Cypress Zero

Chapters

2 - Pony Engineering
3 - A Breach in Scaled Armor
4 - Peacemakers
5 - Cupresso, Cypress
7 - Iridescent Ichor
8 - The Tampered Well of Hope
9 - Trust in the Good of Ponies
10 - Hydrophobic Baptism
11 - The Blizzard, Braved
12 - Lost and Found
2300
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13 - D-Beams Glittering in the Dark
14 - Where Mare Meets Machine
15 - Interlinked
16 - Forged in Telfire
17 - A Tall White Filly Played
18 - Ad Astra Per Aspera
19 - The Skies Forever Blue
20 - Cypress Zero
Tread in Peace
1 - Space Kirin
6 - Lights Low, Reserves Low, Seek Resupply

2 - Pony Engineering

“What are you?”

It was an odd question to ask of the pony you were actively crushing.

The mare atop him let the pressure off. Her voice was curious, but he could feel tinges of hostility along the edge.

Cold didn’t move. Pain was hurtling through him fast, but he had bigger concerns. “A kirin,” he wheezed.

“Liar,” the mare hissed. The hoof returned, rougher than before, and he gasped as she pushed his head into the floor. “You’re a unicorn. Engineered. Don’t even try that horn.”

Engineered? Cold wanted to ask, but he was in no position to do so. “I’m not… not…”

“Not what?”

A rasp was overtaking him. “A fighter,” he managed.

There was a pause before his ambusher moved again. Cold couldn’t tell if it was hesitation, or if she was deciding whether or not to pulp him. She came to a resolution: the mare let off his neck, but she stayed on his back, grinding her hind hooves into his jacket, and the scales beneath. Her hooves clacked sharply against the floor, just out of sight, but right by his ears. “Why were you in this thing?”

“I’m the captain. It’s my ship.” She didn’t reply. He hoped he’d correctly interpreted her. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to move his forelegs. They stung with discomfort. He twisted, contorting as he reached for his ear, and—

The mare stomped, and the hull cried out.

“Don’t. Move.” Spittle landed across his mane. He felt her lean down, towering over him. She licked her lips. “Listen, you need to get me out of here.”

Cold let his hooves fall limp. “Just… let me up. Please.”

“Can you get me out of here, or what?”

“I…” He chewed over his lip.

The mare huffed. She climbed down from his back. She was standing somewhere beside him now. He could feel her stare on him as he carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position. Those metal-rending hooves shuffled, and he finally got his first look at her.

“It depends,” he coughed, taking her form in.

The mare was an earth pony, and a big one at that. Her eyes had a fierce, and strange yellow gaze: her irises felt wrong. He nearly flinched as their eyes met; she was analyzing him, too. She had an apricot-toned coat, a short-cut lime mane, and a long, well-groomed tail. A black jumpsuit—studded with odd metal rivets on the back—covered most of her body, save for her forelegs. There, the black gave way to gray metal…

“Your… your hooves,” Cold muttered aghast.

The mare looked down, then back up. Her ears folded, and she lifted her head high. Her lips curled as she spoke. “Answer the question.”

Had she done this to herself? It wasn’t armor, it was the legs themselves. He stared at the forelegs as she shuffled again. They were made of layers of metal plating, whirred and buzzed, but twisted and moved like… like there were real muscles beneath. Were they prosthetic? He’d never seen prosthetics taken this far. No, these… these were replacements. “Your hooves are made of metal!”

“I know that!” she yelled back. Cold flinched hard. Her withers fell. “I know that.”

“I—you did this to yourself?” She shrank further. That was exactly the kind of response he didn’t want to see. Bile rose in his throat. “No… no, no… Why… Why would somepony mutilate you like this?”

Her posture stiffened. “I wasn’t mutilated, I…” She stopped, and frowned. “I… okay, please. I’m sorry about crushing you. But you can move this thing—this ship, you called it? I need to leave this place.” She licked her lips again. “I saw you come down through the ceiling. In the big place. Where this thing is. I know that’s a way out. You can get me out there, can’t you?”

This was too much. “…What do you think is out there?”

“I-I don’t know! I just know...” She blinked, and suddenly straightened. “Oh, oh no. I really hurt you.”

He had to admit, he was straining a little. “I’m fine,” he replied oddly. This mare was so incredibly strange. First, she assaulted him, on his own ship no less, and now she was worried she’d hurt him? Given what she’d let slip, though…

“I know you have a medbay, and I have the necessary augmentations. Let me help you.” She started toward him without so much as a break.

“What are you—” She gripped his jacket in her teeth, and—

He was slung across her back so quickly.

Dazed, and still feeling sick, he couldn’t stop her from starting at a gallop down the halls. The doors barely managed to open all the way as she ran by the stairs leading up to the central access hall, instead turning down what he knew was the path to the medbay. The final door opened, and the mare practically slid across the floor, dumping him on one of the few medical beds in the room. He’d barely even collected himself before she’d sprint across the entire vessel.

There was another pneumatic hiss, but it came from the mare. Cold looked to her in alarm as one of her metal hooves pressed into his side. She was staring somewhere past him, and a thin reflection of blue danced across her eyes. “Hold still,” she ordered.

Below her hoof, a stinging sensation cut into him, and she pulled his jacket back over it.

“Painkiller,” she stated before turning toward the medical cabinets. Despite the electronic locks on them, they opened immediately for her. She paused for another moment, seeming to analyze his stores, then reached into a cabinet. With whatever she had obtained, she moved to an empty counter, rearing up and tilting her head down to work. The whole time, Cold stared at her.

It wasn’t often he felt fear, but this mare was proving to be too much for him.

He was laying prone, but as he started to climb down from the bed, the mare’s ears swiveled his way. “Stay where you are. I need a moment.”

Cold figured he didn’t have much of a choice.

True to her word, she returned without having to see to the cabinets again. “Take off your jacket.”

The jacket came off, and he gently set it aside. He looked to the mare. He could see she was holding a cloth, slathered with whatever mixture she’d created. Clearly she’d been intending on using it, but now she had her lips pursed, and was glancing over his back.

“You have scales here as well,” she said pointedly. She looked him in the eyes. “Why did they not protect you?”

“I… Well, your hooves are very…” he glanced again. “Different.”

“Stop talking about my hooves.”

“But—”

“You have scales. If your scales can’t protect you, then why do you have scales?”

He didn’t know what to say next. Again, he went with the truth. “I was born with them.”

It was a simple enough answer, but it caught the mare off-guard. The authority slipped from her tone. “Born with them?”

“Yes. Like I told you before, I’m a kirin.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“You…” Cold bristled. His confusion had reached a new high. “Who are you?”

She looked away, and rose the rag to his back, rubbing the mix in-between his scales. It was much less graceful, and much more rough than he believed she’d intended. “My name is Fokienia.”

A name. He could work with that. “Fokienia. That’s a lovely name.” Being honest had helped him so far.

Fokienia slowed in her ministrations. “Thank you?”

“My name is Searing Cold. You can call me Cold if you’d like.” She seemed awkward now. He didn’t blame her; he had thought he’d felt some fear during her ambush, and her actions seemed to line up with it. “How much do you know about where you live?”

“…Not a lot. The only times I’ve been up here in this place is when I’ve…” Her voice fell away, and she stopped completely.

“You’re running from somepony, aren’t you?” He looked at her. “Fokienia?”

“Yes…” She pulled her neck back and met Cold’s gaze. “But you can’t tell anypony.”

“Why not?” He tried to not sound threatening. It wasn’t difficult for the kirin.

Both of her metal hooves had been leaning on him, and they sank deeper. He powered through the pain. “They always bring me back.”

“Who does?”

“Somepony named Concord. They always call for her. And then… they get me.”

Cold froze. Fokienia noticed.

“You’re… you’re not working with her, right?”

Something was off. Very off.

“Fokienia… Concord is the security administration responsible for Cypress.”

She was an adult. She’d clearly grown up here. She had to be kidding. The anxiety lurking beneath him was now at a boiling point. Ponies were easy for him to read, and this mare…

“Concord isn’t a pony?”

This mare wasn’t a criminal on-the-run. She was a filly in a grown mare's body.

“You need a data-bank. Right now.”

Any notions of fearing Fokienia immediately left Cold. Knowledge was something that the princesses made sure was free, and accessible to all. To think that somepony could be this sheltered was an impossibility. A failing of the Crown. He had to fix this. It was his responsibility.

“Hey!” Fokienia squeaked as Cold slid from the bed.

“Walk with me.” He slung his jacket over his withers, and looked Fokienia dead in the eye. “You need to know.”

To her credit, she followed after him. Surprisingly, her hooves didn’t crack against the floor. It appeared she could be gentle while walking on those metal hooves. “Need to know what?”

“Everything.”

She went quiet instantly.

Cold continued down the hall. His quarters had a computer that could integrate with the station network.

It occurred to him that he now had some room to breathe, and ask questions of his own.

But if Concord was possibly looking for her…

“Did anypony see you get onboard?” He figured that was safe enough to ask.

“Just you.”

He raised a brow. “I never saw you.”

“You didn’t? You were looking right at me when you were leaving this place. This ship, I mean.”

She was referring to when he’d docked earlier: that was the last time he’d left the Waste Peddler. “You used the elevator?”

“The elevator? Oh, no, I climbed up on where the um, ship was touching the ground. There were some doors I had to hack open, but they weren’t very secure.”

The landing gear. Of course. “That’s why you were in the ventilation system?”

“Ventilation system? I thought they were maintenance tunnels.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. “I… I guess they kind of are.”

“Anyways, after you left, I saw some ponies come by. They made an awful lot of noise, and there were a bunch of them. At first I thought you sent them after me, but none of them were you, so I just stayed out of sight.”

“What were they doing?”

“Well, they weren’t looking for me, and they weren’t armed.” The word seemed to stick with her. “They opened some of the bigger doors, and took some things with them.”

And that was his delivery. Everything she’d mentioned checked out; it supported the suspicions he’d developed so far. “But how did you see all of that if you were hiding?”

“I can detect movement through walls.” Cold stopped, and looked at her again. She blinked at him, and frowned. “What? I’m not lying.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. It was that she was so uninformed, but so dangerous.

And she didn’t know.

“…Sorry, I believe you.” He turned away, and resumed his previous pace.

When they made it to the cabins and the door to his quarters, Fokienia had more to say. “That door isn’t electronically locked.”

Cold nodded, and spoke as if she were just another passenger commenting about it. “It’s mechanical, and enchanted.”

Her mouth popped into an ‘o’ shape. “You can do that?”

“Er, well I can’t. But yes, ponies can enchant mechanical devices.”

“I thought that technology and magic weren’t supposed to be combined.”

Cold shook his head. “We’ve relied on exactly that to bring us to where we are today.” He raised a hoof to the door, pressed into the notch, and it opened like usual. Fokienia was left slack-jawed by the display. “We’ve just gotten better at… doing the technology part without the help of magic. This is pretty much an antique I keep around for looks.”

“Antique? But it’s incredible…” One of her hooves went up to the inner frame of the door. She closed her eyes.

Cold had stepped into the room, but he stopped to watch the earth pony.

Darkly, he noted that now would be the perfect time to shut the door on her, and alert the authorities. But when he saw her standing there, with a hoof from an uncertain future pressed to a forgotten relic of the past, he saw a mare who was telling the truth, and actively seeking it the only way she knew how. She deserved to know more about the history of the world she was living in, and he doubted Concord would give her the chance.

As she continued to hold her hoof to the door, silence seeped in. Cold winced. He left his jacket on his cot, and trot back over to her. “Fokienia?”

