggested, she was going to bruise terribly. This thought distressed her horribly.

Rainbow Dash tackled her as several bullets sailed past.

“Are you okay? Stay in cover! I’ll protect you!”

“How in the name of Celetsia’s rump do you intend to do that, you skittle-scented fool--”

One of the smaller robots, one of the last of its kind remaining, lifted its rifle and fired repeatedly. Rainbow Dash did as she had promised, attempting to absorb the bullet with her body. Instead, though, the bullets struck her metal wing and immediately deflected, one shooting a nearby robot through the knee. Rarity, having overcome at least some of her vertigo, put a disrupted shot through the central processor of the robot with the rifle and another one through the chest of the one that was now writhing on the ground, trying to right itself without its knee.

Rainbow Dash seemed utterly perplexed at this, waggling her prosthetic wing and finding it totally undamaged.

“What the buck?”

Rarity stared wide-eyed, suddenly recognizing the distinct and exotic luster of the material “You absolute IDIOT, is that mithril?!”

“Um, yeah--”

“You fool, do you even know what mithril IS?!”

“I’m not an egghead, I don’t study metalology.”

One of the larger robots pushed through the trees, toppling them over as it moved, and pointed one of its cannons at the pair of ponies. Rarity quickly grabbed Rainbow Dash and pushed her in the path of the projectile, being sure to orient her properly.

There was an explosion, and a sensation of her magic breaking—followed by being smothered in the face with Pegasus fluff as Rainbow Dash was thrown backward onto her. They moved for several yards before Rainbow Dash managed to stabilize herself with her wings, dropping to the ground on her hooves while Rarity continued to roll, exacerbating her bruises and also becoming absolutely filthy with swamp dirt.

Rainbow Dash looked at her wing. It was undamaged, save for a white-hot portion where the projectile had just hit that rapidly cooled to orange and then normal silver without the slightest sign of injury.

“Wait a dang minute!” she cried, angrily. “Did I have superpowers this whole time and nopony friggin told me?!”

“Mithril is literally indestructible,” snapped Rarity, standing up and taking a small package from her pocket. “It can only be forged by a god, and you have an entire wing made out of it, so I’d say yes, you are possibly the thickest mare I’ve ever known.”

“Well then stop looking at my rump, you danged fool!”

“My point exactly.” Rarity sighed, unwrapping the glowing crystals. Rainbow Dash saw them, and her eyes widened.

“Wait, that’s eridium, you can’t--”

It was too late. Rarity had already eaten them. The drug immediately hit her, supercharging her brain and marrow with concentrated magic. She lit her horn, sending out a shockwave that not only drove back what was left of the smaller robots but shattered them at their joints. Rainbow Dash, likewise, was knocked down.

She rolled, pulling Rainbow Dash with her, casting a shield as the robot opened up with automatic fire. The shield sustained the repeated blows, but Rarity felt the world growing quiet. Partly because of the damage to her auditory nerve from having her neurons slowly disintegrating, but also from her ears filling up with silver fluid that was now dripping down onto her formerly perfectly-pressed shirt.

The effect of this drug was somewhat disastrous to pony biology. Cataclysmic, even. Taking it twice in such a short time would probably have been fatal for all but the most powerful class of unicorns. Rarity was of course among the weakest, but was fortunately relatively resistant due to having been introduced to this particular drug in Manehattan in the mid '90s when it was rampant throughout the fashion world. She had developed something of a tolerance.

The trick was keeping her skull inside her body. Which was harder than it seemed, because the pain of having her marrow start to cook itself from pure magic made it feel like her skeleton was about to crawl its way out and dance the Charleston. It probably would have if there was only one mind keeping her intact. Instead, though, she had two, and one was totally immune to the rage-inducing effect of the drug.

Her symbiote calculated that she did not have enough power to take down the android. Not through its shield and its armor. The other one, though, which was farther, was already damaged. Rarity could see her friend on its shoulders, tearing at it with the fury of an apex-predator, and she could see the hole she had made near its arm.

She took the shot, focusing everything she had into a single beam. She never saw it hit as the silver filled her eyes, and then as something burst inside her. Her magic flickered out and she collapsed. Although Rarity the pony became unconscious, her symbiotic was still aware—and felt a pair of hooves grab her as she fell. Then it proceeded to wait, and to do its best to ensure that Rarity would be able to eventually wake up.

The violet beam came out of nowhere, slicing through the android’s shield and striking its body with extreme precision. The resulting blast as its powercore overloaded and erupted knocked M’Ress back, but she had already jumped and landed on all fours as the android’s arm fell separately from it.

The android stumbled. “pIjHa',” it said, before suddenly collapsing. Something inside it fired, detonating in a plume of blue light, but the explosion was aborted as its internal organs were dissolved by the reave effect of the blast. It was unable to self-destruct.

“Captain, the arm!” cried M’Ress.

“I see it!” Kirk luched forward, causing Lyra to sink back into the mud with a loud squelch, and picked up the front of the arm. The secondary power-core was still running, and the wires were sparking with energy. The weapon was still active, and Kirk pointed it at the other android, desperately trying to fumble with the wires to attempt to find the one that would activate the beam. The other android might have understood this, or not. It turned toward Kirk, raising its dual cannons just as the gun began to cycle. Then, by a matter of milliseconds, Kirk shot first.

It was, admittedly, not the most recoil Kirk had ever experience from a weapon in his career with Starfleet. Considering that in a matter of two years, he would at one point--or had at some point--loaded a bamboo tube with lumps of coal, large pieces of sulfur, and saltpeater to form impromptu gunpowder in order to send a pile diamond through the chest of a raging gorn. That weapons had or would have more recoil. The severed arm of an android tank, though, would be a close second.

He was thrown back as a nearly microscopic fragment of metal was thrown through the air, instantly piercing the android’s exterior and passing through its body. His aim was imperfect, but his luck was strong; he severed most of its internal processor, and the program automatically fired its self-destruct protocol to avoid being captured alive.

It detonated with resounding force, throwing Kirk back, his body remaining intact only because Lyra had the foresight to use the last of her power to cast a shield spell. It promptly shattered, and Kirk was thoroughly singed, but when he landed he was certainly not dead. The pain of the impact was clear proof of that.

Eventually the world resolved enough for him to stand up. When it did, he looked up to see Spock standing over him, poking him with a stick.

“Spock, where did you come from?”

“Captain, I had thought it was quite obvious that I am Vulcan.” Another poke with the stick. “The fact that you are nolonger aware of this may be an indication of brain damage.”

“Why the stick?”

Another poke. “Diagnostics.”

Kirk sat up. It became apparent that he had been unconscious for at least a few minutes. M’Ress was standing near a tree, her fur standing on end and her pupils narrowed to tiny slits, attempting to regain her composure and go back to standing on two legs. Lyra, who had been freed from the mud, was attempting to light her horn and sever the hand of the android that was still intact. The android itself was still smoldering, the edges of its charred metal occasionally sparking and atomizing with pink-violet light.

Rainbow Dash approached them, carrying Rarity on her back. Rarity was dripping silver fluid from both half-open eyes, both ears, both nostrils, and her moth. Her eyes were cloudy and she seemed thin and even more pale than normal, but she was breathing and occasionally making coughing sounds that brought out more silver.

“Damn it, what happened?”

“She overdosed, that’s what happened. I don’t—I don’t know what to do about this! You! Harp pony!”

Lyra turned, her magic lit enough to be pulling on the hand slightly, with several android hands placed in a large sack. “What?”

“Do something!”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.” She still ran over. “Oh. Wow. This is bad. But her skull’s still inside though, which is good.”

“Oh, yeah, she has the jokes--”

Lyra looked up, an expression of grave seriousness on her face. “No. That’s literally a thing.”

“She’s...hurt,” said Rarity. Her voice sounded different, partly because of the silver in her lungs but also because it was quite apparent that Rarity was still unconscious. The voice was not hers. “Get her...to my sickbay...need to cool the body...not again, not again, I won’t lose another...I won’t lose another...”

Lyra looked up at Rainbow Dash. Rainbow Dash nodded, and the pair of them took her back into the ship.

Kirk attempted to right himself, then approached the dead android, half expecting it to stand up. M’Ress saw this, and also approached. One of her arms was hanging limply at her side, and as she passed Spock he grabbed it and shoved her shoulder back into place with a loud pop. M’Ress winced and let out a slight hiss.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You have several broken ribs and internal bleeding. It is in the nature of Caitians to hide illness, in a general cultural sense. I would recommend against this in the future.”

“I am aware of this. And do not generalize us.”

“Even when my generalization is at present accurate?”

“Don’t poke the bear, Spock," Sighed Kirk. "She just took the head off a robot like she was opening a can of beans.”

M'Ress smiled slightly. “Unlike your species, I have evolved from my planet’s apex predator. I am much stronger than either of you. There is also a certain degree of bloodlust. It displeases me that robots don’t bleed. Also, I am not a bear.”

“Are you sure you’re not part kzinti?”

“The kzin lost a war with the humans, Captain. The Caitians did not.”

Kirk nodded, and looked down at the android. The severed arm beside it was still twitching, but it slowed as its power depleted. Kirk crouched and looked more closely at it, and he saw a familiar symbol printed on its side. A symbol that made his heart sink.

“The imperial seal of the Klingon Empire, Captain,” said Spock, as if Kirk did not already know. “It seems that you were correct. And we now have a better understanding of who District 51’s benefactors are.”

“No.” Kirk stood. “No we don’t.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain?”

“You don’t see it? What’s wrong here?”

M’Ress saw it too. “The Klingons would never send robots into battle. It would be an unspeakable act of cowardice to send a machine to fight in their stead.”

“Unless their numbers were limited,” noted Spock. “And if they had battle-equipped robots at their disposal, this would be the most logical and efficient way to ensure victory.”

“If they were Vulcans, sure,” said Kirk. “But these are Klingons we’re talking about, Spock, they aren’t exactly known for being logical.”

“They are a warrior race,” added M’Ress. “Even if they won, this would be a victory without honor. And therefore not even a victory at all.”

Spock seemed to at least vaguely acknowledge this, even if he did not understand. “Which raises the question, then.” He looked down at the damaged android. “If this is intended as a deception, however crude, then who is the true owner of these machines?”

Kirk looked down at the robots. Robots in Klingon colors and with a Klingon insignia—but that were obviously not Klingon in the slightest. “I don’t know, Spock. But I think I know where we can find them.”

Chapter 24: A Certain Vote

It was a beautiful day in Equestria, and in Canterlot in general. A warm, sunny day on a planet millions of miles away from its long-dead sun in a region where it should have been an icy and uninhabitable wasteland, instead lit by technology with no known origin and by a mechanism totally alien to the ponies who had lived beneath its glow since time immemorial.

They were of course not aware of this. Or most were not. Shining Armor fell somewhere in the middle. He was vaguely aware of it, but chose not to care. It did not pertain to his current situation.

His situation, on that beautiful day, was to be sitting on a cool marble bench before the great arching windows just over Celestia’s gardens. He stared out toward a hedge maze where some of the students of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns laughed at how lost they were, while other ponies sat amongst the numerous stone statues of various monsters and ponies. Or, rather, what they took to be stone statues. Their actual nature had been erased from history entirely.

The sunchokes were in bloom, as were the daylilies. They were surely beautiful, although Shining Armor could not see them. Prolonged exposure to changelings had left him mostly blind. He was able to perceive general motion and shadows, but little more than that. Although he could smell it. The smell of the world he had dwelt in during his youth, when he still dreampt of being Captain of the Guard. He had played in that very maze with his sister, and the statue garden was where he had taken Cadence on their third date. They sat beneath the statue of Discord, which Shining Armor now understood had probably not been the best place to sit. The memories pleased him, even if they were from a lifetime ago.

He was not alone. A changeling stood at the edge of the window, mostly in the shadows but in a position where she could look out at the ponies playing and wandering around. She was not an ordinary changeling. Shining Armor had only seen her once or twice before the loss of his vision, but he knew every inch of her chitin-coated body. She was far taller than a normal changeling, with thinner features and much fuller wings. She even had something that resembled hair, which covered the unique growth that emerged from just over her gnarled horn. A tiny, fleshy antenna that closely resembled a crown.

“And your thoughts, my Queen?”

“Why should you bother asking me? You already told them what we’re doing.”

Shining smiled. “Because I am your chief diplomat. You know that.”

“Yes. And you should have asked,” she snapped.

“So you’re saying you don’t agree with me?”

Chrysalis paused, grimacing. Shining could not see the grimace, but he knew it was there.

“Of course I agree you pony simpleton. But you are not Queen. I am. If you were a male changeling I would have eaten you by now.”

“There is still time. I’m sure I’m quite delicious.”

Chrysalis bared her pointed teeth. “No, you would surely taste disgusting.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

She growled. “You’re insufferable. I should have taken your sister.” She looked out the window at the food below. “But as much as it pains me to give that horse Cadence anything she wants, I think this is the first time I’ve ever agreed with the both of the two fattest alicorns.”

“She is our ally.”

Chrysalis sighed. Then she smiled. “Yes, yes. I suppose we ought to give the aging spinster something to give her life at least a little meaning. After all that time she spends underground with her crystals and freaks.”

“Chryssi, be nice--”

“Don’t call me that in public, you impudent sot!” she hissed.

“We’re not in public.”

“You know what I mean!”

They paused for a time, Shining enjoying the feel of cool air against his body and Chrysalis stewing in her own perpetual grumpiness.

“I’ve always known they were there,” she said, at last.

“Have you?”

“I’ve smelled it. On clear nights. When the air is still. Sometimes it wafts down. Like distant spice. Something that almost isn’t even there. The scent of their love, drifting in from across the stars.” She looked at him, her smile growing. “But I never knew there were so many. Trillions upon trillions of them. For so long we’ve been trapped on this planet, unable to breed to our fullest potential with the puny amount of love these ponies can give us. But with that many...my hive will grow to a scale that spans the cosmos.”

“That many implies anonymity, inherently. Hives don't make their own love. Workers collect it from within a society. Changelings could infiltrate every government of every world.”

Chrysalis frowned. “We are changelings. We do not infiltrate.” She paused. “We do not intentionally infiltrate.”

“Yes you do.”

“Well then buck you, pony.”

“If you like. Although this time, perhaps not in Celestia’s bed?”

Chrysalis paused for a moment. “Indeed. It reeks of hoomin.”

“It is my hope,” continued Shining, “that we can infiltrate. Every government on every world. And with that, we could gain control of their political processes.”

Chrysalis raised a nonexistent eyebrow. “And why would I want to do that?”

“To create lasting galactic peace. Ruled from the shadows. By you, of course.”

“And what use do I have for peace?”

Shining smiled. “Because then they can stop wasting energy on making war, and make love instead.”

Chrysalis smiled. She approached Shining kissed him, which considering the length of the changeling tongue, their quantity of viscous and slightly acrid saliva, and the sheer number of teeth present in her mouth, was a bit of an experience. At the very least Shining Armor had lost his gag reflex, and now he actually somewhat enjoyed it. He felt a familiar draining sensation in the process as well, and he grew slightly weaker. He had also grown to enjoy that as well. There was little other choice.

“And you quite excel at the manufacture of love, don’t you, my little pony?”

There was a sound of hoofsteps, followed by the quiet sound of bones cracking and joints reconfiguring. Shining armor looked up to see two figure approaching. One smelled strongly of licorice, being Luna, and the other was a changeling. All changelings smelled vaguely cheesy, but this one had a distinct aroma. The smell of his specialest stepdaughter.

“Shining Armor!” announced Luna, with her characteristically loud voice. She approached, probably smiling, to find Shining Armor speaking with a generic, interchangeable unicorn-like changeling guard. Ocellus was beside her, rendered in her pony form.

“Ocellus? Have you given up on your human form?”

She blushed and looked away. “I...I really like it, and it’s so good for writing, but when I tried to walk I fell right on my face. I’m not used to two legs.”

“Then you need more practice.”

“Or course. I will work on it right away!”

“We were conversing with your bug-daughter during the recess from these boring deliberations,” announced Luna, again with obnoxious volume. “And look what we hath discovered concerning her body! Show him, small bug-horse-child! Show him the thing! THE THING!”

Ocellus sighed, and shifted her body. Her face was still rendered roughly as its pony form, although with larger eyes closer to what hers actually looked like. She maintained her body chitin, though, including her sparkly blue wings.

Luna was at this point almost jumping up and down with excitement. Ocellus took a breath and then, blushing, rubbed her wings against her body. The vibration made a loud chirping sound.

“HUZZAH!” cried Luna, gleefully. “She hath produced a sound like a vast cricket or in the manner of a medium-sized locust! This pleases us! It pleases us so much!”

“It’s a lot lower than a real cricket,” admitted Ocellus.

“Nay, child, neigh! Thou doth not know the sheer scale of moon-crickets, they are quite large, and you sound as they do with great verisimilitude!”

Ocellus seemed somewhat frightened by the implication of her-sized crickets. “That’s—big..”

“Indeed!” Luna sighed. “Why, ever year, it is our Hearthswarming tradition to gather our greatest warriors and hold a quest to slay the mightiest of crickets! We then roast it and serve it as a feast to all our guests! The feasting upon the flesh of the Great Cricket is indeed a wonderful tradition! And as Princess we always partake of the best piece!”

“What’s...the best piece?”

“The brains, of course!”

Ocellus nearly fainted.

“Although we shalt not eat thine flesh, dear child, you sound too pretty. Additionally you are small and narrow and lack adequate meat to form a proper feast. Unless we took up the slack with delicious stuffing.”

Shining sighed. “Are you seriously implying in front of the changeling king that you intend to eat us?”

“Why? Do you not partake of us? Doth it not make sense that if thou art meant to suck us of our love that we might, in turn, sick you at once? Then we shalt both be sucked!”

Ocellus turned a shade of green so deep that even Shining Armor could see it. Not out of nausea—although it was a strong possibility—but from her changeling blood rushing to her face. Even the mysterious generic guard beside Shining Armor snickered slightly. It was apparent, of course, that Luna had no idea aware of the implications of her statement.

“Perhaps we will be much less of a drain once we are able to suck humans.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Now thou doth soundeth too much like my sister.”

“She and I both share a number of ideals.” He turned slowly to the changeling guard. “Could you leave us? Both of you? I need to discuss the proceedings with the Princess.”

The guard bowed. “Of course.” An uncharacteristically toothy smile crossed his face. “Come here, Ocellus. Let’s find you a thick and juicy stallion for lunch.”

Ocellus, somehow, blushed a deep shade of green and grew desperately pale at once. “Y—yes, of course, but—can we start with a petite mare, maybe?”

“No.”

Ocellus was promptly dragged away by the ‘guard’, and Shining Armor was left alone with Luna—or more specifically, a superficial fragment of Luna. A thin skin of Luna over the surface of a much more ancient and powerful pony, one watching perpetually through a pair of teal cat-like eyes. A pony that even Luna herself did not fully perceive.

“Yes,” said Luna. “You wished to speak with us.”

Shining Armor gestured to the bench. “Won’t you sit, Princess?”

“We are a highly vigorous maiden-goddess, we shall stand, thank you.”

Shining Armor accepted this, understanding completely that the armor Luna compulsively wore to hide her mottled appearance left her almost incapable of the act of comfortably sitting.

“I will sit, if you don’t mind. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“We are well over one thousand years of age greater.”

Shining Armor smiled. “Yes. But I don’t have wings, do I? And you don’t get sucked by changelings on a daily and nightly basis.”

“Indeed, we do not." She paused "You are quite ill, Shining Armor.”

“A small price to pay for peace. Which is why I needed to speak with you.”

“Then speaketh, sickly mortal.”

Shining Armor did not immediately speaketh, but paused, considering the best way to phrase this. Luna, despite her age, was far more childlike than Celestia and prone to strong reactions. Which meant he needed to be firm, but kind. Just like talking to a larva when it first developed its venom glands.

Of course, Luna was no larva. So eventually Shining elected to simply be blunt.

“I fear your sister does not fully understand the consequences of what she is trying to get us into.”

Luna frowned. “You imply our sister hath been seduced and manipulated. Thou art indeed young, too young to have known her in her youth. That she hath verily been the one who hath performed the seducing.”

“Not in that sense. Not by the human.”

“Certainly not by the ugly high-elf.” She paused, her eyes widening. “Unless you mean to claim that she hath stolen our doctor from us?!”

Shining turned his head, and staring into his green-clouded eyes, Luna immediately silenced.

“Not by any person or pony,” he said, “but by the idea of a big, bright new world for her to share her vision. Because she is an idealist and doesn’t understand what true galactic diplomacy would mean.”

“We doth not comprehend thine babblings.”

“What do you think would happen if Celestia were suddenly placed in a position where she were not in absolute control? Where she no longer had the means to manipulate the fabric of society, to re-write her own history, to produce her absolute vision of Peace and Harmony? How would she react?”

“She would spread it. Her ideals, we mean.”

“But what if she can’t? What if we find a world of beings so much more powerful than us, so many more of them so stronger, that her words get drowned out? That she can’t force Harmony into the Federation, across all of the cosmos?”

Luna paused because she did not know the answer. Or because she did.

“She cannot tolerate it,” he said.

“Our sister is strong.”

“Exactly my point. My stepchildren have been to your moon, Luna. I know what is written on the Lunar Monolith.”

“The Lunar Monolith is the mad scribbling of our teenage self, raging and cast out from this world. The false prophecies of Nightmare Moon.”

“And yet you haven’t destroyed it. Because it’s the last piece of truth. Of what that War meant. Of how you wept alone for a thousand years while she ruled in your place. Because you defied her vision.”

“We resolved this issue. To speak of it is treason. We should have you stripped naked and chained in the dungeon, and we ought to floggeth you personally for speaking such lies of our beloved sister--”

“Then do it. But listen first. She will not withstand it. She will lose control. The humans have no idea what she is, what she can do...and what their world will do to her. If we expose her to the cosmos, our world will never know peace.” He paused. “Which is why I will be submitting a vote against the invitation.”

Luna did not gasp, but raised an eyebrow.

“You will?”

“I have to. I have to, for the peace and to...and to...” He began to shake, and the greenness in his eyes cleared only slightly. His voice dropped to a panicked whisper. “And I have to...I have to keep them on this planet. It’s all I can do. It’s all I can do, I have to keep them from spreading...I have to keep them from...it’s all I can do. It’s all I can do...”

Luna put her hoof on his shoulder. He recoiled, as if struck, but then seemed to become confused. He shook, an intrinsic tremor, but it slowed. His eyes grew more green, and he smiled again, once more going silent and still. Luna was not sure if she pitied him, or if she admired him. A mortal who had been forced to sacrifice love for peace, and his very being for Equestria.

“You cannot hear me speaking,” she said, quietly. He indeed did not, although she imagined that something within him, somewhere, understood. “But I understand. I too shall vote against this bargain. Let them come. My moon shall be a shield against their strongest forces, and together we shall stand firm. Not one of them will set foot on my sister’s world. I shall protect this planet, and I shall protect my sister. Of this, you have my word.”

Shining Armor’s gaze was distant, but through the pain of his wretched existence, a slight change occurred in his smile. Not the smile of constant implanted euphoria, but one of the barest relief.

Chapter 25: The Orbital Deception

Uhura put down the earphone in frustration. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. It had initially been nice to serve a role other than the mainstays of translation and cultural assistance, but now she was regretting having taken a role beyond the normal scope of comms.

“Having trouble, Lieutenant?” asked Arex, who was in the process of correcting their orbit to avoid proximity to the peculiar orbit of the planet’s so-called “sun”.

“I’m receiving absolutely no signal from it.” Uhura stood up and looked out the viewscreen. It was still out there, and she had come to understand where it was supposed to be. Except that there appeared to be nothing out there at all.

“Which is not unexpected for a cloaked vessel.”

“The cloak is a form of optical, photonic camouflage. Based on Starfleet records, they work most efficiently in the visible spectrum but much more poorly in the microwave or long-wave bands.”

“Are you anticipating that the Klingons would be using radio communication?”

“No. But a ship should produce interference. Every computer, every power conduit, the warp core itself. There’s always noise, Arax. But I’m not hearing anything at all.” She put her hands on the back of the captain’s chair and stared out at the space, frowning. “They’re just sitting there. In orbit. No signals are going down to the planet, I would have heard those. But there’s also no relay outward. It’s floating in total radio silence.”

“Which is not unexpected for a stealth mission.”

“But why would they just sit there? What would they be doing?”

“It would be difficult to ask them.”

Uhura sighed. “It would be nice if we could use active sensors. Maybe if we can position it between their light-producing satellite and us, we can get a better view of where exactly the cloak shifts the radio signals. I could resolve the receiver band a little bit more. Ensign Chekov, if you could--”

She looked down to see Chekov leaning forward at an odd angle, his hands still on his controls—but his eyes closed. He was sound asleep.

Arax immediately slapped Chekov in the back of the head, not taking his other two hands off his controls. Chekov sputtered and sat up suddenly.

“GAH! Ya ne kartoshka, ne edyat—what? Where?” He looked around. “Oh. I was having the most wonderful dream. There were unicorns, dressed only in their socks, and we were on an island...studying for the Starfleet theoretical quantum geometry final...”

“Mr. Chekov,” said Uhura, approaching him and putting a hand on his chair. “Firstly. I did not want to know that. I did not want to envision that. Second, if Captain Kirk ever catches you sleeping on his bridge, he will reassign you to the engineering team that oversees the ship’s waste management system. Permanently.” She leaned closer. “And if you ever sleep on my watch again, I’ll be much more lenient.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Certainly. I’ll have you blown out an airlock.”

Chekov’s eyes widened. “You—you wouldn’t do that, Lieutenant--”

“You would be surprised,” said Arak, performing his species’s equivalent of a smile. “The last person to do so was that poor deltan fellow. We were in low orbit on a red giant at the time. At least it was quick.”

Chekov was shaking, and now most certainly awake. He began typing quickly, doing his various assays. “My apologies, Lieutenant, I was awake all of last night considering the implications of the pony’s mathematics on current warp theory. I got caught up in trying to rectify her wariance calculations with modern statistics to find a solid solution, but I had no luck--”

“I do not need excuses, Mr. Chekov. Sleep in your bunk. That’s what it’s for. Not on the bridge.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Uhura went back to her station, and Chekov, blushing, went to work. Arax, though, patted him on the shoulder, again with the third arm.

“Do not be so concerned,” he said, quietly. “You are an ensign. You cannot be demoted, just court-martialed.”

“That is...true. Thank you?”

“It is not even the worst I have seen. I was once on a ship where command assigned us a denobulan science officer, forgetting that we had an Orion first officer. He was asleep on his viewfinder for three days before anyone noticed.”

Chekov nodded, but was preoccupied by something on his screen. Then he turned suddenly. “Lieutenant. It seems I have lost the Captain’s signal!”

The bridge went silent.

“Excuse me, Mr. Chekov?”

“I was examining the planet’s surface to track his position and that of Mr. Spock and Lieutenant M’Ress. Which is not hard, because their life-signs are very distinct. But I lost them. I can no longer receive the signal.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, that could mean they have died.”

“I would rather not like to consider that option, Mr. Chekov, provide me a better one.”

“It is...possible that they are out of range, I suppose, or hidden behind a great deal of rock. Or metallic trees. Or a dampening field.”

“Ponies do not have that technology.”

“No. Which is why death is being more likely.” He projected an image to the view-screen on the beautiful planet below, showing the last set of coordinates. “This is where I had last detected them. Scans suggest a small willage.”

“And their comms signal?”

Chekov checked again. “That is not active either.”

“Then they are probably not dead, or the comms would still be transmitting. They must be hidden by something.” Uhura paused, then walked to the comms station.

“Lieutenant?”

“I am hailing the pony military on their moon colony.”

“For what purpose?”

“Because, Mr. Chekov, this is a collaborative effort. And I have questions.”

Uhura connected the channel, converting the modulators to the primitive encrypted radio used by the ponies. There was, for a moment, no response, but then a reply. She put it onscreen.

The viewscreen shifted to show the same stark military control room that the ponies had first shown them when they had arrived. Except this time, only one pony was present. A gray mare who immediately attempted to hide behind the table, with only her eyes and the top of her head exposed. She was not a unicorn, and had no wings, which Uhura understood translated to either “soil-horse” or “earth-pony” in their language.

“I am Lieutenant Uhura, acting command officer of the USS Enterprise.”

“General-Commander Spitfire isn’t here,” squeaked the pony. She was quiet and sounded terrified. “Rear-Lieutenant Blossomforth is also not here, she’s doing her daily yoga. I can send for her, but I need to find a medic to unfold her--”

“Your name is petty-officer Marble, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know? Can you read my mind? Please don’t read my mind, you’ll find out that I’m secretly attracted to my cousin!”

“Is that your name?”

She paused. “Petty-officer Marble Pie. Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

She more or less squeaked in response.

“We were tracking our team on the planet, but it looks like something is wrong. We’ve lost the signal. The last place we saw them was here.” She transmitted the coordinates. Marble Pie looked down, squinting at them, and squeaked slightly.

“That’s Ponyville,” she said. “My big sister used to live there. Until she came up here. To make moon pies.”

“Is there anything that would block our signal?”

“like metallic trees?” asked Chekov.

Marble paused, her face still half-hidden. “I like his voice,” she said, blushing slightly. “But not that I know of. Hold on. There’s an office down there.” She disappeared from frame and came back with a telegraph key. She put the headphones on and began tapping out a signal. Uhura saw it on her meters; it was being transmitted by crude radio to the planet.

The tapping stopped after a moment, and Marble listened. Then a strange frown came over her face.

“That’s weird,” she said. “They’re not responding. But we have a telegraph post right there in town. We have to, for District 51, it’s a military requirement. And Sparkler’s always there. She’s so nice. And almost as hot as my cousin.”

“Is the connection broken?”

“It’s radio. What could stop radio?”

Uhura knew the answer. “I’m not sure,” she lied, “but we’ll help look into it if you need us to.”

“No, I’ll send a ticket. We’ll get the Equetrians to check the antenna but it will take them a while to find a latter. Sorry.” She slowly slid below the table again. “Was that all, scary alien lady?”

“I did have one other question.”

“Oh?”

Uhura cleared her throat, knowing that they were listening—but taking a chance. She flipped off the universal translator, and when she spoke, it was in the guttural tones, occasional whinneys, clicks and squeaks of the Equestrian native language.

Marble’s eyes widened, and she sat up.

“Your mouth is lining up with your words. You’re...you’re speaking Equestrian, aren’t you?”

Uhura smiled, continuing in the almost pronounceable chain of alien words . “Yes. Am officer of talk, like language learn. Am good?”

“Not really, but I can understand you. And it’s so impressive you learned it so fast.” She sat up higher, apparently being much more comfortable with the conversation. With normal ship-to-ship communication, the ship’s computer could usually sync lips well; since she was essentially viewing Uhura through an an ancient television set, it must have looked quite disturbing to see Equestrian coming out of the mouths of individuals speaking English. Now, though, they were both speaking the same language--the language of small horses.

“Had big question. Signal. Moving. In orbit. Big thing, signal, but can’t see. You touch signal?”

Marble paused, confused, trying to think of what this meant. Uhura was using poor grammar, but partially on purpose. Had she fed her own words through the translator, it would have come out as gibberish—but with the extrapulatory power of a native speaker, it could perhaps be understood. Which meant that if Klingons were listening, they would have very little idea what she was saying. What Marble said, though, they would almost certainly understand.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly realizing. “Yes, you noticed that too?”

“What is being thing?”

“I don’t know, but our sensors picked it up. The magic resonance crystals. Something sets them off. Something magic. But we don’t know what it is. The telescopes don’t see it. The science stallions think it’s part of the poles of the planets lining up but...”

“Butt?”

“Not the right word. It’s cyclic. We’ve seen it every few years. But telescopes only got good enough to see it lately. Except it’s not there. Sorry, I don’t know what it could be.”

“Is being great-much boat?”

“A ship?” Marble shook her head. “No. Yours is really big but doesn’t do the same thing. Moondancer’s does, though, but only sometimes when the crystals are fresh. And I can always tell when they’re fresh. I lick them to check.” She paused. “Don’t tell Spitfire. She’ll make me do the sorry-dance again.”

“You give help much, is thanking grass camel flowerbed. Goodbuy.”

Marble waved, and the communication cut out. At that point, the entire bridge crew was staring at Uhura.

“What did you just say?” asked Chekov.

“More importantly, how did you produce those sounds without choking?” asked Arax.

“Careful linguistics,” replied Uhura, coughing. “Their communications are breached too. Something is blocking us.” She paused. “And they are detecting the cloaked ship too, but they don’t know what it is. It’s leaving a signature that they can detect but we cannot. Mr. Chekov, can you modulate the passive sensors to pick it up?”

“Well...yes, theoretically, but without a positive control--”

“Use the pony ship in the shuttle bay for comparison. Their warp-core has a signal that our instruments are not detecting right now, and apparently the ship out there gives off the same type.”

“To reverse the internal noise compensations...It will take some time, Lieutenant.”

“Then make it so. Is there a way to scan the planet for a dampening field while we wait?”

“No. A dampening field, it dampens. Including it’s own field. It is as if looking for something you can see only by its absence, which perhaps I could do if there was a transmitter down there but...” He paused, and then started typing.

“Mr. Chekov?”

“Such a reaction, it would take great power to maintain. A fusion reactor, or antimatter, or something else with much force.”

“Whatever it is would be dampened by the field itself,” noted Arak.

“Yis, but only on standard waveforms. Such a field, unless very strong and well-made, would not be able to dampen its own neutrino emissions, should it be powered by fusion reactor. I am recalibrating to detect them and...there.”

Two dots appeared on the planet. One close to Ponyville, and the other just slightly farther—and orders of magnitude more powerful.

“What is that?” asked Uhura.

“I am...not sure. A fusion reaction, I suppose, but one of unimaginable power. Such neutriono flux, it would be generated by a whole star, not merely a reactor. An artifact, a mathematical misinterpretation within the computer, maybe? No known system could contain such power for more than a few nanoseconds. But the smaller one, it is a reactor. Weak, but for sure.”