She opened her eyes. “Huh? Oh, right.” Sheepishly, she stepped in. The door shut behind her, and she gasped, jumping forward a few hooves.

Cold tried his best not to laugh. He gestured at his desk. The empty synthetic-polymer frame just needed something to fill it. “Tell me you at least know what a computer is.”

Having recovered from her slight scare, a pinch of amusement filled her. “Yeah, I do.” She rolled her eyes. “And before you even ask, I know what a data-bank is…”

“Well, that’s good.” She wasn’t hopeless. He trot over to the empty monitor frame, and waved it to life. The digital interface filled the space, and the actual computer below the desk hummed. “I hope that also means you can read.” He scrawled through the screen, and gave it a moment to connect to the network. It did so without error. A few more taps, and the station’s public data-vault was at their hooves.

Fokienia sat down at the terminal, and stared. “This… isn’t what I’m normally used to.” Cautiously, she raised a hoof, and tried typing a few letters. “I can just put in whatever I want?” She looked to Cold, seemingly asking for permission.

Cold gave her an earnest smile, and sat down beside her. “I recommend ‘Concord’, first.”

She timidly tapped. Twice. “…Can you spell that for me?”

And that was where they started.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

It was all so wrong.

And yet, so right.

Fokienia looked over at the sleeping ‘kirin.’ He’d been drained from a mixture of opiates, and a squeeze of sleep deprivation. It was to her benefit, but she hadn’t intended for it to happen: he could have stayed awake if he chose to. For whatever reason, he’d given her the implication that he trusted her to to not do anything hostile while he slept. Was it in his nature, or had he been programmed that way?

She turned back to the monitor and typed in ‘kirin’.

As with the previous dozens of searches and hyperlink bouncing, the results were clear, unredacted, and informative.

She scrolled, absorbing the text and media voraciously. There was so much. So much to learn. So much to unlearn. In truth, there was too much. Fokienia needed something more truncated.

She tightened her search to ‘kirin history’.

Some kind of algorithm completed her query for her, and a notification made clear what had happened. Apparently, she hadn’t been the first to type that on this terminal. Her heart dropped, and she looked at the bedridden kirin again. What had he said his name was? Searing Cold. Yes, Cold. That was his name. He had seemed knowledgeable on so much, but here it seemed he’d gone looking for history as if he didn’t know it. Had all he’d said and done been part of a ruse?

The words archived here would paint a better picture. They’d guided her so far, and she had no reason to believe that anything on this data-bank was fabricated to mislead her.

…There was a lot here about peacemaking, much of it secondary, but some of it primary. Their tribe had a history of ‘seeing the best in ponies’, as one document noted. Natural-born diplomats. Fokienia found it an apt description for Searing Cold; he’d talked her out of an ambush, all by talking about her hooves.

And still, she was left wondering if she could truly trust him.

The computer didn’t have any answers for that.

She pushed herself onto all fours, and walked over to the sleeping kirin. Her ears twitched, and she tilted her head. There was some kind of sound coming from him.

…Was that music?

As she leaned closer, she could hear it. Yes, there was music. There was an intriguingly minuscule device in his ear, burrowed like one of her own implants, but not burrowed at all. From it, a soft song played. Why was he listening to music as he slept? It didn’t make sense; she couldn’t bear to hear things while falling asleep, unless it was a constant sound, something she could grow used to. And this music was far from a simple, constant sound. It didn’t seem like a very threat-aware thing to do.

She left him undisturbed for the moment, and trot to the door.

“How does this work…?” she mumbled. Awkwardly, she put a hoof to the notch in the door. She carefully centered it in the gap, and tried to turn.

The mechanism didn’t budge.

Her hoof slowly sank back to the floor. The kirin had locked it. Or had he? Maybe she was just operating it wrong.

Her lips peeled back, and she tried again.

Nothing.

Fokienia looked around the room. There were a few furnishings, but not much else. She took note of a vent on the ceiling. She could escape through there if she had to.

She shook herself, and returned to the computer. What was she thinking? She was safe, here. And it was much more easy to breathe than where she’d spent the last few days. She shuddered, and pushed the memories away.

Again, she sat. The search for ‘kirin history’ was still there. She grimaced, and typed something else in: ‘enchanting’.

Now this was a rabbit hole. It distracted her immediately.

Like many of the articles that addressed magic, it only served to deepen her curiosity. She had never seen much magic in her life, at least nothing as complicated as enchantments. With enchanting, it looked as if anything technology could do was rendered-obsolete. Why bother with technology when magic could do everything it could do, but much more cleanly?

The answers began to appear when her searches shifted to matters of health.

Healing magic didn’t exist.

“What?” she croaked, quietly at first. She pulled up another article on the archive, and the allegedly ‘accredited’ pony behind the facts made the same point again. A shaky breath escaped her. “…What?”

Healing magic didn’t exist.

“No… please.” No… it couldn’t be right. She tried again. “Please.” Again. Hyperlink. Search. Hyperlink. Hyperlink.

Healing magic didn’t exist.

Fokienia’s heart beat in her chest. Achingly. It… she… they…

A tremble overtook her lip, and she craned downward. The shaking shook down into her core, and a choked sob extracted itself forcefully from her. She couldn’t be fixed. She was broken, torn apart, remolded. And she could never be fixed. A pervasive wave of nausea swept her, and she almost found comfort in it. There was a sense of grounding to the feeling. She was still equine. Still a pony.

Her neurostimulator calmed it. That nausea was a disruption to her focus. An urge to be suppressed. The byproduct of a natural chemical reaction that required culling. She was programmed to feel senseless, and they made sure she was close.

She wanted to vomit, but the technology wouldn’t let her.

Fokienia breathed laboriously. Heaving, bursts of breath. There was no need for the action, but it was a bodily function she could control. Control was good. Controlling herself was powerful.

And so was controlling others, her training reminded her.

She wanted to scream.

She swung her head to look at the kirin. He was still sleeping peacefully.

She snapped back to the monitor, and typed feverishly.

‘Augmentations’.

The dialog box stuttered. “Null query.”

‘Bioengineering’.

“Null query.”

‘Fokienia’.

“Null query.”

‘Zero’.

Nothing. Nolla. Naught.

Null in all but name.

Null.

She wasn’t real, she was nothing. She wasn’t pony, she wasn’t equine. She was nothing.

Null.

Nothing. No history. No answers.

“Null query.”

“FOKIENIA!”

She whirled and gasped. A cloven hoof was draped over her withers. She stared into the glowing green eyes beside her.

“Sweet Blaze,” Cold swore. His jaw was locked tight. “Are… are you okay?”

“I…” She wiped at her tears. At least those were real.

The kirin settled next to her, and pulled her in wordlessly. A hug. That was equine. Distinctly pony.

Fokienia hugged back.

Cold was warm for his name. Like a fire burning from inside, out. He flinched as her metal hooves ran along his back. She decided not to blame him; she would be scared, too.

She whimpered. “Thank you, Cold.”

His muzzle brushed past her ear as he settled for resting his head on her. “You were screaming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The tears flowed like hot wine. Cold didn’t seem to care.

“…Do you mind if I ask what you saw?”

Nothing. “Everything.”

“You can tell me. If you’d like.”

Could she?

She closed her eyes, and focused on the world around her. A heart aside her own beat wildly. Breath came shallow. A soft song played.

“I’m… I am augmented.” It was a start she had to fight for, but the rest came easily. It always did. “That means that I am physically and neurally enhanced. I have undergone augmentation procedures for much of my operating lifetime. I have been provided ample resources for studying my abilities, and know precisely what each modification to my neurons, musculature, and limbs are capable of. I am built and trained to a play a role in critical medical operations, but can also commit to a leading role in close-quarters-combat, with a particular emphasis on lethal force. My name is Fokienia.”

She thought about what she’d been told before. It had been an odd comment at the time, but it made more sense than ever, now: she’d spoken robotically. Without emotion. But she didn’t feel emotionless, and neither did the pony wrapped around her.

“Would you like a demonstration?”

She hadn’t meant to let that slip.

It had been demanded of her.

A rending shiver went through her. It wasn’t her own.

“What? No, no demonstration… I…”

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you. It’s just who I am.”

What she’d become.

“What kind of pony would do this to you? You know what, forget that, it doesn’t matter right now. How long have you been… augmented?”

Fokienia was happier to answer the latter. “My whole life.”

“Celestia almighty.” That was a swear she was more acquainted with. “You… sweet spirits, I’m so, so sorry. That sounds awful.”

A justification swam up, though it was uncalled for. “It’s not all bad.”

Cold didn’t reply.

She decided to continue. “I’m stronger than them, now.”

“Stronger than who?” His heart thumped with anxiety. Fokienia felt it briefly before he pulled away to look at her face. “Concord?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “The ponies who made me this way.”

His eyes were so tired. Her inuition told her he would be fine, though.

And then her eyes saw something else.

She twisted out of his grip and stood. Cold stumbled onto his own hooves, and looked up at the larger mare. “Fokienia? What’s wrong?”

She stared at the waves, melting and drooping as they soared along. The shapes were all too familiar. They came up against the outside of the Waste Peddler, brushed against the hull, then slid downward.

The lighting in the room flickered.

Cold looked to the corner of the floor where she was staring, then back at her. His hoof shot to his ear, and his eyes widened. “Fokienia?!”

Her reply was a venomous hiss. “They’re here.”

Author's Note

Illustration for this chapter: “Fokienia”

3 - A Breach in Scaled Armor

The hull breach alarm was a terrible sound.

Cold hated and feared the noise, and for good reason; it was one of the worst possible disasters that could occur aboard a starship. Thankfully, with the ship parked safely in the docking bay, there was no need to fear an instance of explosive decompression. The bulkheads would have sealed any real exposure to vacuum, anyway. Unfortunately, that alarm still meant that somepony was coming in, and without a real breach, the doors would be keeping themselves invitingly open for them.

“I need to leave,” Fokienia spat. She spoke with the same tone she had when she’d nearly squashed him. He nodded numbly, and rushed over to get his jacket on. Fokienia stayed by the entrance to the room. “How do you get this door open?” she demanded.

“It’s locked to my magic,” Cold explained. The alarm blared in his ear again. He shivered as the ship groaned. “This—this is happening, isn’t it?”

Fokienia turned around, and he saw her eyes soften. She was looking at his jacket. “You don’t have to come with me. You’ve shown me enough kindness.”

She was right: this was her life, not his. But at the same time, she hadn’t chosen this… and neither had he. He shook his head. “If I stayed here, how would I know that I’d be safe?”

Fokienia took a step back. Her ears fell. “I… I can’t guarantee anything. Unless you do come with me.” Her voice was apologetic.

“Those ponies breaking in aren’t Concord, are they?”

“No,” she answered immediately. The elusive softness to her eyes once again fell away to a superficial edge. That seemed to happen every time she was feeding him information. “One of the other cyborgs is with that unit. Usually when they call for Concord, it’s them and a few different ponies. Never just them and a cyborg.” She blinked, and shook her head. “I can’t believe I thought Concord was just a pony…”

“Cyborgs?”

“That’s what they call us. Cybernetically augmented ponies. Flesh and metal. Cyborgs.” Her yellow eyes glanced at the floor again, and her neck moved smoothly. It looked as if she were tracking a fly across the room. “I’ve never managed to avoid re-containment for this long, and they brought in one of the ‘good boys’. So, I’d take it they’re mad,” she snorted.

Cold froze up. There were more ponies like her. Built like war machines. Flesh and metal, she said. “You said they… trained you, for combat?”

She nodded. “Yes. I am—” she cut herself off, and frowned at Cold. “Yes.”

“And they’re breaking in—”

“Through your elevator.”

“—through the elevator.”

They both stopped.

“I’m not sneaking my way through here, am I?”

Metal thunked.

“No.” She gave the floor her focus one last time. “Especially not with the cyborg supporting them. He’s almost as augmented as I am.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Fokienia gave him a firm nod. “Then stay behind me.”

“But on one condition.” He looked at her augmented hooves. “I don’t want anypony to get hurt.”

“What?” He cringed at her outburst. “Why do you—do you know what they’re going to do to me?” Anger and confusion melded together.

“No, and quite frankly, I’d rather not think about it.”

“I have to fight them, Cold. They’ll be tracking me now that they’re close enough. I can’t just leave them alive.”

Cold swallowed thickly. Can’t leave them alive. “I refuse to believe that.”

She stomped up to him, her hooves whirring. “Why have you suddenly gotten so stubborn? I… I don’t want to be alone again.” Hurt swept over her. “Please, just let me—”

“I don’t want blood on my hooves, Fokienia.”

A tremendous crash came through the vents. Yelling voices echoed in from somewhere far-off.

Her sides sank. “Do you know what they do with this kind of suit I’m wearing? They hook me up, sedate me, and keep me under. I wake up with different parts of me missing everyday. Maintenance. Upgrades. Replacement. Sometimes it’s in my legs, sometimes it’s in my brain. They don’t tell me, they let me find out. And then I have to grapple with figuring out how to control it all. Then I get rewarded. And then I go back to my chamber. Into the bio-pod. And they start again.” She raised one of her hooves, and pressed it into Cold’s chest. “Let me do what I need to do.”

He looked at her. She stared back. Gently, he raised his hoof, and pulled hers away. The metal was cold and clammy. He walked a short distance to the active computer terminal, and tapped a few times.

The ship went dark.

He trotted to the door, and opened it. The hallway beyond was nearly pitch black, interrupted only by small beams of red that crossed the floor.

If Fokienia wanted to fight ponies, Cold didn’t want to see it happen.

He turned back to her. She was staring at him still. His lips moved soundlessly. He had to move them again to get the words out. “Let’s go.”

Fokienia breathed, and held her head low as she passed. “Stay behind me, and keep your head down.”

Cold had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon.

The door sealed behind them like a coffin, but stepping into the hallway felt like skipping straight to the grave. On the earpiece, he clicked a music track into place, and kept its volume low. He hoped the steady clicking of drums and distant riffs was enough to distract him from what would come next.

There was a yell in the vents, but this time it was audible. “Do not split, she’s in here!” Spirits, that pony was loud.

“We’re going up,“ Fokienia whispered without looking back.

They came upon the first door. It opened with a hiss. There was nopony on the other side. The next door would lead into the passenger cabins. She’d run him through here earlier, and the only thing in here was—

Cold’s heart dropped. Don’t look right. Don’t look…

The mare did a double-take. “Is that an armory?”

He was required to have one by law; it was a large ship. “Yes, but—”

The security door opened with but a mere glance of her eyes, and his heart leapt from his breast and straight into his throat. “Fokienia,” he nickered. She disappeared into the depths. He wasn’t going in there. He couldn’t stop her, not when there were potential killers on the ship. But she was one, too. It was so hard to stay calm.

He blinked, and suddenly the mare was in front of him again. And she was armed.

She’d put on a hoofless-grip shock emitter, one of the many tucked away in electronic lockers. He’d forgotten what exactly they were called; it’d been so long since he’d been in the armory. Regardless, the loose quasi-harness tethering the magical device to her shone with crimson in the emergency lighting of the hall. It downright terrified him to know that she was intending to use it. His breath hitched as something else shone, and it came toward him.

He caught the hoofheld emitter with his levitating grasp.

“If I start shooting, you start shooting.” Fokienia grunted, adjusting her weapon with a tug of her mouth. The metal arm swung over her withers, and rested beside her neck. “And for somepony against hurting ponies, you’re well-stocked.” She started walking again, crouching low to the wall. Cold had no choice but to follow. He kept his emitter levitated behind him, and pointed at the ceiling.

If the ponies that had made her this cold to the concept of murder were hunting them right now, he feared what she was capable of with the weapon platform she’d lifted.

The next door opened.

Nopony.

Relief flooded Cold briefly. It didn’t last; they weren’t even anywhere near freedom. Not yet. Fokienia ushered them up the stairs and to the central access hallway. He looked toward the bridge, and a little bit of pain left him. He was glad that there was no way to spoof the identity on a ship of this size: if he was vacating his ship for what he expected would be a good while, at least it wouldn’t be leaving the station without him.

Meanwhile, Fokienia had her eyes on the ship interior’s edges again. “Looks like Sequoia didn’t get his eyes checked like I did, and the others are doing a blind clear. There’s some big energy source in here. Lot of power. Must be what’s scramming their scanners. ” She frowned. “Two of them are moving in on it, though.”

It took Cold a moment to understand what she was saying. “That’s the reactor.”

“Reactor?” Fokienia blinked. “You have a reactor?” She sounded oddly stupefied.

“It’s what powers the ship.” He thought about it, and grimaced. “They might be going to shut it down.”

“Well, that’s not good. That reactor is keeping us off their radar.” She stopped to think. Cold looked down the stairs and into the red-lit darkness. “We can’t set an ambush up here, then.” She sighed, appearing more annoyed than anything. “I did a quick survey of your ship’s layout before you showed back up, but I have no idea if we can get past the rest of them and stop those two. I’d like us to stay out of the vents as much as possible.”

Cold swallowed thickly. He almost didn’t want to ask, but he needed to. “How many are there?”

“Ten. Squad of six, two pairs.” She squinted at the wall and floor again. “The last pair is probably pulling overwatch on their entry point.”

Which was the personnel elevator. That wasn’t good at all. That meant the cargo bay was the easiest way off of the ship, and there was still another problem. “But we still have to… fight them all?”

“Yes, but we’ll divide and conquer.” He didn’t really know what that meant, but it sounded strong. “That relies on us stopping those two from blowing our cover.”

…Wait. “Do you think I could talk to these ponies?”

Her voice belayed dominance, “Absolutely out of the question.”

“I could distract—”

“I said no. I need my eyes on you at all times,” Fokienia growled. “I can’t lose you.”

“Okay—okay!” If he didn’t know any better, he’d say this mare was crazy. Which, maybe she was… It probably wasn’t the best time to question her. “Then, what do we do?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was thinking. Each second was precious, now. He thought, too, but the more he thought, the more insurmountable the odds appeared. There were two of them, and ten apparently combat-trained ponies. Cold hardly knew how to pull the trigger on his emitter, and he didn’t know if he even could.

“Okay, you’re right. You need to talk to them.”

A change of heart? He didn’t think so. “What’s the catch?”

“I need you to fire the first shot.”

The kirin didn’t want to hurt anypony? That was fine, she could do it herself.

He didn’t want her to kill anypony? That made things substantially more complicated, but she could operate under those parameters.

The only solid plan she’d come up with in short-order required the kirin to be cool in combat, and actively go against his own wishes?

Now that was an impossible feat.

He put on a tough façade, but he was the jumpiest pony she’d ever met. They were a team of two, and both of them needed to be combat-aware if they were facing the retrieval unit head-on. They didn’t play nice in the arena, and they certainly weren’t going to play nice out in the field. Experience swam into her skull, and toyed her with the memories.

Fokienia wouldn’t admit it to Cold, but she was terrified of the ponies they were up against. They both wouldn’t last in a firefight this large. But there was a way…

“You want me to—”

“You don’t have to actually hit them.” She didn’t need him panicking again. “But it would definitely help. We need to get the jump on them. Break their formation. If we can’t get to the reactor, then we’ll just take out most of them, and then sweep up the rest.” She hoped she sounded confident.

“Fokienia… You’re asking me to pull the trigger on a pony. Pull a weapon on a pony, and shoot them.” He levitated his weapon in front of him, and looked at it.

“Yes.” She started back down the stairs; there was no time to argue anymore. She heard him follow after a moment.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Voices crept up from behind the main door of the passenger cabin.

Fokienia snatched the weapon from Cold’s magic, and skid it across the floor, where it slid to a stop next to the wall. She shoved him into center of the room. He stumbled and fell, but didn’t cry out. She immediately felt horrible, but she soldiered past her emotions, and ordered a command, “Distract, then shoot.”

She slunk into the doorway of one of the passenger rooms, and the main doors to the cabin opened. She kept her head tucked out of the way, and her eyes on the waves of moment through the wall.

“Freeze!” a stallion shouted.

“H-hey! Put that down!” Cold yelled back.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?!”

“Well, I… I could ask the same of you! I’m the Autumn-blazed captain of this ship! What have you done?” The mixture of fear and nervousness in his voice was falling away.

Fokienia kept her eyes on the movement of the unit. Two ponies were serving as a form of rearguard, and one of them was Sequoia; the outline of movement around him was fairly distinct. Three of the other ponies were stacked up behind the stallion doing the talking. None of the ponies were using weapon platforms like her, just small arms held by mouth, the kind drawn from a chest-holster.

The leading stallion relaxed his shoulders. “Captain, calm down. We’re Concord Special Operations. You need to come with us. We have reason to believe there’s a highly dangerous criminal aboard your ship.”

“A criminal? My ship was secure until somepony gave me a hull breach, and I see those cutting tools!” Cold was inching toward the wall where his weapon had fallen.

The stallion side-stepped in the doorway, his weapon swaying as he went. He was clearing the room. “Captain!” He called from behind the grip. “Stay right where you are.”

Fokienia leaned until her head was slightly clear of the door frame. Flashing in the emergency lights, she saw the brown muzzle of the unicorn stallion. He was still in the death funnel, checking the first corner. Alone on her own corner, she whispered. “Go for it, Cold.” Her hooves’ manipulators twitched. A stinging sensation filled her veins. The stack of ponies filtered into the room, and the leading stallion looked away from Cold for another brief moment to yell an order. Fokienia sucked in a breath.

In a flash of red, Cold’s horn lit. His discarded weapon flew a hoof off the ground.

“DISABLER!”

Heads turned as a blue bolt soared. The lead stallion turned, his teeth clenching around his grip, caught in a transition to a shooting stance. Behind him, Cold’s bolt splashed against the wall.

By Fokienia, three blasts sounded. Three bodies tumbled to the floor.

The lead stallion made his own clean shot: Cold went down against the wall.

Fokienia was just starting to gallop into the room as she took her next shot. It hit the stallion. He grunted, but stayed standing. She fired again. His head cowled with blue, and he fell, too.

She fired two more shots into the open doorway, shining blue light on the other two intruders, and swung her head. The door slammed shut, and two hefty metal clicks followed. It didn’t open again. Her electronic implant assured it.

Her heart was racing. The stinging intensified.

Fokienia’s hooves slid; she stopped and crowed over Cold’s body. He was groggy, but the exchange of disabler fire hadn’t ended with him out of commission. His hoof was curled around his breast.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Smoke filtered out from beneath his jacket. He coughed out a reply. “You didn’t say they were non-lethals…”

She’d been relying on experience to tell her they’d be using disablers. Now, she realized, she’d gotten lucky, and risked Cold’s life in the process. “We didn’t have time, I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I know you’re not used to—”

“Fokienia.” She froze, and he sighed. “It’s fine, just… get me up.” She lifted him to his hooves. “Did you stop them all?”

“There’s two more. I locked the door.”

Cold nodded, eyes half-shut. “I missed.” A smoking yellow square fell out of his jacket, and crashed against the floor into pieces of PCB and polymer. His head fell weakly to look, and he laughed. “There goes my PDA.”