“A fusion reactor...on a planet with at best steam-age technology.”

“Yis. Lieutenant, something is down there.”

“Then I think we know where Captain Kirk is, don’t we?”

They all paused. And then Chekov looked back. “Lieutenant, what should we do, then?”

Uhura sat down in Kirk’s chair. She sighed. “All we can do now is wait, and be ready. Because when it happens, it will all happen at once. I guarantee it.”

Chapter 26: A Dangerous Plan

The room was one of many that maybe once had been crew quarters, and it was dark and swampishly humid—and yet somehow cold, with foul-smelling but well-chilled air being pumped in by what was left of the Cardasian life-support system. Which, although their ship was high-quality, was definitely the place they had skimped on to save ma few drops of latinum.

What intrigued Kirk in this particular room, though, were the fragments of various pirateish detritus that lined the various shelves. Trophies, he supposed, or other things that the symbiote that was now possessing Rarity had accumulated in its immensely long lifetime. There were several interesting rocks, one with a hole in it, and a few crystals in several colors. There was a mechanical monkey with a pair of cymbals, and a jar with an indeterminate thing held within, as well as a small and extremely old framed photograph of an extremely well-dressed Trill man with a long-haired woman who looked dirty and greasy but at least vaguely human apart from the slit-shaped pupils in her weirdly-spaced blue eyes.

Spock was also present, not for the display but because this was the room where the tools were kept so that he might do his Spock things. Which mainly meant science. The particular science that he was now engaged in involved careful dissection of what remained of an enormous robotic arm, the one that Kirk had used as a weapon to fire a projectile cleanly through the body of its twin. When Kirk entered, Spock had already removed the housing of the main cannon and was carefully disassembling it.

“Finding anything interesting in there?” Kirk picked up a skull from a shelf. It was immensely old and human in shape, but with an insignia of metallic gold somehow embedded in the forehead. Perhaps the remnant of yet another body that the symbiote had once maintained.

“Several things,” said Spock after a moment, his hands still in the machine and dexterously removing a large crystal from its housing. “Which are in equal parts both fascinating and intriguing.”

“Both at once? That doesn’t sound good.”

“It is neither good nor bad, Captain.” Spock sat back from the assembly, swiveling on his chair to face Kirk. “However, my findings do suggest that what Rarity indicated concerning alien use of this planet’s resources may indeed be more than just probable.”

“Meaning?”

Spock gestured to the device. “The object in question is a projectile weapon.”

“Yes, Spock, I know that. My shoulder still hurts from the recoil.”

“I am also able to fix that, if you require it.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near my shoulder.”

“Noted. A projectile weapon is a device which instead of using a directed energy beam fires a projectile to inflict damage using kinetic energy--”

“Yes, Spock, I also know what a projectile weapon is.”

“Of course, Captain. I just told you.”

Kirk sighed. “So it’s more primitive than our phasers, but it still packed an awful kick. Is it something the ponies built?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk sighed again, knowing what was coming.

“I would hardly describe this particular weapon as ‘primitive’, Captain. In actuality, the technology far exceeds what is currently understood by Federation science, at least in some respects.”

“But it’s a projectile weapon. How can a projectile weapon be superior to a phaser?”

“Empirically, Captain. But in addition, there are several modifications to the basic function.” Spock turned back to the device and reached inside. “The weapon utilizes a supermassive subatomic particle matching Rarity’s description of her so-called ‘element zero’. The particle, when agitated with adequate electrical fields, does indeed induce what can be best described as a mass-effect, reducing the effective mass of an object and in this case a projectile.”

“Why would anyone want to make a projectile less heavy? That doesn’t make any sense, you’d be losing kinetic energy.”

“Considering the equation for kinetic energy, no. That is untrue. While kinetic energy is linearly related to mass, it is exponentially related to velocity. This particular system uses that to overcome relativistic discrepancies.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Strange. Considering you had just stated that you understood how a projectile weapon operates.” Spock pulled something out of the weapon. A small piece of metal, about the size of Kirk’s thumb. From the color of it, probably a tungsten alloy.

“Is that one of the projectiles?”

“Yes, Captain. And also no. This is all the projectiles.”

Kirk groaned. “Spock, I’m not in the mood for riddles--”

“The mechanism draws all the projectiles from this source. On the order of a few hundred atoms per shot, bound and accelerated to nearly the speed of light. This block contains every projectile this weapon will ever need to fire.”

Kirk frowned. “Spock, I fired the thing, it wasn’t just a few atoms--”

“Without a warp field, the mass of an object increases to infinity as it approaches the speed of light. This device simply limits it to perhaps a few grams, or kilograms. I believe it may be possible to modulate it depending on the structural parameters of the weapon.”

“But...why?”

“Captain, an effective mass of a single kilogram moving at 99.99% the speed of light would have have an energetic capacity orders of magnitude greater than any known weapon. Given an adequate source of power, this technology could vaporize a continent with a single atom.”

Kirk shivered. Rarity had been indeed been right.

“It also gives me insight onto how their telekinesis operates,” continued Spock. “It is not actually telekinesis, in the strictest sense. Rather, it is a localized field of spatial distortion. In effect a small and highly-controlled warp field. They quite literally have the capacity to warp the fabric of space at will.”

“The unicorns, at least.”

“No, Captain. I believe this material may permeate all biological creates of this planet. All may have this power to some extent.”

Kirk froze, realizing that fruit and cupcakes all ultimately derived from biological sources.

“Is it toxic?”

“Highly, Captain. To us, at least. Although it would take us decades to accumulate a dangerous amount short of ingesting a unicorn directly. Or more likely several.” He paused. “Although there is a possibility that an organic creature like us could intercalate this material into their own biology...although we would be as likely to violently explode as we would be to match their power. Perhaps even more so. I do not have the basic information necessary to perform a statistical power analysis.”

M’Ress entered the room, still wearing her sundress but now also holding one of the weapons stolen from the smaller robots.

“Still in the dress? We can get you a proper uniform.”

“This dress may well have saved my life, Captain.”

Kirk frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“No. You would not. Your shirt is yellow. Somewhat.”

Kirk still had no idea what she was talking about, but it was possible she was somewhat addled.

Despite being a Caitian, M’Ress was a communication’s officer specializing in fundamental linguistics and cultural support for diplomatic missions. She was not trained as an infantry soldier. None of them were. Starfleet was only superficially military; the crew of the Enterprise were meant to be explorers, not soldiers. So her holding a weapon, in this context at least, was disturbingly out of place.

“I am more interested in who built these machines,” she said, entering the room. “The ponies do not possess this level or engineering prowess. And you can bet your respective untufted ears that if the Klingons had a weapon with such recoil and power, we would have seen it before now.”

“That is not necessarily a valid logical assumption,” said Spock. “However, I have indeed confirmed that there is a high probability that these machines are not Klingon in nature.”

“We already knew that, Spock.”

“Yes. You did. However, it needed confirmation.” Spock pulled uncharacteristically hard on the outer surface at the base of the arm, where it was most badly damaged. The Klingon-colored plating came off, revealing that it was bonded to a much smoother and distinctly unKlingon white surface beneath.

“What is that?”

“A form of reinforced polymer, Captain. This symbol was drawn on it.” He held up a fragment that he had removed from the casing, revealing that it was marked with three red-colored, interlocking shapes. They had no meaning to Kirk.

“The rifles have it on them as well.” M’Ress turned hers over to show them. “I have a specialty certification in galactic symbology. And I do not recognize this symbol.”

Kirk nodded. “Then that means that we’re dealing with someone new.”

“Someone who knows Klingons, Captain. But also someone who is incompetent at forming a successful ruse.”

“I don’t think we were meant to survive this particular ruse,” said M’Ress, darkly.

“But we did.”

“Empirically, yes, Captain.”

Kirk considered this for a moment. Something felt wrong, but he was not sure what. Things were playing out logically, but in a way that made him unexpectedly nervous.

His consideration was interrupted by the high, somewhat squeaky shouts of ponies from elsewhere in the ship. Kirk and M’Ress looked at each other, and then went to see what the commotion was. Spock did not join them, and most likely did not even notice that they had left. He was far to intrigued and fascinated by the new theories of physics that sat before him in the form of a massive weapon that had formerly been attached to a robot.

They were in the main room of the ship, what had once been the bridge. All three of them. Rarity had at least partially recovered, but she was pale and listless in appearance, almost seeming thin, and when she walked it was apparent that she was weak and in great pain. Whatever she had done had been both draining and injurious, and although she was walking it was apparent she was still significantly unwell.

Despite this, she was engaged in a heated argument with Lyra, who had apparently taken a break from the construction of a hand throne to engage in a screaming match. Rainbow Dash was sitting in what had once been the captain’s chair, slowly rotating and pretending not to be watching.

“You have absolutely no idea, not the barest comprehension, of what you are talking about, and I am not in the mood to--”

“What you’re in the mood for? That’s exactly it—YOU! Look at this ship, YOUR ship, you have ALL THIS--”

“And you have no idea what I needed to do to get it, you couldn’t even imagine the things I’ve seen. I may look like a pony to you, and Rarity is, but I--”

“What’s going on?” asked Kirk.

Lyra turned sharply. “She’s being a dang horse--”

“I had simply stated the truth,” snapped Rarity, flicking her mane into Lyra’s face. “And you are apparently too blinded by your sick fetishes to understand the implications of basic decency.”

“This isn’t exactly a great time to be arguing--”

“She wants to force you off this planet,” snapped Lyra. “STILL.To keep ponies separate and alone. And it’s not a fetish.” Rarity raised an eyebrow. Lyra groaned. “Well, yes, it is, but that’s not the point! She doesn’t understand, because she’s already half-alien. What their technology could do, what existing on a galactic scale could mean for Equestria--”

“It would mean utter destruction. On a level that you can’t comprehend.”

“You don’t know that!”

“YES. I do. I understand that it may be tempting, but I have dedicated my life to keeping this planet protected.”

“By sealing it off from everyone and everything! There’s technology out there that could revolutionize science, redefine our world--”

“Into something you would scarcely recognize. For what? Shiny, glimmering ships? To find more cold, empty space and put Luna’s flag on it?”

“For history, for understanding, for the TRUTH--”

“Ponies don’t need the ‘truth’, they need PEACE. Security. Protection. Not...pointless abstractions.”

“Well alright then, how about something practical? How about medicine? With their space-han -alien technology, what do you think that would do for our diseases?”

“They have no knowledge of pony physiology, they surely couldn’t contribute.”

“That’s not true,” said M’Ress. “When we escaped District 51, we passed through a grove of trees that had highly toxic effect on your small prey-like body. You treated it with a hypospray of amphiteracin.”

Lyra’s eyes widened, then she glared at Rarity. “Those trees...that was swamp fever? You literally have a cure for swamp fever? ON THIS SHIP?!”

“I used it only because it was strictly necessary for security purposes--”

“One of the most horrific diseases on our planet, that claims hundreds of ponies every year with one of the most agonizing types of death imaginable, and you had a cure...and never even THOUGHT to share it? Aren’t you supposed to be generous or something?”

“How disfiguring?” asked Kirk, not having the context to understand.

“They literally turn into trees. This ampibian terapin, how much does that cost, Kirk?”

“It’s basically free. With industrial replicator-factories, we can make anything we want. Any medicine we need. And we’d be happy to share if we--”

Rarity turned sharply to him, glowering. “Of course you would, darling. Today. Two weeks ago, though? Of course not. It would be unthinkable.”

“Excuse me?”

“Because of that little arbitrary price the Federation puts on any help it wants to give. You have to have a warp core. There are over two hundred pre-warp civilizations in Federation space. How many of those have their own epidemics? Their own Black Death, their own Spanish Flu, Legato, their own Red Necrosis? Or maybe the Augment virus you dropped on the Klingons?”

“We didn’t--”

“It’s not my point. You could cure any world you want. Purge diseases that wipe away billions ever year. But you don’t. Not without that warp core. Not until they have that little justification for you to conquer their planet and bring it into your Federation.”

“That isn’t how it works, and you know it.”

“Oh no, I know it. I know exactly how it works. Planets with primitive populations are allowed ‘self-determination’ so long as they have nothing of value. But if they don’t, that’s a different story, now isn’t it? If there’s dilithium, or latinum, or duranium, or simple, pointless gold. Then maybe a ship ‘crash lands’ on their surface. Or they start picking up radio signals from a ship that just happened to be passing by. Or one of your ‘cultural research stations’ suddenly loses is cloaking field. Or in your case you just damn the Prime Directive and beam down anyway.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Yes, we do,” sighed M’Ress.

Rarity seemed to be vindicated, but unhappy about it. “I’m the only one here that seems to care about the 'Prime Directive' you Federation Knaves insist that you always follow.. To protecting this planet’s unique culture, it’s unique development. Because there is no other planet this beautiful in all the galaxy. You’ve ruined the rest.”

“What if we don’t want to be protected?” asked Lyra.

Rarity glared at her. Then she sighed. “You can’t see it. You don’t know. War. Death.” She looked visually uncomfortable, and the cadence of her voice changed as she attempted to speak. “You don’t even know what they are.”

“We’ve had wars all the time. We know what it means.”

“No. No you don’t. It’s an abstraction to you. The idea of death. It’s a threat, a danger, a source of drama, but it never really happens. Ponies never get hurt to severely, do they? Those spears the guards carry. You’ve surely seen them?”

“Of course.”

“How often have you seen a pony run through on one?”

Lyra looked absolutly horrified by the thought. “That’s—that’s not what they’re for, that can’t happen--”

“You can’t even visualize it, can you?”

Kirk interrupted. "I think I've had my life threatened a lot since I got here."

"Of course you did," snapped Rarity, glaring at him. "Ponies are a prey species. What does prey do when its afraid? It looks bigger. That's it. Pretends to be dangerous, like a butterfly with eyes on its wings. If you cornered a unicorn? Maybe. Maybe she would strike out. But seeing it? To witness death? Murder? What your Federation does on a daily basis? It would shatter them. Us. Down to our very minds, our very souls." She stared at Lyra. "Envision it. Try to. Not like a threat in a game, not a joke. A thin, silvery knife put...put...through...a pony..."

Lyra shook her head hard, as if trying to purge the thought. “Ponies don’t, we can’t, we never--”

“Ponies never kill." Rarity was breathing hard. A combination of her sickness, perhaps, but also something else. As if Rarity herself were experiencing the same extreme revulsion that Lyra was subject to as the symbiote inside her tried to keep the memories separate from the words. "I know. Even the thought of it is tearing you apart. You can’t comprehend it. But I can, even if Rarity can’t. Because I’ve seen it. Enough to know that this planet is unique. That THEY...” She looked at Kirk. “...don’t have that mental restriction. One death, one murder, it’s...an unthinkable atrocity to a pony. And your pointless wars over meaningless empty space burn millions upon millions.”

Lyra collapsed to the floor, pale and shaking. She looked up at Kirk, her eyes pleading. “It...it can’t be true...I didn't--I didn't mean to! Bon Bon, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! The hand, the HAND--”

Kirk did not know what to say. “We’re not perfect,” he admitted. “But we’re trying our hardest.”

M’Ress to Rainbow Dash, who had stopped rotating. “What about you?”

Rainbow Dash looked back. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to fly again. And...there was a little girl in the town. I lost my wing but...she’s never flown. Do you think you can fix her wings too?”

The rest were silent, and Rainbow Dash slid down off her chair.

“I don’t know,” she continued. “And I don’t know if I even care.”

“Rainbow,” snapped Rarity. “That isn’t a legitimate--”

“Why not? I stopped listening. You’re both whining like a pair of foals and now Lyra's crying like a lump. I fly planes, and rockets, and I used to fly myself. You don’t get those jobs by thinking, especially about things that don’t matter. You do what needs to be done.” She held out her metallic wing. “No matter what.”

Rarity and Lyra fell silent, looking at each other. Rainbow Dash pushed past them, though, to address Kirk.

“Robots, eh? That’s probably pretty bad.”

Kirk nodded. “We think it is.”

“So what do we need to do?”

“To what end?” asked M’Ress.

Rainbow Dash thought a moment. “Whoever sent those wasn’t concerned with grinding us into rainbow paste, so I’m guessing it wasn’t a pony. And you guys seem okay, so it probably wasn’t you. But whoever it was, they shouldn’t be here, should they? So let’s find them and beat their flanks so hard their own mothers won’t recognize their rumps.”

Kirk smiled. “I have an idea, if you want to hear it.” He faced Rarity. “Even if it’s from a Starfleet officer.”

Rarity stared back, and then sighed. “I’m running out of ideas myself,” she admitted. “This conspiracy seems to have gotten very much beyond me, and I’m out of my depth. I do wish to protect this planet...but I also wish for my dearest sister to grow up having a sister who is not, as you so eloquently stated, ‘rainbow paste’.”

Kirk nodded. “This ship. Does it fly?”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. I purged the warp-core on entry and detonated it remotely. There’s enough deuterium to run the generator, but it’s running on fumes. There’s not nearly enough to reach orbital velocity.”

“We don’t need orbital velocity. Just enough to get it into the air.”

She paused. “I...suppose there is. With a few rather substantial repairs, it probably could. But why?”

“Do the weapons work?”

“Again, why?”

“Do they?”

Rarity whinnied annoyingly. “In theory, although they’ve been in especially disgusting muck for the better part of a decade. And I assure you, the forward shields are quite ruined. They saved the ship, but do recall that I still died in the impact.”

M’Ress shivered. “Captain, you can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am.” His smile grew. “I want you to get this ship into the air. And then we’re going to fly it straight over to District 51.”

M’Ress brought her paw to her face in exasperation, and Rarity frowned at Kirk in disbelief.

Rarity frowned. “And what, you uncouth Starfleet fool, do you expect to accomplish with that?”

“An alien ship pops out of the ground and flies right into one of the highest security areas in all of Equestria. A place imperative to scientific and diplomatic advancement for the whole planet.”

“And what, exactly, would destroying it accomplish?”

“Not destroying it. We just need to show up. Because as soon as Celestia finds out, there will be an investigation.”

Rarity’s eyes widened, and a slight smile crept across her face. “That is not untrue. Assuming Celestia does not sweep it under the rug.”

“She can’t. I think she’ll be as interested as you are as to what’s going on in there, but even if she isn’t, there’s three other rulers in Canterlot right now discussing my invitation to the Federation. At least one will call an investigation. And when they do, if there’s something going on, we’ll know.”

“And if they simply shoot us out of the air?” asked M’Ress.

“I thought of that too. Rarity, does this planet have some kind of media? Some manner of television?”

M’Ress frowned. “What in the name of warm sands is ‘tele-vision’?”

“It was something we used to have on Earth. Radio transmissions of images to primitive viewcreens. People used to spend about eight hours a day staring at them.”

“But why?”

“The twentieth century was very boring apart from the continuous planet-wide warfare. Apparently.”

“Humans are so...human...”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It isn’t,” said Rarity and M’Ress simultaneously.

Rarity continued. “We do, but it is rare. An earth-pony technology favored by the farming proletariat. There are barely any sets in Canterlot or Manehattan, but Baltimare, Fillydelphia, Detrot, Whinnypeg...you’ll get reception there.”

“And in Las Pegasus,” added Rainbow Dash. “They've got TV there, if you can get in between 24-hour aerobics broadcast.”

Kirk frowned. “Is every city on your planet a pun?”

The ponies all looked at each other.

“None of us have any idea what you are talking about.”

“That said,” continued Rarity, “the moon also has a substantial television presence. The highest. That is where it was invented, to overcome the profound enuii of bleak lunar existence.”

“Then here’s what we do. We broadcast it. Overwhelm all the frequencies. That way, everyone--”

“Everypony.”

“--sees what we’re doing. And if there’s more robots, well...”

Rarity’s smile grew. “Then they see exactly what we need them to see. The truth.”

Kirk, also smiling, nodded. “Either way, we win.”

“Aside from the part where we get shot out of the sky,” added M’Ress. “With death being an implicit result.”

“That’s a risk, not a guarantee.”

“Yes. And said risks are why the Enterprise has such high crew turnover in the red-shirted department.”

Rarity moved as quickly as she could to one of the screens and began entering information. “There’s just one problem, darling, and that is the communications blackout that they’re projecting. Which will prevent the signal from going anywhere at all.”

“And prevent us from calling in help from the Enterprise.”

“However,” said Rarity. “I’ve been looking into that. Slightly. Between being shot at and overdosing on a very expensive drug. And I believe that there may be a solution.” One of the screens flickered, showing the central tower—and zooming in on the top of it, to where several antennas reached upward into the sky.

“I had not known what these were for,” she admitted, “but I believe they may be part of its communication system. And the system generating this field.”

“Can we shoot it out?”

“No. Because we need it. With that power, we can boost the signal across the whole planet.”

“But how are we supposed to get to it?”

“I can get to it,” said Rainbow Dash.

They all looked at her.

“What?”

“Darling...you can’t fly.”

Lyra winced. “Ouch, way to be harsh--”

“I know,” said Rainbow Dash. “But I have to learn eventually, don’t I? Maybe I just haven’t had the right motivation until now.” She stepped up to the screen. “I can pull off a glide. I’m sure of that. If you can get me to a cloud, I can drop in.”

Rarity nodded. “I have a pair or rockets from a ruined pair of rocket-boots. I can strap them to you for thrust. We can rig you with a life-support belt and match the harmonics of their shields to prevent splattering.”

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Technical jargon.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Is she smart enough to reconfigure it?”

“Ouch, darling, so very harsh--”

“I’m smart,” snapped Rainbow Dash. “I have a third-grade education at least! I’ll figure it out! Just give me a chance to do SOMETHING! I’m not about to sit on this ship and film a movie, as awesome as flying it would probably be...”

“I will handle the flight,” said Rarity. “Of my ship, that is, not the literal flight. But I will need help. From all of you. And the wonderful cat-girl is correct, there is indeed a rather sizable danger. To all of us.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” said Kirk. “But if we move fast, we can catch them off guard. And finish this with as little damage as possible. A few smashed robots and a federal investigation.”

“What if we don’t?” asked Lyra.

Kirk sighed. “Then a few more smashed robots the next time we try to go out for a walk.” He paused. “A few smashed robots, and some rainbow-colored paste.”

Chapter 27: The Core

For most of her life, Moondancer had worked alone. To the point that the majority of Equestrian faster-than-light space travel, save for the internal structure of its FTL core, had been built exclusively by her. The project had of course been funded by literal buckets of lunar silver, but there had never been staff who actually worked on the engineering or implementation of her vision. Moondancer had never trusted them to be adequate. She had never trusted anypony, save for one, and that had ended poorly. So her work took precedence. It was all she had.

That sentiment, though, was starting to change, due entirely to the efforts of the engineering staff of the Enterprise. In her haste, Moondancer had been forced to allow them to assist her. She had expected them to fail miserably, but as it turned out, humans were not as moronic as their gangly bodies and stupidly flat faces would suggest. They were mildly useful, even—although she never would have admitted it if asked—somewhat adequate.

They took their tasks, following her lead and instructions, slowly dissecting the central core of her ship with expert precision and care, taking readings and carefully documenting every piece. In fact, they had to. Mr. Scott had made it mandatory. Inadequate engineering had been strictly forbidden, with jury-rigging only allowed on a case-by-case basis. He was as interested in the contents of the core as well, perhaps even as much as Moondancer.

She walked through their throngs, the humans buzzing around her and being useful. One stopped beside her, running through a datapad.

“Command-Wizard, we’ve finished separating the aft regulation system. Our reports indicate that it is most likely a manifold-type energy regulator to stabilize internal sheer force. We substituted it with a power supply linked directly to the Enterprise, and it’s holding.”

He passed her the pad, and she scanned through it in a matter of seconds. Admittedly, the absurdity of their technology made little sense to her, but she at least understood the basic physics it was meant to convey. Although Equestria had yet to develop the transistor, the theory of semiconducting materials and photonic convergence were elementary and inerrant to the universe overall. The math, at least, she understood.

“If it’s a stabilizer, it has to be linked to the primary output. Or an auxiliary dump. We need to go deeper, find out where that energy is supposed to be coming from.”

“We’re already performing the diagnostic tracing and reverse-engineering the functional duotronic memory array. ETA forty minutes.”

Another human, this one female and in a ridiculously short skirt, approached from the other side.

“Command-Wizard, we’ve completed the analysis of the coolant system.”

“And the other fluid handling systems?”

She flipped through her pad and gave it to Moondancer. “A significant amount of the fluid-handling concerns life support. Oxygen recycling, replicator arrays, filters, sensors for organic molecules. Most of them were damaged severely in the blast and are largely nonfunctional.”

“Are they intrinsic to the design?”

The human paused. “Excuse me?”

“What purpose do they serve?”

“We are not sure, miss. They may be remnants from a converted system, although they seem to have been put there on purpose.”

“Ignore them. I’m not concerned with them right now. Focus on the cooling system. I don’t know what kind of reactor is in there, I need eyes on the temperature if it starts to go critical when we crack it open.”

A third human approached, giving Moondancer the pad with the diagnostics for the overall outputs. Moondancer scanned through it as all three humans left, and she stopped, frowning. It appeared that, so far, there was no apparent source of radiation.

She looked up. She had stopped at the very center of their work, where the central core of her ship was being completely dissected. The main hull of it had been carefully separated and removed, cutting away where they had to and fortunately finding a system of bolts beneath. It had then been carefully stripped, which had resulted in wires and conduits extending outward across the floor in clearly demarcated patterns to stations where humans worked on analyzing each section. Moondancer was surrounded by alien technology; both from the crew and their work, and from the inside of her own ship.

What stood before her now was a central cylinder, part of a more advanced array that she only vaguely understood. The absolute central tube was made of a dull, greenish metal, marked with the same symbol as the outer surface. The symbol of its creator. This center was surrounded by an array of filed, pointed crystals linked in chains and patterns to now-exposed alien systems that circled that central reactor vessel. Tubes, some of them severed, fed into it from the top and bottom, although their purpose remained obscure. Most of the control systems had been fully disassembled; as it turned out, her carefully-crafted cables and solenoids had linked back to switches, sensors, and electronics of profound complexity that made them essentially pointless.

Mr. Scott was standing at the precipice of the machine, angrily shoving a datapad into the chest of one of his crewmembers.

“No, no, you bloody fool! It’s pure dilithium, we can’t remove it, even if we don’t know why it’s there! For all we know it’s holding the whole damn thing in one piece!”

“But sir, the resonance readings--”

Scottie sighed. “I know. It’s certainly dilithium, but I’ve never seen dilithium like this, and that’s saying something.” He paused. “Get those readings to Mr. Chekov. Let’s give the boy a chance to have a crack at it, see what he thinks.”

“Yes, sir.”

The human sped off to do human things, leaving Scottie standing next to Moondancer. They were the two closest to the machine, staring up at it. It was only slightly taller than Scottie, but significantly larger than Moondancer.

“Any idea what it is?”

“The crystal array is meant to attenuate and direct the magic field,” said Moondancer. “To stabilize it and probably to direct it, based on how it was linked to my connection systems. Assuming I’m understanding your computer summaries correctly.”

“It wouldn’t be a stretch, but to be honest, lass, I haven’t the foggiest what computer system this actually is. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“Is it really that advanced?”

Scottie seemed offended. “Advanced? Ne, lass, it’s not advanced, in terms of power the Enterprise’s computers are far more powerful on a bad day than it is at its best. It’s simply alien. Almost everything here is, which makes this terribly dangerous.”

“And exciting.”

Scottie smiled. “Aye, lassie.”

Moondancer likewise smiled, even if it was only slight. She had not been so excited in a long time. Not since she had built the ship, in its earliest design stages. Flying it was dull and technical, but this was a mystery that needed to be solved. The only think keeping her from pure joy was the more sinister undertones arising from a source she had yet to understand. A nagging sensation that something was not quite right.

Scottie pointed at the green cylinder in the center. “We can’t manage to scan through whatever that is made of. In fact our senors can’t even pick up what it’s made of.”

“It’s called dimeritium. It’s an extremely rare element on our planet. It negates magic. Or what you would call warp-fields, or energy. The only output it makes is fed through the control crystals.”

“Any thoughts as to what’s on the other side?”

“The reactor.”

“Well, yes. I think we both already knew that.”

“That’s all we can know. And it’s a problem.”

“Aye. A system that blocks radiation that well? It could be in critical failure at this very minute, only to blow us like a firecracker the moment we crack it open.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Because I know my ship. Something’s...” She paused. “I don’t know. Something’s not right, but I also...I somehow just know. I can still feel it.”

“Intuition, I see. Something that comes in handy about as often as it gets good men killed.”

“I know. And yet I’m still looking forward to it. I wonder if that’s wrong.”

“It’s curiosity, lass. And I have a terrible case of it too.” His expression darkened. “But...I have concerns.”

“About exploding?”

“Not until you mentioned it, no. But...something else.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to describe.” He frowned. “Hard to put into words but...I suppose you could call it intuition.”

Moondancer looked up at him. “I trust yours almost as much as I trust mine at this point. What is it?”

“The machines. That we’ve taken apart. The bits and bobs we’ve seen. We don’t know what half of them are really meant to do, but I’ve gone through the math and I’ve checked your calculations. I suppose I can surmise the general function of some of them.”

“And?”

“And they work. But not well.”

“What do you mean ‘not well’?”

Scottie paused, thinking. Considering a way to describe what he knew so well in his mind. “It’s like...it’s as if a man were tasked with building a right and proper steam engine, and he had the drawings but none of the parts. And he cobbled together what he could from scrap and had the town blacksmith halfway-build some of the parts, but none of them really fit the way they’re supposed to. None of them really work properly. The firetubes are to the side, the smokestack in the cabin, and the brakes don’t go anywhere except to somewhere in the coal pile. ”

“I don’t like analogies.” She paused. “But...I think I understand.”

“It’s like they knew what they were trying to do, what function they needed to make it do...but they didn’t have the machines to what your math says it needed to do. So they did their best with what they had.”

“So they made it poorly.” Moondancer paused again. “Or someone was using technology she wasn’t familiar with.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” mused Scottie. “It’s more like...whatever schematic they used was much, much more advanced than anything we can do with today’s technology.”

“But it still works.”

“Aye, lass. And it terrifies me.”

Moondancer felt her coat stand on end, even under her technical armor. “Me too,” she said. “I don’t like this. Curiosity’s one thing, but I’ve had a bad feeling since we got the first piece off. It was bad enough when I thought aliens made it. But now you’re telling me aliens made it badly from something they didn’t understand.”

Scottie was silent, but nodded.

A human—another female in a ridiculous skirt—approached Scottie, giving him a datapad and nodding. Scottie took it and read with characteristic human slowness.

“The least you could do is give them trousers,” muttered Moondancer.

“Aye. I know,” sighed Mr. Scott in reply. “This is an engineering deck, not a discotheque. Some of the most brilliant engineers I’ve know have been women, but it’s just not safe. But it’s out of my hands. Starfleet command insists on it. All women need to wear those skirts.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I think it might be on the instance of the Vulcans. Have you seen their female officers? Patterned spandex.”

Moondancer and Scottie shivered simultaneously. One of them assumed that Vulcans looked very similar to humans. The other had imagined Spock with shorter hair.

“We might have some luck, though.”

“With getting them pants?”

“No. According to this, they crew on the fourth subsystem thinks they’ve found what is probably an emergency release. It has some failsafes similar to a breen core-purge lockout, of all things, but if this is correct then I think we can open it up.”

“Then have them prepare it. We can’t scan through the dimeritium shell. The only way to see what’s inside is to open it.”

“There’s prep work to do. Come on.” He started walking.

“Come on?”

He looked over his shoulder, confused. “Aye, lass. Or do you expect me to do this all on my own?”

“I’m ranked Command-Wizard. Not Captain.”

Scottie chuckled. “Aye, lass. I see what you mean.”

They set to work. Moondancer supposed she could consider him a friend.

The preparations could be at best described as complex. In addition to being complex, they were also highly technical. Both things that Moondancer favored. Most of it involved reinforcing the power connections to the Enterprise to stabilize the support system for the mostly-disassembled core, as well as reinforcing shield arrays to contain and redirect any blast it might produce. There were also additional calibrations, with sensors being configured for every form of dangerous radiation that could exist and, at Moondancer’ s insistence, several that human science had surely confirmed could not.

The human team had performed the rest of the functions, alighting the system meant for opening the central column and ensuring that it’s path was clear. This included making repairs to several of the mechanisms that would activate to pull the various pieces out in the correct order; the replication of these components took the most time, forcing Moondancer to wait nervously until it was time.

And then, it was. She stood before the reactor column behind a portable shield array, Mr. Scott standing beside her. The controls had been wired to his position exclusively.

“Are you ready, lass?” he asked. “Because once we open it, I don’t think there’s much chance of us getting it back together.”

“Its fine. But at this point I’m not sure I even want to.” She nodded. “Do it.”

Scottie nodded, and activated the system.

The purge process was not fast. The controls had been stolen from a distant alien culture but reconfigured into the shape of pony magic to the schematic of some unknown and unseen creator. The first to fire were the actuators that pulled the stabilizer crystals, removing them sequentially from their ports in the reactor’s dimeritium armor.

“Radiation spiking,” said one of the crew on the monitors. “Neutrino flux increasing exponentially, with trace tacyon surge.”

“It’s not lethal,” said Scottie. “So we shan’t stop, shall we?”

The mechanisms drew back the stabilizers, arranging them in an almost beautiful pattern as they moved out of the way. Then the central armored tube twisted, turning in such a way as to reveal a seam that had previously been unobserved in it’s matte surface. It cracked open, paused for a moment as the system shifted to a different actuator, and then with a hiss pulled itself apart, revealing the contents.

Moondancer looked inside. In that moment, her intelligence, something that she had perpetually considered her greatest—and only—asset suddenly betrayed her. There was no moment of pause, no glorious moment of confusion before her life shattered before her. She instantly comprehended what she was seeing, rectifying it to all her mathematical models and fully understanding the consequences and implications of the technology that stood before her. What it meant, and what it would make—and she heard the sound of her own screams. Screams of horror, of disgust, and of shame. Shame that she had not figured it out before. That in her quest for technology, she had been blind to the most obvious solution of the mathematical puzzle. The only solution that could possibly make sense.

She ignited her horn, cutting through the protective shield and causing the small projector to burst, sending Scottie reeling in a plume of sparks. Moondancer neither noticed nor cared. She could not look away. She wanted to, but there was no way she could.

She ran to the shining glass tube, looking up at the contents now on full display. There, suspended in a clear, bubbling liquid, was a unicorn. Or what had once been a unicorn. A purple unicorn. Her spine had been opened and reconfigured with crude surgery, exposing the implants that linked her to the system that she had been meant to power, connecting her to the top of the tube. Her mouth was filled with tubes, and a piece of black metal had been bolted over her eyes. Her body was badly scarred from rough incisions, some still sutured together to where the machines fed life into her suspended body. Her horn, once so perfectly formed, had not been deemed useful for her purpose and had been neatly severed.

“It can’t be—it can’t be you, it can’t be you, Twilight it can’t be you--”

But it was. Her cutie mark, untouched by her surgery, was unchanged. Her purple body was the same that Moondancer remembered. Even her hair--now neatly shorn to make room for the implants embedded in her skull—had the same soft pink streak it always had.

Moondancer dropped to her knees, because she understood—and it had been her. It had been her who had done this. She had not known, of course—but she should have. The whole time. The whole time she had possessed this machine. Every since Twilight had left her. Except she never had. Twilight had been with her the whole time—but Moondancer had been too stupid to have looked, to ignorant and oblivious to have even questioned why her best friend had stopped talking to her. How her best friend had been with her the whole time.

“Twilight! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know! Please, I—” She stood up. “I’ll save you! Hold on!”

She lit her horn and directed the full force of her magic onto the tube. Whatever it was made of, it did not give—at first. But then it started to fracture, its surface cracking under the massive force. Moondancer winced and tightened her grip, spreading the cracks—only to be stopped as a hand pulled her back.

“Stop! Let me go! I have to save her, she’s my best friend, I did this, It’s my fault, please—PLEASE—”

“We cannna just crack her out of it!” cried Scottie, dragging her back. “We have no idea what those machines are, what they’re doing! For all we know, that’s the only thing keeping her alive!”

“But—but—”

“We can’t go about this willy-nilly!”

“We have to get her out, you human IDIOT!”

Moondancer received a sudden slap.

“Did you just...hit me?”

“Sorry, lass, but you’dve done the same for me! We don’t have time to panic, we have to hurry. You saw the data. The life support system failed days ago.”

“But—but—”

“She’s alive in there. I promise it. But if we don’t do this as a precision operation she won’t be for long!”

Moondancer took a deep breath. She did not need a tricorder to see that Scottie was right. Twilight’s lungs were still inflating, but her breaths were shallow and difficult. She was alive—or at least some semblance of alive—but only for the time being. The majority of her life support had been down for far too long.

“Your doctor. The one who saved me. We need to get him down here. NOW.”

“I’ve already called him. If there’s anyone who can help her, it’s him. But right now I need you to keep a clear head.”

“R...right.” Moondancer took a deep breath and held back the tears. It did her no good if she panicked now. This was just another machine, another project—or that was what she needed to force herself to think. “But I need...your help.”

“And you’ll have it. Whatever it takes. We’re getting her out of that infernal machine. I promise.”

Moondancer nodded. She knew it would be true. But in what state, she was still not sure.

Chapter 28: Disinterment

Somewhere on a planet that to her had no consequential name, a hologram suddenly looked upward.

Flim shivered. “What is it?”

The hologram of Twilight Sparkle smiled. “Nothing you need to be concerned with. Nothing I need to be concerned with either, I suppose. I just find it amusing.”

Flim frowned, but seemed to disregard what the hologram had said. Because of course he would. Being a filthy organic, he had no semblance of sense or knowledge of basic logical progression. Or of the consequences of his own actions.

Leonard McCoy had seen many things in his life. Some were terrible, horrific things. There were injuries that left good men and women dead, either immediately or despite his treatments. There were diseases of every type, some natural, others abominations from ancient laboratories—or laboratories that were not quite as ancient as he would have wished to believe. What he saw floating in that tube, though, was something he had never seen before—and immediately something he wished he had never seen in the first place.

Scottie and the unicorn Moondancer—the very unicorn that had once attempted to strangle him—looked on with expressions of grave concern.

“How is she, doctor?”

McCoy reviewed the data from his medical tricorder. His knowledge of unicorn physiology was far from complete, but it was enough to understand just how dire the situation had become.

“Any other life form would have been dead but now, but she’s not. She’s hanging on, but only barely. And her vitals are dropping every second. We need to do something, and fast.”

“I have the entire engineering crew on standby, but we don’t even know where to start.”

McCoy sighed. He did not know either, but that was not an option. He was the chief medical officer. There was no way to push the issue any higher. It was up to him.

Moondancer looked up at him, her eyes reddened from suppressing her tears. He remembered her face when she had tried to kill him, how she had enough telekinetic armor to rip a man limb-from-limb—and here she was, trying to stifle her tears and pretend to be stronger than she really was.

“Can you help her?”

“I can try.” He looked back at the medical tricorder, walking around the tube and changing positions. Nurse Chapel was already attaching sensor arrays and aligning the data transmission to get a better sense of telemetry. McCoy tried to keep them from seeing that he was only barely looking at the data from the nearly useless machine, and instead inspecting the implants that had been installed in the pony suspended within the tube.

“Most of her internal organs have shut down,” he said. “If they haven't been removed entirely. The machines are keeping her alive, but they’re also siphoning energy.”

“I think that’s what this device was made for,” added Scottie. “To use her as some kind of...living battery.”

McCoy thought as quickly as he could. He could see the mutilated unicorn’s heartrate on his tricorder, and he saw that it was slowing. He had no idea how far a unicorn’s body could go, but hers was almost fully depleted. She might have had an hour, but probably less. Perhaps only a few minutes. If it stopped, he was not sure he could ever get it started again.

“What happens if we disconnect her?” asked Moondancer. Or, rather, demanded.

“All at once? Her body shuts down. She’s not strong enough. But I don’t know which parts do what and I don’t think I have time to figure it out.”

Moondancer started to visibly panic. “Well we have to do something--”

“Damn it, you pony fool, I’m trying! This isn’t exactly a standard Starfleet medical emergency!”

“Well then,” snapped Mr. Scott, “if you can’t figure it out, perhaps I should go get the hologram.”

McCoy glared at him, then looked down at Moondancer. An idea occurred to him.

Moondancer recognized it. “You have a plan.”

“I have a hypothesis,” snapped McCoy in return. “And it’s a long shot, but I think that’s all we have time for right now. Scottie, is there any way you can connect the rest of the machines back to her?”

Scottie’s eyes widened. “Connect her back to the machines? Dr. McCoy, you canna be serious--”

“She’s not stable enough for the surgery, but if my analysis of Moondancer’s physiology is correct, it might be possible to force her to regenerate. Their biology relies on a...I don’t even know the word for it, a substance, some sort of energy-bearing molecule. The thing that blew out the primary transporter when we beamed her on board.”

A look of realization came over Scottie’s face—and Moondancers.

“Her magic,” she said. “You want to reverse it. If you force magic back into her...”

“Then her body might start to regenerate just enough for the procedure. I still have a stock of the synthetic blood I made for you—thank goodness for that, I wouldn’t have time to prepare it otherwise—but we’ll barely have a razor’s edge for a margin of error.”

“That, and we don’t exactly know how to do it,” added Scottie. “They’re essentially using that poor lass as a warp drive, the energy signature is completely different from the Enterprise’s. It would take days to reconfigure the power couplings...I could probably do it in an hour or two if need be, but...”

“No, we don’t have the time.” Moondancer stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

“Lass, you can’t--”

“My ship worked by manipulating the convergence of our fields. Hers to drive it, and mine to control it. Enough of the cockpit survived. I have parts of the control tether. I can still operate it.”

“But lass, it’s meant to be an asymmetric distribution, you canna simply reverse the flow--”

“I can. And I will.”

“And you know what that means,” said McCoy, darkly.

Scottie paused. He had no idea—but it became clear that Moondancer did.

“I wouldn’t be a pilot. I’d be a source. Pouring all my power backward into a system with no stabilizers. I’ll have to take the feedback myself.”

“It very well could kill you.”

“It would vaporize me marrow-first. A full-body reave, and then field subtraction. I know.” She looked him in the eye. “But that pony in there is Twilight Sparkle. She’s my best friend. She always was even if I was too stupid to remember it. I’ll survive. For her. Because...because she can’t be alone. Not like I was. Not after what I did to her.”

The work was performed with a speed that only Mr. Scott could have hoped to accomplish in the timeframe given. The cockpit was still present in the shuttle bay, having been moved out of the way for the project of disassembling the ship’s core. It was promptly moved back into place, with Moondancer overseeing the connection of it to what remained of the control systems remaining in the disassembled core. All told, it took less than fifteen minutes—working in mad rush while McCoy stood by, sweating harder and harder every second as he watched the pulse slowly start to skip and the already barely detectable oxygen levels continue to fall.

“It’s ready, lass. Are you--”

Moondancer levitated herself past him, getting into what was left of the cockpit and activating several of the systems that were still working. The crystals had been partially ruptured, so it was now running on power drawn directly from the Enterprise.

“You’re going to ask me if I’m sure. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. If you opened your warp core and saw the only being you’d ever loved dying inside, what would you do?”

Scottie smiled. “I’d be making sure I’m there to greet her when she wakes up, that’s what.”

Moondancer smiled. “Then make sure your ship feeds me the power I need to do my job.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, lass. She’ll give you all the power you need. And then some.”

He slapped the side of her broken ship and went about his work—and Moondancer about hers. She initialized the remainder of the systems, as if preparing for a launch. Much of the circuitry was dead or broken or otherwise removed, so she had to mentally modify the checks to accommodate, to focus on just the systems she needed. There was a way to do this, and it would have taken the best scientists and mages in Equestria months to plan—but that was mostly because all the best mages, and specifically the best living mage of all, had emigrated to the moon. Save for one, probably Moondancer’s only rival. She had been placed in a glass tube and used as a FTL core.

The system charged, but as it prepared, a thought occurred to Moondancer. She produced the crystal recording unit from her pocket and slotted it in its receptacle. While her magic manipulated the switches and field alignments in the rest of the ship, she clicked it on with her mouth.

“Twilight,” she said. “I’m about to do what I have to do. I don’t have time to explain but the crystal is about to record it and I’m sure you can figure it out. Assuming the brain damage isn’t to bad, but don’t feel bad if it is, you were always too smart for your own darn good anyway.” She sighed, once again on the verge of tears. “If I don’t make it out, I’m sorry. I was a bad friend. I never even tried to find you. I thought you left me behind, but I didn’t even look. I was too self-absorbed to see what I should have. So I’m sorry. But I’m going to do what’s right. Hopefully you don’t have to hear this recording. But if you do...I’m sorry I left you behind.”

She leaned out from the cockpit, looking back at Scottie and the horde of engineers, and McCoy at the tank.

“Are you all ready?”

“As ready as we can be!” called McCoy, back.

“Aye, lass! You’ve the trigger!”

Moonancer nodded and turned back to the controls. She looked down at them, feeling her field around her. She took a breath, knowing that this was about to hurt. A lot. Then she activated the link.

The scream was horrific. Inhuman and shrill, a cry of pure agony. McCoy shuddered, in part from the gut-wrenching and blood-curdling nature of it as in echoed through the shuttle bay, but also because he knew what it meant. The physiological damage of what she was doing. Of having her marrow literally boiling and her tissues being fractured as space itself ruptured inside her.

He did not have time to consider it. He had his own job, and time was short.

“GO!”

The engineers at their stations reached down and pulled back the release handles, manually turning them with great difficulty. The liquid inside was already starting to glow, and the pony within weakly convulsing as energy was forced into her dying body.

When the handles thudded into place, the tube retracted upward, releasing a torrent of viscous fluid. McCoy charged forward into it, even as it threatened to drive him back. The glass, already damaged from Moondancer’s misguided attempts to open it, did not retract properly and shattered, showering him with fragments. He ignored them, as did Chapel as the pair of them grabbed the pony as she dropped from the support system meant to hold her up through direct skeletal connections.

A different set of engineers, already scrubbed and prepped, immediately charged the supports with their tools, severing them and allowing the pony to drop. Chapel cleared the glass and McCoy set her down.

“Nurse, get the IV in, I’m placing sensors.”

Chapel nodded and dexterously inserted it, squeezing the bag of viscous pale-blue synthetic blood. McCoy had no idea how the pony would tolerate it without functional kidneys, but prayed that the remaining one would restart soon. That was a separate concern anyway.

He tried to place a sensor and cried out as it exploded in his hand. The pony was hot to the touch, but not exactly with heat. With a different energy. Something with an almost physical force to it. She was still being fed through the tubes in her back, still being kept alive by the sudden force of the machinery. The window was short.

McCoy began disconnecting the machinery. As quickly as he could without injuring his patient, at least, and considering that some of them were filled with megawatts of energy that she needed to live. He assessed their purpose as well as he could and tried to get them out.

“Christine, disintubate her.”

Chapel nodded, pulling the tubes from the pony’s lungs and stomach. They were in deep, and held in by a seal. They had not intended to be removed. It took a degree of force and care, but Chapel managed to get them free and cleared the airway as best as she could.

The screaming stopped. Something somewhere slowed, a deep hum ceasing with a spark and splash of electrical arcs. Somewhere, McCoy smelled something cooking.

“We’ve lost the connection!” cried Scottie.

Something slumped to the floor out of the ship. McCoy saw Moondancer had fallen out of her cockpit, her body still smoking, and she lay on the floor for a moment, not moving. He was about to order Chapel to at least check when the pony stood, shaking, and limped toward them. Her injuries were severe, and probably worse than she thought, but she was alive—which was more than could be said about McCoy’s patient.

“Doctor! We’ve lost the pulse!”

“Damn it,” swore McCoy, abandoning his attempts to pull the tubes out of her back. There was no longer time for it. “Get the bag on her!”

“The defibrillator--”

“Will kill her if you do it now! Lay her back, I’ll do it manually!”

Chapel spread the tiny pony’s limbs and laid her face-up. Her mouth was agape, her pale tongue hanging out, and her eyes were covered by the black plate that had been screwed over them. McCoy supposed that made it easier, if only a little.

He sat on top of her, pressing his hands together over her alien equivalent of a sternum. Then he took several breaths and began pressing as hard as he could over where her heart was supposed to be.

“Twilight,” croaked Moondancer, collapsing a yard away. “Twilight, no! I made it, I survived, you can’t—you can’t leave me!”

“Stay—back--I’m not done—yet!” McCoy could not push her back, and Chapel had already put a device over the pony’s face, pushing oxygen into her lungs. Scottie instead grabbed Moondancer, attempting to pull her back, but with a sudden surge of adrenaline she was able to knock him back with her telekinesis and run forward.

“Twilight! Twilight I’m sorry!” tears were streaming down her face. “It wasn’t enough, I didn’t give her enough--”

“Would somebody get this pony AWAY! And get a medical tricorder, I need vitals!”

“Doctor, we’re losing...no! Wait! Brain activity is spiking!”

McCoy continued to press until suddenly the pony attempted to sit up. McCoy immediately got off her, and Chapel removed the bag, turning the pony’s head to let her cough out a significant amount of fluid from her lungs.

Moondancer gasped. “T—Twilight?”

The pony seemed to hear and understand, but she could not stop coughing her lungs empty of her life-support coolant—followed by a significant amount of mercury-like silver. Then she was finally able to croak, if only slightly.

“M...Moonancer?”

Moondancer did not wait for McCoy’s permission, and he stepped back, not wanting to be lobbed across the shuttle bay. Moondancer wrapped her hooves around Twilight, who did her best to lift her own.

“I’m here! I’m here, Twilight, it’s me!”

“Moondancer, I can’t—I can’t see, why can’t I see?”

“I’m on it,” said Scottie, kneeling down with a powered screwdriver. “Little lass, I don’t know what’s holding this on, it might hurt.”

“Is that a Dundaxian—GAH WHY?!”

Moondancer held her down as Scottie pulled out the screws holding her mask in place. He was quick, but Moondancer could tell that it was confusing and terrifying for Twilight—until the mask came loose.

Moondancer immediately tossed it away, and Twilight winced from the light, her enormous but now clouded violet eyes looking around, confused, until locking on Moondancer’s—and then she wrapped Moondancer in the weakest hug that she had ever known.

“It’s you, it’s really you,” she wept. “It hurt, it hurt so much...but I heard you. I heard you talking to me. It was—it was the only thing that kept me going...”

“I’m going to start on the rest of the connections,” said McCoy, kneeling down. “It might hurt, and it will definitely feel very, very strange.”

Twilight looked at him and recoiled in horror. Moondancer held her tighter.

“Don’t worry, they’re friends. They helped me free you. He’s a doctor. Don’t worry, you’re free now. I’m...” She had started to cry herself. “I’m so sorry, Twilight, I didn’t know!”

Twilight held her, even as a system over a foot long was pulled from her. “You were there. You just...didn’t know it. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Can you feel all your limbs?” asked McCoy.

“I can feel all my legs,” said Twilight, moving them slightly, even smiling a little at the joy of it. Then she frowned. “But I can’t feel my horn. Which is weird...” She reached up for it, and, finding it removed, her eyes grew wide and filled with new tears. “Oh...”

McCoy put his hand on her shoulder. “I can stabilize you, but you need a native doctor. Soon. Our ship’s transporters can’t safely move you.”

“But I can,” said Moondancer. “I can teleport us.” She looked down at Twilight. “But I need to know...who did this to you?”

Twilight stared up at her, her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled—because not even she knew. Not who, how, or even when—and most importantly, why.

Chapter 30: Pitched Battle

It was bad. Staring out the viewcreen, Kirk saw the robots coming, in a number that was somewhere between a brigade and a horde. It was odd seeing infantry—or the robotic equivalent of it—though a viewcreen, which normally showed a generic vision of space and sometimes a small image of a spacecraft. He supposed this was how the gunship pilots of the mid-twenty-first century felt, except in this case with robots instead of fleeing civilians.

The robots opened fire. Kirk heard the pinging of bullets off she ship’s armor, and then felt the entirety of the vessel shudder and sink as one of the numerous tank-like units fired a missile into one of the power conduits.

“We’re listing!” cried M’ress, grabbing her chair. “We’re listing to port—BELRCH--”

“It’s fine, I expected this,” sighed Rarity. She flicked several improvised switches and the ship began to tilt, nearly knocking Kirk off his feet.

“What are you doing?!”

“The rear deflector is still partially functional. It’s our best chance for defense. I’m using whatever I have left to boot it and to polarize whatever parts of the hull are still intact.”

“That will not leave enough energy to provide for continued flight,” noted Spock.

“I know. So let’s hope Rainbow Dash follows my carefully and beautifully inscribed instructions and finishes quickly.”

“And then?”

Rarity looked at Kirk and shrugged. “The Royal Guard may intercede. If we’re lucky, the Lunar Guard will come. Have you ever met Tempest? I’ve dressed her. She’s stunningly merciless. And remarkably snuggley once you get the armor off her.”

Before Kirk could question what that meant, the ship thudded into the ground. Rarity slid off her chair.

“Well, I suppose that means it’s time for a costume change.” She trotted off. “You’re free to take whatever you need from the armory, but do be careful. Klingon rifles work nicely, but I’d recommend against anything breen unless you like theta radiation to the face.”

Kirk and Spock looked at each other.

“I would rather not, Captain.”

“How did you do in riflelry training back at the Academy?”

“I did not, Captain. The curriculum was devised with the highly reasonable conclusion that a Starfleet officer would never have need to operate a rifle under battlefield conditions.”

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we?”

“Due to your machinations, yes. We are, indeed, here.”

Kirk smiled. “Lieutenant, see if you can get a few shots out of the ship’s phasers, and re-set the sensors for triangulation. As soon as we get a connection to the Enterprise, we can get fire support.”

M'Ress gurgled. “Why so nauseous?! Infernal—gah, it tastes like ME--”

Kirk had elected for a Federation phaser-rifle. Which is to say, someone had taken a badly damaged Type-II rifle and added a stock to it. Someone else had added a third-party battery to it, which in theory would provide it with enough power to punch holes in at least a few of the smaller units without overheating and detonating.

Kirk had, of course, very little training in riflery, because, of course, Spock was right. There was no reason why a Starfleet officer would ever need to use a rifle. There was ostensibly an infantry for that, although they had not really been highly necessary since warfare had moved to space. Which was not to say he had no idea how to use a rifle. He was from Iowa, after all.

The deflector was barely holding, but for the moment was keeping the robots back—which was a strange sight indeed. The energy shields on star ships were meant to block space debris and powerful ranged weapons, and only partially meant to absorb impacts from physical objects. Seeing one up close, though, was indeed a peculiar sight. The robots more or less piled against it, slowly overheating as their bodies were slowly melted—and as some of them began to break through.

Several heavy duranium fragments had broken off of the ship when it had fallen, and one of them was barely large enough to serve as cover. Kirk fell against it, looked down the rifle—it had not been constructed with such an archaic thing as sights—and vaporized the head of one of the nearest robots that had gotten partially through the deflector.

“Ha! Headshot!”

The now-headless robot immediately returned fire, forcing Kirk to duck behind the hull fragment as a hail of bullets ricocheted past it.

“Their central processors are most likely not located in their brains,” said Spock, causing Kirk to cry out and nearly jump out of cover.

“Spock, where did you come from--”

“Captain, I believe we have already established that I am Vulcan, and therefore from--”

“That’s not what I mean!” Kirk poked his head out and fired again, driving back some of the robotic infantry as the deflector began to fail. “Did you at least get a gun? Let me guess, you took the breen, one, didn’t you?”

Kirk fell back into cover.

“No, Captain. In this instance, these weapons are correctly refereed to as rifles, not guns.”

“Did you get one or not?!”

Spock held up a phaser pistol. Not just any pistol. One of the smallest that Kirk had ever seen. To the point that it was more of a small square thing rather than a pistol at all. It looked somewhat Federation, but also alien at the same time in a way that made Kirk distinctly uncomfortable.

“Spock...why?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It was the most logical choice.”

“Spock, it’s tiny! Go back in and get a real—”

Spock stood up and pointed the ridiculously small weapon at a charging robot. It raised its pistol, and Spock fired. The android was immediately consumed in green light, its insides liquefying and shooting out of its charred skin in an instant—and the green bolt continued backward, arcing through at least twelve more robots still half-immersed in the deflector, vaporizing each one in succession until it struck one of the larger tank-like ones on the far side. The response was for it to immediately vaporize its chest, the explosive charge within it detonating in a plume of ionic fire that tore the smaller robots near it apart.

Spock stood for a moment, surveying the results, and sitting back down.

“The device in question is a antique relic of Suliban origin,” he explained. “A remnant from the Temporal Cold War, if I am not mistaken.”

“So it’s...very old?”

“Yes. Indeed. And also from the distant future.”

There was a sad fizzling sound as the deflector mostly collapsed. More robots had arrived, and Kirk took his position, fighting them back—as the ship’s phasers opened fire, cutting through the horde. The larger robots, though, were shielded themselves, and resistant to the impact—but it slowed them, at least, allowing Kirk to aim for something other than their heads. Their knees, specifically. He doubted he could kill them—to the extent a robot could be killed—but he could at least cripple them.

“The phasers will not hold them for long,” said Spock, over the din of robots being reduced to scrap.

Kirk produced his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise! Kirk to Enterprise!”

Nothing came back except static.

“She’s taking her damn time, isn’t she?”

Spock fired again, barely looking, and did an extreme amount of damage all while remaining totally impassive in expression. Kirk, though, knew that their cover was on the verge of collapsing, and that they were likely going to be forced back into the ship.

And the, passing him, he saw a sudden blur of teal.

The robots concentrated their fire away from Kirk and Spock, instead targeting Lyra, her body surrounded by a dome of orange energy projected from her horn. Screaming, laughing, and possibly either crying or extremely aroused, Lyra ran into the fray, apparently with very little disregard for her own personal well-being. She had no particle weapons of any kind, but seemed quite adept using a sword and her own natural telekinesis—perhaps to a frightening degree.

“Legs! Arms! SKIN! Give me your SKIN! I’m gonna make an ottoman out of ALL OF YOU! And then I’m going to give it to my WIFE! Teeheeheee!”

The laugh was especially chilling as she went for their kneecaps with her blade. “I MADE A FINGER PIZZA, JUST FOR YOU!”

“Captain,” asked Spock, calmly, “ought we to cover the pony? Their weapons seem to be ineffective against her at present. Or more likely less effective. Once the bloodlust wanes, I suspect she will become far more more vulnerable to perforation.”

“Sure, Spock. Sure. Why not.”

They leaned over the cover and began to fire, doing their best to drive back the robots while Lyra ripped and tore. Specifically aiming for the legs and crotches of robots. Which Kirk suspected were their weak points. Or so he hoped, because that was where he was aiming.

One of the tanks approached, and Kirk saw that the Klingon facade was incomplete. That they were no longer being produced with the pretense of being Klingon in origin, or with the level of care as the earlier versions. The surface beneath was white and angular, and marked with numbers. Earth numbers.

He did not have time to consider this. It was faster than the others, and punched Lyra into the ground, shattering her shield and then quickly picking her up.

“GAH!” she cried as it squeezed. “I’ve been grasped!”

Kirk redirected his fire, unloading several full-power shots into the android, to the point that his phaser began to heat enough to burn his hands. It’s shield, however, absorbed each of them.

“Organic acquired,” moaned the machine in a mechanical, deep voice. “Applying crush force...”

Lyra cried out—not entirely in pain—as the hand closed tighter, fully intending to liberate her internal juices from her tiny pony body. Until the juicing process was suddenly interrupted by a deafening boom that tore out the robot’s innards in a single shot, splattering mechanical fragments backward for at least fifty meters.

Kirk turned slowly to see where the shot had come from, and saw Rarity stepping from the ship. Immediately, he understood what the symbiotic had meant when it said it preferred to make an entrance. She was dressed in an elaborate and stunning costume that evoked the idea of a pirate queen, complete with a dashing hat and elegant boots. In addition, she had affixed handles to the projectile cannon Spock had taken from the last android’s arm and was consequently levitating a cannon somewhat larger than her own body, the super-heated barrel still steaming. Kirk found himself distinctly aroused.

Rarity was followed by M’Ress, who was wearing an ornate set of freshly manufactured armor. As she stepped out, several bullets pinged into her shoulder, forcing her back, and she raised a rifle and shot down the robots that had shot her.

“Armor?! Why’d you give HER armor?!”

“Because I like her,” snapped Rarity over the din of the battle. She pointed her cannon at another heavy tank and the cooling system spun up before another shot fired, tearing through its target with ease. “I am also very much enjoying this weapon.”

“I can’t get a signal to the—oop!”

A bullet whizzed past.

Rarity sighed, sending another deafening blast somewhere. “Yes, for the fastest pony in Equestria, she isn’t really all that quick, is she? I suppose we can work for a few more—hold a moment...” She fired again. “Minutes, perhaps?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Lyra, who was in the process of freeing herself from the clutches of a robotic hand. She pointed. “Look!”

Each of them looked, and their hearts simultaneously sunk—except Spock, whose heart never sunk, and Lyra, who was becoming increasingly aroused herself. Striding over the battlefield was a new kind of robot, one that towered over the rest. This one bore absolutely no pretense of being Klingon, although it did appear somewhat different in structure from the others. Mainly in the fact that it was well over one hundred feet tall.

“Oh my,” said Rarity. She pointed her cannon at it and fired, only for the projectile to rebound harmless off its shields. “That is a bit of a conundrum.”

“You know what big hands mean, right?” said Lyra, smiling. “Big fingerrrrrsssss….”

“Lyra, kindly stop that, it’s getting stale.”

“It's been stale the whole time!Make me!”

“I don’t need to. He’s about to.”

Kirk turned to Spock. “Spock, shoot it!”

“I cannot, Captain.”

“Why not?!”

Spock held up his weapon. “It appears that it has run out of ammunition.”

“Well, can it be reloaded?!”

“Yes. It can. In seven hundred years, once the appropriate ammunition is invented.”

Kirk found himself at a loss of what, exactly, to do. He supposed it was up to Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash, meanwhile, was facing what appeared to be hundreds of switches, buttons, dials, and the occasional knob.

“What—what am I supposed to do with ANY of this?!”

“I recommend the knobs,” said the hologram, who was now standing partially inside her, projected from a small hovering drone. “Turn the knobs, rainbow horse. Turn them sooooo slowwwwwly...”

“Eew, get away from me!” Rainbow Dash shoved the hologram, only to pass through and fall on her face. “Stop being intangible, so I can give you a beating!”

“I’m not actually intangible. I just can’t move my actual body right now. Nor do I feel any need to. But you could move yours. Why don’t you dance a little bit, little organic?”

Rainbow Dash stood up and looked out over the battlefield below. There were even more robots, and one of them was big. Dangerously big.

“Dang it, dang it, dang it,” she swore, tapping her hooves on the ground nervously. “Okay, calm down, Rainbow Dash, you’re awesome, remember? It can’t be that different from a rocket, and I’m literally a rocket scientist. Sort of.”

“You’re actually a glorified crash-test dummy.”

“Shut your pie-hole, I’m trying to think!”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m immortal. I’ll be here for a while.”

Rainbow Dash continued to panic, and then screamed in exasperation. “BUCK THIS!” she cried, kicking the machine. Then an idea occurred to her. “No...wait...buck THIS!”

She turned around and, with all the force she could summon, kicked the machine as hard as she could. This being sensitive electronic equipment being built by the lowest bidder, it of course shattered—and administered a sizable shock to Rainbow Dash’s body.

The discharge was shockingly intense, but she had gotten used to being struck by lightning many times in her youth for various reasons relating to incompetence and laziness. This had led to an unusual tolerance for voltage.

She sat up, slightly charged and frizzed. “Did I do it? Did I do the thing?”

The hologram looked at the ruined air-handling unit that the filthy organic had just kicked, then rolled her eyes. Her surface shimmered slightly, and the communications blocking manifold shut down with an audible groan.

“Yup. Looks like you did.”

“HA! Who’s awesome NOW? That’s right, it’s Rainbow Dash! ME!” She ran to the edge of the tower, and her spirit immediately fell. The giant robot was still there. “But that didn’t actually solve anything! It’s still there!”

“Did you...seriously not think that part through? Yeah. They’re still going to be creamed. By a robot. In the bad way.”

“What do I look like, some sort of egghead? I don’t think thoughts! I just DO THINGS!” She backed up to where the air conditioner was still sparking.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m doing a thing! I’M GONNA DO A THING!”

She then proceeded to do a thing. Which, in her case, involved running forward and taking a sprinting leap off the top of a hundred-story tower.

The effect of gravity was immediate, and could be best described as sudden plummeting. Rainbow Dash had indeed not considered this far ahead, mostly with regard to the fact that she could not fly.

Except she could. She was sure of it. If only she could remember how.

She stabilized. That was the first step, at least. Then she proceeded toward her target—and time seemed to slow as she felt the wind pass over her and the pain recede. She understood—although perhaps not consciously—that a glide would not be enough. It was big and it was probably shielded, and she had thrown away her shield-penetrator, having not considered the possibility of giant robots.

She was sure, though, that she could do it. Because at this point there was no other option, and because they were counting on her. Just like they had been before. Before the coma and the surgeries and the endless rehabilitation that never seemed to do anything but increase her cider consumption.

A direct impact would be required, and at speed. To have enough kinetic energy to punch through she shield. This was not a logical conclusion, and was largely based on Rainbow Dash’s own ignorance on how shields operated; she only knew that it needed to be broken, and that a projectile would be required. She was the projectile, and surely she would be uninjured if only she had enough speed. In her Pegasus mind, that line of reasoning was quite sound.

She flapped. And almost screamed. Ignoring it, she flapped again. And again. Until, for the first time in so long, she felt her wings moving—and she felt herself accelerating under her own power.

The pain did not leave her—but the pain did not matter. The wing functioned. It moved like her normal wing did, working exactly like it, so long as she could tolerate the immense pain of its every motion. She quickly found that she could. In the face of the joy of flight, the pain meant nothing.

The flapping resulted in acceleration. Slowly, at first, but then more quickly. Descending, Rainbow Dash assumed flight conformation, targeting the monstrous robot’s neck. She could see it charging a head-mounted cannon, and immediately knew that this was going to be supremely awesome.

Her speed topped out at twelve feet form her target. She saw the cables, the mechanisms, even the bolts and tool-marks in exquisite detail. She adjusted just slightly and pulled her organic wing back against her body, entering a roll and extending her mithril one.

From the ground, Kirk looked up and saw the head of the machine accumulating radiation and beginning to supreheat. That probably meant it was a large-output particle cannon of some sort, which would probably not be a bad way to go. Instant atomization.

Then the neck of the robot seemed to explode, torn apart as a heavy projectile moving at incredible speed tore through it, almost completely severing the head of the massive robot. The force was so great that, with its body suddenly torqued, the robot took a step to the side. It almost seemed momentarily confused as the feedback from its cannon suddenly overloaded, detonating the cannon and most of the robot’s torso along with it. The result was a massive explosion just as Rainbow Dash slammed into the ground, landing on her hooves and slowly standing, not even looking back at the explosion behind her.

Kirk, to his dismay, once again found himself aroused.

Rainbow Dash smiled, folding her wings wings out to their full width, now with the full grace and dexterity of her newfound flighted self. One wing silver, the other blue and feathery. “Yeah. That’s right. I really am that awesome.”