Whatever the PDA was, it had acted as a conductive shield. He really was lucky to be conscious. “Here,” Fokienia offered, lifting his jacket, and pressing her metal hoof to his side. Her rapid-delivery hypo-spray hissed. The injection went in cleanly.

Cold groaned: was it from pain, or did he enjoy the stinging now stirring through his veins? Fokienia couldn’t tell, having long grown numb to the injections. “Another painkiller?” he asked.

“Meldonium derivative. A combat stimulant.”

He mumbled something, and leaned against the wall, his cloven hoof holding him upright.

“Keep standing. You’ll be good to move in a minute or so.” He would be fine. She looked back at the door to the cabin. She wasn’t sure how long it would hold against the banging on the other side: both the ponies were at the door, but Sequoia’s partner had pulled something block-shaped from their body. He appeared to be speaking into it.

By the elevator, the two figures began galloping toward the conflict. Not good.

Fokienia took a breath to steady herself, and looked over to the unconscious ponies. The disabler was an almost guaranteed knockout if the charge hit anywhere from the neck up. Plus, it would be a while before they woke up.

The retrieval unit was typically an all-wing team, and barring the unicorn, the three pegasi slumped on the floor were just that. They all wore sharp gray jumpsuits and sling bags. Digging through the bag of the lead unicorn, she found one of the scanners. It was a small white device, with a simple screen and switch on the side. She flicked it on—the screen lit with static—and shut it off again. It tracked cybernetic implants, a fact she could use to her advantage.

She looked again to the decidedly angry cyborg. “You always were an idiot, Sequoia!” she called. The banging stallion paused slightly, then roared.

Cold came up behind her, shaking a limp from his leg. He looked to the door. “Do you think teasing them is a smart thing to do?”

“Only him,” she quipped. She placed the scanner back into the bag and tossed it. Cold caught it in his magic. “Keep the bag, their gear is our gear, now.”

She pulled the scanners from the other three bags, and smashed them with her front hooves. It wouldn’t stop them from chasing her later, but it meant that they had to double back and resupply.

Cold had slung on the bag, and was picking through the rest of the supplies. “What about the guns?”

“Disablers,” Fokienia corrected. “If they were guns, you would be dead.” She frowned: it was a bit too close to the truth.

“So we’re taking the uh, disablers?”

“Yes. There’s only so much charge in ours.”

Cold gathered the disabler pistols with his magic, and began stuffing them into his new bag. Fokienia checked on the door again: the elevator guards were getting closer, and Sequoia was arguing with the pony. She rolled her eyes.

“Get down,” Fokienia said calmly.

Cold did so immediately.

Fokienia dropped the door lock.

On the other side? A bat pony and a cyborg. The cyborg’s bulky wings put a shame to the others. His back was turned to the door as it shot open. He had enough time to flare his wings, and received a disabler shot for it. The bat pony fumbled for their holstered pistol, and Fokienia strafed. Another shot put them down.

The cybernetic wings fell limp as Sequoia finished turning. Rage filled the pegasus’ features, his anger unimpeded by the disabling shot. “You little—”

Fwump. In the teeth! The floor shook.

“You can get up, now.”

Cold stood, uncovering his eyes. He stared at the bodies that were piling up.

She pointed at the collapsed cyborg. “That’s Sequoia, by the way. Bit hard to miss.” Fokienia pushed her disabler out of the way. The metal arm swung over her back, and stayed there. She gave Cold a grin. “Why don’t you stay here and clean up? Get the other two bags and break the scanners—those little white boxes—take what you can, and destroy what you can’t. I’m going to go sweep up the rest of the unit.”

The motion sensors implanted in her optical nerves had let her escape capture for this long, and she was only beginning to realize how powerful a tool it was. It felt good to be powerful.

She paused.

“On second thought… I’m going to just wait for them.” She checked through the walls again. “The other two aren’t going to the reactor anymore.”

Cold blinked. “You still want me to break these… things?”

“Please do. And when you’re done with that, grab a disabler and come on over.” She stepped through the doorway, over the bodies of the cyborg and bat pony, and gave the next door a hard look. The deadbolts within fired off with a ringing crack. She turned away from the door. “It would do you some good to work on your aim.”

Cold shook his head and returned to the unconscious intruders. “You ponies and your violence.”

4 - Peacemakers

Cold had just shot a pony. He was very glad it wasn’t with an actual weapon. But the hiss of his disabler, the look in the pony’s eyes, and the way they’d crumpled to the ground…

Why had he let this happen? Did the ‘combat stimulant’ have some undisclosed effect? Or had he always been capable of violence? The unsettling warmth in his core left him guessing. A past lingered in him, and it was catching up to the present.

Fokienia’s words shook him free. “We’re still not in the clear.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t recognize any of these ponies. Except Sequoia and the unicorn. There’s more operators than this.”

Cold chewed over the hard position he found himself in: they’d cleared the ship of the intruders, but according to Fokienia, there were bound to be more. He checked on the compromised elevator once again. The elevator itself maintained functional, but the pegasus and the cutting torch had done a number to the airlock wiring-sequences hidden around the edges of the platform. It would take some time to repair, and it was a job for station services. Flying in-system with sealed bulkheads was possible, but no guarantee of safety in the face of long-term faster-than-light travel. Still, that left the issue of the possible coordination of Station Concord with the attackers.

“By the way, you did good. It was actually really dangerous back there.” Fokienia was busying herself by piling the ponies by the elevator. Their bodies fell again and again, and still they did not wake. “I’m sorry about getting you shot.”

Cold didn’t want to make her feel any worse by talking about how he felt right now. Truth be told, he was still sleep deprived, and the ‘medicine’ she’d administered was fading fast. “Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be fine,” Fokienia muttered. She probably wanted to preemptively ‘end’ another chase before they roused. Cold tried not to think about that. “It’ll be a few more minutes until they wake up, though.” She seemed pensive, but it wasn’t about the ponies she was lifting and throwing like sacks.

Cold knew exactly what it was she was thinking about. “You still want off-station?” It was already one thing that the ship wasn’t entirely safe to fly, but if Concord truly were working with the ponies behind her ‘modification’, he certainly couldn’t guarantee a safe flight. He didn’t want to tell her that, especially not while she still wore that disabler.

Fokienia had hesitated. “Yes, but not right now.”

That was good. “The ship needs repairing,” Cold blurted. Woops. Fokienia’s yellow eyes met his. His anxiety to get things moving wasn’t helping in a subtle way. “I can get station services to work on a repair. If we can’t stay here, then at least my ship can get sent down to storage.”

Fokienia cocked her head. “What’s stopping ponies from stealing your ship in the meantime?”

“If it’s in the storage bays below, the shipworks will maintain it and keep it secure, so long as I’m paying.”

“Paying what?”

“Er, money. Bits.”

“Oh, right.” Fokienia chuckled halfheartedly. “Sorry, I forgot that um, normal ponies have actual currency for things. Typically we practice a kind of… trade.” She paused. “Well, Sequoia and I used to. We never met the other departments.” She waved a hoof, and started dragging Sequoia’s limp body to the elevator. “But sure, sounds fine,” she finished through clenched teeth and coat.

Sounds fine? Cold sighed; with ten unconscious ponies on his doorstep, they were far from fine. “Fokienia, I don’t want you to get… taken. But I also don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law.”

She spat Sequoia’s scruff from her mouth, and shook. “If what I’ve done is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.”

“All I’m saying is that… I don’t want to be a criminal.” He cringed immediately.

Fokienia blinked. “You think I’m a criminal?” Her ears fell back.

“No, I… Fokienia, I didn’t mean that.”

She stared at him for a moment longer. “Ah, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I understand.” She looked over the bodies, the ship interior, the elevator. Her eyes closed. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved. I just… wanted to be free.”

“I—”

“Just go. Set up the services thing. Whatever gets us out of here faster.” She glanced over the piled ponies and sighed. “Every moment we’re still here is just a risk for you, too. I get it.”

It wasn’t like that. He wanted to say it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The coward in him wanted out. Out of her situation that he’d plugged himself into like an idiot. An armed conflict was one thing, but to be pursued by law enforcement agencies? He left before he could finish that thought; it wasn’t going to help her to freedom. Sweet Blaze, he was so tired, and this had all happened in the wee hours of the morning. He needed to stop thinking for a while.

That thought didn’t last long. As he trot to the bridge, he broke into a canter, and then into a gallop. Maybe he could fly them out. Get them free of the station. Get her to ponies who would listen to her, and have the authority to help stop whatever was going on at Cypress.

Cold thought of Holly, and it all fell apart. He couldn’t leave. Not until Fokienia’s continued freedom was assured. He needed to shut the coward inside of him down. There was work to do.

He returned to the elevator room. The ponies on the floor were still out, and Fokienia was watching over them from the side. She was standing with all four hooves planted to the floor, unmoved, unwavering. Her head turned. “Is it done?”

“Yeah. Should be enough time for us to do what we need to do and leave. What do you want to do with them?” he questioned, casting a hoof at the retrieval unit.

“Preferably, I want to never see them again.” She gave him an earnest, if tired smile. “What do you think?”

Send them to somepony who could better control this. He wasn’t exactly willing to leave them on his ship. “Call Concord?”

Her confidence shifted to incredulity. “You can do that?”

“Station Concord has to fill out for hundreds of thousands of ponies. Anypony can call them.”

“Okay, bad question. Here’s a better one. Why would we do that? Those are the same ponies working with these guys—” she clocked Sequoia in the wings with her hindleg, “—to hunt me down, remember?”

Cold shrugged. “You asked what I thought. Calling Concord would help.”

She gave him a deadpan look, the kind of stare only a mare could stare.

“It wouldn’t hurt us. I could call in and say there were a bunch of ponies breaking into a ship. We can just do that when we’re clear of the ship. At best, these guys’ll be caught up in red tape. At worst, slowed down by questioning, plus still have to deal with resupplying, like you said. And it’ll at least put me in good conscience knowing I’m not just leaving them here alone.”

Fokienia looked over the ten ponies jumbled together.

“Okay, well, you know what I meant.”

“Fine. Let’s just…” She sighed. “Let’s just get out of here, okay? If we’re not leaving to… space, then we’re going back the way I came. And then you can call Concord.”

As they descended through the elevator and stepped out, their sound plan seemed to be going just fine. Then Cold was reminded by his empty jacket sleeve that his PDA had been destroyed in the boarding action. That was temporarily resolved by bumming a comm-link capable device off of one of the workers. He’d need to get a new one connected to his ship’s data-link and cloud-held files. His noiseless earpiece only heightened its importance.

He returned to Fokienia by the edge of the platforms. She stood on a staircase leading up out of the sub-floor of the docking bay; she’d insisted on staying there until Cold had made his call. This was where the supply closets and other industrial equipment were stored. The gravity emitters and junction boxes that held the shipworks together hummed. There was no reason to be down here if you weren’t a worker, or a pony trying to stay low profile.

Cold trot with her as they descended. “Why do you want to stay out of sight?”

“I’m not supposed to be seen.”

“Why?”

“My orders were to—” she paused, then grumbled something to herself. “Look, it’s better that I’m seen by as few ponies as possible. I don’t need to be profiled by somepony, and have my location reported to the retrieval unit. Anyways, come on, I know my way through here.”

A little skepticism went a long way in Cold’s business. Like mystery packages, he didn’t bond well with the idea of not knowing why they were going down. He didn’t need much, he at least wanted enough to be sure. “We’re just trying to get away from my ship, right? Then why not take the bus?”

“The bus?”

“The main transportation line for the station. You get on, and ride it to a different stop on the station, depending on which bus you’re riding.”

“Well, we don’t need that. We’re not going far. Yet.”

Okay then. “Alright.” He wasn’t a big fan of walking into the unknown, especially if she intended on taking them through the maintenance tunnels. It became apparent that navigating the tunnels was exactly what she wanted to do; as the klaxons of a Concord unit pulled up to the Waste Peddler, the maintenance door sealed shut behind them.

Life on a space station necessitated a lot of things. Life support was one. The pipes in this brown, cold space maintained a steady staccato. Working to the beat of the station’s many hearts, these veins fed water, power, and life to all corners of the station. Ponies had not been made for space, and despite their squeamish nature, they had fostered a place in the universe as void dwellers. All the other species of the old world looked to ponies for guidance among the stars, and their divine ancestry answered. Heaven-bound was one way to describe ponies, and their work surely showed here.

Through the catacomb-like structure of maintenance tunnels, and descending deeper into the station, Cold followed after Fokienia. Her hooves walked along corrugated metal, and her eyes scanned along the confined walls and narrow path ahead. Cold had never been down in a place like this: the ponies kept things pretty up top, and while he wasn’t afraid to dirty his hooves with the good work, he preferred the climate control and earth-like nature the ponies maintained up there. All of that was supplied by the underbelly of the station. There were no souls here, at least not now. Despite the critical infrastructure, it made for a desolate and empty space.

“How do you think they found me?” Fokienia asked.

Cold wanted to wipe at his tired eyes, but he kept walking. “You said they were following you, right?”

“They had to have been close, but they weren’t precisely following me. Those scanners don’t have that big a range, maybe a hundred hooves. And I wasn’t exactly leaving an easy-to-track path.”

“Then it probably had something to do with letting you use my computer. I don’t buy into the pony paranoia, but there’s always been rumors of ‘eyes on the network’, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do.” She didn’t speak for a moment. “Can I ask you a question, Cold? I was going to earlier, but then…” her voice fell away.

“Of course.”

“Do you not think of yourself as a pony?”

He laughed low. “I’m a kirin. We might all be hooved at the end of each leg, but a pony I am not.”

“What makes a kirin distinct from a pony?” Curiosity bubbled in her voice. “That pony you spoke to didn’t hesitate to trust you. He treated you like another pony.”

She must not have seen many ponies… or creatures, for that matter. “For one thing, I wasn’t raised like most ponies and kirin.” He gave her back a somber look. “Something we both might share, I feel.”

“Yes.” She paused. “Sometimes, I don’t feel like myself.”

Cold breathed. He’d heard this before, a long time ago. “Is that because of how ponies treat you?”

“…Yes.”

“Then as long as you see yourself in a positive way, I hardly think it matters.”

“Really?”

“Our lives are dictated through our own actions, not what others think of us. Ponies can look at you and see one thing, but as long as you have the confidence to assert who you are, you will be free.” She’d stopped and turned. He looked her in the eyes. “You’re a strong mare, Fokienia. Don’t let the actions of others make you think less of yourself.”

She nodded numbly. “It’s… the ponies who augmented me, sometimes they talked about why they were doing it. About how they were ‘making me more’. It made me feel like I wasn’t a pony anymore, just a piece of technology. Some of the things I learned when I was a foal… don’t add up to what you’d expect from a pony. I act different, I talk different, I think different.”

“The way I see it, ponies are fickle. Prone to change. But they’re still ponies. You are still a pony. Nopony can strip you of that. Not through force, not through magic, and… not through technology.” He nodded his head at her. “Do you have a cutie mark, Fokienia?”

“I… I do.”

“Then fate flows strong with you. You are still a pony. And while you walk free, you control your destiny.”

She absorbed his words. “And… how did you figure all of that out?”

“Figure all of it out?” He smirked. “Nopony, save maybe the princesses, can figure out the strings of the universe. But when you fly alone in space like I do, all you can see is the history of the cosmos, and your own past. It’s a lot of nothing, but with enough time, you can pick out some truth from the bleakness of the black.”

A wave of emotions guided itself along Fokienia’s features. It was surprisingly difficult for Cold to place. “Thank you,” she finally said. Her voice was quiet. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Fokienia felt that the kirin gave her more credit than she deserved. She was a lethal operative, a pony made to harm others. She hadn’t chosen this life of hers, but she’d been born into it. That was fate, a factor that was objectively unchangeable. The best a pony could do was fight it. That was destiny.

But the destiny she could make with her cutie mark was tied to her fate.

For all the knowledge the kirin behind her showed, he didn’t have the same perspective she did. It wasn’t his fault, and it was better that she carried it alone. Ponies didn’t deserve to be war machines, but somepony had to be. Those were orders, what she’d been trained and groomed into. Augmentations, bioengineering, and physical conditioning. Selective education, sparring, and field operations. She might have had destiny in her hooves now, but her fate was tied to the mark she’d earned working with the ponies who’d made her this way.

Working for, she corrected.

Fokienia considered telling Cold everything. She desperately wanted to, and he’d essentially encouraged her to, but he didn’t have a place in her world; he had a life of his own. A life she’d broken into, and forced to interact with her. Those were all the same thoughts she’d reamed into, and they all produced the same obsolescent conclusion: she was delaying the inevitability of returning to fate.

Where was she going now? She was leading Cold astray, away from his life. Sure, it was for his protection, but that was a nifty side effect of the situation, and she couldn’t protect him forever. He needed a secure future just as much as she did. While he lived a much better life than her—or at least she felt he did—it was his life to live, not hers. It didn’t take much of the little empathy she had to understand that taking choices from another for her own gain was wrong. The ponies above her had tried so hard to drill that into her, but she wasn’t like Sequoia and others: she wanted to be free to make her own mistakes, and suffer alone for them. They brought harm to others for their own reward, and Fokienia did too. She differed with the fact that she had at least sought to change that.

And what that had culminated in was the disruption of the life of another. A victim from a tribe hailed as the peacemakers of the stars.

She felt sick again. Her neurostimulator calmed her nerves, and left her mouth parched. “I hope you don’t get into trouble,” she suddenly broke. Cold didn’t reply; it made Fokienia wish there wasn’t a delay on her neural implants. She lowered her head slightly, and tried to focus on the movement through the walls. “And we’re getting close.” No response, but she heard his steps loud and clear.

Then on top of her standing circumstances, there was also the matter of just how little she actually knew about Cypress. She’d gleaned parts from the simulated missions she’d taken part in over the years, but they never trusted her with the more ‘high profile storylines’, if the boasting from Sequoia was to be trusted. Cold’s computer and data-bank had exposed her to a lot, but nothing dense or concrete enough to warrant a complete understanding. She was starting with nothing: she had a lot to learn about Cypress Station and space, and seemingly not much time to do it. Before any of that could happen, she had to find someplace safe, for her and Cold both.

They came to another maintenance door, and she hacked it open like the first. After so much time on the proving grounds, everything beyond the rigorous training locks were foal’s play. She wondered what they’d been thinking when they’d given her so much power to wield. Again, she shook the thought. “We’re here.” Fokienia threw a look back at Cold as he emerged into the space. “Keep close, and watch your step.”

Steel and mortar hung thick in the air. Years of construction and reiteration had gone into play, here. Where loose wiring clung to the damp and unkempt walls, the ponies who lived down in this cloudy place clung just as roughly to the packed, regolith-swept floor. Dust encroached every corner of the environment, and though most ponies seemed more tired than ill, it hardly brought on any sense of freedom to Fokienia’s heart. She’d spent the majority of her free days wandering this place, exploring from the shadows, and she’d had yet to find any forbidden fruits: the overwhelming sense of oppression she got from this place made her usual life feel more comforting by compare.

Beside her, Cold licked at his lips. “Not the most inviting place, is it?”

Fokienia nodded. “It’s enough to keep the ponies here going, so I can’t complain.”

“It’s not much of a life,” the kirin remarked blandly. He was in agreement.

Bands of moving ponies had begun to form in the early morning hour. From overheard conversations, many were off to work. Fokienia entertained the thought briefly: would she be able to hold a job in the future? Moreover, did she want to? Dimly, she supposed that many of these ponies had just as much choice as she once had. She tried to bury those thoughts. She was getting bad at controlling herself. Had she always needed the neurostimulator to maintain self-control?

Almost there.

They wove through dank alleys, jammed between bright neon billboards, and smoky hovels of both residence and work. The bright pastels of their coats shone against the dark grays of metal and soot-covered coats of ponies they skid by. A few bright-eyed foals played in the ramshackle streets, but again, they at least looked healthy, and even happy. Clanking stairs sent the two higher, but not high enough to reach the far-off ceiling above, which was painted with dots of yellow lights, draped cables, and rusting clamps. Ascending a little more took them to the rooftops of the higher buildings. They trot along laid out bridges of both wood and metal beams. Still, they remained on the outskirts of the city underneath.

An empty doorway hailed their arrival. Fokienia led Cold into the open-air room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in. She flicked a switch on the opposite end of the room, and the room’s sole remaining bulb coughed to light. Cold swung his head wide, inspecting the place while Fokienia managed her way to a refrigeration unit, rumbling away on its side. She slid the acyrlic door open. She had hoped there were still some meals squared away, but nothing remained; other scavengers had likely come.

“You lived here?”

“For the last couple of days,” Fokienia replied. She slammed the unit shut a little harder than she’d wanted to: the servos in her hoof rang through the machine. She settled over on a couch—thankfully unstained—and laid all her hooves to rest. “It’s been somewhere to sleep.” Something she needed more of than she was used to: the bio-pod usually negated fatigue.

Cold squinted. “I suppose… At least you seem to have a bathroom.” He sat beside her.

She scanned him for a moment. Even if he hadn’t said so, he was definitely suffering from sleep deprivation. “You need to rest.”

“I know. But… I’d like to talk about what your plan is.”

Plan? She kept her mouth held shut, and hung her head on the couch, peering out the metal slats of the room’s lonesome glass window.

“This is already a lot for me. At this point, I’m thinking I might turn myself in to Concord. Or if they’re not upset with me, ask to be interned for protection.”

“What?” She snapped to look at Cold. His gaze was lowered, and ears bent back. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m not going to be able to keep up with you. I’m not made out for… combat. I’m only a cargo ship captain, Fokienia.” Tentatively, he reached his foreleg out and set it across her cold, gray steel hooves. “I really do want to help you, but I think you’d be better off without me keeping you down.”

She couldn’t feel his touch through her leg, but it still made her flinch. “But you’ve already helped me so much…”

“I only gave you the tools I had. Tools that are available almost everywhere else. Information is free.”

“Trust isn’t,” Fokienia whispered.

He lifted his head. “What was that?”

“I can trust you.” She met his look. “You showed me what nopony else would. You offered me kindness in return for my violence. I’ve never met a pony who would do that.”

“Ponies are—”

“Not like you. I know ponies, Searing Cold. And those ponies are the worst you could ever meet.” Behind her stare, calculations ticked away, artificial and organic. “I don’t want them to get away with everything they’ve done, but I can’t operate the same way you can. You’re different from ponies because you can see past their flaws. Because you know they have history. And you do, too.”

Cold’s voice was low, his gaze unwavering; he was awake, now. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your kind has a history. It’s not talked about. It’s something you carry with you. Something unspeakable. All the ponies know about kirins is what you wear on your sleeve. Something you have to be selective about, because you’re not perfect. You’re flawed, but express yourself differently.”

Slowly, his hoof drew back, receding into his prone form. His lips were taut, and muzzle wrapped tight. “Yes, Fokienia. I am flawed. Everypony alive is flawed.”