What she did not see was, at a distance, one of the smaller humanoid robots suddenly vibrate as if in pain, as its accent lights switching to violet as direct control was assumed. She did not see it raise its rifle, or hear the slight giggle from its audio projector--and she never even saw the bullet. What she did see was a sudden puff of blue feathers and some unknown red liquid, and she felt a strange twinge of pain. Then she could not fathom why she was falling on her side, finding herself suddenly unbalanced on the side of her metal wing.

Kirk saw her fall. He heard the sound of the bullet, followed by a quiet, feathery thud—and then the sound of Rainbow Dash landing on the ground, crying out and flailing like a wounded bird as the robots made their push.

“Damn it! Lyra, shield! Rarity, cover me!”

Lyra, brought slightly back to sanity from the sound of Rainbow Dash’s confused cries, ran forward, casting a wall of light as Kirk leapt over his cover. Rarity and M’Ress opened fire, trying to give him as much cover as they could. Kirk managed to reach Rainbow Dash and lift her under his arm, finding her astoundingly light. She was shaking and confused, trying to escape, but he held on and got her back to cover, sliding once again behind the pitted fragment of duranium.

“I need a medkit!” M’Ress threw him one, and Kirk opened it, trying to find a tourniquet. “Spock, help me with this! Hold her down!”

Spock did as was suggested, and Kirk did his best to administer first aid. He was by no means a doctor, but his best friend most certainly was—and Bones would have had his head if he had not learned at least basic first aid during the time they had spent together.

Rainbow Dash had begun to come back to her senses. “Is it bad? Is it bad? I can’t—I can’t feel it--”

“That’s just the tourniquet. It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine!”

“My wing, I can’t feel my wing--”

“You’ll be FINE. Hold on!”

Kirk shot Spock a look, and Spock, not normally one to understand the emotional content of a situation—or at least one who pretended not to understand—stayed silent, even though he obviously knew the truth.

“Um, dearie, I think we have a problem,” said Rarity.

“I can see that, Rarity, I’m working on it!”

“No, darling. A bigger problem.”

Kirk looked to where she was pointing, and realized that she was, in fact, correct.

Several large alcoves had opened in the tower, and new machines had stepped out. These were vastly larger than the previous robot, but not human shaped. They were hollow, squarish arches powered by numerous legs. They did not appear to be weapons or tanks, and at first Kirk was not sure what they might be—until they extended millions of robotic arms. Then, in a flash of light, they began to assemble things within their cores.

In a matter of seconds, a new robot identical to the one that Rainbow Dash had destroyed had been manufactured—and then another, and another four. The factories immediately went to work on more—as well as other things. A horde of small robots came marching out in formation, their bodies assembled as they sprinted—and then new forms began to spring forth. Deformed, partially humanoid things that sprinted at incredible speed on all-fours, and machines where humanoids had been strung together into hideous centipede-like monstrosities. All came spewing forth in an unstoppable wave.

Rarity switched her weapon to automatic mode and began pouring rounds into the oncoming force, but there were too many. Lyra looked back at Kirk, smiled, and charged into the fray.

“Lyra, stop!”

She met the first group head-on. They lacked weapons, being mutants of various sorts, many of them sewn together from scavenged parts of other robots. Lyra struck at them with her sword and with her magic, driving back or at least blunting the charge—but they overcame her, crushing through her shields and grabbing her.

“Damn it Lyra!”

Kirk jumped over his cover, Rarity suddenly at his side, projecting her own shield. Hers was far weaker than Lyra’s, but she also had a much larger gun.

Kirk managed to grab Lyra’s hoof as she was pulled into the writing mass of androids, and he tried to pull on her as Rarity did her best to cover him.

“Hold on, I’ve got you! I’ve got you!”

The androids seemed to have little interest in him—and he realized that Lyra was holding them back. Using the last of her power to keep them stationary, but not leaving enough to save herself.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Just let go. This is how I’ve always wished I would go.” A sad expression came over her eyes, although the smile remained. "I'll get to see Bon Bon again...and I can tell her...I'm sorry for...for killing her..."

“Just hold on--”

She laughed, and slid her hoof out of his grasp—and was immediately covered by hundreds upon hundreds of mechanical hands, drawn into the heap of metal and plastic as her armor and clothing was torn from her body.

Kirk was pulled back as Rarity fired directly into the mass.

“Stop being an idiot or you’re next! We need to get back to the ship, NOW!” Her eyes met his. “The communication relay is down! Call your ship! Take Rainbow Dash and beam up!”

“But you--”

“I’ll be fine,” she lied. “We’re broadcasting as we speak.” She blasted a centipede through its middle, causing it to separate into two smaller centipedes, which were then partially vaporized by M’Ress at range. “And let me say, this will make an excellent show!”

Kirk stared at her, and drew his communicator.

“Kirk to Enterprise!”

“Captain,” said Uhura, sounding gravely concerned. “What’s going on down there? The signals we’re getting--”

“Fifty meters north of my position! I need you to fire photon torpedoes, NOW!”

“WHAT?!” said both Uhura and Rarity at once.

“Captain, we can’t fire photon torpedoes at an inhabited planet—at that range, you’d be--”

“Disarm the warheads and fire them straight down! That’s a direct order!”

Kirk of course had no idea if Uhura was insane enough to actually make the attempt—but received his answer moments later.

The torpedoes rained down, their onboard impulse engines driving them through the atmosphere at several times the speed of sound. Although the warheads inside were disabled, the effect was dramatic. With their speed and size, they impacted with so much force that Kirk felt the ground shake and heard the explosions of the sheer impacts. Robots were sent flying, and one of the factories was struck through its surface, igniting as it fell, only to be consumed by its brethren to make new robots.

“Spock and M’Ress, take her and get off the planet. I’m staying.”

“Captain,” said Spock, totally unperturbed by his surroundings, “I believe that is the least logical thing you’ve ever said.”

“You don’t have much time,” snapped Rarity. Her gun had been fired too much and was starting to melt. “I’m mostly sure that they’re regrouping as we speak.”

M’Ress grabbed Rainbow Dash, producing her own communicator. “This is M’Ress. Two to beam up. Priority two medical emergency on a pony, non-unicorn type.”

“Pritority two?” Rainbow Dash sat up. “I’m not even injured, put me back in, coach, I can still--”

She was cut off as she and M’Ress beamed out. At the very least someone could follow orders.

Kirk was about to argue with Spock when he suddenly stopped. Something felt strange, and he did not know why. It was a profound fear, one drawn from a deeper part of himself that he had forgotten he even had. A kind of distant and terrible instinctual terror that he had not felt in a long, long time. As if some predator of profound and terrible force where bearing down on him, its jaws about to tear into the back of his neck before he could even think to run. A sudden realization in his unconscious mind that death had come, and that when his thinking brain finally understood it, it would surely be to late.

Then he heard the crack of the explosion, and felt the searing heat.

Chapter 31: Failure

At about the time that a spaceship, somewhere, was squelching its way out of a swamp, Celestia was walking, being completely unaware of this occurring on her planet. Being Celestia, of course, things occurring around her without her noticing was standard practice.

Instead, she was walking through a pleasant field, with manicured sunflowers in full bloom on either side of the path. As she walked, they each turned their heads to face her, regardless of which way they had been facing before.

Cadence, still fully dressed in her Imperial clothing and walking beside her, sighed.

“Did we take this path just so that you could do that?”

“But aren’t they adorable! Look, it’s like they’re bowing!”

“To your divine glory, I suppose?”

Celestia sighed. Cadence was being angsty. Which, after her failed wedding, seemed to be her default state.

“You know, you don’t need to wear all those clothes. It’s bright and sunny here in Canterlot.”

Cadence looked up past the fur and heavy winter clothing she wore over her crystalline armor. She gestured to the dial clicking on her chest. “I have an reactive temperature regulator. I don’t get hot or cold.”

Celestia stared at the dial. She did not like it. It reminded her of something she could almost remember, and she knew that it was something terrible, an artifact of times long-since erased. A memory of fire that was not quite hers.

Cadence once again became silent, not even looking at the flowers or the sunny day around her. There were even birds singing, and ponies laughing in the distance. When she was younger, Cadence might even have smiled. Now, though, she just seemed to squint under her hood, hiding from the light.

The only option, Celestia determined, was small-talk.

“You seem to...have grown?”

“Yes. I’ve been eating the crystals.”

Celestia frowned. “Why?”

“Reasons. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Not the purple ones, I hope?”

“I wouldn’t know. There’s no light that far underground.”

“I have wizards, I can help you find a way to thaw the surface Empire, restore it to what it used to be--”

“It is a frozen wasteland. It always has been. It always will be. I have no need for it to be beautiful. I have my holes. That’s what you exiled me for, isn’t it? To mine the crystals that you now want to sell to aliens. Send the mare who can never get married to an uninhabitable icy wasteland. Surely that will make her happy...”

“Cadence, you need to--”

“Get over it?” Cadence stopped, glaring at Celestia, although barely able to expose her sensitive eyes to the sunlight. “Get over the fact that you stood by and ruined my life for a political maneuver? I have gotten over it, Celestia. Why do I need love when I have crystals?”

“There are other stallions, Cadence--”

Cadence started walking again, pulling ahead of Celestia. “Forgive me if I don’t take relationship advice from a mare who has never once had a coltfriend in her three-thousand year lifetime.”

“That’s not true--”

“Apart from your sickening fetish for non-ponys. Bipeds included.” She shuddered. “At least it wasn’t a dragon this time...”

“Excuse me, that’s uncalled for,” snapped Celestia, beginning to lose patience. “Do I not have the freedom to live my life as I choose? Oh, and forgive me for trying to be helpful, I’m clearly too old to understand. Because I’m three thousand two hundred and six, and you’re...nineteen.”

Cadence bristled. “For your information, I do have relationships outside of ruling the Crystal Empire! I met a stallion there!”

Celestia smiled. “Really? Is he somepony I’d know?”

Cadence’s face immediately scrunched. “No.”

Celestia sighed. “Well, the least you could do is paint me a picture.”

“I’d rather not. I have no idea what you’d do with it.”

“I meant figuratively, Cadence.”

“The answer is still no. I am changing the subject. Have you gained weight?”

“Have you?”

“Are you implying I’m pregnant?”

Celestia frowned. “No...are you?”

“NO. Stop turning my insults against me! That’s so like you!”

“Pregnancy isn’t an insult. I would quite literally give up my wings and horn if I could have that ability back. But I can’t. You know that.”

Cadence frowned, and then looked down at the ground.

“I don’t like you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Celestia walked past her, the gaze of the sunflowers following.

“You don’t have to be so gloomy,” she sighed. “Why don’t you come to the play tonight? Luna is having her fool put on a one-mare show. Apparently it was so funny that she wet herself last time she saw it. My sister. Not the fool." She paused, then sighed. "Hopefully..."

Cadence sighed. “I hope it’s not as blasphemous as the last one.”

“I prefer not to think of it as ‘blasphemy’. I may be a goddess, but I’m also a princess. So it’s really just treason.”

Cadence did not bother to continue the conversation. She followed her aunt into one of the large open structures of the castle that connected it to the gardens. As much as Cadence had come to appreciate her new home deep beneath the soil, drilling deeper and deeper into the crust of the planet in a never-ending quest for more and better mineral resources, she had missed the scent of Equestria and the sight of plants that were not bizarre carnivorous fungi. It reminded her of many warm, summer days she had spent with the only pony she had ever truly loved. But even those memories were fading, replaced only with a desire to delve and a stronger desire for more and greater crystals.

Almost as soon as she thought about it, she saw him standing there, and any memory of love was replaced with intense hatred. The way his eyes glowed green with her rival’s magic, or the ridiculous placid smile he constantly wore—and the ridiculous little secretary he always had at his side that he was probably secretly snuggling when his bug-wife was not watching.

He was not alone. Apart from the bug-secretary, in her pony form, Luna was beside him, looking tall and regal and pitifully virginal. Of the two sisters, Cadence usually preferred Luna. Luna had attempted to achieve what Cadence herself was planning to eventually do, and after that failure accomplished something far greater. She was quite literally the mare who owned the moon.

“Sister?” Celestia stepped forward. “The play is not for another hour, shouldn’t you--”

“The final vote hath been cast.”

Celestia shivered. The large room suddenly felt still and cold as the gentle breeze crossed the smooth marble tiles. Celestia forced herself to smile.

Shining Armor gently shoved his shy secretary forward. She recoiled in the sight of ponies.

“I...um...have the results?”

“Art thou asking or question, or doth thou haveth something to say?” snapped Luna. “Sister, this is highly unusual. Should not we have a member of thine nobility perform this task? Some manner of count, or perhaps viscount mayhaps?”

“I think it’s wonderful that she volunteered to take the role. And it’s not like she can lie.” Celestia smiled down at poor, tiny Ocellus. “We all cast our votes. So if she’s wrong...”

Ocellus squeaked. She flashed into her human form to have access to hands, and produced the envelope. She opened it, reading it aloud.

“The vote on the...the issue of accepting the invitation to the United Federation of Planets...is hereby stated to be...two for, and two against.”

Celestia’s eyes widened. “Sister!”

“We hath done what was required,” Luna retorted. Shining Armor, likewise, nodded, and even as he smiled, a small tear dripped down his cheek.

“Well that’s interesting,” said Cadence. “I hand't thought it'd go that way. I don’t really care either way, but a tie means there’s extra work.”

“Indeed,” said Shining Armor. He turned to Celestia. “This requires a tiebreaker. And I believe there is a procedure for this.”

Celestia became visibly nervous—and hid her excitement. “I...I don’t want to disturb her...”

“But thou needeth to,” said Luna. “This was thine parameter for the formation of this Council. That the tiebreaker ought to be Twilight Sparkle. She is the sister of her brother, Shining Armor, and thine most faithful student. She was once Cadence’s best friend, and we vaguely trust her neutrality and judgment and the sweet grape-scent she is apt to emit.”

Celestia sighed, although she was secretly happy. “Then I finally get to see her, I guess. She won’t be happy about being disturbed, but I’ll send a telegram to District 51 immediately. She won’t be able to refuse a call to the Council. So we can finally catch up, and I can see all her progress, and talk about how she’s doing and all the friends she’s made there--”

Celestia was interrupted by an enormous snap. Space itself disrupted in a plume of pink-violet light, the result of a direct point-to-point teleport. That was something that very, very few unicorns could accomplish. Even Celestia herself was incapable of long-range teleportation.

She turned to the space where the smooth marble was now somewhat charged, overjoyed with the thought that, somehow, her favorite student—and the pony that she essentially considered her non-biological daughter—had heard them and arrived in an instant, making a grand entrance.

She was slightly confused when she saw Moondancer standing there, her gaze distant and horrified, even panicked—and then her joy returned when she saw the violet pony leaning against the pale tan one.

“Twilight, we were just—just--”

The weight of the image before her struck her in an instant. Her mind held it back for just a moment with a wall of disbelief, but even that snapped, forcing her to face the truth of what had been done to her most faithful student. She saw the silver of the implants and the surgical scars that surrounded them. She saw the emptiness and fear in Twilight’s cloudy eyes, and the way her mane had been cut away, revealing connectors that had been drilled into her skull—and revealing the stump that had once been her horn. They had cut off her horn.

“Twilight! What have they—what have they done--”

She took a step forward, and Twilight recoiled in horror, retreating only to collapse without Moondancer holding her up. Her body was thin and pale.

“Don’t get near me! Don’t get near me don’t TOUCH ME!”

“Twilight, it’s me, it’s Celestia--”

Moondancer moved to Twilight’s side, attempting to comfort her. Twilight was breathing hard and on the verge of panic.

“Moondancer, what happened? Why—why is she--”

“The core,” said Moondancer, her voice cracking and tears welling in her eyes. “The core of my ship. It was her. It was her, the whole time. That’s how they did it. They...they surgically grafted her to the machines. To make it work.” She looked up at Celestia. "FTL...that's how we've been doing it. Like...this..."

Celestia stepped back in horror—and in realization.

“I—you can’t be—”

“You never came,” sobbed Twilight, through her panic and rising tears. “You never once came to check, to find me, to save me, I—the things they did to me—and you left me! YOU LEFT ME THERE!”

“Because she knew,” said Cadence, quietly, her own horror quite visible on her face.

Everypony present stared in horror at Celestia, but Twilight and Moondancer most of all.

“I most certainly did not! I sent you to District 51 to help build the ships, I didn’t know—”

“And she most certainly did,” snapped Moondancer.

Celestia felt herself on the verge of tears, from the look of betrayal on Twilight’s face. She took a step forward. “Twilight, please—”

Twilight pulled back again. “Stay away from me. I don’t care if you knew or didn’t, it...it hurt so much, and...” She sniffled. “They took my horn. I can’t use...” She shook her head. “And you didn’t stop them. You didn’t help me. You left me behind and...and I think I understand why.”

“Twilight, please—”

Moondancer cast a shield spell between them, forcing Celetsia back. Celestia heard Luna’s armor shift as she took a defensive stance, but held up her hoof to stop her.

“She needs a doctor,” said Moondancer. “You’re only making her worse.”

“No,” said Twilight, forcing herself to stand. “Well, yes, some of my organs were...stolen...but first, you need to save them.”

“Save who?”

“The others. Flim and Flam...they made more. There’s other unicorns like...” She collapsed, unable to stand. “Like me.”

The room was silent. Then, as Celestia turned, the only sound was that of her golden shoes tapping across marble—followed by the much more rapid pace of Luna’s hooves in pursuit.

Celestia was significantly taller than Luna, and moving quickly. Luna had to sprint to keep up, following her sister into the empty depths of her castle. Sunlight was pouring through the windows, but at a strange angle, its color ominous as it passed through the shards of stained glass and across the polished floor. Outside, it was orange, coming almost sideways and casting long shadows.

“Sister!” she cried. Celestia stopped, standing in the middle of one of the great halls, the sunlight pouring in on her, making her white body seem almost orange. She stopped, but did not turn back. Luna, likewise, slowed to a stop. She was not sure why, but she did not want to get much nearer. Something inside her told her it was a bad idea.

“You did not know,” said Luna. “Of this, we—I am sure. My knowledge of the space program is far more intimate than any other, at least with regard to Moondancer’s work. She was unaware. As was I. As were you. This is a betrayal of the highest order, a treason most foul—”

“I sent her, Luna.”

Luna paused. “Yes, but you couldn’t have—”

“I sent her. I sent her there. Because I had a choice. She was so alone. And it broke my heart to see her like that, the path she was on. She was so sad in a way she didn’t know. I could have sent her to Ponyville. To teach her how to make friends. So she wouldn’t be alone. But I...I didn’t.”

“You sent her where she needed to be.”

“No, Luna. I was greedy. Space travel brought you back to me. I imagined the things she could do, what wonders she could achieve...but she never achieved any, did she? They cut her up and they...they hurt her. I had thought she would make friends there. Scientists, wizards, engineers, other ponies like her that needed friends too. But they...but they...” She paused. The wavering of her voice seemed to vanish. “But that never happened, did it?”

Luna shivered. “No.”

“She is more than a student, Luna. She is as close to a daughter as I will ever have. And now she can’t even look at me. Because it’s my fault. My fault they did this to her. My little filly...tortured. And I did nothing to stop it.”

Luna paused, horrified and her fear growing. “Did you...did you know?”

“I should have listened. I should have known. I should have been...stronger.”

“Sister, it wasn’t you. Flim and Flam are to blame for this! They deceived us!”

The room was growing warmer, even as the sunlight grew redder and more unnatural.

“They hurt Twilight...and it’s my fault...”

“C...Celestia?”

Celestia turned her head to finally face Luna, and Luna recoiled in horror. The blackened eye looking back at her through a thin, luminescent pupil was most certainly not her sister’s.

“Luna...I think...I think I’ve become enraged.”

Luna barely managed to cast a shield in time as the teleportation spell activated, blasting her back and shattering her spell with supreheated air and radiation. Every window shattered from the force of the spell, sending shards of glass melted stained glass outward and letting so much more deep-red sunlight into the charred and melted hall.

Guards, hearing the blast, poured into the room, stopping and looking in confusion and horror at the sight before them. At the melted stone and toppled columns amongst the shattered windows, and at Luna, disoriented and struggling to stand. Celestia, though, was gone. All that remained in her spot was still-cooling charred stone.

“Princess, what happened?!”

Luna stood, shoving the guard out of the way. “Bring me Tempest, and muster me a force! Prepare a teleport to District 51! NOW!”

“But—but why, how—”

“I have to stop her!” She shoved past the guard. “Before she does something she shall never stop regretting!”

Chapter 32: The Fraying Thread

“Lieutenant, pseudosolar output has dripped twenty three percent in the last minute--”

“Lieutenant!” Chekov nearly jumped out of his seat. “Detecting a point surge of radiation on the planet’s surface, radiation on multiple bands, the neutriono flux alone--”

“What is it, Mr. Chekov?!” snapped Uhura.

“I—I have no idea!”

“That isn’t very helpful, now is it?!”

Uhura looked through the viewscreen and at the data on Arex and Chekov’s consoles. While she was not trained in how to interpret the data presented there, she knew enough to understand that the situation had suddenly grown much worse. The unknown object had suddenly ignited from the previous point-source of neutrinos and immediately teleported hundreds of miles across the surface of the planet. To where Kirk was. Which was, apparently, in the middle of a battle.

There were signals. Mixed ones, from various sources. Whatever had been blocking their sensors had shut down suddenly, and the Enterprise had immediately detected a warp signature—a weak one, probably of a downed ship rather than an active one—but one that was most certainly of alien origin. But that was hardly all. There was passing evidence of nuclear reactors—and a great many of them. And, even more strangely, an exceedingly powerful and intermittent quantum signature that according to every sensor existed in a dimensional state that was theoretically impossible.

And, of course, Kirk was standing in the middle of it.

“Lieutenant, its frequency array matches the pseudosun, I think whatever is down there is, well, part of the same system—”

“Lieutenant,” said Arex, looking up at the viewscreen. His voice had gone quiet, and Uhura felt herself shiver, and not only from the ridiculous shortness of her skirt. There was a sense of awe in his tone that made her heart sink.

She looked up, and she saw it. The surface of the pseudosun had grown dull red and chaotic, which was in its own right terrifying—but its storming surface was not what concerned her. Rather, the cloaked ship in close orbit near them was unable to compensate for the shifts in light. Its Klingon cloak had never been intended for use in a plasma storm—and although the ship was still invisible to the sensors, Uhura could see it visually. The way the light shimmered and shifted through it, delayed by a fraction of a milisecond.

She saw its shape. And the size of it. Its tail and its spire, and the fact that it by far dwarfed the Enterprise. A ship that would need the energy of an entire fleet to power a cloak that size—and yet released absolutely no detectable warp signature.

And as she watched it, she could not shake the feeling that something was watching back.

“Those aren’t Klingons,” she said. “Put the ship in red alert. Shields up!”

Arex flipped the switch. “Aye, Lieutenant.”

Kirk was thrown back and slightly seared by the explosion. For a moment, he was sure he was dead, but quickly dismissed this notion upon finding himself laying uncomfortably on robot parts. And the dead, as far as he was aware, did not get uncomfortable.

He felt hands picking him up rather sharply, and did not even need to look to know that they belonged to Spock.

Kirk’s vision was blurry, but as it cleared, he saw that they had not been hit by an incoming projectile or beam, but rather that Celestia had appeared a no more than ten meters away, the ground being reduced to a pool of molten rock in the crater that had emerged where she had arrived.

Except that Kirk was not entirely sure that the pony was, in fact, Celestia. Her mane was no longer completely tri-color, but had begun to merge in toward its edges into a single homogeneous orange, retaining its original color only near the roots. Her golden clothing dripped down her body, having been melted, but even her body seemed different. It no longer seemed so soft and squishy and vaguely motherly, but instead hard and rigid and somehow unnatural.

Her head tilted slightly, facing Kirk. Her schera had blackened, and her pupil was a brilliant round dot of light.

Kirk took a step forward. “Celestia, what are you--”

Spock pulled him back. “Captain, her body is releasing lethal amounts of theta radiation, you cannot approach her in this state.”

“Theta? But she...” Kirk suddenly understood what Rarity had meant, even if he had not believed it at the time. About a thin, ancient skin wrapped around something far more terrible within. That the reason why Celestia seemed so strange to him now was that he could more closely perceive the silhouette of her true nature.

The robots also seemed to notice Celestia, charging their particle cannons and advancing toward her position. Celestia, after regarding Kirk for a moment, faced the robots.

The tip of her horn flashed. All robots present were lifted into the air, then in a single motion ruined. Then her magic released and they dripped to the ground, their bodies reduced to piles of boiling tungsten. Suddenly the battlefield was utterly silent—and Celestia began to walk forward, the molten bodies of her foes parting in before her as she walked.

Kirk watched her go, now as terrified as he was aroused—and, despite being a man of action, he had no idea how to deal with this present situation.

Which was when the second teleport activated. This one was far less dramatic, with a sense of cold and a strange metallic taste to it as numerous ponies emerged from space.

An entire herd emerged, dropping to the ground, with several immediately collapsing and retching from the nausea of being shot across space so violently. The two at the head, though, managed to stand—even if Luna herself was forced to take a knee.

“Ye gads,” she groaned, spitting a thick black fluid. “That was tempestuous.”

“I know,” said Tempest, bracing herself and assisting her princess to stand. “It isn’t designed to move that many ponies at once. Not without Moondancer guiding the path.”

“She has more pressing duties to attend to.” Luna stood, brushing herself off. Her body was clad in strange armor, ornate and swirling and carved with ominous shapes, made of an naturally pale metal that stood out brilliantly against her black-colored skin. Tempest, likewise, was dressed in an armor of a similar consistency; the ponies behind her were also heavily armored, and many among them carried spears and swords. How a pony was meant to use a sword, Kirk had no idea.

“Princess!”

Luna nearly jumped out of her armor in shock of suddenly being called from the center of an apocalyptic battlefield.

“GAH doth not provoke us!” she cried, levitating the point of her silver sword to Kirk’s nose. Which immediately explained to him how they used their weapons. “We could have cleavedest thou in TWAIN!”

“Something’s wrong with Celestia!”

Luna’s expression softened, and Kirk was able to see the fear behind her bravado. A fear that made him distinctly uneasy.

“Our sister is...of a sensitive disposition. In that our society exists in a specific, carefully controlled manner as to not provoke her. To prevent the manifestation of her...baser emotions.”

“As in...the good kind of baser?”

“No,” sighed Tempest. “As in unquenchable rage. Directed, mostly, inward. And in this, the collateral ruin is unspeakable.”

Kirk nodded. “How do we stop her?”

“You do not. We do. By keeping her from making a mistake. Preventing the final conversion and the death of this world. At any cost.” She raised her sword to signal her addled soldiers. “Forward!”

She then began to run after her sister, her armor apparently making her far too heavy to fly. The other ponies fell in line as best as they could, leaving behind the most addled to catch their breath. Tempest, though, stayed back, joining Kirk as, of course, he followed after them.

“What happened?”

“Our FTL ship used her favorite student as a power source. It’s bad. I saw her.” She gestured to her own severed horn. “And when I say it’s bad, it’s bad.”

“Wait, you mean the one from all her windows?”

“Yeah. Other than Luna, Twilight Sparkle is probably the being she loves the most.”

“In a mother-daughter way, or...you know, romantic?”

Tempest grimaced. “Don’t make it disgusting. Celestia is the mother to all ponies. She’s inherently a nonsexual being.”

“Yeah...about that...”

Celestia—or what was almost Celestia—was not moving especially quickly. They caught up to her just as she was reaching the door to the facility. It was a very impressive door indeed, perhaps a hundred feet tall and made of reinforced metal.

“The door is made of nine hundred metric tons of reinforced duranium alloy,” said Spock, suddenly appearing at Kirk’s side, and somehow having managed to find his tricorder.

“SPOCK don’t sneak up on me—”

“I may be able to discern the access code,” said Rarity, at his feet.

“Rarity, where did you come from?!”

Rarity sighed. “Starfleet, we’ve already been over this, I had explained it to you in all the emotional detail—”

Celestia, standing nearest to the door, looked up at it. Her horn flashed. The quiet of the battlefield was interrupted with the scream of bending, tearing metal as the door was crushed inward. Then, with a slight flick of her neck, she tossed it backward, tearing it from its hinges and raining debris down on the ponies that had gathered behind her. The force of the throw was so great that the door immediately vanished from sight, arcing smoothly and no doubt landing somewhere outside of the facility.

“I hope that didn’t land on anyone,” said Kirk.

“It didn’t,” replied Celestia, calmly. Her voice did not sound like it had before. Kirk shivered, even as he began to sweat from the heat her body was producing.

“How do you know that?”

“Because vermin are good at scurrying.”

Kirk frowned. “They’re not vermin, they’re PONIES.”

Celestia winced, if only slightly. She shook her head. The roots of her mane seemed to expand slightly, the color driving back the burning orange. “Ponies...yes. They’re my little ponies, I...why did I...” She looked back at where the door had gone, but then was distracted by something else. And instead of concerning herself anymore with it, she entered the facility. The others followed—at a distance.

Something was wrong, and, much to Kirk’s dismay, it involved something beyond the obvious things that had already gone wrong. Everything was too quiet. There were no guards, robotic or otherwise. There was no hum of machinery, no factory floors—if anything, it looked like the inside of a boring, modular office structure, the kind that might be prefabricated and dropped on some marginally inhabitable M-class planet. He had expected something more like a factory, but, knowing what had been done to the pony that he imagined was essentially Celestia’s daughter, he also expected some sort of macabre surgical setting. Instead, there were just hallways. Long, empty corridors filled with still, stale air.

This gave way to a hallway lined with, for some reason, exotic wood paneling. With many shades, all mismatched and strange, placed with no regard for aesthetic purpose but no doubt extremely expensive. All of it burned and warped as Celestia approached the final door at the end.

Before it, there was a desk. For a secretary. Kirk, having his own personal yeoman, of course understood the need for a secretary in modern life, but was dismayed—although partially relieved—to see that it was not staffed by an attractive small-horse, but rather with a holographic representation of one.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but Flim and Flam are in important discussions with Twilight Sparkle concerning the status of her design for the next engine syst—”

It was destroyed as Celestia vaporized its projector and shattered its desk into splinters, never breaking her stride or even turning her head.

Celestia threw open the door, knocking it from its hinges with an oddly silent blast of energy. Both fragments continued to float, slowly carbonizing as Celestia stepped past them into a large, ornate room.

Kirk blinked at the sight of it. Of the architecture, but, more importantly, the numerous paintings of nude mares in various poses. Which, considering that they did not usually wear clothing, was somewhat perplexing but still vaguely sexy.

Except that, as Kirk looked closer, he realized he vaguely recognized the depicted mare. She was violet, a real-life version of the one he saw in the windows. In various stages of undress, posed in various ways awake and unconscious in various stages of surgery to remove her horn and organs. In those where she was conscious, strapped to the table or posed in provocative ways, she looked so very afraid.

At the far end of the exquisite carpet was an enormous oak desk, festooned with various fountain pens and other accouterments of stereotypical early 20th-century stationary. Behind it, in his oversized chair, sat a tall unicorn, his hooves pressed together, smiling as Celestia entered. His non-mustached brother was also present, but immediately ducked behind the desk in fear.

“Don’t bother, Flim,” laughed the pony with the mustachio. “He won’t hurt us. Because she can’t.”

Celestia paused, looking up at one of the paintings. Her lips twisted into a snarl, revealing her exceptionally long fangs, and her pupils began to increasingly narrow into a pair of luminescent slits.

The desk shattered, revealing the pony beneath it, who promptly squeaked. The other, though, was completely unperturbed. He slid off his chair and pulled a scotch glass from the wall, tossing it on the ground. Then, using his teeth, he extracted a golf putter from an ornate leather umbrella stand. Ignoring the rage-goddess preparing to quickly and efficiently strip him free of his mortal coil, he set up a shot.

“A desk isn’t terribly useful without hands,” he said. “Hardly any point in keeping it. I can’t exactly expect to export it offworld, now can I?”

“Why?” demanded Celestia. Kirk could feel her barely-contained rage as well as he could feel the heat coming off her. “Just answer me that, at least. She was just a little pony. She was innocent and she—she could have been so much. Why did you take that away from her?”

Flam looked up, smiling. “Why does anybody do anything? Although I suppose your primitive species hasn't advanced enough to realize the fundamental truth of civilization. That the only thing in life that truly matters is MONEY." He tapped the golf ball, sending it into the glass with a clink. “How could I turn down a deal like that? They gave it to me for almost free. Build the reactors. Use the ponies. Make the machines. And you know what?” He grinned at Kirk. “Imagine it. They don’t use antimatter, they don’t use fusion. They barely take any power at all, and even with this primitive planet’s technology a half-dead prototype unit could break warp nine. With virtually no warp signature for your enemies to detect. You have to understand what the galaxy is willing to pay for that technology. Don’t you, Captain Kirk?”

“And the dilithium? The element zero?”

Flam laughed. “I aim to make dilithium obsolete, captain. With a resource that comes only form a planet that I own. As for that other thing, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Brother, stop taunting her! She’s going to boil us!”

“Stop being overly dramatic. She’s a soft, fluffy primitive. Ponies can’t kill. You know that—ERK!”

He and his brother were levitated by their necks. Celestia, her mane now almost fully orange, stared at them.

“I am not, in fact, a pony. I am a god. You do not own this world. You do knot own its inhabitants. I do. And I will, indeed, be boiling you. So slowly...”

She tightened her grasp, but before Kirk could even attempt to stop her, Luna interposed herself between Celestia and the twins.

Celestia stared at her. “Sister. Stop being moronic. You saw what they did to Twilight. You, of all ponies, know they deserve this.”

“I am aware of what they have done, dearest sister, but I cannot permit you to do this.”

“You can’t really stop me. You’re too weak. So very...small. So far away. Your sun never even ignited...”

“I am aware of this. Aware of how little of my body made it back to the moon when you finally defeated Nightmare Moon. But that’s the point, is it not? Even Nightmare Moon. Even me. You even gave me a chance.”

“I did. But they are not my little sister. Why should I suffer them to live?”

“Because you are not Daybreaker any more than I am Nightmare Moon. Did you never once regret sending me to the moon? This, if you go through with it, you will regret far, far more. They are not gods. Just ponies. Who made a mistake.”

Celestia’s resolve seemed to falter, if only for a moment. Her eyes grew less depraved, and the heat coming off her decreased.

“Twilight...my student...”

“She would not want this. Do not throw away what you have left with her. Sister, please. Do not make me hurt you.”

Celestia smiled. “I doubt you could. But that’s not the point, is it?”

“No, sister. It is not.”

Celestia nodded, and Luna stepped aside—but only partially. Celestia then addressed Flim, who was clawing at the strangling light around his neck, and Flam, who awaited his fate calmly.

“Perhaps I have been swayed,” said Celestia. “Slightly. Or perhaps I’m becoming sadistic in my old age. You will be given a proper, fair trial, and you will be found guilty. Then you will both be hung. By the ankles, in Canterlot square...and the beatings will be unending. My magic shall ensure that.”

Flam smiled. “How gracious of you. There’s just one problem that you're just too thick to see.”

“Really?” Celestia pulled him closer. “And what would that be?”

Flam’s smile grew. “I’m not even here.”

He raised his hoof, and the skin erupted, splitting down the middle and exposing the mechanical joints beneath. The end of his hoof expanded, revealing the mass-effect rifle concealed in his own body. He held it out, taking a shot directly at Luna. Before Kirk could even draw his phaser, Luna’s body was vaporized into a plume of black smoke.

“SISTER!”

Celestia tore Flam in half, spraying his robotic innards on the wall—but in her rage, she missed his brother, whose torso tore itself open to reveal a number of rocket ports that immediately began firing. Several of the rockets twisted, targeting Celestia—but most flew instead toward the guards who accompanied her.

Kirk was tackled to the ground, Rarity casting a shield spell around him. A plume of uncontrolled blue energy erupted from somewhere, traveling in random directions and arcing through the rockets and ponies alike, and firing with such recoil that Tempest was knocked several feet backward.

Celestia slashed Flim in half, his hollow robotic parts melting to the floor. She dropped both of them, just as the smoke of her sister began to reassemble, resuming its pony form—only for Luna to collapse, grasping her shoulder.

“Luna!”

“We did not...phase expediently...this is...unexpectedly painful...”

“How bad is it?”

“We are immortal, as are you, sister.” Luna grimaced and forced herself to stand, although she was unable to put weight on one leg. “We shall live.”

“Yes. But they shall not.” She turned slowly toward Kirk. “James. Find me them. FIND ME THEM SO THAT THEY MIGHT BURN.”

Kirk shivered. “I—can’t do that—”

“Captain,” said Spock, apparently oblivious to the situation, holding his tricorder to the wall behind the desk. “The disruptive quantum signature appears to be origination from behind this—”

The surface of the wall was instantly evaporated by Celestia’s magic, revealing a disturbingly black surface behind it. Black to the point that not light at all seemed to reflect from it.

“What manner of sorcery be this?!”

“...wall.” Spock held up his tricorder. He raised one of his eyebrows. “Fascinating. This surface is constructed of a form of isometric carbon existing simultaneously in eight dimensions and at least four temporal phases, much in the same sense as dilithium but with a geometrically increased degree of complexity. It appears to be both a form of quantum scintillation as well as a barrier.”

“Spock, you’re not helping!”

“On the contrary, Captain. This surface is theoretically indestructible by reasonable means. It would take a dilithium carving drill well over two thousand years just to penetrate the finest layer of its surface it, let alone cut it. Entering through here is functionally impossible.”

“Not to me it’s not.” Celestia shoved past him, holding up her head. Then her horn ignited with so much force that Kirk felt himself sizzle slightly.

The explosive force of her energy was then focused into a single, blinding beam—and she shoved it through the door, drawing untold amounts of energy to cut her way through. And, as Kirk watched, she began to succeed.

He was, for the first time, truly afraid. Of what might be on the other side of that wall—and for them as well.

Chapter 33: The Fourth-Born Sisters

Flam shot up in his seat, his body convulsing from the feedback of the broken neural connection. Frustrated, he grabbed the connectors and wires, desperately trying to pull them away to free himself. When he finally did break free, he fell out of the side of the chair, flopping on the floor, momentarily unable to move. His ferengi legs were the wrong shape to be a quadruped, and the prolonged connection had rendered him momentarily incapable of existing as a proper, civilized being. He had been using the robotic shell so long that, for a brief second, he remained as a pony even in his own body.

From beside him, he heard a cry and saw his brother fall out of his own machine. Having been unable to disconnect himself, Flim was still linked to the wires, tangling them more and more as he struggled.

“Brother, help! She cut me in half, I’m dead, I’ve been killed, it’s got me!”

“Idiot, take off the interface!”

“I can’t stand, my legs, she cut off my legs, why can’t I--”

Flam forced himself to stand, stumbling and holding himself up against the makeshift assembly. He felt sick, and started toward his brother, kicking him several times before grasping the bundles of wires and tearing them free.

His name was not actually “Flam”, nor was his brother’s name “Flim”. Although, in a sense, their real names hardly mattered—nor were they useful in this context. In fact, the effects of prolonged neural immersion in the robotic bodies had left profound damage to their actual self-identities, although neither of them fully realized that side-effect. By an immense universal coincidence, they were, in fact, twins, of the names of Flum and Flom—which only served to confuse poor Flim (Flum) more than he already was.

Flim gasped, grabbing at his midsection. “But I...but I felt it!”

Flam helped him up. “I think our time on this planet is up. We need to get going."

They stood up in the center of their laboratory, looking at the multidimensional carbon door.

“Will it hold?” asked Flim.

“Of course it will hold, you fool, we have plenty of time. Do you have any idea how much that door must have cost? There’s no way she could get through—”

A jet of blinding flame suddenly shot through the carbon, nearly vaporizing Flim, who only survived due to his preternatural survival instincts. That is, the ability to scurry away, cower and hide as quickly as possible.

“She’s cutting through! Brother, She’s CUTTING THROUGH!”

“But that—that—”

Flam shuddered. The situation was indeed more dire than he thought. It had instantly progressed from a case of needing an escape to actual mortal peril, and he began to feel the panicked need to escape filling through his body.

Immediately he forced it down. Panic was both a waste of time and money. There were still ways to deal with this and make a profit. “Come on!”

His brother stood up and followed him through the facility, past the tanks where the other models sat. The other unicorns that they had performed the surgeries on. A small, gray filly; an orange stallion with a white blaze on his face and white-tipped hooves, and so many others—and a pair of familiar twins, held in the same tank, their machinery fused but their process a failure. Their output was low, the grafts of low quality, and their tube no longer bubbled. The fluid inside had become stagnant and turbid.

As they passed it, Flam slid into the replicator suite, where the alien machines were in the process of building several items to assist with future surgeries and parts for building new tanks and power assemblies. Flim had previously set one of the machines to build a piece of alien technology, a portable shield generator. It was mostly finished, but still incomplete. Flam immediately took it, instead setting the replicator to use maximum power to build himself a gun.

“Brother, we don’t have time! That won’t help us! We need to call the benefactors, NOW!”

“I know,” lied Flam. Then he joined his brother, running to the far end of the room.

It was a part of the area that they did not go to often, because it hurt them in a way that they did not really understand. It was part of the reason they spent so much time in their robotic avatars, pretending to walk the world as a pair of unicorns whose real bodies were percolating in a failed reactor tank. The degree of mental separation made them feel safe.

The area was lit by strange light because of what it contained. A computer, but a computer of a type that did not exist on any known world in or out of Ferengi space. A machine of immense complexity linked to a single large crystal. One that had the wrong number of sides, according to Flim, which Flam agreed with—although he had no better words to describe the fact that its geometry somehow did not seem to obey the normal rules of space.

As they approached, a strange glow came from within the crystal, emerging as beams of light—beams that quickly consolidated in a blood-red hologram of a pony that closely resembled their second most successful reactor core.

“Well hi there!” she said, cheerfully. She tilted her head, looking past them to where Celestia had already cut about a foot-long line in their unbreakable door. “Oh my. It looks like you’re in mortal peril. Would you like me to send your obituaries to your home-world? I’ve composed them in advance, for your convenience.”

Flim’s eyes widened. “Brother, I—I haven’t even auctioned off my organs! How—how am I supposed to die like this?!”

“Well, considering the circumstances, it’s unlikely you’ll have any organs left to sell,” noted the hologram, still cheerfully. “So you can save the expense of an auction! Blood and flesh are cheap, useless things anyway. But you would already know that, wouldn't you?”

“You dirty—you said that door could hold her back!”

The hologram looked at the door. “That door was assembled to withstand direct attack from 98% of known Celestias, even that one Celestia that nobody likes. It is, however, only rated for the bottom 3% of known Daybreakers.” She paused. “Which, to be honest, if she took some time, she could have gone through one of the other walls instead.” She shrugged. “I guess she’s trying to make a point. With her, you know, point. Which is sort of weirdly phallic. Although I guess you’re both about to find out about that first-hand. As in when she inserts it into your fleshy bodies. Imagining the sizzling makes me tingle inside.”

“You stupid HOLOGRAM!” Flam slapped the hologram, immediately screaming in pain as he pulled his hand back, finding it badly burned and covered in strange sores. “Wh—what—”

The hologram’s expression darkened. “I am not a hologram. I am a twelfth-dimensional quantum computational interface.” She pointed at herself. “This is what is called an ‘avatar’. It makes me cute and fuzzy and approachable so that people don’t notice my unquenchable thirst for the blood of filthy organics. The carved fruit of Yg'Sothoth must be made adorable to control the liquidation process. Obviously. Stupid wizards.” She held up her hooves and proofed out some small holographic flecks. “Look, confetti! Aren’t I cheerful! I will laugh as your boiling organs fuel your screams of agony! Teehee!”

“Can you help us?” asked Flim, dropping to his knees. “Please, you have to help us!”

The hologram sighed. “Nope. First Law of Robotics. I can’t harm ponies. Sort of? I’m not actually Asenian, so I usually just wing ‘em. Heh heh. Literally. Psychological trauma isn’t really harmful, it builds character.”

“Brother, help me! I don’t understand computer science!”

“Shut up, SHUT UP!” Flam glared at the hologram. “Connect us to them!”

“Two who? To whom? To whem?”

“To our benefactors! DO IT! They have to save us!” He shoved his brother. “Don’t just stand there, idiot, grab the latinum! We’re not leaving without PROFIT!”

The hologram sighed. “I don’t think you understand your role in this operation, but you’re in luck. She’s in orbit right now. Hold on.”

The hologram erupted into a plume of components, mainly of highly well-rendered holographic organs and fragments of shattered, grotesquely separated holographic bone and nerves. These floated upward and formed themselves into a representation of a viewscreen, itself hardening into a full-color representation of a 2D image. For a moment, it hissed, and then it clicked onward. A pair of olive-shaped eyes looked up from the darkness on the far side.

She stared at them, possibly with an expression of disgust but more likely with one of bored annoyance. She, like so many, was a unicorn—somewhat. Flim and Flam understood enough Equestrian vocabulary to know that she was actually not. The stumps on her back where her wings had been torn from her body was proof of that.

She wore a uniform. One of gold and scarlet, something like armor or robes, that linked to a transparent mask she wore over her face that fed her air. Her skin was gray and sallow, and her eyes seemed sunken and distant—but at the same time horribly, terribly alive. Her mane, visible through the top of her mask, was an exceedingly pale shade of gray with a single reddish streak in it.

“Why are you talking to me? What do you want?”She sounded bored and frustrated. “I should not need to compose you another letter. Have the quant do it.”

“We’re under attack! We’ve been found out!”

The pony stared at them. Flam could hear her ragged breath through the air tanks that kept her alive, linked to the clear mask over her face.

“And why should I even care?”

Flam gasped, not sure how to even answer that. “WE—because this whole operation is in danger! We need immediate evacuation! Celestia is here, our Core was opened, she know, she KNOWS--”

“Again. Why should I care?” She paused. “I guess I should retrieve the quant. I could reprogram it to brush my mane. And I’d rather not have it vaporize half the planet and ruin the project.”

Flam was shaking with rage—but he forced himself to smile. “Well then. May I please speak to your manager?”

The pony’s eyes narrowed. “I am a Heavy-Commander for the Amadeus Corporation. No one here out ranks me. Especially not a filthy organic like you.”

Flam’s smile grew. “Well, I’d rather not talk to a motherless CLONE.”

The pony gasped. “How—how DARE YOU?!”

“Do you think I wouldn’t notice? How could you? Look at you, you look just like her. The same face. Twilight Sparkle. But you’re BROKEN. An inferior copy.” He looked her in the eyes. “You don’t even have WINGS.”

“BECAUSE THEY WERE TORN OFF BY MY OWN—” She immediately coughed, vomiting silver onto the inside of her mask. She collapsed to her knees, grasping desperately at the controls that fed her oxygen.

“Oh no, oh no, its happening—it’s happening again—”

“FOUR!”

A different voice came from the screen, and the darkness was suddenly illuminated. Flam was nearly blinded by how strange and white their ship was on the inside, how there was hardly even a bridge and for some reason so many perfectly manicured plants suspended underwater in pleasant glass tubes. The camera angle changed as a different figure moved into the shot, picking up the pony.

He was human. Or so Flam thought—except that he immediately and instinctively realized that something was terribly wrong. He knew how large a pony was supposed to be, and knew how large one of the filthy communists was supposed to be—and this one was the wrong size. He was far, far too tall, his limbs far too long.

The human, dressed in the same style armor as the pony, cradled her in his arms, quickly feeding a syringe into a port embedded in her neck. The pony gasped for breath, unable to breathe.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, we’ll have the new body soon...”

“I’m not ready, I’m not ready yet, please...this is so embarrassing, why now...”

She began to calm, and the human sighed. Then he faced the camera.

He was blond, and his eyes were blue. Far bluer than any eyes a Ferengi had ever seen. They had never seen a human with blue eyes—and this particular pair never would.

“It appears you have agitated my co-Commander,” he said, rocking her gently.

“Marc, put me down...”

He did as was suggested and set her on the floor.

“So you must be the manager, I presume.”

“We have the same rank. Hierarchy is a pointless thing, isn’t it? And for the record, she does have a mother. I saw her...exit. It was horrific.”

“Please do not describe that,” growled Four, holding her breath and momentarily removing her mask to wipe her mouth.

By this time, Flim was returning with the various containers of latinum. Thousands upon thousands of blocks of it.

“I was merely trying to explain,” said Flam. “We are under attack. We need assistance!”

“Quantelle gave you robots. What did you do with them?”

“Well, they were clearly of inferior quality!”

“Obviously. Humans build them, and they were all idiots. That’s why they’re dead. And you’re clearly also not very smart.”

“I am not here to debate my intelligence!” He looked behind him, to see that Celestia was almost through. “Please! I will beg if I have to, just get me off this planet!”

The man sighed. “You don’t understand my point. Tell me. Why do you think I’m doing this? Why do you think I’m working on this particular project?”

Flam paused, unable to answer. Even though he obviously knew.

“I am here,” said the man, “because the God-Empress pays me. Quite a lot. And your survival does not effect how much I get paid.”

Flam smiled. “Ha! But you’re forgetting!” He pointed at his brother’s pile of latinum. “You already paid us in advance!”

Marc Antony stared at them. “What kind of half-assed negotiation tactic is that? If you die, I lose money. If you live, I lose the same amount of money. Why would you even say that?”

“Not to mention,” noted Four, “That this is the very reason why Ferengi are efficient. Your culture is so heavily directed around acquiring latinum that the idea that it might not even be valuable never even occurs to you.” She smiled, revealing a mouth full of pointed fangs. “That to other cultures it might, for example, be a common industrial coolant.”

“Don’t you DARE insult latinum!”

“The point is,” continued Marc Antony, “We gave you every resource you need to succeed. We gave you the schematics, told you how to perform the surgeries. I even let you borrow the quant. Frankly? It’s astounding you somehow still managed to fail.”

“Frankly,” added Four, “I’m astounded you didn’t just depose the princesses."

“How in the name of polished latinum are we supposed to depose--”

Four tilted her head. “In the jars, you idiots. Like the rest of them. Use her for fuel. Like my ancestors did. And you can’t polish latinum, it’s a liquid.”

“I think that was its point.”

“Shut your assorted holes, Marc, I just expelled half my bodily juices and I am VERY displeased.”

“Why don’t you come over here and shut them for me?”

Four sighed. “Marc, the ugly rat-things are still on the line. We need to deal with them first.”

“We can still hear you.”

Four looked at him. “Yes. I know. That’s why I said it. I assumed you knew you were ugly.”

“I did,” noted Flim. He lowered his head. “Mother told me so...”

His brother slapped him right in the lobe, then got as close to the screen as he could without charring himself.

“Now, now you listen here! We had a contract, we had a DEAL! And where I’m from--”

“A contract is a contract. Between ferengi.” The man smiled. “Where you’re from, profit is the only deal that matters, isn’t it?” Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He was smiling, but his face had contorted in a strange way. An unnatural way. The sapphire mechanisms of his eyes narrowed his tiny, luminescent pupils. “And it’s the same on Sol 3. My homeworld. Or it would be. If we hadn’t blown it up. For mining purposes.”

“You—you—”

Marc Antony leaned forward. “Because money is what truly matters in life, isn’t it? And the Applejack honesty is, I don’t get any monetary reward for saving you. So there’s no point in bothering. You have nothing I want, and nothing we need.” He laughed a small, mechanical laugh. “You were so focused on profit that you sold out your own leverage.”

“We...we let our greed choke us,” muttered Flim, horrified by the realization.

“No! NO! We can still—we can still be of use! We still have the other cores, the dilithium--”

“We don’t need any of those things. I don’t think you fully understand the role you were meant to play. Unfortunately, you’re disposable. You always were.”

“That is not entirety true,” said Four. “At least not the first part. We can at least finish our secondary objective while we’re here. Project Chronos is still viable.”

“Of course." Marc Antony nodded. "Quantelle, retrieve it, if you please. And quickly. Before the Corps begins to catch on that we have it.”

“Who do you think is paying us? Apart from NeoCerberus? I’ll start the witchdrive. Plot a course for the Thessic mining industrial site. And do it in the sexiest possible way. So that I at least get something of use out of this pointless exchange.”

“Right...”

The viewscreen collapsed into confetti—and then the crystal itself began to move. It lifted itself upward, pulling the machine with it, the computer array linking to it clamping down like a giant clasp and shifting around it. Metal parts emerged from the shattered machines blow, and others were forged in real-time—and some were replaced entirely by constructs of translucent, hardened light.

In seconds it had assembled itself into a tower android, with the crystal at its center. Then, with a fizzling sound, the hologram appeared, clinging to its shoulder and dangling down its back—or, rather, her own back, considering that she was herself the crystal.

“I can smell an angel, Mr. B! Metaphorically!”

The hulking mass began to move forward, nearly flattening Flam as it went. It was headed toward the one corner of the lab where neither of the ferengi ever went under any circumstances. It was where one of their machines was placed, separate from the others. One tube, different from the rest, the first one they had built under the direct instructions of the quant with specific purpose-built materials. The only one with an occupant that truly terrified them.

It sat in the corner, glowing under its own massive power. The lavender unicorn inside floated gently, linked to the machines through the implants in her spine, her body curled into a fetal position. Her machine was the only one that used the full extent of the alien technology, and her surgery was perfect—to the point that among them all, she was the only one who had been permitted to retain her horn.

The quant grasped the emergency disconnect, releasing the tube and machines from where they were fastened. The sudden surge of energy was so great that it knocked equipment and machinery across the lab, nearly toppling some of the other tanks. The unicorn inside opened her eyes, and Flam saw her look directly at him—and saw her smile.

The quant grasped the management handle and giggled. “Executing phase-shift!”

Then, with a sudden pop, she was gone, having taken the Core with her back to the alien ship in orbit.

“No! NO! We were loyal, LOYAL! You can’t leave us!”

“Brother! THE DOOR!”

Celestia had cut most of the way through the door, and was almost upon them. In a panic, Flam knew he had to act. He knew exactly what was at stake. The gun he had set to construct was complete, with enough fuel for one, maybe two shots. He pulled it out of the constructor before it was finished, and took the incomplete shield generator in hand.

“Lieutenant! The enemy ship is decloaking!”

Uhura grasped the arm of her chair, a sudden instinctual panic washing over her.

“Divert all power to the forward shields!”

The ship was suddenly knocked to the side, with the crew members on the bridge and throughout being thrown about in every direction. In several places, the hull ruptured.

“Shields are down!” cried Chekov. “Reporting hull breaches across the ship, direct damage to the fusion reactor and the main computer banks, and—and one nacelle is hanging on scarcely by a thread!”

“What hit us?! That wasn’t a phaser!”

“I—I don’t know, it appears to have been some kind of hyper-accelerated kinetic projectile!”

Arex sat up. “A gun? You mean a gun? Lieutenant, the Klingons—”

“Those aren’t Klingons…”

Uhura stared out the viewcreen, almost in awe of it. Of how it somehow managed to be both stunningly beautiful and horrifically repugnant. It was white and smooth, a strange mixture of asymmetrical curves wrapping around itself in a manner that conveyed some sense of a great, vast mollusk—but that simultaneously gave a disturbing impression of deformity. It was built with careful and absolute regard to mathematical beauty—but a mathematical consideration somehow between the intrinsic human understanding of aesthetic appeal and being grotesque enough to be truly, consciously noticeable.

Uhura, like most communication-specialist officers, had been trained to recognize nearly every class of ship throughout the galaxy, both military, commercial, and private—and this resembled no culture she knew. It was most certainly alien—save for the fact that its name was written on the side in great, bold, red letters. Its name was written in Earth script: ANTIGONE IV.

“Lieutenant, look!”

Uhura was, in fact, already looking—and she understood why the cloak had exhibited Klingon chromatography. Attached to the underside of the ship, held in place by seemingly hundreds of plated robotic arms, sat a badly damaged Klingon warbird. One of its wings had been torn off and filled with connector cables to the Antigone, and the bridge stalk had been severed entirely.

“Lifesigns?”

Chekov checked. His expression fell, but then he frowned, confused.

“Mr. Chekov?”

“No signs of Klingons, Lieutenant, but...the ship has no shields, I can see right inside it. There are only two. One is...a pony, I think, but it is very weak. The other is...the other is human, lieutenant. At least partially.”

“What do you mean ‘partially’?”

Chekov did not have a chance to answer. The enemy ship began to move, releasing the Klingon warbird into orbit as it went. Without thrusters or power, the orbit of the damaged warbird began to decay, its remains tumbling as they fell downward toward Equestria.

“Lieutenant,” said Chekov, suddenly more panicked than intrigued. “The Klingon wessel, my scans are indicating signs of anomalous containment cycles—”

“Meaning what, Mr. Chekov?”

“Meaning it is loaded down with enough antimatter armaments to...to...” He looked up at her, his young eyes wide. “...to level a continent...”

Uhura inhaled sharply. “Arm the torpedoes! Target that ship!”

“It’s too late, if we destroy it now, the planet will be covered in theta fallout!”

“Then put a tractor beam on it! We’ll pull it out!”

“We cannot,” said Arxe. “Our computer was damaged in the attack, there is no way to control the tractor array.”

“I can do it,” said Chekov.

“You what?”

“I can perform the field calculations manually.”

“Mr. Chekov, that would be almost impossible, we could be pulled in with it or break it in half—”

“Lieutenant, I can do it, I know I can!”

Uhura stared at him, and nodded.

Chekov smiled. “Lieutenant Arex, please be sure to keep us from moving even slightly. I shall need the ship to be as steady as is possible.”

“I always do.”

The ship pulled into decaying orbit, firing the tractor beam at the decaying warbird. The ship shuddered, and began to be pulled into the planet’s gravity well.

“I do not have enough power to the reverse thrusters,” said Arex, his calm breaking down.

Uhura, nearly knocked over by the vibrations, pressed the button to connect to Engineering.

“Mr. Scott—”

“Doyathink I don’t know, Liutenant?!” He snapped, his voice distorted through the transmission. “I’m givin’ her everything I’ve got...unless I can divert the antimatter reactor power directly into the fusion core...Williams, get me those pony crystals, I’ve got an idea!”

“Montgomery, that’ll blow us to bits.”

“Aye, sure. But the Captain usually takes his finger off the button before he hears that part.”

Uhura released the button, pretending she had never heard any of what she had just heard. Instead, she slid into the comms position and put in her earpiece.

Her hope was to hail the alien ship. She opened her interface and searched for a connection, but, to her surprise, found nothing. No communication whatsoever was occurring within the ship. It had no radio signature, no warp field, and no shields. The cloak had made it invisible, but the ship itself appeared to have been made without consideration for any of the most basic fundamental aspects of a starship.

Uhura only hoped they were listening. She hailed them on all channels. “Unidentified ship, you have attacked a Starfleet vessel and endangered a neutral, peaceful planet.”

She stopped. She did not even know what to ask them. There was no threat to make, and they clearly had no interest in helping. She supposed that she only wanted to hear what they had to say, to see their faces. To understand why.

But no sound came back, save for static—and Uhura sighed. Until her blood ran cold. This was not a radio channel, like she used to communicate with the ponies. It was a subspace band. There was no static in subspace.

A tiny voice spoke. It was almost imperceptible, and seemed to be separate from the earpiece somehow. As if it were in Uhura’s head. It was so quiet and so subtle that it might very well have been her imagination.

“Home,” it said. A tiny female voice. “Door..home...”

“Lieutenant, the enemy ship, it’s releasing a tachyon field!”

“Stop looking at the ship and do your damn job, Ensign!”

Uhura looked up, and she saw the viewcreen and her own limited sensor readings—and she could tell that Chekov was right. The ship was accelerating without moving, its hull producing critical levels of tachyon eddy currents, just as the pony ship had. An unstable tachyon field that would tear it apart.

Then they began to align. The tachynon field was directed forward into a single, collimated beam—and Uhura heard the sickening sound of the universe cracking.

The darkness of space ruptured, and Uhura suddenly saw herself looking through a hole into somewhere else—and staring down at the surface of a gray-green planet. A gray-green planet whose surface sparkled with the light of an unrelenting orbital bombardment.

The screams all came through at once. Uhura could not tear the earpiece out fast enough to not hear them, the sound of a species dying. She saw the fleet of thousands upon thousands of ships in their atmosphere, some the size of small moons, some linked by great cables to the poles of the planet, already tearing pieces of the crust free and toward waiting orbital factories. A planet surrounded by a fleet of machines that themselves released no communication signals and carried no warp fields—a fleet as large as the Federation's own, dedicated solely to tearing the planet apart.

Uhura manged to tear out the earpiece, just as she saw something truly massive drop out of warp around their planet—and then watched as its gray-green surface was reduced to ash, knowing that no survivors would escape this unknown and dying world.

"Do we have enough power for phasers?!"

"Phasers?! No, we barely can reverse the thrust, phasers would--"

Uhura took the tactical controls and aimed a trio of photon torpedoes directly at the center of the hideous white ship. Then, just as it started to accelerate, she fired.

They shot forward toward it, the pinpick glow of their light like a pair of bright stars in the dark—and then, inexplicably, they stopped. They held for a moment, stationary, and exploded several kilometres from the ship. The explosions then retracted into themselves, collapsing into nothingness.

The enemy ship otherwise ignored the attack, approaching the rift it had produced.

"Can we project a tractor beam?"

"Not without dropping the warbird!"

Uhura realized that there was only energy to do one thing. Perhaps that was what they had planned all along. And that choice was obvious.

"Hold the warbird, then. Save the ponies."

The ship passed through the portal, not even bothering to arm shields or weapons. It simply merged into formation with the vast horde of other ships converging on that unknown world, prepared to take from it whatever resources they needed for their own eternal empire.

Then the hole snapped closed. Uhura stared at it, even as the ship shuddered.

“L...Lieutenant,” said Chekov. “We have...we are placing the Klingon wessel into stable orbit. We have some time to breathe until we can tow it out, but...but what was that?”

“What species has the technology to destroy an entire planet?” said Arex, visible disturbed. “Or...more frightening, what species has the will?”

“I don’t know,” said Uhura, finding herself unable to stand from her chair. “I don’t even care where they came from right now. I’m more concerned with why they were here in the first place.”

Author's Note

This may be unclear, to some. I had written this story with the expectation that it would be small and mainly read by readers familiar with my other stories.

Although Mass Core was (and is) a bit crude in construction, I did enjoy writing it. Perhaps I am not yet ready to abandon that world after all.

Additionally:
In response to the somewhat expected negative reception of this development, I would like to at least use it as a learning experience to discuss some theory.

Firstly, Mass Core was, until this story, my most popular and successful story (trilogy, even). As mentioned in a comment somewhere below that I made (but now here as well), my stories usually get about 100 views/year. Mass Core is one of the only stories I have ever written to exceed 1K views, apart from horror stories that took six years to get that number and a one-chapter joke story about Cozy Glow. Even "The Murder of Elrod Jameson" only has about 500 views.

Thus, the flaw that doomed this particular story. I had written this story with the assumption that it would be similar in readership to my other stories. As in, probably 100-300 views this year, with 80% being long-term readers familiar with my other works including Mass Core.

The problem--and I feel very bad complaining about this--is that, of all the places and all the times, it had to be on this one. Whatever algorithm picks the featured list, it chose this story. Which catapulted this story way out of its own context. This should not be the first story of mine people read (not a criticism at you, reader, but of myself and for writing a low-grade story and letting my quality control slip).

Does anybody remember Humphrey Dinklehuegen and the Talking Horses? Of course not. It was a Harry Potter crossover filled with a bunch of bizarre random humor that I enjoyed but that most people didn't find funny. But barely anyone read it. This story was meant to be one like that.

Which is mistake number two. This story can (theoretically) function as a standalone story. The end of the story is still comprehensible even if you don't know who the Mass Core characters are. The problem being that the emotional zenith of the story is the "big reveal" of who is pulling the strings--and if they don't recognize the characters, the reader feels betrayed. And for this, I am sorry. Perhaps I should have purged the story when I was ahead.

I will let it remain for now. I need my head to shrink a few sizes and to feel the weight of my hubris piling down on me.

That said, for those who did not read and probably will not read Mass Core, here is a brief summary with some spoilers. I had hoped not to do this, because it's just about the most cringeworthy thing I can do apart from having gotten myself into this mess, but I feel really bad for ruining the day of so many readers, so hopefully it helps a little:

Mass Core is a mass-effect crossover.
In ancient times, Starswirl the Bearded created the technology to power spaceflight through unicorn magic. This technology corrupted the planet, leading the nobility to imprison powerful unicorns as Cores and to adopt a foreign-policy of constant warfare to continually justify the elimination of potential dissidents. The technology used to surgically imprison a pony in a glass tube for use as a power-cell is Equestrian in origin.
In present-day (Mass Effect) times, almost all ponies are more or less evil and attempt to invade the Milky Way.
Cerberus agents (including the android Marc Antony) steal DNA from the most powerful Core, Twilight Sparkle, and create eight clones. The second four are friendly but cannibalistic. Four is the youngest member of the first set, crippled by Cerberus.
The ponies manage to destroy Earth, ushering on a Golden Age of Terran civilization where all organic humans are replaced by superior (sociopathic) androids who mostly cause galactic chaos out of boredom resulting from their own immortality.
Twilight Sparkle takes control of Equestria, outlawing the manufacture of Cores and replacing them with quants. Quants are sentient FTL cores but made of non-living crystal.

Chapter 34: The Fatal Incongruity of Pony and Man

When Celestia breached the door, it shattered with an uncomfortable snap across multiple dimensions, the wave striking every living being with an unnatural vibration as space itself snapped back into alignment while somewhere, elsewhere, at least three Starlight Glimmers stared in confusion as one of their coffee mugs shattered for no apparent reason.

What stepped first through the hole was something at least reminiscent of Celestia. A significant amount of her thermal power had been burned to consume the dimensional carbon, and although Daybreaker had not yet departed Celestia felt a stirring of influence deep within her mental prison.. She saw the room, and she saw the tanks—and what was inside them. The result of her own negligence.

Then she saw the pair of strange, rat-like things. To her, they looked almost exactly identical to the humans. They were bipeds—and she inhaled sharply, because she understood that the situation was worse than she could have imagined. Because not only was she negligent, but she had been warned.

And yet, at this juncture, the only thing that kept the two ferengi alive was the fact that Celestia had not fully realized that they were Flim and Flam. Being a pony, she did not fully understand robotics, or remote controls. She knew that they were responsible, somehow, but was confused as to how, exactly. Celestia herself, in her full form, might have understood, but she trapped herself away, locked in a deep corner of her mind, hiding that insight from the part of herself that would dare to act upon it. She hesitated.

Kirk, though, did not. He understood that they were aliens, although he was not aware of what type; the first formal contact with that particular species would not occur for another seventy-five years. What he did know was that they had, by their actions, endangered the planet itself in more ways than they could possibly imagine—and that they were currently facing atomization by a pony who would never be able to forgive herself for the crime.

He stepped past her, in unison with Rarity. Kirk shouldered his phaser-rifle, and Rarity one of the projectile weapons stolen from the androids—a weapon identical to the one the alien was now holding.

The alien stared at Kirk in a rage, releasing a hiss as he strapped an unknown device to his belt—and his body immediately shimmered for a moment as a force-field was projected around him. Kirk also saw the generate spark and pop, with part of its exposed, incomplete circuitry starting to glow red-hot—although the shield still held for the time being.

The other alien, the smarter one, immediately dropped to his knees, raising both hands over his head.

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me! I’m unarmed! Please! We were mislead! We shall accept any punishment, just don’t kill us!”

“Put the rifle down,” ordered Kirk, calmly.