“If you want to help me, I need you to trust me.”

Cold puffed smoke from his nostrils. It was a quick, chief motion. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what led ponies to believe kirins were peacemakers.”

He looked away, and held a long, silent pause. The air hummed, and outside the hovel, the ringing and clamoring of life had begun. “Okay.”

Fokienia brightened, and held her tongue.

Cold began with a hefty draw of breath. “In the days of the first starships, no kirins left the earth. It had been a troubling time, that period before we’d made peace with ponykind and more, and an isolated time. We had just begun acclimating to the prospect of a shared world when the universe opened up for grasping hooves. In that time, the closest a kirin strayed to the stars was from the tops of our mountain home. We stayed far from technology, and the vices of space. I believe that kirins weren’t ready then. There was still so much happening at once for our species.”

“Our tribe was small, and always has been. Not all ponies left Equestria, but the tenets that had brought us to them went to space. Keeping a star system unified was a difficult, demanding task. And despite the ponies’ efforts, there were some revolutions at that time. Not many, but enough to cause harm. It didn’t affect our tribe as much, until one day, one of those protesting attacks came close to the mountain home. We’d receded into old isolationist policies at that point, and when war came to our doorstep, we hadn’t been expecting it.”

“Did… did ponies… hurt you?”

“Yes. But they hadn’t meant to. Our elders were wise, and knew that. But the chaos created by the attacks…” He hung his head over the side of the couch. “Many kirins turned to… Niriks.” He managed the word with difficulty.

“Niriks?”

“Beasts… beasts of flame and anger. Remnants of a troubled past from before the starships.” He lifted his head, and looked to Fokienia. “Righteous as their anger was, it brought only further strife and conflict to our homeland. It was only through intervention from the combined efforts of the elders and the princesses that fighting began to cool. At the end of the fighting, the elders declared enclave, and recalled all of the tribe to the mountain home. The princesses acquiesced to our elders’ demands for isolation, and for a long time, we were left alone.”

“Until war came again?”

“Yes. But this time, we weren’t just victims of collateral.” His eyes glossed slightly. “The war came during my grand ancestors’ time. I remember their stories. The aggressors, then, were still ponies. Miners who were desperate. By then, so many of the other species had reached far into the stars, and these ponies on the edges of the Equus System were as isolated as we were. The princesses tended to them, but it wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t their fault to begin with. The miners could not hold tenure in the resource-drying space they held, but they also couldn’t find the support to manage their growing population and culture. They were an isolated tribe, and desperate to hold onto what they had, even if that meant war.”

“Why did they come to you?”

“We were the easiest target, and had the most organic wealth out of any other place in the star system. Ponies with starships, against kirins with—at most—kinetic weapons.”

Fokienia bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

He went on. “Some of us fought. Most didn’t. They came to the mountain home, and then to the lands beyond. Then… the princesses and their ponies intervened. Much of the miners’ fleet was destroyed in the first wave, but it only led the miners to more desperate, horrible measures. Their families moved with the fleet, and despite the efforts of the princesses’ ponies, many were lost during the orbital conflicts. My grandparents helped a family of miners recover, and allowed them to hide while the war raged. Anger had overwhelmed many at the time, and it took no sides in the fighting. The elders, in one last attempt, set out to broker a treaty between the two groups of ponies, and our kind. And then, there was peace.”

“Did it last?”

“Yes.” Cold had a short-lived smile. He solemnly started again. “But by the war’s end, our homelands were devastated. Ecologically, and geologically. The miners were sent to a distant side of the colonized systems, and we were left without a home. The princesses offered us worlds and worlds, but there was nothing like the mountain home. So we set out for the stars, aboard pony-made starships, in a pony-dominated existence. And according to the elders’ wishes, we have restrained ourselves from violence. Isolation, we have learned, will eventually give way, so we have learned to secure peace where we can.” He paused gently. “I don’t know where the enclave is, now. But I know they are well, and among clear, friendly skies.”

Fokienia chose not to speak. Neither of them did for the quiet minute. Cold held his eyes shut, with his head laid over his hooves.

“Thank you,” Cold eventually started. He yawned. “I think… I really needed to remember.”

Fokienia pat his hoof. “Why aren’t you with your tribe?”

“Not all of us chose to stay with the elders and the greater enclave.” He spoke passively, his voice tempered neither by adoration or disdain. “When I was a foal, we traveled a great many star systems. And one day, among other kirins, I decided to stay. I worked my way up to a starship, and set out on my own. I am not the first to leave the tribe, nor am I the last. But there will always be a place for me with them.” He smiled endearingly, and set her hoof aside. “Thank you again for listening to me ramble.”

“…Thank you for sharing your history with me.”

Cold nodded, and sighed. “I am happy to trust you.”

That brought a great smile to her lips. “I’ll let you get some rest, now. I’m going to see if I can find some food for you.”

He blinked, then grumbled. “Then, come up with an actual plan.” He yawned again. “If you’re keeping me fed and alive for more than just stories, we still have the future to deal with.”

The sleepy kirin’s words made her stomach flutter. “Of course, Cold.”

At least she wouldn’t have to face the future alone.

5 - Cupresso, Cypress

As tempted as Fokienia was to take the disabler platform with her into the city, she needed to show a little more discretion in this populated zone; she knew at the very least that ponies weren’t supposed to brazenly carry weapons around. She left the disabler in the corner, and trot back over to the couch.

She pulled Cold’s bag off of him. It slid against his jacket rather loudly. He didn’t react, but she was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep that fast. “You should be safe here. If anypony comes by, don’t worry.”

He grunted. “Stay out of trouble.”

That was the idea. She set the bag down, and slid the remaining disablers under the couch. It freed up most of the bag’s volume, but if she was going unarmed, there was one item in particular she wanted to hang onto.

She pulled the white, boxy scanner from the bag. A quick check confirmed that it was still working. She stared at the screen, watching a sole blip blink at the center. No other marks appeared. She sighed, stowed it in the bag, and slipped it all over her neck. It came to a rest near her flank. A distance of a hundred hooves was practically nothing in an open environment, but it wasn’t going to hurt her to bring the scanner along. Shutting the room’s light off, she stepped back through the unblocked doorway.

At the edge of the rooftop, she held her ears high. This dusty part of Cypress Station had come alive in her absence, and sounded with ponies and labor. The low whines of distant machinery lulled her softly to the wooden board-bridge. She started down the ramshackle path to the city, her metal hooves clanking on both concrete and steel. With how steep the descent was, and given that she wasn’t willing to slow down, her noise couldn’t be helped. It at least blended into the city soundscape.

Fokienia grumbled. Having to search for food was downright aggravating. The need for sleep was something she could put up with satisfying, but she hated eating. In her eyes, it was a complete waste of time: it was a biological process that technology allowed her to bypass. Her work relied on her moving at one steady pace, and having to eat often conflicted with the task at hoof. She fell back into quiet: the kirin was relying on her for the time being, and she wasn’t going to let an empty refrigerator be his downfall.

She crept up to the corner of one of the buildings, where some of the morning crowd had gathered. A stallion was tending to a buzzing cart-fryer out front, and from within a tight alcove behind him, more frying—and whistling—could be heard. Steam rose forth in roiling waves. The cook set the crisp-filled basket into the boiling oil well, and wiped at his brow with a nearby cloth. Fokienia was sure that the smell of hay-crisps would’ve tempted any hungry pony, but she wasn’t anything like the ponies in the constant line of customers. Slinking back into the alley, she wound to the backside of the building. An electronic gate fell prey to her devices, and she clicked it shut behind her.

Hoarded around the fenced-in yard was a group of latticed polymer crates, which she could assume had been taken from inside the actual building. Stacked neatly within the crates were packaged food rations and snacks. She slung Cold’s bag into one of the empty crates, and began picking at what few items were there. Most of the items here had come past their labeled expiration dates, but they weren’t going to waste, especially with scavengers like her.

She’d ‘run’ into others at collection points like this one—she’d seen them, but they had never seen her—including visitors of the mechanical variety: hovering metal machines with identification markings and the word ‘Reprocessing’ painted on their sides. They emptied the crates from shelves wholesale, leaving nothing behind. Ponies could be wasteful, but that didn’t mean they weren’t resourceful: somepony of a higher authority had built those machines, and whether they had intended to or not, it deprived others access to those same resources. She hadn’t seen any other scavengers fight, but there was always desperation and conflict in the arguments she’d come across, and one pony always went away empty-hooved. It was a small example of how close life in Cypress came to hers in confinement.

Fokienia checked the air above the area every so often. She saw nothing but pegasi. With only two mouths to feed, she wrapped up quickly. She returned Cold’s bag to her back, and left the collection yard a little lighter on supply.

She stopped in the alley again to check the white implant scanner. Again, the single blip on the screen ogled her unerringly. She huffed at the device, flicked it off, and stuffed it back into its place. Another scan through the walls. Ponies en masse, but none approaching her. For the moment, she was alone, and could make the journey back to Cold and her hideout unhindered.

So why wasn’t she moving? Fokienia tensed up, and performed yet another survey. Nothing. Was something wrong? She touched a hoof to her temple; her neurostimulator had nothing to say.

Her brows burrowed deeper by the second. She fell back on her other senses, and rested her eyes. The motion of her eyes closing forced a wince from her; the constant, invisible strain had disappeared. For once, a surprise left her pleased; the optical implants in her eyes had shut off with a bit of focus, just as she’d learned to do with her other augmentations. Relaxing, she listened.

For the war machine on the run, the city was as loud as her firing range. Before Fokienia had discovered her hideaway, she’d spent the first day in perpetual torment, struggling to find a moment to sit still. The distant tones of voices and laughter no longer kept her on edge, and the hissing and humming of electrical equipment actually brought on a degree of comfort. Friendly ‘thank yous’ came from just around the corner. Further on, metal crashed against metal, caught in the throes of construction and craftsmareship. Hooves trod everywhere, all unshackled, all at their own pace. The city was steady and routine, and despite the existence the ponies here faced, they lived the best lives they could. They conformed to the authority of the city above them, and still had the strength and will to live day-to-day in their loud little home.

Fokienia wondered if they had the same desire as her to see the world outside, to see ‘space’ and the ‘galaxy’. Her desires to escape hadn’t left her, but there was still value to this home not far from her own.

As she opened her eyes, her optical implants reawakened. She thought about the other truths Cold had delivered to her, as well as the feelings he’d confirmed. She looked to her hooves, the wrong ones. She lifted her right foreleg, and stared at its hard, unblemished surface. Rinds of actuators and grooves met her. This had been the first hoof: they hadn’t given her both at the same time. It had been a long, long time since then, and a process to get there. The weightiness of them was something they’d worked down on over the years—especially after many complaints from her—but they still had an unnatural sway if she idled off them for too long. There was a lot of technology in her hooves, necessitating techniques she’d had to personally develop, and all of it was beyond her understanding. Sometimes, on the rare occasion that she had to be awake for engineering protocols, the technicians joked that her hooves were so augmented that they had implants of their own. The memories forced a smile to rise, and fall.

She wondered if those ponies knew how right they were.

A bit of thought put her mind in her hooves, and she counted off the reserves of chemicals within. “Enough for basic operations,” she mumbled. “Need a resupply.” Something she’d have to source locally: there was no medical officer in the city for her to speak with. She set her hoof back down.

Wait. Fokienia raised her head, and cocked her ears back down the alley. Maybe she was wrong about that. The Facility was its own kind of city, a microcosm of habitation, and ponies. Out of all the ponies here, surely at least one of them was a doctor. Or at the very least, somepony who could provide her with the chemicals and synthesis she required. The only way to find out was to search deeper into the city. Search the city away from the safe outer edges.

Having turned her body to face the outside of the alley, she again looked to her hooves. The grays stood out against her apricot colored hindlegs, but meshed perfectly with her black jumpsuit. She was built to look intimidating, and she knew it. Yet, blowing her cover was something she’d been trained to avoid. She didn’t have practice in a dense urban environment like this. She didn’t have the gear, the awareness, the reinforcements to…

Fokienia snapped her mouth shut. “Idiot,” she muttered. That was another thing that went against her training.

No, it was all bad discipline, but the training also went against what was right. Adaptation was what the instructors and courses had tried to strip and pry from the mare behind steel hooves. They had kept a tighter leash on her than most, keeping her from real missions for reasons left unclear. Yet, she knew for a fact that she lacked the significant loyalty ponies like Sequoia held, and now she was free. A single mare, augmented. A support in the backdrop, but a sturdy bulwark on her own. A silent force that went unseen. She was powerful when she was alone, because she could operate on her own terms. They wanted her to stay in hiding, because nopony else could control her the way that they did. She hadn’t been kept so isolated from other ponies because she appeared to be an ever-present threat, it was because she was an ever-present threat. A free thinking mare, unsatisfied by orders and chains of command. A mare who could make ponies bend to her force. Ever so slowly, Fokienia straightened out.

She ordered herself forward.

Nopony bat an eye as the mare in the black jumpsuit strode out of the alley and into the adjoining street. Fokienia’s heart thud wildly, but nopony heard. Nopony saw. She was a free pony among the rest. She stopped for a moment, looked around, and started walking.

In the morning, she was typically roused from her bio-pod by depressurizing tubing. The disconnection of the supply lines that fed her the boosters and supplements that kept her energy up and active for the day’s work. Sometimes, there were mandatory mealtimes at the canteen, but since she’d filled out into a mare, those were few and far between for her. Still, in the time she’d spent in the city, she’d started to learn more about what was typically expected from ‘normal’ everyday ponies, and it was much, much different. Yet beyond these changes, at the very root of their cycle, their day and its tides still swung the same as hers.

There was no single organized commissary like the ones the engineers and instructors had. The city underneath was a wellspring of organized chaos: close to the edges of the city, shops spread far and wide, the division of business and home mysteriously misplaced. She could see ponies behind windows moving to their workplace just below, where sometimes a family member or close friend worked their entrance open. If there was any kind of authority in charge here, they either didn’t care, or they saw no need to strictly moderate the activities of these ponies. All kinds of businesses operated, from the typical flower shops to the artisan stores, and they worked on their own unwritten accords. Of course, there were also the restaurants and food stands she’d already come across.

As she advanced past more rows of housing, the dusty streets gave way to wide, solid plating, and the occasional slab of concrete sidewalk. Nopony paid heed as she shuffled herself into the walking crowds. This was the true working heart of the city: workshops fumed and clanked; shouts and yells rang amid workers. Most of the pegasi trot among the grounded ponies, few daring to soar in the billowing clouds of smoke and ash. Still, through the patches of smoky cloud cover, she spotted some flying high above. The more established and commercial businesses also held ground here: foals pressed to the glass of shop windows, while some ponies paid at the tills of the grocers scattered about. Nopony appeared to mind the ever-present smog overhead, save for a few coughs here and there, and Fokienia didn’t know why. Ponies of young to old lived here, and all they had to shield them from the bellowing industries of the city were large, roaring, electric fans that blew steady gusts upward.

Further up the street, the smoke parted ways. Curious, she trot around the corner of the row of buildings and toward the thinned sky. Her gait fell short, and she froze at a complete stop. Beams of warm light cast themselves down on her as she stared into the long, endless stretch of white light and clean air. Her eyes however, ended up much closer to the earth than the sky.

Trees.

Fokienia trembled, hoof to jaw. From the corner of her eye, she saw smiles aimed her way. She paid them no mind. A tree-clustered orchard of green had stumbled its way into the city, reaching as far as it was wide. Not only were there trees, but there was grass. Honest-to-Celestia grass! Still stricken, she managed to keep herself from falling her way down the dirt paths carved through the land. Other ponies trot with her here, but they were neither close nor numerous enough to call the place crowded. Her hindlegs quivered with each step, and yet her heart beat calmly.

A few wooden benches—carved in a style that was a far cry from the standard metal frames of the city’s own—were placed along the path every now and then. Yet, Fokienia hardly found a reason to stop walking: there was no dust or grit that ground into her hooves. The soft clumps of earth pressed up against her each step; it felt as if she could fall in at any moment, and she was increasingly tempted to. She kept moving, desperate to walk as much of the land as she could. There were no doors or walls, only the road, and a sweet, effervescent smell that came from below.

Her eyes roamed the whole while. The trees’ branches hung high up, sometimes reaching over the path. Above, even fewer pegasi flew here, but the ones that did wove slow, mesmerizing motions into the sky. She watched until a gasp escaped her: there were clouds, and they were being shepherded around by the pegasi. White, fluffy things, they seemed so fragile and delicate, but still, the pegasi kicked and punched at them, shaping and shifting them. A pair of pegasi flew directly overhead, passing her with their clouds as cargo. A wet drop of fluid plopped against her jumpsuit on her back, pattering against the suit and its synthetic fabric with a fat splash. She peered back, watching the water dribble down her side.

Fokienia’s ears prickled and turned. The sound of carving came from nearby. She left the path behind, treading now on the grass proper. She kept her steps as light as she could, following the sound into the trees, and deeper into the veritable forest. The soundscape of the city fell away underneath the canopy of thick, vibrant leaves, leaving only rustling, the whispers of folded grass below hooves, and the ever-faint croaking of growing bark.

Then, she came across the source of the sound: a pony. He worked diligently with a long pole, which ended with a sawtooth, scythe-shaped blade. The earth pony worked the pole back and forth with his mouth, an impressive feat despite his tribe. His gray mane and tail were stained with lengths of silver, and his coat rough and patchy beneath the faded green vest he wore. Occasionally, he grunted, but said nothing, even when his ears tweaked her way. Fokienia followed the blade to what he worked against: a gnarled branch that curled down toward the ground. With the reaper at its neck, it wasn’t long for this world.

“Why are you cutting that branch down?” Her voice was sharp, yet flat.

The pony grunted, slowed, and in one swift movement, plucked the teeth of his tool from the branch. He swung his head and body around, but kept the tool pointed up. Tilting his neck, he loosened his working muscles, and set the scythe against the tree. It fell the rest of the way to the earth, where it slightly dug into the grass beside the tree’s lengthy roots.

“S’good for the trees,” the pony answered. His voice was deep and grizzly, but not raspy. He spit into the grass, and focused on dusting his vest off with a hoof. His eyes had still not met her stare. “That, and I get paid for it.” Finally, he looked up, and his eyes went from droopy to wide. “O-oh, ma’am. Hello.”

Fokienia cocked her head at his behavior. “Hello.” Again, she looked at the branch. It was barely clinging on. She frowned. “How is it good for the trees?”

The pony followed her gaze, and looked back with a frown of his own. It was nowhere near as deep as hers, though. “Keeps ‘em growing strong. And the branches come back, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

He blinked. “Oh… well.” His voice fell away for a moment. “I um, don’t take this the wrong way, miss. I know this is a free station and all, but are you lost? Cypress Central is a long ways from here.”

Fokienia looked away from the trees. Her hooves remained planted to the earth as she spoke. “Why would I want to go to ‘Cypress Central’?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mistook you for a mare of the law, if you know what I mean.”

The hair on the back of her neck spiked. “Concord?”

“No, I er… a mercenary.” He set his hoof down, and blinked. “You’re certainly not from around here.”

But close. “Kind of. I was born on Cypress.” She decided to let the term ‘mercenary’ go for now.

The stallion’s brows rose. “And you ain’t ever been to one of the groves?”

“Groves?”

His jaw worked wordlessly for a moment. “I… the groves like this one. This here is the grove for Cupresso. The Cupresso Grove, if you will.”

“And you work here?”

“Yes’m. Most of my life, for a fact.” His withers loosened, and a tiny smile cracked his lips. “Groundskeepers like me have to take care of the trees, see?”

“I saw.”

“You ever work with the land, ma’am?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. Her eyes had drifted to the trees again, and when she looked back at the stallion, his look had fallen to her forelegs. She rose one to her chest and gave the stallion a flat glare. Were all ponies going to obsess over her hooves?

“I-I didn’t mean to stare, I’m sorry.” He lowered his reactive, placating hoof. “And uh. I’m real sorry. For your loss.”

The statement caught her off-guard. “It’s um, fine.” She brought her leg back down. “I lost them when I was a foal.”

“A foal?” The stallion made some kind of motion, reaching quickly to his mane, then pressing his hoof to his breast. “Oh, miss, I can’t even begin to imagine…”

“They said they couldn’t be saved,” she responded briskly. Both her voice and eyes glazed over. Her mind reached for the distant memories and their information. “The afflicted nerves were destroyed by a rare neurodegenerative disease. My legs suffered from atrophy, and saw later substitution.”

The stallion just bowed his head.

Fokienia shook, and filled her voice with all the life as she could muster. “But to answer your question, no, I have never ‘worked’ with the land.”

“…I just can’t.” The stallion sighed, and lifted his head. “Can you at least talk to the land with your… other hooves?”

“Talk to the land?”

He hesitated. “Can I show you?”

She blinked. “Okay.”

The stallion approached her carefully, though his age had nothing to do with it. “It’s a little exercise I used to do… for my grandfoals.” Timidly, he stepped to her side. “Do you mind if I… touch your hooves? I promise, ma’am, I—”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded, and descended to his belly. She watched him as he reached for her hindleg, lifted it, and placed it against his hoof, frog-to-frog. His other foreleg seemed to squeeze into the earth. For a moment, she stood there, her hindleg lifted comfortably, but her body left trapped in the admittedly awkward moment.

Then, she felt a pulse.

“I felt it,” she announced.

“Yes.” The stallion grinned. “Yes, you did.”

Again, she felt the pulse. It was stronger, and distinctly non-equine; this was no heart she knew. It ran through her hoof and up toward her hindquarters. Not quite electric: it was much more slow, syrupy. Still, it made her hoof ache, and her whole leg quiver.

The stallion hummed appreciatively. “And that was… very good. You have a strong connection to the land.” He gently set her hoof down, and started to rise.

Fokienia watched him with newfound respect. “How did you do that?”

“Just a smidge of magic,” he started. “A bit like the difference ‘tween a straw and a drink. A little bridge.”

“And the pulse was… talking?”

He nodded. “Something like that. It’s not something anypony can force. Not all of us spend our time in nature and the proverbial fields like I do. But every earth pony can talk to the land given enough practice, or so I’m led to believe. It used to be our way of life, as you might know.”

She knew that earth ponies had once held a connection with the soil of Equestria, but she hadn’t felt it like this. “Data-banks don’t teach much about tradition. Just the facts.”

The groundskeeper shook his head, frowning. “Tradition is just as real as the hydroponic growbeds we make most our food in.”

Fokienia paused. “I know that, now.”

“And besides, there’s no better way to learn than doing.” His frown gave way to a laugh. “Just give it a go. Focus on the grass beneath you. The dirt. The roots of the trees around us. Try and talk. Even a nudge is more than nothing.”

She pressed her hindlegs into the earth and stared forward. “Like this?” The stallion didn’t reply. Tentatively, she closed her eyes. She tried to think about what he said, all of the things he’d mentioned. Focusing, she blocked out everything but the world beneath her hooves.