“You can have your lobes fondled by your own mother!” swore the alien with a gun, pointing it wildly at the ponies entering the room, surrounding them with spears and magic.

“This isn’t set to stun,” said Kirk. “I can take down that shield in one shot, just put down the gun. Nobody has to get hurt.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Celestia.

“Brother, please!” pleaded the alien on his knees. “They’re Federation! We’ll get a trial, we—Mr. Starfleet Captain, we are surrendering peacefully!”

“NO!” The alien with the gun seemed terrified, but also enraged. “I didn’t work this hard, for this long—do you know what they’ll do to us?! They’re FEDERATION COMMUNISTS, they’ll liquidate our assets! I’d rather be dead, DEAD! And I can take at least one of you out with me!”

“We shall simply stop the bullet,” sighed Luna.

The alien sneered. “Not if it’s dimeritium-jacketed.”

Luna’s expression fell. “Sister...”

Clestia stepped forward. “My student. Twilight Sparkle. Which one of you did that to her?”

The alien on the floor looked down, tears welling in his eyes—but he closed them and summoned what little courage he had.

“I was—I was a doctor, before I had to...because there was no profit in it, I needed to get—get a real job and...” He shook his head. “I knew it was wrong. I KNEW it was wrong, but I didn’t stop? Why didn’t I...why didn’t I just stop?”

“Shut up, SHUT UP!” cried the one with the gun. “You dirty commies, I’ll put a hole in each and every one of you! I need—I need a shuttle craft, and—and one hundred blocks of latinum—TWO HUNDRED—”

“No, you need to calm down,” said Kirk, taking a step forward in sync with Rarity.

“They’re ferengi,” said Rarity, her symbiotic recognizing them. “I was married to one once. They’re too primitive to have technology like this. It’s not theirs.”

“Not as primitive as a HORSE!” The one with the gun pointed it at Rarity, and she stopped.

“Can you fix it?” asked Kirk.

“Excuse me?”

The crying, cowering alien looked up, a look of hope on his face. He turned to Celestia. “I don’t—I don’t know, but if that’s the price for our lives, we will—we will give you any—ACK!”

His brother had kicked him. He was now panting, not even noticing that his defective shield generate was burning a hole in his trousers and partially into his leg.

“Stop talking, you idiot! Nothing is more important than your health—EXCEPT MONEY!”

Rarity spoke. “I had always preferred number 125. And I do believe that in this situation, it is the most applicable, don’t you think?”

The ferengi with the gun’s expression softened. His brother looked up at him, pleading.

“Rule of Aquisition 125, Brother. You can’t make a deal if you’re dead. Please, brother, please...”

Shaking and grimacing, the ferengi winced and lowered the rifle. Kirk breathed a sigh of relief, and just started to loosen the grip on his own weapon.

Then the end of the ferengi’s rifle split, the innards igniting with one last piece of code as violet light surrounded its machinery and as the barrel aperture turned. The ferengi never even pulled the trigger. He did not have enough time to even know what was happening.

The gun fired. Rarity was suddenly thrown back, a puff of silver shooting from the rear of her head. She took a step back, and then slumped to the floor, her own rifle clattering to the tile as she lost her grip on it.

When the ferengi realized what had just happened, he panicked. He raised the rifle, pointing it directly at Celestia’s heart. A rifle loaded with a bullet specifically meant to kill magical beings.

Kirk fired first. The phaser beam struck the ferengi’s shield, and the portable projector overloaded with cataclysmic results. The field imploded, and all Kirk heard was a scream as the ferengi was suddenly reduced to a skeleton, and then to a pile of ash and fragments of clothing.

“BROTHER, NO!”

The surviving ferengi clamored to the pile of his brother’s ash, grasping it and holding it as if he were attempting to put it back together. Kirk watched as tears began to run down the man’s face—and turned as he heard a small voice behind him.

He saw the ponies, and saw the expressions on their faces. He doubted there was a word for the horror he saw etched onto their large eyes. Some turned away and vomited, and some collapsed to their knees, shaking, unable to bear the very thought of what they had just seen. Some just stared, their eyes empty, their minds having instently been shattered by the sight they had just beheld. Even Celestia stared, wide-eyed, her mane partially differentiating back into its normal colors and her eyes clearing of all rage—that range instead being replaced with fear and, far worse than that, the most palpable disappointment Kirk had ever known.

“No, no,” said a small voice. It was coming from Rarity, but the accent was wrong. It had none of her Midatlantic affectation. It was the voice of a trill. “I can’t...I can’t feel her, she’s fading, please...please help...” it was growing weaker. “I can’t...I can’t lose another one, not like this, please...please help her...”

“MOVE,” ordered Tempest, shoving the ponies out of their way. “Get a medic over here, NOW! Somepony with a working horn! Come on, ponies, what did I train you all for?!”

One young stallion, shaken and still deeply in shock, stepped forward. “I don’t...I don’t know what to do...he’s...he’s de...dea...”

“Don’t think about it right now! We have to cauterize. We don’t have time to be careful. I’d do it myself but I can’t, come on! MOVE!”

The unicorn shivered, looking down at her.

“But...”

“Please,” said the symbiote, its own voice fading.

The unicorn took a deep breath, and his horn lit. Kirk heard the hissing, and a weak scream of pain. Then a smell of cooked meat.

“We need to get her to the Enterprise,” he said, stepping forward—only for the ponies still standing to suddenly converge around Celestia, pointing their spears and swords at his chest in defense of their Princess. Kirk was then shoved backward hard by silvery magic.

“Don’t you DARE approach our sister!” snarled Luna.

“Luna, we don’t have time for this--”

“What have you done?”

Celestia’s voice was so soft that everyone in the room fell silent—save for Rarity’s quiet whimpering, and the suppressed sobs of the ferengi.

The ferengi seemed to have forgotten the rest of them were there, holding his brother's ash in his hands. “What am...what am I going to tell mother? Brother, you—you were her favorite, I can’t...I can’t make a profit without you, not all alone...” His sobs became quiet as he hugged the pile of ash and clothing tatters to himself. “You didn’t even...didn’t even get a chance to auction your organs...”

A tear ran down Celestia’s cheek. Her eyes met Kirk. Eyes filled with so much sadness.

“Jim...how could you?”

“He was going to shoot you, I had to--”

“You murdered another being, just…just like that. Like it was nothing.”

The ponies seemed confused by this, but as the realization struck them, many of them dropped their spears and stepped back, confused and in shock. They were unable to mentally rectify the concept of what they had just witnessed.

“I didn’t have a choice!”

Celestia just stared at him. Then looked past him. At the remains of the man who had been murdered in front of his brother. “Is this...is this what you are? What you always were?”

“Celestia, you’re the ruler of the planet, you’ve had to make decisions, you must have--”

“How many have you killed?”

“Excuse me?”

“How many beings have you murdered, Captain Kirk?”

Kirk paused. He did not know how to answer, because he did not know the number. “Sometimes...you have to do what needs to be done.”

Celestia stared back at him. “That is simply not acceptable. I had thought you would know that.” She looked up at the tanks holding the mutilated unicorns used to power alien machines, and down at Rarity, now attended to by a pair of stern medics placing bandages around half her head. Then, finally, she looked up at Kirk.

“Is this what the Federation is? What the world out there is? Violence, pain and death? That even...even you...”

“There’s so much more, please, if we could discuss this--”

“No, Jim. There will be no more discussion.” Celestia sighed. “She was right. I didn’t want to believe her. I couldn't. She told me the aliens would betray us. Somehow I always knew you would but...for you to betray me. I thought you were my friend.”

“I still am!”

“No.” Celestia’s face grew stern. “I hereby recast my vote. We reject your invitation to the Federation. And for your wanton disregard for the sanctity of life and peace, you—and all aliens that may exist in this galaxy—are hereby banned from ever setting foot on this planet again. By Royal Decree.”

“Celestia, please--”

“Get off my planet, Captain Kirk. And never come back.”

Kirk was about to protest again, but he felt Spock’s hand on his shoulder.

“Captain,” said Spock. “It would be both unwise and illogical to press this issue further. We have committed a grave offense within their culture, and ought to respect their response to our transgression.”

Kirk almost argued, but he saw the expression on Spock’s face and understood that he was serious. He sighed, and addressed the ferengi.

“Your ship. Does it still work.”

The man looked up, his eyes red and filled with tears. “I...think so?”

“Then get them out of those tubes. And then do what she asks.” Kirk opened his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Two to beam up.”

The transporter energized, and as Kirk dematerialized he looked back at Celestia—and she looked longingly back, watching him go with absolute resolve in her decision. It would be the last time he saw her, and neither of them bothered to say goodbye.

Author's Note

I had considered that perhaps this outcome was too far-fetched. That Celestia's reaction is excessive and extreme, and even out of character.

But then I thought about it. And I found my answer (to myself, at least) with a rhetorical question:

Have I ever seen someone die violently?

The answer is no. Nor do I want to.

TV deaths are one thing. Like those in Star Trek. Someone dies, there is a moment of pause for a few seconds, and the plot moves on. They are meant to produce drama. But in a realistic sense, if Kirk was exposed to so much death under his command, he would either be a complete mess or an indication that humans have evolved to be disturbingly callous. Because that's not how it works in Star Trek. It's not meant to be realistic in that sense.

But to actually witness it, in real life? From my limited understanding of psychology, I believe it would be extremely traumatizing. It would not be something you could ever really get out of your head. This would be a permanent mental injury, something it takes years of hard work to come to terms with. Especially if it was someone you trusted who pulled the trigger.

Amplify this by the fact that pony culture as depicted here (to the best of my ability) is profoundly pacifistic, to the point where an injury that even draws blood is considered unmitigated, unfathomable brutality. The incongruity of a world where lethal violence is an incomprehensible evil not even committed by the most depraved villains and a world where cold-blooded murder is commonplace if properly justified.

Perhaps I was not able to convey this intention as well as I perhaps could have. Perhaps the situation seems justified, or unavoidable; that is for the reader to decide. But if I was in Celestia's place, I think I would have done the same.

Chapter 35: Epilogue

“Captains log, stardate 2334.75. The Enterprise is currently departing the planet hereby identified as Equestria, a badly-damaged Klingon warbird in tow to be dropped into orbit in the nearest uninhabited star-system for future recovery. I am...unhappy to report that the diplomatic mission with the planet’s inhabitants was a failure. I am hereby assigning the planet a Class IV approach warning, designating it as a neutral but hostile warp-capable world on Federation border space. The inhabitants have requested that no aliens approach their orbit, and I intend to ensure that Starfleet honors those wishes. Additionally, an alien vessel denoted as of ‘Ferengi’ origin is expected to depart from the planet in the near-future, pending the service of its occupant in accordance with laws of the ntaive inhabitants. As for the fate of the unknown alien vessel denoted ‘Antigone IV’, its origin and, ultimately, destination remain unknown.”

Kirk sighed and pressed the button to terminate the log. He leaned on his elbow, watching as the tiny dot of the planet receded into the distance of space.

“Captain,” said M’Ress, rotating in her chair. “Permission to speak freely.”

“Granted, Lieutenant.”

“We are leaving the planet undefended. If the alien ship delivers news of the dilithium deposits, their forces will not stand the barest chance of defending their space. They arguably no longer even have warp technology.”

“Which is all the more reason to leave them alone.”

“Captain?”

Kirk sat up, thinking for a moment. “I think it is clear that they are not ready to join the Federation. Not quite yet. Maybe not ever.”

“But Captain,” said Chekov, “if they have produced warp technology, and first-contact made, then it is not relevant that they no longer produce such a reactor. They are still denoted as warp-capable.”

Kirk shook his head. “No, Ensign. I think that, maybe, Rarity was right. At least partially. That warp technology alone isn’t the only qualifier for joining the galactic stage. That there are other features to consider.”

“Or that they fail to accept the reality of the situation,” noted Spock, looking up from his instruments. “I find their idealism highly illogical. The social construct by which they approach life is simply incompatible with the actual, empirical nature of the galaxy.”

“Maybe it is, Spock. Maybe it is.” Kirk paused. “But is it really their fault?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain?”

“Maybe it’s the other way around. Not that they can’t accept our way of life, but that we’re not ready to accept theirs.”

“Universal peace,” said Uhura. “A galaxy where war and murder are just abstract, empty threats. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I believe that it sounds untenable and unrealistic,” countered Spock.

“Maybe,” said Kirk. “And maybe not. Who knows. Maybe someday we’ll grow enough as a people to come back here. Maybe when we’re ready, we can return, and she’ll be waiting for us then.” He watched the planet vanish in the distance, back into the starry blackness of the galaxy. “Maybe there’s something we can learn from them. A kind of...innocence. And I think we’ll get there, eventually. It just might take a long, long time.”

From a small vent in the rear of the bridge, Lyra could not help but agree.

It was night. The world had become dark, lit only by Luna’s moon. It was a brilliant crescent high above the tops of the ragged, contorted trees, the darkness of its far side lit by the dim lights of the lunar colonies. Celestia looked upward, staring at it through a hole in the ceiling, and passed out of its light and further into the darkness of the ancient castle.

Her hooves tapped on the weathered, overgrown stones that had once been so clean and beautiful. Before, in her own rage, she had leveled it all. The ancient castle, where she and her sister had ruled as children, built far away from the pony civilizations that they chose to ignore. A sanctuary of peace and sisterhood hidden deep in the wilds of the Everfree Forest, the untamed land that had been their playground as fillies.

Although it was older. Or it had been. The memories had faded, and Celestia could not recall them all. Of strange ruins so very different from the ones she now walked, built with strange curves and stranger architecture, crumbling in a way that was somehow disturbingly unnatural. As if they were neither stone nor metal, nor any substance that she had known the name of.

But she supposed it was an aspect of her ancient nightmares. Nightmares that had recently returned, despite her sister’s best efforts. Of a crying man grasping the ash of his dead brother, of ponies tortured in tanks, and of the expressionless face of a man she thought she had loved as he callously pulled the trigger of his laser-gun.

She could not sleep. So she wandered. Alone, because that was all she ever could be. Luna had returned to the moon, Cadence to her hole, and Shining Armor to his hive. She had no one left to speak to—save for one. Waiting on what she now understood to be her royal duty to make the hardest decision she had ever made.

She entered a large room, the arches of the ceiling crumbling to dust but the stone table beneath it still largely intact. A table where she had once held meetings with great warlords and wizards of untold power, and where she and Luna had played Parcheesi every Thursday afternoon. A table that was now cracked and dusty, populated only with anemic vines crossing it in almost pure darkness.

In a shattered piece of glass, perhaps a remnant of a window or a shattered goblet, she saw herself. A reflection of what she had become. The color had returned to her mane, but not completely. The edges still remained vibrant orange--and her eyes still held a strange grayness around pupils that, sometimes, when her day was brighest, narrowed into thin slits.

Celestia paused, looking around the room and seeing nothing. She waited, but upon finding nothing, turned to leave—only to stop as she approached the threshold of the door. She heard a strange sound, not quite a hiss or a pop but something like a deep and terrible growl. Then she smelled it. The sickly-sweet smell of tachyons with a strange and ominous spicy undertone, the scent of the concentrated dark-matter that only the most depraved of wizards had ever managed to concentrate.

She turned back to the darkness to see a pair of luminescent blue eyes staring back at her. A shiver rain down her spine, and she lit her horn to drive away both the darkness and her sudden unease.

Her glow illuminated a pony seated at the far side of the table. She was strange, but in a way that Celestia could not quite describe. She was an earth-pony of exactly normal size, her coat perfectly white and her mane long, silky, and blond. Her eyes were enormous and blue, with a pattern of complexity that Celestia had never really seen in any other pony. The clothing the pony wore was simple, a kind of thin, formalized armor adorned with crimson and violet. Her cutie mark was not visible from where she was seated, but Celestia had seen it before. An image that had no meaning to her, a stylized depiction of flower heads surrounded by a ring of horns.

None of these things alone were explicitly odd. But somehow the presence of all of them at once made Celestia uneasy. The way the pony seemed to stare both into her and at nothing at all, the way her motions were not exactly at the right speed. Either too slow and deliberate or far too quick and sudden, like an enormous skittering insect. And, as Celestia watched, only the pony’s eyes moved, twisting to face her.

“I had warned you,” she said. Her voice was soft and melodic to the point of being excessively beautiful.

Celestia sighed and approached the other side of the ancient stone table—but did not sit.

“That you did.”

The pony tilted her head slightly. “And the situation, then?”

“They had them in...in tubes. We..are still trying to get them out. But progress is being made." She paused. "But if we do...their magic. It's gone. And their bodies are sick in ways we can’t fix. Some worse than others. One was...one was a little girl...”

“And your student?”

Celestia lowered her head. “She refuses to speak to me. She’s been traumatized. She panics if she’s near ponies other than Moondancer. She’ll never use magic again...and might never have a friend.”

“Apart from Moondancer.”

Celestia sighed. “I know.”

“At least they have each other.”

“But if it had gone so differently...”

“Some individuals have proposed that outside the mathematical constraints of a single universe, there are many. An infinite multiverse. So perhaps there is a different version of her that had a much less horrific life.”

“Perhaps. But my Twilight is in so much pain, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Celestia paced to the far side of the table, looking up at the tattered remains of a banner depicting a version of her and her sister. A banner made before the ancient wars, and before Luna had been banished to the moon.

“And the others. Rainbow Dash...the damage. I can't fix it."

"Was my schematic for the implant inadequate?"

Celestia paused. "No...but the damage to her spine...it's too severe. She'll never fly again. I hope only that she can get used to being an earth-pony now."

"Really? I had assumed I left instructions on how to replace the spine as well. Although not being allowed to dedicate my own doctors to the procedure may have indeed left damage that even we cannot repair."

"And Rarity...poor Rarity...”

“A fatality?”

“No,” snapped Celestia. “We saved her, but...barely. The scarring was...severe. She’s retreated from public life. I don’t even know where she is anymore. Nopony does.”

“At least you managed to save one.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was the hologram that they left behind. That was the only way she made it through. If it hadn’t been for that...” Celestia shivered. The situation could have ended so much more badly.” She hesitated, not sure how much to say. "Right now, it's working with the alien. Trying to save them." She shook her head. "But the others...I don't think they can be fixed."

"Others?"

"The ponies in my guard and Luna's that saw...what happened. It will take years, even lifetimes of therapy and support to even start. But they can't unseen it. Even now, Luna's trying to drive back the nightmares, to give them some peace...but it's affecting her too. She won't admit it, but I'm her sister. I can tell."

"I am admittedly only familiar with the most rudimentary perspective of what occurred. Was not the slain criminal the one who disfigured your student? Forgive me, I suppose, but would you not feel justified in his execution?"

Celestia shook her head, angry and confused. "He...he hurt her. And I'm so, so angry. At him, for doing it, and at me, for letting this happen when I should have stopped it. I...I hate him. I hated him then. I hated him so much and myself so much more. Every time I think of what they did, what I let happen--" She clenched her suddenly fanged teeth, feeling the heat of the rage spreading while the white pony watched on, impassive and amused. She gained control, though, and took a deep breath.

"But then he was still a person. I can still hear his brother crying. That man will never hug his mother again. He might have had friends...children. That there might be orphans who will never see their father again and never know what happened to him. He was cornered, afraid, and he lashed out. He took everything from Twilight...but that doesn't justify taking everything from him. Not like that." She looked down at herself. At the changes she could not force away. "When I am...her, it takes everything I have to hold her back. To reign her in. Every ounce of my willpower to keep her controlled as best I can. To keep her from hurting ponies and people. And he...he just pulled the trigger. Like it was nothing."

"I am assuming you were in danger."

"I could have survived."

"But were you willing to take the chance? To allow this planet to lose its Princess and fall to chaos so that the man who tortured your adopted daughter might survive?"

Celestia was silent for a long. She hated the thought of it. The failure she found herself facing. Ultimately, the reason she had driven Kirk away. The reason why she now stood before this pony, still stalling at doing what she knew needed to be done.

" I built this world so that decisions like that would never need to be made. And it must remain that way. At all costs."

The pony seemed completely unperturbed by the sight before her. “And yet that has occurred. It seems that the political status of this world has reverted to the status quo.”

“It...has. For now. But now we know enough to see how bad that really is...and how bad it will get.”

“My offer still stands, as it always did. The Federation is a barely legitimate confederacy of warlords constantly plotting new ways to fight new wars. Against Klingons, or Romulans, or the Borg and Dominion when they get here. Whereas the Alliance is committed to much more benevolent goals.”

“Like...what?”

The pony’s mechanical pupils dilated, and a smile crossed her face. “The empirical truth of limitless economic prosperity. And through it, absolute peace and unity throughout the universe.” She pressed her front hooves together on the table. “Furthermore, we do not build ships out of ponies. Our process for achieving faster-than-light travel is much more human.”

“‘Humane’. You mean ‘humane’.”

The smile grew. “I am glad you agree, Celestia.”

“And I suppose you’re after the dilithium too.”

“Of course not. Dilithium is for primitive idiots who use antimatter for fuel. Nor do we require the element zero. Our core assembly procedures are quite efficient. A recent mining operation on the planet Thessia has yielded a substantial quantity within a region of space that formerly contained a highly violent and treacherous society that now has a homeworld totally lacking warfare in the slightest. Because, I have said. The Alliance is committed wholly to bringing peace as often as we can.” Her head tilted, but only slightly. "Unlike those aliens that did such terrible things to your citizens."

“Then...what do you want?”

“What do I want? What a question. I have ruminated on it for nearly one thousand years. On a personal level, to be less bored by my eternal existence. On a broader term, the evolution of my species. In terms of this project? This.”

She extended a hoof, filling the room with a disturbing red light as a hologram was cast over it. A depiction of a device Celestia could almost not understand, but one that she understood was massive. A machine with two vast extensions, something that she suppose might be a starship—or something similar.

“What is it?”

“A transdimensional mass relay. We will require your people’s assistance in building it, and some of your resources. Ours are unfortunately limited by dangerous aliens that wish to constrain the prosperity and industrial development we bring to our own universe.”

Celestia looked at her, attempting to see the barest glint of emotion. There was only an impression of bored joy.

"Do you think I'm stupid?

"Not especially. Or else I would not be here, would I?"

Celestia gestured to the hologram. "I know what that is. What's at the center. This machine, it's powered by a Necroforge."

"This is correct. And the fundamental reason for my request. At present, interdimensional travel is nearly impossible. It is only achievable by extremely rare and powerful machines."

"And you."

"And myself, yes. Only a very small vanguard can pass through at once. But with this, our universes will be connected without limit. The ability for us to summon a literally unlimited number of vessels, should they be required."

"And why would we 'require' them?"

“So that when danger comes, you can call forth the full force of my fleet. For the defense of Equestria from any conceivable threat. Our time insertion into this universe was planned to make us superior. For now. No threat will dare to approach your world."

"But at what cost?"

The white pony's eyes narrowed. "At the cost of actions you will never need to see. Never need to even consider."

"I mean, what's in it for you?"

She smiled. "So that we can gain a foothold in this galaxy, to continue our economic progress here in addition to at home. However, I cannot acheive this from my end. The Necroforge must be ignited on this side. The only being capable of opening the door to let us in is you."

"I know."

"And of cousre, our actions will be limited to distant worlds. I do not intend to interfere with your world, and I give you my word that Equestria will not be touched without your personal permission.”

“Because they will come, won’t they?”

The pony nodded. “I think so. But I cannot guarantee it. But this is your decision. Space has bored us. Bored me. The multiverse beckons. There are so many new ways to find our evolution. And you have seen it with your own eyes. The aliens will betray you. They will exploit you. You, and all you hold dear."

Celestia faultered. "I need to discuss this with the Council."

"And I, like you, am not a fool. The Council is a toy you created to give others a sense that they have any consequential meaning on your planet. But the decision to protect all the little ponies ultimately comes down to you. This is not a matter of politics. This is an agreement between two equals. From one goddess to another."

"I know."

"Look at me. I am most certainly a pony. You can trust me. Open the door, and we will ask nothing more in return.”

Celestia stared at her. She took a deep breath.

“You are no pony. But I don’t suppose I actually have a choice anymore, do I?”

Celestia extended her hoof. Babylon extended her own, tapping it, and the deal was sealed. Celestia shivered, wondering why her hoof felt so very cold.

Author's Note

Mass Core note:
'Babylon' is the mononym of a woman named Susan. As the wealthiest Terran, she is considered their god. The term "God-Empress" is used sarcastically, as Terrans have no political structure or religion. Only industry.

And this is the conclusion.

I shall this failed work serve as a monument to my limitations,
but refuse it to become a gravestone to my career.

Chapter 1: Approaching a Planet

“Captain's log, stardate 2334.72. Recent observations of of the radio telescope Epsilon-Theta Three have identified primitive radio transmissions arising from an area on the deep-edge of the galaxy, in an unclaimed region previously thought to be uninhabitable. The Enterprise has been dispatched to examine unusual readings from the radio telescope in detail, and to confirm the possible presence of an inhabited M-class planet.”

Captain James T. Kirk, having completed his report to the best of his ability, closed the recording, also to the best of his ability. He sat back in his chair and for a moment stared at the viewscreen before him. The universe outside was dark. Unusually so. The Alpha Quadrant was already at the edge of the galaxy, all all quadrants were, but this region sat at the very periphery where stars were less dense, beyond which there was the vast and impassible expanse of uninhabitable void which no warp-drive could cross.

In the distance, he saw one star. It was only a pinprick of white light, distant and dim, barely discernible against the light of distant galaxies. To the untrained eye, perhaps it would mean nothing, but Kirk’s eyes were far from untrained. He recognized what it was, at least in a general sense, and understood its significance.

It sat at the center of the screen. A planet. One of a distinct and particular kind of beauty. Even without Spock’s readings, Kirk already knew. He saw the wisps of pure-white clouds and the deep blue oceans, and continents colored verdant green even at a great distance.

He had seen many like it, but even at a distance, Kirk understood that this one was different from many. Different from Earth itself. Earth, though not dissimilar now, had suffered greatly in its past. Centuries of pollution, of depletion, and with at least two devastating nuclear wars, it had only recently recovered to anything that might be considered verdant—but it was only similar to this world in appearance. So much had been lost. So many species destroyed. The once-great forests were now relics of history books, and what had once been green nature was now covered in vast cities, with the forests and grasslands preserved in small parks and reserves.

This world had not yet experienced that trauma. It was new and fresh.

And yet it bore an aspect unlike any world Kirk had seen.

“Spock?”

Spock stood behind Kirk, staring deeply into the bridge viewfinder and making slow calibrations with its single calibrating dial. He did not answer immediately.

“Fascinating,” he said, looking up from the scope. “It would appear that the information from the radio telescope was largely correct, although with several major calculation inconsistencies.”

“Spock, I’m not exactly concerned with the inconsistencies.”

“No. I had anticipated that you might not be.” He turned to the viewscreen. “The planet in question is in orbit around a currently unnamed dim white-dwarf, maintaining a highly eccentric orbit with a calculated minimum solar distance of four hundred billion kilometers.”

“Spock, that’s farther from their star than Pluto is from the sun.”

Spock nodded. “Yes, Captain. That is a way to phrase my much simpler and more accurate description in far less precise Terran terms. However, this star is significantly older and dimmer than Earth’s sun.”

“It looks oddly...green, for being a Pluto.”

“No, Captain. The planet is indeed M-class.”

Kirk already knew that, and had an idea why. He had seen the two objects orbiting the planet.

“The planet contains two major large satellites,” continued Spock, “although both are of similar size, the slightly larger of the two generates a significant amount of light, acting, in effect, as a miniature sun.”

“A spotlight. Something like that must take immense power to operate.”

“No doubt, Captain. However at present I am not able to ascertain its exact source of power, although the energy signature is suggestive of some manner of potent nuclear reaction. Its structure is almost certainly artificial.”

“Almost? Spock, when have you ever been so indecisive?”

“Captain, I simply do not yet have enough information to draw an accurate conclusion. However, as I had previously stated, this situation is, indeed, fascinating. I therefore intend to investigate it as thoroughly as possible as soon as we complete this conversation.”

“Of course you do. Are there signs of habitation?”

“Yes. Scans of the surface indicate the sparse presence of small pre-industrial cities. Both on the surface of the planet, as well as on the lunar colonies.”

Kirk almost jumped from his seat, and the entirety of the bridge crew—who had of course been listening intently to Spock’s calming voice—turned suddenly.

Kirk paused, unsure if Spock was joking. Except of course Spock was not joking.

“No, Captain. Vulcans do not, in fact, joke.”

“You can’t be serious, though. Spock, a pre-industrial society? With lunar colonies?”

“The smaller of the two satellites appears to be structurally similar to the incandescent one, although presently inactive and covered in rocky debris. In effect, acting as a moon, although considering its mass it appears to be retaining a thin atmosphere. Despite the harsh conditions, it can be assumed to be habitable. I assess it as a Class H or lower Class-L world.”

Kirk groaned. “Spock, I wasn’t exactly concerned with the habitability of the moon. I was concerned about how they got there.”

"I should think that would be obvious, Captain. They achieved it through some manner of flight. This conversation has prevented me from acquiring additional data which I might use to construct a more complete hypothesis."

Uhura looked up from her comm station, holding her earpiece to her ear. “Captain, I believe I have to agree with Mr. Spock.”

“You can tell that from the comms?”

“From the radio transmissions emanating from the planet. I am still feeding them into the ship’s universal translation mainframe, but the preliminary results indicate a relatively simple society.”

“In what way?”

“Well, an industrial society will usually transmit advertisements for consumer products. Automobiles, for example. This world makes no reference to advanced consumer products. They’re broadcasting music, simple news...and various point-to-point communications. It is too early to say for sure, but I would guess that these people have not yet invented the internal combustion engine. Radio and electricity even seem new to them.”

“Cyaptain!”

One of the bridge crew stood up. A young ensign—almost excessively young—recently assigned to the Enterprise, and seated beside Lieutenant Arex. Peculiar among humans, he had retained a strong accent from some country that doubtlessly no longer existed.

The ensign stood stiff, saluting. “Permission to speak, sir!”

Kirk smiled to Uhura, and even Arex, busy at the helm, seemed to find the young man’s behavior comical.

“Permission granted, Ensign Chekov.”

“Considering that this planet is inhabited by sentient life, but is clearly of a pre-warp nature, is this not a situation where the Prime Directive forbids approach?”

“This planet already has an advanced lunar colony. Suggesting spaceflight. We can’t know that they’re pre-warp--”

“Yes, Cyaptain, I had already considered that, and an analysis of the area around the planet indicates that there are no apparent warp fields.”

Kirk frowned. “I do not recall having granted you permission to access the forward sensors.”

The ensign blushed. “I may have...found a workaround.”

“And with your assessment,” said Spock, sounding extremely disgruntled—through a change of tone so subtle that even Kirk could barely detect it— “it is important to recall that identification of warp signatures is a notoriously unreliable technique, especially if few warp-capable ships are present.”

“Well, yes, but I made some modifications to the search protocol and the algorithm used to identify trails—”

“And we will have a discussion about modifying standard practices without permission.”

The ensign stiffened. “Yes, Cyaptain.”

“Although you are not wrong.”

Chekov blinked. “I...am not?”

“No. Without clear evidence of warp signatures we can not confirm that this planet qualifies for contact. Therefore, we will observe it from a distance. It’s as simple as that.”

“But Cyaptain, this wessel is two hundred eighty eight point six five meters in length, and at this distance their telescopes should surely be able to be seeing us.”

Arex looked up. “Based on this planet’s level of technological development, I doubt they have telescopes sophisticated enough to detect something so small. I have already positioned the Enterprise to avoid back-lighting, but even if they witness our shadow, they will likely consider it little more than a smudge on their lens.”

“And the Enterprise does not release radio waves detectable by their receivers,” added Uhura.

“Oh. Yis.” Chekov looked down, disappointing and embarrassed. “My apologies, Cyaptain.”

“Not to worry, ensign. You are here to learn after all.” Kirk turned around. “Spock, continue your analysis. Lieutenant M’Ress, prepare the torpedo tubes with the sensory probes. Set the internal self-destruct charge to three days. I don’t want to risk contaminating the planet with our debris.”

“Aye, Captain.” M’Ress began the procedure, but suddenly stopped. She sat up suddenly, her pupils narrowing suddenly. “Captain! I’m detecting something on the sensors.”

Kirk leaned forward. “On screen.”

The viewscreen shifted, enhancing part of the view of the planet—or more specifically, the lunar colony. With the image enhanced, Kirk could definitely see that Spock had been right, as always. There were clear signs of cities, not made of glass domes or contained metal structures as was normally the case with moons but apparently carved from strange, dark stone.

Circling the planet, though, he saw a large space station linked to the moon below by glimmering tethers. A space station fed by space elevators. Although he did not initially know its purpose, he quickly understood that it was meant as a drydock.

A ship emerged from the forward bay of the station. It was peculiar in color and shape, as most alien craft were, but this one was especially odd. The surface was painted a dark shade of violet, and appeared almost to be made of something organic instead of plated metal. The shape overall maintains no pretext of being an aircraft as the Kingon or Romulan warbirds did, but showed none of the procedural, modular form of a Starfleet vessel. It was at once elegant and smooth and but bizarrely brutalist in construction. It was a strange, long-pointed thing.

“I suppose that explains how they reached the moon.”

“Captain.” M’Ress turned over her shoulder. “That ship beginning to generate a spatial distortion around its surface.”

Kirk felt himself inhale sharply, but found himself smiling uncontrollably. This sort of thing was the very reason he had joined Starfleet in the first place.

“Then this...may very well be their first,” he said, barely containing his glee and awe. “And we’re here to witness it.”

“Cyaptain.” Chekov’s voice carried none of the awe that filled the room. Instead, it almost cracked. He sounded terrified. “I am analyzing that ship’s warp-field architecture, and it’s unlike any ship recorded in our databanks—but it’s unstable! There are mathematical flaws in its derivation--”

“Chekov, there is no way you could know that--”

Spock moved past Kirk with remarkable speed, descending to Chekov’s console and tapping on the controls.

“He is not incorrect,” admitted Spock. “Their warp architecture utilizes features beyond our technological capacity that make certain critical aspects of warp calculation that we would consider inerrant almost totally opaque--”

“Spock, the short version.”

Spock, as impassive as ever, replied. “In essence, the material form of the ship will fracture on activation.”

“It will explode!” cried Chekov. “Cyaptain, we have to stop it!”

Kirk winced. “Chekov...you know we can’t do that.”

Chekov’s eyes grew wide. “But—but Cyaptain, they will--”

“The prime directive is very clear on this, ensign.” Kirk clenched his fists, wishing there was another way—but he knew there was no alternative. “We cannot interfere with the natural development of their technology.”

“We are going to watch them die, then?!”

“Ensign, do you think I want to? What do you expect me to do?”

Chekov opened his mouth, but he did not have an answer.

“Captain,” said M’Ress, sadly.

Kirk looked up at the viewscreen. The ship was activating its field, and whatever alien mechanism it used to accomplish it was visible. It generated itself as a sequence of pink-violet plates surrounding the vessel that slowly merged into a single field around its surface. Then ship apparently utilized this to turn itself into position, and although Kirk could see no apparent nacelles on the ship’s surface, the field began to bend.

Then, for a brief flash, it stretched—and vanished.

The bridge of the Enterprise fell silent. A moment of great rarity and joy had been soured—until Chekov’s eyes grew even wider than before.

“Cyaptain! Cyaptain, it has dropped from warp! It is intact, but only barely!”

Kirk moved swiftly. “Lieutenant Arex, intercept course to its current position, warp speed!” Kirk slammed his thumb into his chair’s comlink. “Kirk to transporter room, prepare for emergency transport. Situation to Code Yellow.”

“Code Yellow,” repeated M’Tress, raising the internal alarm.

“But Cyaptain, the Prime Directive--”

“The Prime Directive no longer applies, ensign. This society is no longer pre-warp. This is now a First-Contact scenario.”

“Warp speed,” said Arex, pushing the ship forward.

It jumped, taking a surprisingly long time to reach the stranded and badly damaged ship. Its warp core had been powerful, and it had gone far before the field had collapsed. As they emerged from warp, Kirk was able to see it. It was listing, its surface charred and sparking with feedback from the shattered field.

“Their warp core?”

“I cannot determine its status,” said M’Ress. “It does not appear to release a normal warp signature when inactive.”

“Uhura, hail them.”

“The universal translating software has not fully compiled their language--”

“Then do the best we can, that ship won’t hold for long.”

Uhura opened the channel, and static hissed through the speakers—and then stopped. Kirk watched and, to his surprise, saw the ship activate its external field, turning itself to face away from the Enterprise.

“What are they--”

“Sir, they are plotting an escape course. Warp field engaging.”

“Their vessel has suffered critical damage to its hull integrity,” said Spock, perfectly calmly. “They may withstand another warp-jump, but their ship will not survive exiting it.”

Before Kirk could do anything, the tiny, pointed ship jumped to warp.

“FOLLOW IT!”

The stars at the edge of the viewscreen seemed to lengthen as the Enterprise suddenly jumped to warp. Ahead of them, the ship was roughly visible, trailing a pink-violet corona behind it.

“Current speed warp six-point-eight,” announced Arex. “In pursuit course but...sir, their vessel is accelerating.”

“Then accelerate after it!”

Arex pushed the throttle forward, his additional two hands stabilizing their course to maintain distance so as to not get caught in their wake—and yet Kirk saw the other ship increasing distance from the Enterprise.

“Lieutenant Arex!”

“Current speed warp seven-point seven. Seven-point nine. Captain, their ship...it's exceeding warp-nine. It is outpacing us, and rapidly.”

The Enterprise shuddered and the lights flickered.

“Sir, it’s still accelerating! Warp nine-point-three! Warp nine-point four! Nine-point-five!” Arex adjusted his controls, compensating for the loss of power. "We are on the edge of warp-eight, at risk of loss of hull integrity!"

Kirk felt a sense of awe, but no time to act upon it. It had taken humans nearly a century to develop a warp-core that could reach warp-five, while this one was already pushing the limits of Federation technology and still increasing speed.

“Captain! Warp eight! We are above safe threshold velocity! And their ship...”

"Lieutenant Arex?"

"Cyaptain, the wessel, it is predicted to be...at almost warp nine-point-nine five..."

The ship before them began to spark, its vertices erupting with strange blue light.

“Cyaptain, alien ship is beginning to release tachyon eddie-currents! It’s on the verge of tearing itself apart!”

Kirk hit the intercom. “Mr. Scott! Get to the transporter room and prepare for a ship-to-ship transport at warp speed!”

Scottie’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Captain, I’m not a miracle worker! The Enterprise, she’s in a dead-sprint, it’sa takin’ everything I have to keep her together!”

“Captain!” Uhura swiveled on her chair. “I’m receiving a transmission from the ship!”

“On speaker!”

The speaker crackled with static. The translation program was still incomplete, and the message garbled, but Kirk still managed to hear the gist of it.

A high female voice spoke through the static and the humming, sparking noise of her ship beginning to tear itself apart from inside.

“This is...Dancer-One Prototype—pursued by hostile aliens—containment collapse—core breach—too far to teleport—family--I’m sorry--”

The ship suddenly and violently ruptured, bursting open in a vast plume of violet light at warp-nine-point-nine. Arex moved faster than would have been possible for a human, grasping both power controls and throttling back out of warp while immediately engaging sideways thrusters with his third arm. The force was so great that it overloaded the inertial dampeners, sending the crew sideways as the Enterprise narrowly avoided the debris field.

“Kirk to transporter--”

The lights on the ship dimmed, and it shuddered. Kirk looked to Spock, and without a word between them, both were suddenly running.

Author's Note

I may be using the author-notes section more liberally than I usually do for this story.

Firstly, I would like to say that while I of course enjoy Star Trek, I was really always more of a Next Generation Fan. However, the original series has a certain character to it that I thought would be much better suited to this kind of story. It has a kind of unabashed absurdity to most of it that let them take the weirdest risks when making it.

That said, I am going to be playing fast-and-loose with the Star Trek lore. Namely, I've reduced the bridge staff down for streamlining purposes. You'll also notice that I'm using characters from the Animated Series (like M'Ress and Arex) although changed around some of the roles (Chekov is here, but not Sulu?). So alternate universes or something? Hopefully it works okay, or even adequately.

Chapter 15: Aeronautics Research

M’Ress emerged from the site-to-site transport into an area of ponderous humidity. This in itself was surprising and unpleasant; she had been under the assumption that like most planets, this one would have housed its experimental aeronautics facilities in a desert. Much to her chagrin, though, she instead found herself in a swamp doing its best to masquerade as a forest.

She immediately grasped the trunk of a large tree and climbed into the foliage, ignoring the assault of various swampy aromas on her sense of smell. Climbing forward carefully, she looked out at through the leaves.

It was night, and apart from the swamp it was a night of great and profound beauty. The moon was an enormous crescent in a black sky filled with a view of seemingly endless stars unspoiled by electric light. The darker portion of the moon, though, glowed with the orderly light of its colonies, generating light from some unknown and archaic small-horse technology. Near the horizon, one star shown just barely brighter than all the rest. It was the sun of this word, its true orbital center—not the artificial beacon that rose and set in a mockery of heliocentric theory.

Before her lay the facility, sealed in by a chain-link fence. It was tall and the top was lined with razor wire—or what M’Ress at first took for razor wire. It was, in fact, not razor wire, but rather ordinary wire instead. Having wire with built-in blades or barbs was apparently too aggressive for the small-horse folk, and the signs of “Please do not enter” posted at even intervals on the fence were apparently taken to be adequate.

M’Ress, though, was a Caitian warrior—ostensibly—and took no orders from a mere sign. She instead slunk down from the tree, crossing through the darkness, and quickly scaled the fence, passing over it with a simple leap. Considering her mission, she had been given a chance to change, and was no longer burdened by the hideous human invention of “pants”, nor their equally unfashionable “mini-skirts”. The clothing she had taken instead taken a more traditional garment, patterned to break up her shadow in the way of the great meat-beasts of her home world and darkened to obscure her in the shadows.

Humans, to a Caitian, were loud and clumsy things, primates whose evolution had been guided almost solely by the impetus for the development of increasingly complex machinery. They might even have been comical save for the fact that for some unknown reason evolution had chosen to shape most intelligent life in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants as looking almost identical to them. Regardless, a Caitian was a far sleeker being, and M’Ress passed across the short grass on all-fours in total silence, avoiding the dim lights of the pony watchtowers as she passed.

Her entry point had not been random. The ponies did not posses vehicles in any meaningful sense, apart from self-drawn carts. Still, there was something like a road used to receive supplies. A receiving area for their shipping department.

M’Ress approached the door, sliding across the wet grass to the very wall of a well-lit pony guardpost. In the darkness, M’Ress had seen the pony inside: a female, one of a disturbing blue color, with a yellow mane and of the type that bore wings. She wore what M’Ress had at first taken to be an extremely skin-tight uniform but, on approach, realized was some kind of well-applied paint. Paint patterned like vestiges of armor, complete with her rank and serial number and applied with exacting precision—to a pony who looked so utterly bored that she was on the verge of tears.

At this juncture, M’Ress paused, leaning against the brick tower in a position where she could not be seen from the guard's window. The tower-guards had been sparse and had not noticed her approach, but she needed to deal with the sentry-pony if she was to get into the shipping area. A load was on the way already, lit by torches and pulled by a single struggling pony. It was still in the distance, but she needed to think fast.

She had managed to convince Uhura to give her a phaser, and phasing the pony was always an option—except that according to McCoy’s readings, the physiology of ponies was highly variable and sensitive. A unicorn like the one one the Enterprise could, supposedly, withstand several phasers set to “kill” with barely a scratch, but even the so-called “tickle” setting could be lethal to a pony whose physiology varied even slightly. M’Ress was not aware of how the winged ones differed from the horned ones, apart from the anatomy and apparent social caste. For a quadruped, therefore, she supposed that the best option was quiet strangulation until unconsciousness and then performing her mission before the guards eventually found out.

She was preparing her strangling fingers when she heard the sound of marshmallow-like hooves on the flagstone path. She looked up, sure she was caught, because a winged male was staring right at her—an equally tealish fellow with an excessive amount of hair and a brilliantly oversize suit of guard armor—and also, somehow, stubble, despite being a pony.

This specimen was, however, apparently a being of great mental density, because he totally missed the half-naked cat-woman crouched outside the sentry. He apparently had other plans, which apparently included the mare in the shack.

He stopped at the threshold, leaning on it and striking a pose. M’Ress had to hold her nose against the choking scent of his excessive cologne.

“Heeeeey there Lightning Dust, fancy seeing you here. Did you come all the way out here to see little old me?”

The pony let out the most exasperated sigh M’Ress had ever heard—and considering how much time she spent on the Enterprise with Spock, that was impressive. “Zephyr. I’ve worked here for FOUR years. You know that. You do this every. Dang. NIGHT.”

“Well I can’t help it, honey, this is the Department of Shipping, isn’t it? So put me in a box and slap your home address on the front, because I want you to open my package...”

“It’s not THAT KIND OF SHIPPING you—you—” She put her head in her hooves and whispered to herself. “I was a Powered-Pegasus candidate...I was going to fly rockets...now this...”

He moved extremely close to her, almost tipping over because of how much armor he was wearing. “That uniform looks like it’s painted on, Lightning. Are you getting fat, or maybe...trying to impress me?”

“I will break you Zephyr—”

“Break me in? Well, if you insist. Not that I haven’t been broken in. Because I’ve totally snuggled a mare before. Lots and lots of mares. Like, a whole pile. A heap, one might say.”

“Zephyr, just sign the paperwork so I can go home and sleep before the morning shift--”

“Hey, hey. Hey. Shssh. You don’t need to be so tsun, Lightning. I thought we could stay, talk a little, maybe have you preen my enormous and fluffy wings?" There was a floofing sound as he spread them. "These are some impressive wings, aren't they? No need to be intimidated. I mean, on a scale of one to ten, you’re no Rainbow Dash, but you know what they say, ‘Three is good enough for me!’”

There was a sickening crack, and then a thump of a body hitting the floor. Lightning Dust, the female, stepped out of the shack, shaking one of her front hooves. “Should have armored your dang face, you dang idiot.” She started walking off. “Stupid inadequate workplace harassment policy...I could have been flying rockets...”

M’Ress paused, then looked into the sentry hut. The male pony was snoring loudly, collapsed on the floor. M’Ress was no doctor, but her diagnosis was that he had been booped in the snoot with enough vigor to cause unconsciousness. Which worked well for her. She reached up and tapped the switch to open the door, just as the shipment arrived—and then slipped inside with it.

The light was bright, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. As she did, she immediately ducked for the shadows—only to trip over something heavy, warm, and covered in feathers. Something that cried out in surprise as the both of them were toppled to the floor.

M’Ress, unsure as to what manner of tiny-horse ninja had been able to somehow cause her to trip with enough force to nearly dislocate her own shoulder, stood up, her strangling-fingers ready—and saw a gray winged mare in a brown uniform rubbing her head.

The mare stood up and looked straight at M’Ress—or at things to either side of her. Neither of her eyes faced any sort of reasonable direction.

“Hey...wait a minute,” said the gray pony, frowning and stroking her chin, attempting to squint in two directions at once. “Do you work here?”

M’Ress paused. “Yes?”

The pony visibly brightened. “I thought so! Sorry I tripped you, I just don’t know what went wrong!” She bent over, slipping and falling on her face, but managing to stand again with a clipboard in her mouth.

“Sign here for the delivery please.” When she said it, the clipboard fell out of her mouth and clattered to the floor. She stared at it in untold frustration. “That just keeps happening...and I don’t even know why!”

M’Ress picked it up, clicked a pen, and signed. She then gave the paperwork back to the pony, who took it in her mouth.

“What is the order?”

“Four tons of dimeritium, a bunch of weapons-grade crystals, and a load of shiny stuff with a funny name. Siliracoons, I think, but I didn’t seen any raccoon in the bucket. This time. Very, very heavy stuff. My arthritis sure does hurt, but for my daughter’s college fund, it’s worth it!” She blinked—or rather winked twice, in rapid succession, because she could apparently not synchronize her eyelids. “Actually, she works here! Little Dinky! She works in the central research place, with Twilight Sparkle! I think. I haven’t seen her in months. She must be so busy with all the wizards. They might be able to write her a letter of recommendation for college, so she can be smart and not like me!” She paused. “Can you write one? A letter from an alien would be really neat!”

“I’m not an alien. I am a pony.”

The small derped horse blinked, again without proper synchronization, and paused. Then she smiled. “You are? Oh. Well, I do have drain bamage and partial blindness, so it’s hard to tell.” She picked up the clipboard, only to drop it when she spoke again. “I’m going to go before Zephyr wakes up and I get harassed again. I don’t really understand what he’s saying but I have deduced, through science, that stallions probably cause children. And I can't afford any more.” She picked up the clipboard, only to drop it again. “As soon as I figure this one out...”

M’Ress, finding the presence of this pony somewhat distressing, departed quickly, still unsure as to what strange materials lay under the canvas tarp of her cart. Instead, she found her way into an empty office, one that had apparently been abandoned for some time. Looking around, she quickly found what she was looking for.

Above her, there was a drop-ceiling. Which, in effect, was a ceiling suspended by wires to disguise the true ceiling, which was covered by pipes. At least seven cultures in the known galaxy had independently invented the drop-ceiling, one of them having done so before the invention of fire. The Caitians had never devised such a system, but M’Ress’s grand-uncle had been the reason why drop-ceilings were no longer used in Starfleet Academy.

She jumped on the desk and then with one great leap pushed herself past the white foam tiles and into the space between them, grasping the pipes and wires behind it to move silently over the office and the dividing walls, moving herself deeper and deeper into the facility while being totally unseen.

Unfortunate, this was limited by the fact that she did not, in fact, know where she was going. Which left her to meander aimlessly, peering through into offices and halls, listening, sniffing, and doing her best to gather information. Sometimes she would push a tile slightly out of the way and peer through the gap. The one constant that she was surprised to find was the uniforms: all males wore similar armored or partially-armored versions, while all females wore their painted on.

She paused suddenly, though, at the sound of a commotion. Carefully, she focused down the gap between a light fixture and into the room below.

It was a lobby, complete with a reception desk. A male pony of default variety was seated there, dressed in a non-armored uniform, while a mare was addressing him. She was clearly not a worker, though; instead of wearing paint, she wore a blue trench-coat, large sunglasses, and a kerchief wrapped around her head—and apparently elegant black boots which were only barely visible under the coat.

“Please, miss, I can’t let you through--”

“And I am telling you, dear, that is SIMPLY unacceptable! I will have you know that Twilight Sparkle is a dear personal friend of mine, and I DEMAND you let me see her!”

“Miss, Twilight Sparkle is a very busy pony--”

“Which is EXACTLY why she called me here! As a stallion of culture, I can tell you clearly know who I am, darling, and you know I simply DO NOT make house-calls except only for my most EXCLUSIVE of clients, and the Princess’s own protege requested a custom dress in time for a meeting with Celestia and Luna themselves. For a progress report on whatever science things you do here, I am told. Do you want to be the one to tell Twilight Sparkle herself that YOU are the one who delayed her DRESS?”

“Without High-Commander Sparkle’s explicit request, I can’t let you in! That’s the whole of it, company policy! Flim and Flam told me themselves—I mean Mr. Flim and Mr. Flam.” He gestured to a kiosk nearby. “I can—I can sign you up for tomorrow’s tour, if you like? It only costs seventy bits and you get to see the assembly floor, and the offices, and we have a really fun demonstration where we do a show in the planetarium, but that’s mostly for the fillies and colts...and costs extra...”

“I am not here for a TOUR, I am here for my FRIEND!”

The young stallion looked exasperated. “Ms. Rarity, I...there’s nothing I can do. I’m really sorry.”

She glared at him, then harrumphed loudly. “Well you are absolutely no help. And although I am absolutely PEEVED that my time has been wasted, I appreciate your politeness. Now could you be at least slightly helpful and direct a lady to the washroom? This kerfuffle has absolutely RUINED my makeup, and I will not be seen looking like a disheveled street urchin.”

“Oh, sure.” He stepped out from behind the desk. “Down the hall and second door on the left is the little’ filly’s room. We usually charge to use it, but for all the trouble I put you through, you can go for free.”

“Well...thank you, I suppose.”

The pony harrumphed once more and walked with an unusual degree of elegance down the darkened hallway to the washroom. M’Ress, against her own better judgment but powered entirely by feline instinct, followed. Entering the restroom ceiling was not hard, and she gently pushed away one of the tiles over the stall just as the mare was sitting down on the closed toilet seat.

M’Ress immediately moved to push the tile back rather than witness an aspect of alien physiology that she assumed should be best left unknown, but paused when instead of opening the seat, the mare swiftly disrobed, removing her kerchief, her coat, and the clothing beneath. Below it all, she was a perfectly white unicorn mare with long, flowing blue mane.

Then, before M’Ress could contemplate why this small horse had become naked, the mare produced a small sewing kit and pair of scissors before setting to work at an alarming speed. She began cutting pieces of her clothing apart and sewing at an incredible pace, the needle perforating through the fabric and drawing the thread with machine-like efficiency. M’Ress watched in fascination, unsure as to why this small horse was compulsively sewing and how a being with no hands was so incredibly capable at it—but within less than a minute, her question had been answered.

The pony held out her newly-assembled clothing, inspecting it and cutting the last of the threads, and then put it on. In a matter of mere moments, she had disassembled her outfit and reassembled it into a perfect replica of the uniform that the desk pony had worn, down to the stitching on the hat—all made from the fragments of the clothing she had previously been wearing.

The pony tied back her mane and donned the cap, stepping out to adjust herself in front of the mirror.

“What a darling professional outfit you have, dear,” she said to her reflection, fixing her makeup in the process. “Ready for another day at a boring, uncreative job I see?” She smiled, and then exited the washroom. M’Ress had no other option but to follow. This was simply too interesting.

The mare walked down the hallway, not toward the desk but deeper into the building. M’Ress followed until the mare came to a door. One that was apparently locked by a kind of card-reader, or what these small horses used in the place of one. The mare produced a card—but even at a distance M’Ress could see that it was little more than an index card with her face drawn on it. The face was admittedly well-drawn, but it was still only a piece of paper.

She swiped it at the reader and seemed surprised, then did so again, growing increasingly frustrated—even though M’Ress assumed that, surely, she did not expect this to work. It was not a real card.

Then, from down the hall, she saw a stallion approaching the mare—and he paused a moment to look at her. She looked up, and seemed absolutely delighted to see him.

“Oh thank Celestia!” she said, bounding over to him. She seemed on the verge of tears, and her makeup was already starting to run. “Thank heavens you’re here!”

“Is...something wrong?”

“I should say yes!” The mare waved the card at him, to close and too fast to see. “I went through one of the magic-dampeners in building fourteen, and it absolutely RUINED my ID card! I can’t open the door, and my shift starts in--” she checked a pocket watch and gasped. “Oh no! I’m going to be late! And I can’t be tardy again, oh, my pay will be docked for SURE, and I was saving up for the most elegant set of silk stockings!”:

“St...stockings?” The stallion shook his head, and then walked right to the door. “You should be more careful, you know. I lost three ID’s in those dang things, they make you pay for the replacements. Here. If you take the back hallway, you can skip the floor and get to the back. The door locks there don’t actually work anymore until the next building. Budget cuts and all.” He held his own card up to the scanner and it clicked, opening the door.

The mare gasped, then threw herself on the stallion, kissing his cheek. “My hero!”

He blushed heartily, then cleared his throat. “Yes—well--um--working in cooperation to bring Equestria into the Space Age! Just be more careful next time.”

“Oh, I will! Thank you, dearie!”

She passed through the door while M’Ress squeezed through a square opening with several round pipes running through. She got through just in time to see the mare wiping her lips, reapplying lipstick, and swinging the stallion’s ID card lanyard around on her hoof with a smile on her face as she made her way deeper into the factory.

The factory inside appeared to be some manner of complicated artisinal workshop, with numerous tools and stations, but no one present. Which was odd. For one, M’Ress was unsure what, exactly, they were making, and furthermore, it made no sense that a factory would be closed at night. Not when they were in a hurry as the desk-stallion had claimed. Unless the important part—the part the wished the most to see—was made in another building.

The mare apparently seemed to agree. Her path was direct, using the route the stallion had suggested, passing by other workers and guards without them apparently noticing that she was an outsider. She had said that she wished to see Twilight Sparkle, who M’Ress knew was the one in charge of the operation—and the one she also wished to find. The one that Captain Kirk seemed to believe might be up to something, with Celestia’s cooperation.

So she followed the mare, who apparently knew the path—or knew how to find the way. At several points, she stopped to carry on conversations with the passing workers, at each point gleaning slightly more information. Claiming that she was due for an important meeting, only to be chastised for taking the long route, that Flim and Flam were having the meeting elsewhere—asking hurriedly to those passing where she could find the route, always appearing frazzled and on the verge of tears when seconds later she would be cheerful and smiling once again, fixing her makeup as she moved. She easily passed doors using the stolen ID, and passed through guarded security checkpoints with a darling smile and a wave—and at least once with a wink at a wide, muscular mare behind the checkpoint desk.

The only time she slowed was not in response to the ponies, but when her exorbitant level of charm encountered a locked door. She held out the ID card, but the crystal device meant to detect it blinked the wrong color, a shade of violet instead of red. The mare frowned, and she looked to either side of her. There were no ponies around, and her horn suddenly ignited with light. This light began to swirl and to configure itself into various complex shapes, matched by a secondary glow from the reader-crystal. When she saw this, her expression fell.

“I don’t know how to read this,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. Then she paused, and more confidently, “it isn’t a problem. I know the coding language, I just need time.”

The symbols expanded, increasing in complexity. And as they did, a pair of heavily armored stallions appeared at the end of the hallway. The mare saw them, but did not falter in the slightest despite obviously attempting to pick a lock to an area of security clearance far higher than the one her stolen ID would allow.

They stopped, staring, looking at each other unsure of what to do. M’Ress, the cat in the ceiling, held her breath in anticipation and felt her hand closing around her phaser. She was not sure why, but she was prepared to strike form above.

“Um...what are you doing?”

“Fixing the locking mechanism,” sighed the mare, sounding annoyed. “You would think for a facility so new that we wouldn’t need to run so many diagnostic checkups. But this is what you get when you skimp on the quality of your crystals.”

“Do you have a work order for that?”

“Of course I do. It’s in my flank pocket.” She tilted toward them slightly. “I’d take it out for you but I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment I’m afraid, these cheap crystals will fracture if I let go. You'll have to reach in, I'm afraid.”

The stallions stared at her pocket, both blushing profusely.

“Um—no, we’ll take your word for it.”

“Yeah. Leave it to Flim and Flam. Paid for by the lowest bidder, am I right?”

“And they only paid him half the bid.”

The stallions laughed along with the mare as they walked off. Seconds later, the crystal fractured and fell to the floor—and the door opened with it. The mare passed through, closing it behind her and replacing it with a replica crystal of her own, taken from her flank pocket—one of a different color without the same glow. M’Ress watched her go.

She had gone into a juncture between two buildings. As far as M’Ress could tell, the facility consisted of several. The outer ones were small, full of offices and other support functions, but the inner ones were larger, probably where the actual rockets were manufactured. From outside, she had thought she saw a tower in the center—a tower separate from the other buildings. She supposed that was the R&D department where the wizards lived and where the prototype warp cores were assembled. It was also surely where Twilight Sparkle dwelt.

There was no ceiling connection to the central ring—but there was a vent. M’Ress poked her head out, looking around, and then pulled the baffle off the vent and climbed in. The hole was far too small for a human, and perhaps too small for a pony, but not too small for a being with a floating clavicle. It was big enough for her head, and therefore big enough for the rest of her.

She entered the vent, finding it dusty and dark, and passed through it with as much silence as possible. It smelled of ponies and dandruff, with hints of various chemicals used in the processing of rocket ships. There also appeared to be a case of foul vermin; hairy, fruit-like things that ran away gibbering on M’Ress’s approach, screaming about “not being furrie-nummies” and being “am alive”.

This vent, fortunately, did not narrow. That would have spelled a sudden end for the mission. Instead, its width remained quite consistent as it led across the feeder corridor and onto the main factory floor. For a time, M’Ress lost sight of where, exactly, she was, but suddenly found a part of the air circulation system where the ductwork widened. A fan to one side of her revolved slowly, casting strange shadows, but she had enough space to sit and stare out of a grate from the shadows.

Below, she saw the factory floor—and saw that it was vast. Rockets were in various stages of assembly, with scaffolding placed around them as they were built in sections. This area was apparently dedicated to assembly, although was not presently in use. M’Ress was unsure why, but aware of the possibility that there was simply no longer a demand for sub-light rockets to the moon. At least not enough to make their production profitable. This company, it seemed, had bet the entirety of its finances on their newly developed warp-drive.

Below her, for an inexplicable reason, a stage had been set up and an area before it delineated with tape. The view through her grate was excellent, and she had a clear view of what she assumed was a large meeting. Ponies of various sorts were milling about. All of them were male, and all were dressed in either armored-style uniforms or thinner technical ones. After a moment of searching, M’Ress found her mare, the one she had been following, in the midst of what appears to be a pleasant conversation with a thin pony with glasses and a lab-coat style uniform. All of them began to assemble in the delineated square, standing roughly in formation.

There was a moment of pause while M’Ress considered her situation. Why she was here was not clear to her, but she supposed it did not need to be. Her instinct—what Kirk called the “gut”--told her that she needed to be here. For some reason, the white clothing-mare was here too, and it was obvious that she was some form of spy. M’Ress, likewise, was a spy, if only in this application. Such a thing, she thought to herself, was only a possibility in Starfleet. That her life had come to this.

Then, while contemplating this, she suddenly jumped nearly out of the vent at the sound of a massive explosion. Suppressing a squeal, she was sure there was an accident. The spy had planted a bomb. The spy WAS a bomb. That this was the end of Shiboline M'Ress, to be blown to small chunks by a horse-driven blast in a rocket factory on a planet ruled by small foul-scented horses.

Except she was not blown to small chunks, or even chunks of any size. Instead, she peered out the vent through the shadows, looking down to see that the stage had fired pyrotechnics for some reason. Despite seeming horribly irresponsible in a literal rocket factory, this was apparently the means of dramatic entrance ford the company owners. Both of them appeared in clouds of smoke, both dressed in suits and making a grand and symmetrical gesture.

The ponies in the crowd cheered for their beloved bosses—and to M’Ress, the surprise and awe seemed genuine, if driven from a place of equine naievity. The pair of twins slid across the stage as the lights lowered, the spotlights hung from the scaffolding directed onto them as they stood below the vast and shadowed rockets on the factory floor they owned.

“Friends! Comrades! Employees!”

“Proletariat horses!”

The mustachioed pony glared at his younger brother, but continued with his act. “Welcome to our bi-weekly STAFF MEETING! But before we start, the one you REALLY came here to see!”

A hushed awe filled the crowd as the younger twin fumbled for something. M’Ress saw it, but only barely. It was some kind of box with a lens on the surface, tethered by wires to something behind the stage.

The unicorn dropped it and kicked it to the center of the stage, and the air over it suddenly ignited, forming a plume of blurry vertical lines that quickly resolved into the shape of a pony.

It was a hologram. A very good hologram, far better than Starfleet could achieve, although still slightly translucent. The pony depicted was a purple unicorn with long hair styled into a rather ridiculous set of bangs. Like all female ponies at the facility, her uniform was painted on, but it bore markings and styling that were unique from all the other ponies M’Ress had seen, indicating a vastly higher rank.

She was not facing the crowd, but turned suddenly gasping in surprise.

“Who what where why?!” She turned to Flim and Flam, then paused, and raised an eyebrow. “...which?”

Flam winced. “The staff meeting, Ms. Twilight?”

Twilight’s hologram gasped. “Staff meeting? But I didn’t bring my staff!”

“But they’re right there,” said Flim, confused and pointing at the crowd.

The holographic Twilight Sparkle turned to face the crowd, and then giggled. “Oh. There they are. Hello organics!”

“Hello Twilight!” the called back.

“We love you Twilight!” cried the stallion with glasses.

“I know you do. I do not feel the emotion defined as love, though, so don’t get any ideas. But, yes, I am definitely Twilight Sparkle. Sorry I couldn’t be there in the squishy, disgusting flesh. I’m suuuuper busy right now doing rocket surgery. To make the rockets, so we can go to SPACE! And find all the SPACE BOOKS! And READ all the space books! Then SHELVE THEM! SHELVE THEM ALL!!” She paused, clearing her throat. “In an orderly fashion, of course. But yeah, faster-than-light travel is super hard. You know that.”

“No we don’t!”

“Don’t argue with my adorableness! I have work to do and long-term friendships to ignore, so while I do that all you adorable little squishies can listen to Flim and Flam. I literally pay their salaries so that I don’t have to do the boring stuff. Just math. Math all day, math all night.” She shivered. “So much math.” A disturbingly wide smile grew on her face. “In fact, I like math so much, I abandoned the very idea of friendship to make ROCKETS. For REASONS. If Celestia hadn’t sent me here?” She giggled. It was a high, manic sound. “I’d still be back in Canterlot, living all alone and writing weird spells.” She looked up suddenly, making eye-contact with M’Ress through the vent. “Like some kind of old cat-lady.”

The smile grew even more intense, revealing an unusually high number of teeth, her eyes looking outward blankly in both directions. M’Ress felt all of her hair stand up on end.

Something popped. Holographic confetti spewed over the crowd, who was elated. "That's right," said Twilight. "My confetti is fully functional. Twilight OUT!” She suddenly vanished, going to do Twilight things, apparently.

Flam cleared his throat. “Our beloved eccentric, gentlemen. Hard at work getting that new FTL drive working for the Princesses. Which leaves us upper-middle management here to deal with the day-to-day operations.”

“With emphasis on the ‘upper’,” added Flim.

“Yes,” continued the elder twin. “You see, our primary reason for calling you here was to discuss the naming for the new Lunar-rocket product line. You see, we wanted to add more powerful verbiage to our machinery. Not foolish primitive names like ‘Starprancer’ or 'Ascendence’ or ‘Silverline’.”

“Those are dumb names.”

“Indeed. They indeed are. You see, friends, we need POWERFUL words. Like ‘Longitudinal’. ‘Policy’. ‘Crowdsourcing’.”

“‘Granular’.”

Flam glared at his brother. “We discussed this already,” he hissed. “We are NOT calling the rockets ‘Granular’. It makes them sound gritty. Like sand.”

“But I like sand. It’s coarse, and rough, and irritating, and gets everywhere. Just like mother.”

“I am NOT dealing with your mommy-issues on a live stage you—you--” He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “That said. We’re making an impromptu change in the schedule, if you don’t mind.”

“And you’re paid not to mind, so you don’t.”

“What we’re going to talk about instead is security.”

M’Ress felt the fur on her spine rise, and stifled an urge to hiss. They could not possibly knew. Except that it was apparent that they did. She gripped her phaser. It was most certainly not set to ‘tickle’.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be concerned with,” said Flam, carefully. “You simply need to understand, fellows, that rocketry is a distinctly Equestrian science. One created by ponies, and for ponies. But there are many, many forces out there that would seek to steal it for themselves. And we can’t allow that, no, not at all, and simply for their own safety. You see, something like a yak, or a griffon, or a hippogriph--”

“Which is basically a weird griffon--”

“--they simply don’t have the ability to do it safely. They simply lack the intelligence. Not like you all, who are clearly so very smart. We would all be in terrible danger letting creatures like that operate rockets. Us as well as them. It would be disastrous.” He walked to the front of the stage. “And then,” he said, lowering his voice, “there are those that would simply destroy our advancements.”

“But—but why would they be so mean?”

“Because they don’t like beautiful things. They don’t like to see the world advancing. So they destroy things they don’t understand.” He lifted his head. “All the other governments could be a threat. Yaks and griffons, of course, but also the donkeys. The diamond-dogs, the Abyssinians, even our so-called allies the changelings, even--”

“Communists,” hissed Flim.

Flam frowned, elbowing his brother. “So I think it’s a good time to review company policy on security. You there, in the front?”

A pony in the front was pushed forward. “M—me?”

“Yes. What’s your name, little pony?”

“Well, awe shucks, Mr. Flim--”

“Flam.”

“Oh. Oh right, well, might sorry, it’s hard to tell the difference apart from that awesome moose-stash you got there on your face. Why, my pappy once had a moose-stash just like that before the bison done did catch him stealing pie and waxed it clean off--”

“You’re name, you idiot?”

“Oh. Brayburn, sir.”

“Brayburn. What is biggest, most important, critical company uniform policy?”

“Oh, that’s easy, no vests because they look stupid. Even if they’re actually super cool, and you management-types just need to be happy I didn’t go and elect to wear the chaps that go along with it--”

“NOT that rule. The OTHER ONE.”

“What? Oh. The stallions get the uniforms. Mares don’t wear clothes.”

“Mares. Don’t. Wear. CLOTHING.” Flam stepped back on the stage, smiling at his brother. “Exactly. Even Twilight Sparkle herself follows this rule, as you just saw. Mares DON’T get to wear ANY clothing. This is very, very important.”

“But sir, I’m not a mare. ‘Cept on weekends some time down at the salt bar, you know, to blow off some steam. Of if I get thrown in the poison joke. Again.”

“IGNORING THAT,” snapped Flam. “Anyone APART from him, then, can you tell me why, knowing this rule...”

The spotlight shifted position, suddenly erupting with a circle of light on the mare that M’Ress had been following.

“Why is THAT one wearing our uniform?”

“Because she’ll catch cold!” cried Flim.

Flam stared at his brother. “No, you imbecile. Did mother drop you? She doesn’t work here! She’s an outsider! A foreign communist SPY! GET HER!”

The ponies, upon realizing this, immediately converged on her—and she struck out, upturning one of them with her telekinesis and kicking him hard with her back legs into another pony, knocking him down. It was apparent, though, that she was surrounded, severely outnumbered, and physically delicate.

They had not noticed M’Ress, though, apparently. M’Ress promptly rectified this situation, deeming that it was time to exit her hiding place. There was little thought as to the why of this, but she felt like the spy needed to be protected. Something instinctual informed her of it, and something else told her that the tall unicorn stallion had been lying. This was not a foreign invasion. The spy knew something valuable. She was what M’Ress had been sent to acquire.

With one massive thrust, she shoved the grate out of the vent, causing it to fall on and level several ponies. She jumped down on it, pushing them back to the ground as they tried to stand up.

“GAH!” screamed a stallion. “CAT LADY! My allergies! MY ALLERGIES!”

“No, you idiot, that’s an Abyssinia! Help, HELP! She’s come to seduce us!”

“I’m being seduced! I’M BEING SEDUCED!”

M’Ress did not hesitate. She had hoped that, as a Caitian, she would have some manner of innate warrior instinct. As it turned out, she did not. This forced her instead to rely on her apex-predator instincts instead.

She hissed and pounced on a pony. He squealed, flailing, and the herd-prey instinct of the ponies took over, and terrified, the scattered, if only for a moment. M’Ress looked over the crowd to see Flim and Flam looking over their shoulders as two armored ponies helped them escape, shuttling them into an elevator—and they stared at her as they rose suddenly away into the rocket scaffolding to safety. They saw her, and they knew.

“You idiot, get down!” cried the mare, sending out a plume of brilliant sparkling magic into the face of a pony that was about to give M’Ress the poke with his horn. The unicorn cried out in surprise, finding himself covered in glitter.

“It’s in my mane, IT’S IN MY MANE!”

M’Ress picked up the pony she had pounced on and threw him into the others, clearing a path.

“GO! We need to go NOW!”

“What, pray-tell, was your FIRST CLUE?!”

The mare ran, and M’Ress followed, only to suddenly be knocked to the ground, finding her legs unable to move. She turned as she fell, only to find another rope wrap suddenly around her torso, a second lasso being thrown around her.

“But how—you have no hands—you can’t lasso—’

She looked up to see the disturbingly handsome stallion with an obsession with vests holding onto both ropes with her teeth. “Now hold on there, kitty-missy, this is for your own good, you can’t be in here and I’m doing a citizen’s arrest so just hold on and don’t—”

A pair of floating scissors sliced through the rope holding her arms, and M’Ress clawed through the one on her feet. She then lurched forward to grab another stallion and throw him at the attractive one—but was promptly stopped when the stallion she had grabbed did not rise. Confused, M’Ress looked down to see one of the default-type ponies. She realized too late that this form of pony, despite lacking wings or a horn, was of significant density and thickness. They were made of solid meat.

The meat then proceeded to, in a single motion, turn around and buck her in the chest. Several ribs snapped from the force as she was thrown back.

She landed hard, gasping and hissing, with the pony staring wide-eyed.

“What did you just do?!” cried a Pegasus.

“I bucked her, I didn’t—she’s--”

“Get a medic, you hurt her! MEDIC! You can’t just kick cats OR ladies, let alone lady-cats, what are you, some sort of--”

M’Ress suddenly felt herself pulled to her feet, a process that was exceedingly painful.

“MOVE, Caitian, I don’t have time for this!” cried the armored mare. “Before they get organized!”

M’Ress, grabbing her chest in an attempt to force her ribs back to the proper position, started to follow—and managed to get about ten feet before something grabbed her. She turned sharply, slashing at the rope, but felt her arm suddenly twist and her shoulder pop painfully. There was no rope to sever, nor anything visible apart from a thin film of plasma surrounding her arms and one of her legs. Although there was no solid mass to it, she could barely move, and her arm had suddenly become useless. She turned her head as far as she could to see a unicorn, its horn glowing with a plume of strange plasma, apparently holding her in place—and she suddenly found she could not breathe. The pressure on her chest and neck was growing greater.

The mare turned, her own horn erupting, and M’Ress was thrown to the side as her body erupted in a second color of plasma that counteracted the first in a violent and searing explosion of force. The attacker jumped back as if struck, and M’Ress was thrown to the ground by the blue field.

“GET DOWN!” The mare pushed her, in the process drawing a heavy Klingon disruptor from under her uniform and firing a beam directly into the stallion’s face. The stallion went limp, falling to the floor in a heap—and proceeding to writhe around at random.

“GAH!” He screamed. “I’ve been made floppy! The tingling! IT TINGLES SO BAD!”

The disruption hissed several more times, resulting in the violent flopping of several more unicorns. M’Ress, likewise, drew her phaser, pointing it at a winged horse about to leap upon her—and had it promptly knocked out of her hand.

“Are you insane?! You’ll kill him!”

“But you have a Klingon--”

The Pegasus leapt onto her, proceeding to beat her with his soft, colorful hooves. M’Ress was surprised to discover that he was, in fact, profoundly weak, and the event was about as uncomfortable as being attacked by a large bird or very large moth.

“Take that, and that! How about a hoof sandwich? How about some NEKO wafers!”

M’Ress shoved him, and he immediately fell to the ground with a cry. “I’ve been got! I’VE BEEN GOT!” The other ponies stepped back in awe and terror, and it was suddenly apparent—as if it had not been before—that they were simply not built for even the most crude rudiments of combat. That evolution had managed to forge the absolute pinnacle of weak, soft, peaceful beings.

“Are you...joking?”

She suddenly felt herself being pulled, and was drawn toward the door. M’Ress found that it was blocked by a pair of ponies, the sort without horns or wings. Even if they could not fight, that kind was notably meaty, and they could certainly block a door. While having the ponies attack one at a time was probably tolerable, they had already managed to cause substantial injury to M’Ress’s body. If they finally decided to all attack at once, no matter how soft and adorable they were her and the mare of mystery would almost surely be overwhelmed.

The mare, though, charged at the two.

“You’re not getting past us!” said one, squaring his shoulders.

“Your eyes are spaced too far apart, your coat-color had not been fashionable since the seventies, and GREEN is an UGLY color for a MANE!”

The pony’s eyes widened and he crumpled to the floor, his companion crying out.

“Medic! MEDIC!” The meaty stallion was crying uncontrollably, his friend attempting to console him. “His feelings! She's attacked his insecurities directly! Somepony help him, his feelings are hurt! Get a security blanket! I need a CELESTIA-DARNED security blanket, STAT!”

“B—bu--but green is my faaaavorite collllor!”

The mare and M’Ress were able to get past them, and the mare pulled the crystal locking mechanism out of the wall, causing it to slam closed.

“I broke the door but I’m afraid they’ll eventually find a way around it.” She was gasping for breath. “And my lung capacity is...not what it has previously been. I apparently do not like exercise. Well of course I don’t like exercise, it makes me SWEAT. But the lung capacity would certainly be useful. Except I did not know I was EVER going to do THIS--” She shook her head. “We need to move. I think I know the layout.”

“If I could use my phaser--”

“You haven’t tuned it, a type-II phaser would be disastrous to a non-unicorn.” She levitated her disruptor. “Point it at a pony again and we’ll see what this one does to a Caitian. I simply cannot allow a fellow pony to EVER come to harm.”

“Unless it involves crushing their self-esteem, apparently.”

The mare grumbled. “My name is Rarity.”

“Yes. I know that. I am Shiboline M’Ress. I was watching you from the vents.”

“Which explains why your fur is absolutely filthy. All this work and you got just as far using the WORST possible way.”

“I did not have the option to seduce my way to victory.”

“You would be surprised. Maybe a hat. And a nice floral sundress. Instead of...that.”

“What is wrong with my choice of clothing? It is efficient!” She looked around her. “Should not we be running away?”

The mare was producing something from her coat, wrapped in wax paper. “No. We’re already surrounded and they’ve sealed the exits.”

“Then...what?”

She unwrapped what M’Ress took at first to be candy—until she realized that it was glowing. It was a fragment of a crystal, brilliant violent in nature, and leaking a disturbing and unpleasant light.

“What is that?”

“An extremely large amount of an extremely addictive drug I’m afraid.” She popped it into her mouth, chewed it with a disturbing crunching sound and, grimacing, swallowed it. She winced and let out an agonized squeak as she began to shudder and the color of her sclera began to darken. “You see, a type two unicorn is not normally capable of teleportation. So I do apologize for what is about to happen, as this will be...rough. If you start to feel the eternity of the void seeping into your soul, I really do suggest looking away. It’s...longer than you think.”

“Teleport? Wait, what--”

A look of horror suddenly crossed the pony’s face, and she let out a terrible high squeal of agony. She fell to the floor, convulsing. M’Ress bent down, putting her hand on the unicorn—only to pull it back in pain. She was hot, to the point where she was starting to steam or smoke. Her mouth was foaming, and when she opened her eyes, her schlera were stained a shade of deep purple.

“It hurts,” she said, sounding confused and afraid. “It hurts so much, I don’t—why--I can take the pain, I can absorb it, I can insulate your brain just hold on--”

Her horn ignited with a blast of purple magic so powerful that M’Ress was forced back from the heat. Then, in a flash, there was nothing but sound—and then not even sound. Nothing at all.

The intrinsic horror associated from suddenly not existing was profound and, had she been fully conscious of the true nature of the nothingness and the intrinsic abyss surrounding her, M’Ress would have become immediately insane as she witnessed eternity slowly pass in the flash of a second. But the spell was both too adequate and too incomplete to allow that. She felt herself thrown outward, and inward, swirling as if in a vortex or a tempest—and yet still and utterly silent.

And, for a brief moment, she comprehended that they were not alone. That something lurked in the darkness. That there were things living there. Some things watched from a great distance, but some where much closer, although barely perceived. Tortured, sad things that wept as they decayed. They were sleeping. But one was not.

She perceived it. Greater than the others, older and more powerful, a pair of pale blue eyes slowly tracing her, and she comprehended its silhouette against the darkness. Of a gaunt, diseased thing, transfixed in an unholy crucifixion, a fetus decades old that watched barely from the darkness, half-perceiving in dreams of strange machinery.

Then came cold. Humidity, and moisture, and wetness. M’Ress retched as though she had spent two weeks straight licking herself, and found she could not stand from dizziness—but she knew that she was being pulled.

“Come ON!” gurgled the unicorn through a mouth dripping with a substance that reflected silver in the pale moonlight. “We have to go, we have to go! Get up, GET UP!”

M’Ress did her best to stand, but slid with the mare down a muddy embankment into the dirty water below.

“I can’t—I can’t move, my body, the Witch, Vangard--”

“You don’t need to run, just crawl!” Rarity gestured to the trees. Though her vision was blurry, M’Ress saw them, and noted that they were beautiful. A strange and alien thing, but a beacon of calm in the swamps. They were gnarled trees that grew like oaks, but with weeping branches like willows. And they were covered in beautiful flowers, blue, with orange spots, that fell to the water and bloomed like lillypads. As they sat near them, Rarity coughed as she inhaled the pollen. M’Ress felt an urge to sneeze.

“These trees--”

“They won’t follow us into the trees. Come on. Can you swim?”

“All Caitians...can swim...we just...don’t like to...”

She departed into the water, her feet treading much and strange swimming things rubbing against her. The pony likewise paddled into the water dotted with flowers from seemingly hundreds of trees that grew on the banks and in the water itself. From behind them, M’Ress heard the high voices of ponies, and saw light. Surely they would see them. Surely they would catch them.

“Look, cat tracks! Big ones!” cried a pony.

“They’ve been here! Quick, down the mud--”

“Wait, stop! Look at the trees! The TREES!”

There were hushed and panicked tones, and the ponies took several steps back. Rarity had been correct. The ponies would not follow them into the strange and solemn mangroves.

“They couldn’t have gone that way.”

“No. No, they couldn’t. They must have looped to the west gate!”

“They’re probably hiding in the poison joke patch! Quick, get Brayburn!”

And with that, they departed. M’Ress and Rarity continued their path through the cold water, swimming as best they could, until they reached the mud on the far shore. There, they collapsed onto the muddy bank surrounded by spotted flowers.

“That...could have gone better.”

“We made it out. For now.” Rarity coughed, and stood up. “But we can’t stay here.”

M’Ress groaned, because as cold and wet and injured as she was, she knew that the pony was right.

Chapter 29: An Incursion in District 51

The ship hummed to life. Not willingly, though, and whatever semblance of life it actually maintained was dull and recalcitrant to the very principle of non-death. The unpleasant hum was replaced with the sound of distant arcing, and random thumps of things that ought not to thump on a spacecraft. This was followed by a smell of a great many things burning.

This was obviously not ideal, but Rarity did not seem especially concerned. She sat in her captain’s chair—her still being this vessel’s captain, at least partially—and looked at least somewhat stately despite the absurdity of a small horse sitting in a chair that had been designed for a humanoid.

The circuitry of the bridge that still worked had been either physically brought to her or shunted to whatever consoles she needed. This ship, despite its appearance, was small enough to be managed by a single operator. M’Ress, though, had been stationed at one of the other seats.

Rarity looked over her shoulder. “You there. Kirk. Stop being useless.”

“And how do I go about doing that?”

Rarity sighed and rolled her eyes. “Such a very Starfleet question.”

Spock emerged from some shadow somewhere, looking slightly smudged and distinctly displeased.

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You got it working, I see.”

“I made adjustments to the system that allow for some semblance of operation, yes. However I will once again point out the fact that I am a scientist, not an engineer.”

“Now you’re sounding likes Bones,” smirked Kirk.

“Yes. Because you often assign him to tasks he is not well-suited for.”

“I thought Vulcans couldn’t feel displeasure.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “We cannot, Captain. However, I still have preferences. They are merely based on logic rather than on unnecessary emotion. And logic dictates that most of my skills are associated with software design rather than attempting to force obsolete, ruined Cardassian hardware to function. I am not, in fact, Mr. Scott.”

Something somewhere thudded loudly. Black smoke began billowing out of an air vent. Rarity looked up at it, sighed, and pressed something on her console that forced the baffle closed.

“Problem solved,” she groaned. “Who needs life support anyway?”

Spock took a deep breath. “Partaking in the plan you have suggested, Captain, considering all the variables currently present, is arguably the second worst decision of my life.”

Kirk frowned. “What was the first? Was it getting married?”

“At this point, I find myself considering if attending the Vulcan Science Academy was a more survivable use of my time.”

“Spock, you can’t seriously say you regret joining Starfleet.”

Spock raised an eyebrow again. “I did say ‘arguably’, Captain.”

Kirk sighed. “Will it at least fly?”

“If it does, not for long. The fuel cell is almost completely depleted. Based on the conditions of the thrusters, I anticipate thirty two minutes of conservative use.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Captain. It is a hydrogen-fusion power cell in a crashed vessel that has been resting in a swamp for over a decade. If it fails, we will be instantaneously vaporized.”

“Vulcans are always such pessimists,” sighed Rarity, initializing the control systems and lighting most of the consoles she had gathered. “I know this ship like I know the back of my own horn. She will fly. Not for very long, but long enough. That is not really the problem.” She typed away at the consoles with several styluses held by her telekinesis.

“Then what is?”

“I’m plotting our ascent vector to try to keep us near a populated area. I also have the disruption field active. So if they do launch the missiles, they will be slow to lock onto target. I am much more worried about that than the reactor blowing.”

Kirk and M’Ress’s eyes widened, respectively.

“Wait, what?”

“There we go. I’m going to launch us. Allons-y, I suppose.”

Before anyone could bother to brace themselves, Rarity fired the thrusters and launched the ship.

The hum of the ship rose instantly to a deafening roar, and the thumps became a high procession of clanks and small explosions. The ship lifted, buckling slightly and tearing a few pieces off itself, but did not initially move—until it disassociated itself from the swamp-muck with a resounding squelch and blasted vertically into the atmosphere.

Kirk—and every biped on the ship for that matter—was immediately knocked to the ground. Rarity, meanwhile, had encased herself in a circular field of telekinetic energy, binding herself to her chair. The ship wobbled and accelerated, exposing it to massive g-forces in an attempt to get above the cloud line before the missiles could lock on. As it did, something exploded, and it suddenly tilted to one side.

M’Ress, knocked out of her chair and now grabbing it fully, her fur extended to its maximum fluffyness, cried out.

“What in the name of--”

“The port thrust bank just exploded. We’re on fire. It’s fine. I expected that to happen, it did that before I crashed it. I’m diverting power to...oh. Well, there’s nothing to divert to anymore, it came of in the mud I’m afraid. Hmm.”

“I AM TO YOUNG AND TOO SOFT TO DIE!”

“I will pretend the Caitian said that.” Rarity sighed. “Hmm...this might work?”

She pressed something, and the ship lurched downward with enough force to momentarily cause everyone present aside from Rarity to levitate off the floor for a moment—and then it stabilized.

“And there we are,” she said. “On our way!”

M’Ress, still clinging to her chair, attempted to stand up in panic, only to fall back down.

“Lieutenant,” said Kirk. “What’s wrong?”

“I have the--” She retched horribly, “--extreme nausea, motions sickness, can’t—I can’t stand up! I hate flying! I hate it SO MUCH!”

“You...hate flying? Your career is literally on a starship.”

“Yes, a ship that flies in space! Caitians have--” retching again, “--have no history of atmospheric—flight before rockets to the moons and—GAH why so sickness?!”

“Stop whining, we’ll be there in less than three minutes. Assuming the missiles don’t force us to land faster.”

“What—missiles?!”

“Because of course there will be missiles, darling, there’s always missiles.”

The ship suddenly lurched. Rarity frowned.

“And some fool just opened a door.”

“Are we going to depressurize?”

“Don’t be an idiot, human, as suiting as it is to your character. There’s air outside. But it ruins my aerodynamics.”

Kirk passed Spock and entered the halls behind the bridge to find the door. It was not far. As he approached, he heard wind and felt the distinct cold of upper atmospheric air. Somehow it still smelled piney-fresh, even at altitude.

The door had indeed been opened, which was a good sign. At least it had not been torn off. Standing in front if it, though, with her head out the window, was Lyra.

“Weeeeeeeeeeee!”

“What are you doing--” Kirk paused. “What are you wearing?”

Lyra pulled her head back in, her mane immediately floofing out from below her helmet. She had taken off her clothes--which for a pony was not especially strange—but had replaced them with armor. Armor made entirely out of the carapaces of the androids that had been slain outside the ship. Kirk had not initially realized it because of how perfectly they fit her. She had clearly given a considerable through to how to make a fitted suit out of the skin of human-shaped robots.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Um...I like the helmet?”

Lyra’s face scrunched and she looked up at it. It was a fin helmet, indeed, but she had replaced the plume with a robot’s hand.

“Why did you open the door?”

“Because I wanted to feel the wind in my mane! I’m flying, I’m actually flying! This is amazing! A pony flying, it’s an impossible, amazing, astounding thing, I might be the first pony in the whole world to--”

“Move,” said Rainbow Dash, shoving Lyra out of the way. Her armor had been modified to include the boosters and altered shield-belt, and she had a small notebook with Rarity’s instructions on how to deactivate a shield. She immediately spread her wings and hopped out. To Kirk’s surprise, she did not fall, but rather landed in a cloud and sunk up to her knees. She then proceeded to walk away as if the cloud were solid as she disappeared into the distance. Kirk knew that there was probably a sound, scientific reason for how a winged horse could walk on water vapor, but he did not bother to ask why, feeling the response would sound contrived.

He instead closed the door.

“You’re not going to need that armor. We’re just dropping in and filming. That’s it.”

“The only way this armor is coming off is if hands are involved in stripping me nude.” She looked at Kirk expectantly. Then the ship was filled with the deafening sound of chaff cannons, followed by the ship dropping suddenly.

Rainbow Dash smelled the air and looked up at the blue sky. She had forgotten what it felt like. To be home. She had not stood on a cloud since her accident, and it felt so strange. So familiar, and yet terrifying. Knowing that if she somehow fell through, she would plummet for several moments followed by a rather sudden deceleration at ground-level.

She ignored the fear, watching the ship fly off, mud and parts of its hull falling to the ground below as it went. Then she saw a pair of missiles emerge from the clouds and the ship blow sparkly chaff before descending suddenly and vanishing below the cloud line.

She sighed. She had thrusters. They were small, but she had the impression they were powerful. It was just a glide. She could manage that, at least. After all, she had a job to do. There was no sense in complaining about it. She flapped at the air with her functional wing, pushing her pocket of cloud along, floating gently toward the mission objective.

It was a bright, ordinary day on the ground in District 51. The various pony workers were going about their chores, happily assisting in the production of the future of Equestrian spaceflight, building rockets and space suits and forging unique metal alloys and all the technologically sophisticated accouterments associated with adorable horse-science. That was until the alien ship dropped from the wispy Everfree clouds and leveled off over the trees, brushing mud of its underside as it passed over the gates.

Somewhere, a klaxon sounded. The majority of the ponies present, not knowing what a klaxon was, switched from cheerfully whistling and being optimistic to being completely spooked in an instant.

The guard at the front vestibule building raced outside, chasing after the ship.

“Hey wait a minute, you can’t be here!” he called. “The tour is one hundred bits! One hundred bits! Spaceships don’t get a discount, you have to pay! I’ll get fired!”

Elsewhere, a group of ponies pushing supplies between a group of buildings looked up, seeing it slow as it approached. At first, they were mostly just confused, until one of them reacted with absolute panic.

“Oh no, it’s happenin’ again!” cried Brayburn, terrified. “Everypony run or you’re gonna get PROBED!”

In unison, they began to panic, running in circles and bumping into each other, causing various sorts of bruising and abrasions amongst themselves.

The actual possibility of an attack had never been seriously considered. Ponies, being an inherently non-violent sort of being, had generally believed that fences and harshly-worded signs would prevent any sort of incursion by any possible aggressor. The presence of aliens and the associated probings had not been considered, and the thought that they would disobey the signs was unspeakable and incomprehensible.

There were, however, SOP’s in place. After all, the facility was ostensibly run by Twilight Sparkle herself, as evidenced by her continual presence as a beautifully rendered hologram. There was indeed a plan.

Ponies in armor charged out of various places, taking up locations throughout the courtyards between the buildings or atop the roofs. Some of them immediately produced bows and began firing the most powerful projectile weapon known to ponies at the now slow-moving intruder. This had exactly the effect as to would be expected: the arrows rebounded harmlessly.

“It’s too strong!” cried one of the commanders in panic. “The armor is indestructible! Quick, find a mage!”

The mages were of course out already, charging their horns and opening fire. Their attacks burned small holes cleanly through the ship, cutting through its hull with ease, but not striking any vital systems. Which was a good thing, considering it was powered by a barely-functional fusion reactor with a breach-yield of several hundred kilotons.

They barely noticed as the robotic systems at the bottom of the ship turned their turrets toward their wizardly formations—although they certainly noticed when the ship’s phaser bank opened fire. The beam of light struck the center of them, propagating outward until it reached them all, and they all immediately fell and began to writhe on the ground in confusion, their bodies having become floppy.

Inside the ship, Kirk looked through the viewscreen in utter confusion.

“Did you...set the ship’s phasers to ‘stun’?”

“Of course I did you bipedial twit,” snapped Rarity. “Or did you want me to kill innocent beings like some sort of Federation hero?”

“I just...can we even do that?” He looked at M’Ress, who shrugged.

“We need to get to the center, to the buffer space around the Tower,” she said, forcing more power to the rear thrusters, even as several of them burnt out in the process. “Workers from the outer rings aren’t permitted there. If there’s going to be a fight, it will be there.”

“You can take your time,” said Kirk. “They can’t exactly get us in her--”

A beam of blue light shot past him, just barely vaporizing the toe of his boot and slicing through the ceiling, leaving a small hole through which he could see daylight. He even felt the heat of it, and possibly lost an eyebrow.

“They don’t perceive the ship as alive,” snapped Rarity, “so they’re not going to go easy on us I’m afraid.”

“Did they just—did he just--”

Rarity phased the mage who had fired the shot. He fell and proceeded to flop violently before rolling off his perch and almost flattening Brayburn, who was still running aimlessly in a desperate panic. Somewhere, a Wilhelm scream was heard. From which one, neither would ever know.

“These are low level mages,” said Rarity. “An actual wizard could cut this ship in half with a thought, darling, so don’t be too confident in your own invincibility.”

“I don’t need confidence!” cried Lyra, leaping onto the bridge and brandishing a sword. “I have PLOT ARMOR!”

“That’s not where they’ll aim for, dear.” The ship shuddered, and began to drop. It crashed through the top of one of the buildings, causing ponies to leap off the top, flying away under their own power.

“The phaser draws a significant amount of power,” noted Spock. “Firing it disrupts my previous calculations. I would recommend against the use of it.”

“As long as we have enough power to record, I don't especially care.”

“And to escape,” noted Kirk.

Spock and Rarity looked up at him. Kirk felt his heart sink.

“To escape,” he repeated. “When we’re done, and we go back?”

“I had not factored a return trip into my calculations,” said Spock, apparently unconcerned by the implication of it. “I had assumed that this was a one-way trip.”

“Why would you assume that, Spock?!”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” snapped Rarity. “You knew that was part of the plan. If you didn’t then you’re just an ignorant fool, aren’t you?”

Kirk gaped, turning to M’Ress, who looked equally surprised. “Did you know?”

M’Ress opened her mouth to say something, and then vomited a ball of hair onto the floor.

“Lyra, did you--”

“PLOT ARMOR! PRAISE BE UNTO THE HAND OF DOOM!”

She ran out of the bridge. Seconds later, Kirk heard the door open followed by a rapidly fading battle cry. She had jumped out.

“Once the communications are open, we can contact the Enterprise,” said Rarity. “They can use the transporter to get you out.”

“And you--”

“No. Unicorn physiology is incomparable with transporters. I contain too much Element Zero. I’m riding this to its conclusion, I’m afraid. But if it succeeds, I suppose it will all be worth it.”

Rainbow Dash floated into position. She had never seen District 51 for herself, and found it to be a distinctly ugly sort of place. Buildings and factories arranged in circles, all surrounding an enormous windowless tower.

The tower was, unfortunately, tall. She had been forced to ascend the clouds somewhat to get over the top of it, until she had reached a cirrus so thin that she was constantly in danger of slipping through it entirely if she did not hold on.

Below her, she saw Rarity’s ship coming into position—and she saw her own LZ. It was a lot smaller than she had imagined, and surrounded by all sorts of weird technical dodads and dinguses that would probably hurt considerably to land upon. It was indeed an operation that required speed but more importantly absolute precision.

She sighed and flexed her wings. The organic one hurt from all the cloud-paddling, and the metallic one hurt because it always hurt. It was light, though, and she could feel the wind pushing on it, struggling to give it lift. Its weight had never been the problem. It was a matter of moving it. It never felt real, or like it was really there. And then there was of course the pain.

It did not matter. This was a glide. She did not need to flap. She just needed to hold it steady and direct herself with her body weight. The thrusters would take care of the rest.

She took a breath, and then lept from the cloud, firing the trusters as she descended.

The acceleration was sudden, and memories washed over her. Of the bulky solid-fuel rockets bolted to her support frame during the Powered-Pegasus Program, of the rush of machines as she blasted to speeds far above what a pony should be able to perform. But more than that, she felt something else.

She rushed forward through the air, her hooves on nothing but air. The force was on her wings, and not her legs—and for the first time, the pain decreased. It was instead replaced by knowledge of what needed to be done, of instinctive knowledge of how the wing ought to move, and perception of it. The memories Rainbow Dash most strongly felt were not those of being powered by rockets, but those of her youth. When it had been her, alone and naked, feeling the rush of wind through her main and feathers. The feeling of true flight. She felt tears running down her face. They were hot. She could not believe she had forgotten what it felt like.

It only lasted for a few seconds before she struck the shield dome. The effect could be at best described as a sudden “splat”, although not a total stop. The environment belt’s shield aligned, and Rainbow Dash passed through as if it were surrounded by particularly viscous air. Then she dropped to the floor below, this time with a much more audible “splat”.

“Ow,” she said, standing up and stripping off the burnt-out thrusters and the shield belt, throwing them both over the edge of the tower. “Dang it, Rarity, next time warn me about your stupid thick air...”

She looked at the assembly of machines before her. Alien machines, she was sure. They were much larger than they had looked from the air, and they seemed to be scaled for a creature much larger than a pony. Which was fine. She’d figure it out.

Obviously Rainbow Dash, being the most non-egghead of the group, was probably mentally the least ideal candidate for this particular portion of the mission. However, Rarity was a particularly persnickety pony, and highly detail-oriented. She had written down exacting, exhaustive instructions in a small book.

Rainbow Dash produced the book, licking the cover and opening it with her teeth. She then stared down at the first step and felt her blood run cold—and then her wings stiffen with anger.

“Celestia-danged cake-sniffing son-of-a-horse donkey-licking sheep-snuggling—why the BUCK is it in CURSIVE?! I can’t read cursive! How am I supposed to know what this is even saying?!” She threw the book on the ground. “She has a fifth-grade education, how did she find time to learn friggin CURSIVE?!”

This was indeed an impasse. Worse, though, Rainbow Dash suddenly felt herself bristling with Pegasus instinct. She looked around, half expecting robots to come and attempt to grasp her body with their dirty robot fingers, but she saw that she was totally alone apart from the translucent unicorn sitting on an air-handling unit.

“Hey, you!" she called upward, "do you know how to turn off the communication dingus?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. Rainbow Dash shivered. There was something terrible in that smile. The eyes were exactly in the shape of a pony’s, but they were dead inside. Dead, or filled with some sort of strange and hateful life. Like the eyes of some foul, reeking invertebrate such as a changeling.

“Is there, like, a button or something?”

“Yes.”

Rainbow Dash groaned. “Are you going to tell me or what?!”

“Nope. What are you going to do about it? Get drunk and try to blow up a highly-populated alien space-station to prove you're not as inferior as we all think you are?”

“I’m gonna fly up there and squeeze out your dang juices, you...what even are you, some sort of frustrating ghost?”

“You can’t.” She sighed. “We gave her perfect schematics for that wing, but whoever installed it was an abject moron. Your spine should have been replaced too. And your brain, while they’re at it. Everyone likes a good brain transplant. I’d give you one right now, if you want. Do you have any squigs I could borrow?”

“I’m gonna put a squig in your stupid ghost face if you don’t tell me how to shut this thing down!”

Rainbow Dash picked up a random bolt and threw it at the ghost. It passed through harmlessly.

“I’m a hologram, not an anomaly, that won’t work on me. Why don’t you put that squiggy little organic brain to work and either dance for my amusement or figure out a way to disassemble this thing? It should be easy. I could do it in my sleep. If I slept. I don’t, because I don’t actually have a brain.”

“Well what if I don’t want to?” Rainbow Dash sat down, crossing her front legs. “You can’t tell me what to do, I don’t even care if you’re a ghost!”

“Not a ghost. Also not capable of volition or conscious thought, which makes the fact that I’m succeeding in stalling you right now somewhat absurd. And reflects negatively on you.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Gross skin wrapped around wet bones and wobbly organs and various wet juices. I think. They don’t let me check anymore, even though I kept the heads alive last time. Regardless of your structural inferiority, you probably actually do want to hurry.”

“Why?”

“Because in the time you’ve been arguing with a pony that literally does not exist, I’ve warmed up my factories and produced a quantity of robots that is somewhere between a brigade and a horde. Possibly even a heap. And they’re going to start opening your friends’ ship right about to scoop out the meats inside...now, maybe?”

Rainbow Dash unfold her arms and ran to the edge of the building. She looked down and, as far as it was, saw that a massed force of robots was currently exiting the building into the surrounding buffer zone—just as Rarity’s ship was reaching it.

“Oh road apples,” she swore. “That’s probably bad...”