Silence.

The stallion matched her dejected look with a small smile. “It’s alright if you don’t get it your first try. This business takes some time, ma’am.”

She shook her hooves, and trot in place for a moment. A little dirt sprayed from where her steel hooves had sunk in. “What purpose does it serve?”

“Purpose?” he snorted. “Oh, everything we do with the land is so much easier, and fruitful, when its willing, miss. When you work together with the earth, and you let it know that what you’re doing is for the good work, it’ll give as much as you put in.”

She looked to the lonesome outcast, sprouting down and away from its brethren, weakened, but undefeated.

“And sometimes,” the stallion chuckled, “the world just likes to be a little stubborn.”

Fokienia met his eyes. “I like you.”

He blinked.

“My name is Fokienia.” She offered an augmented hoof to him. He wavered briefly, then bumped it. “Thank you for the information.”

“…Greenhooves. And anytime, ma’am.”

She eyed the branch. “Are you going to finish that?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “He’s a tough feller. He’s earned some time to see the world a little longer. And I figure you still look like a lost mare.”

A blush lit Fokienia’s cheeks. The thought of blushing made it even worse! “W-well, I could use some directions.”

“O’course. Anyplace in mind?”

“Yes… somewhere with a medical technician. Or preferably, a chemist.”

“Well, Miss Fokienia, in the middle of Cupresso, you’re about as far as you can get from all that science. But it’s a good place to start...”

She squeezed her forelegs into the ground, and warmly glowed.

Cold hummed. It was a small working ditty. Which ponies had he sourced it from: the shipbreaking outfit from the moon of Telfire, or the loading crews at the old station proper? With his eyes still sealed shut, he tried to imagine the working conditions. It’d been a long time since those days, but the visuals came easy. A smile crossed his lips while he hummed, remembering the first ship he’d purchased with his bits. A fair little vessel, that N-4 Lark…

He stopped, and opened his eyes. The buzzing sank in quick, and it made him sit up and scratch at his ear. He was supposed to be sleeping, not digging through old memories. That pony… that Fokienia had really wound him up in this adventure. Cold groaned. He knew she was severely lacking in the history department still, but did he really need to share his history with her? At least what he’d given her was enough to sate her interests.

Then, there was her own history. He knew better than to dig into her for it, but with his future prospects on hold, he needed more. That Sequoia… he was a huge, lumbering pony like her. Yet, they didn’t seem to be biologically related. That built on top of the fact that they were ‘augmented’: they weren’t like normal ponies at all. There was a real truth to Fokienia’s current predicament, but it was buried beneath the harsh façade she wore, and in a fragile ego swelling below. From the way she spoke, he wasn’t even completely sure that she could trust her own word. She was confident in what she did, but when it happened upon what came next, it was clear she had no idea. She was honest in being the kind of pony that wanted to have that control, and she did need the help to get there. He’d already helped her learn more about the galaxy they lived in, but it left more questions for him, and he was sure it was the same way for her: what kind of pony sheltered a mare like her from the stars and the universe? Her past was full of ponies of… lesser-quality, evidently.

Cold lifted his head from the couch just high enough to look out the window. The sky was dark despite the time of ‘day’: the black, blue, and browned steel left few faces open to natural rock. The walls crept up three dozen stories high, but the buildings below stretched upward four floors at most. The false sky served as the concealment for the station’s inner-workings, and as the first of many barriers for the fragile spirits shielded by its walls, keeping space out, and magic in. Even there, ponies were assuredly working to hold that atmosphere. Before he’d even wanted to fly from star to star, working in atmospherics was one of the few station jobs he’d considered working as a lifelong career: those ‘atmos techs’ were the kind who kept life going for them all. They were unsung heroes for void dwellers, even if most dwellers didn’t see them like that. Magic did not permeate the universe, but those ponies made sure it was there for those who needed it most.

That was enough thinking about the past; he really needed to sleep. He hummed again, and rested his head. It was a pony pop song, a personal favorite. It would do the trick. Slowly, his song faded, and so too did the droning buzz of the refrigerator. Sound dripped from the room, and it alighted on a peaceful quiet. Cold slept, and dreamed of ponies.

As if struck by a belt of time dilation, a pony woke him soon into his dreams.

The heavy hoof-falls made him shoot up, and he stumbled from the couch to stare at the door. The figure was draped with shadows from the doorway, and they stared at him. Cold started to fall back a few steps, and—

“Cold?”

“Fokienia!” he gasped. He managed to find the light switch, and flicked it on, just to make sure it was her. Sure enough, it was the same apricot mare, though she was watching him oddly. “By the Stream. You’re back so soon?”

She blinked, then started into the room. “Soon? I’ve been gone for a few hours at least.” She unslung the rather weighty bag from her back beside the refrigerator, and gave Cold a glance. “Are you feeling alright?”

He wiped at his dust-kissed eyes. “Sorry. You just uh… scared me.”

She flinched. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay…” He shook his head. He wasn’t used to waking up with company, but by his own standards, his reaction was a lot. “Did you get the things you were looking for?”

“I have food,” she answered. From the bag, she pulled a few crinkly packages. Cold relaxed; it was the kind of food you’d find in a convenience store, not something as bad as the word ‘scavenging’ implied. “There were some other things I needed, but I didn’t feel the need to apply force.” She paused. “Especially on… innocent ponies.”

Huh. “That’s good, I guess?”

“Yes. It is.” She said no more, and started placing some of the packages into the unit.

It would be best to not let it get awkward. “So… have you come up with an idea of where we’re going from this point onward?” He tried not to think about the current whereabouts of his ship; if Concord was after him as well, sending the ship to the storage bays wasn’t a complete safety guarantee.

“As best I am aware, we are currently in Cupresso, a subsection of Cypress Station.” Fokienia shut the fridge, and set a package out on top of the unit. “I want to go to Cypress Central.” She pushed the package toward him, and sat down with her own.

Cold blinked, and sat as well. He lifted the package with his levitation. “How did you learn about all of that?”

“I walked around the city.”

“You did? I thought you said—”

“And I spoke with a groundskeeper in Cupresso Grove.” A tiny smile tipped over her lips.

A grove? But those were in the middle of each residential zone.“…That doesn’t seem very low profile, Fokienia.”

Fokienia ignored him; she ripped through seal of her package with a swift twist of her neck, muscles rippling. The tearing sound reamed through the room. She spat the packaging to the side. “Can you get me to Cypress Central?”

Sweet Blaze. Cold—instead of following her example—gingerly tore into his meal with his magic. He drew out a packaged sandwich of some kind. “I, er, yes. But I’d like to get some things for myself from here.” She raised an eyebrow at that, and he quickly continued. “I could also grab the things you need, within reason. It’s just… I really need a new PDA. I can barely function on-station without it.”

She nodded, “Okay,” and chomped.

“Why do you want to go to Cypress Central?”

“The groundskeeper said it was the administration hub for Cypress.” She spoke through the mouthful, then swallowed. “Oh, and he mentioned that Cypress Station was a space station.” She hesitated. “Are we really in space?”

Cold frowned. “Yes. And also, given how big this station is, the ‘station’ classification is heavily outdated. It’s more of a habitat than a station.” He waved a hoof. “That’s just my semantics, though. What use would you have for going to station administration?”

“A habitat…” Fokienia dramatically slowed down. Her ears twitched while she munched in thought. Finally, she spoke. “On your ship, you said there were hundreds of thousands of ponies under Concord oversight. I believed you, because I was told there were about two-thousand ponies in total aboard Cypress… the groundskeeper informed me that wasn’t the case, and given the size of Cupresso Grove, I believe him.” She lowered her meal. Her yellow, blue-glazed eyes watched him. “Do you know the current scale of the station population, Cold?”

Five major docking hubs, five separate cities. Even without a PDA, he had a decent idea of the answer, but it was clear from Fokienia’s look that she already knew.

“He placed it at an estimate of five-hundred thousand. Ten to the fifth power. Half a million. Five zeroes.” She blinked. “I’m no stranger to secrets, Cold. Everything about me is confidential, even for the ponies who work on me. My espionage training informs me that an operation of this scale requires significant backing, politically and financially. I want to see the ponies who control such a population. A population the size of Equestria during Princess Celestia’s reign. And I want to know why.”

Cold lowered his food.

Fokienia’s eyes came away, and life returned to her voice. “Why did they choose me?” she finished.

The refrigeration unit hummed, and the ceiling light buzzed.

“I guess… that’s as good a reason as any.” He put on a weak smile. “But we’d have to take the main bus. There’s probably some elevators around here that can take us back up to the transport system.”

“That’s fine,” she numbly replied.

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She returned to eating her food. They were tiny nibbles, though. “I don’t have to hide from these ponies. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

Cold watched her for a moment. “I think you should rest for a while, Fokienia.” She swallowed to speak, but he cut in. “Or talk to me. You’re not the only pony with a lot on their plate right now.”

She slumped. “We really shouldn’t stay here for long, Cold.”

“Then we’ll wait as long as we can.” He gestured at the fridge. “You’ve earned yourself a break.”

Again, silence.

Sighing, Cold finished off his sandwich. He wiped his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, then stood. “So we’ll do a little shopping, maybe come back here to rest and regroup, then see about getting to Cypress Central before the day’s end. That a sound enough plan?”

Fokienia grunted. That was it.

“Alright just… take your time.” Cold lingered by her briefly. He moved over to the window to look out. “I’d guess we still have some time before noon.”

Trying to avoid looking over his shoulder was difficult. With how mopey the mare could turn, he was starting to really worry for what was happening in her head. Staying productive was one thing Cold prized, but even he felt the urge to seek recreation. Unfortunately, he had a feeling Fokienia rarely had time for that in the life she lived. Maybe when they got to Cypress Central, things would simmer down. Fokienia had seemed pleased with her visit to the Cupresso Grove; there was a grove in Central too, or more of a park than anything. The mare behind him could do with some more smiles in her life.

The fridge door slid open, and more ripping filled the room.

“I should’ve picked up some drinks…”

Cold spun, and sat on the couch. Fokienia was delving into her food ferociously. Good. “Once I have access to my bits again, we can pick some up.”

Fokienia gave him a wary side-eye, and continued to carve away at her meal. “Are you okay with spending bits? Aren’t those hard to come by?”

He waved a hoof. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got plenty of assets, liquid and otherwise.”

Her eye only hardened. “Are you a wealthy pony, Cold?”

Cold couldn’t help but give a broad laugh at that. Fokienia didn’t seem pleased by it, but really: him, wealthy? “I wouldn’t be running cargo on the outer-rim if I was wealthy, Fokienia.”

“But you own that ship, don’t you? It has a reactor. I know a reactor can’t be cheap.”

“The Waste Peddler is as valuable as his namesake.” Cold grinned. “He might be a strong, spacious brute, but he’s unarmed, and stripped down for silent-running. Compared to some of the combat ships that lower-ranking officers of Concord pilot, he’s cheap trash.”

Fokienia polished off her food with a few final bites. “Except for what ‘he’ carries.”

Cold’s lips fell to a flat, pursed line. “Yeah. Except for the cargo.”

She stood, and dusted the front of her jumpsuit with a foreleg. “I put the disablers under the couch. Could you bring them out?”

Well, he couldn’t say no. “What do you need them for?” He reached in with his magic, felt around for a moment, then pulled the small-arms out across the floor. Despite the fact that he’d taken five disablers from the retrieval unit, lugging them around had been a lot easier than expected.

Fokienia met his collection in the middle of the room. She was cradling the disabler harness. She dropped it into the pile without fanfare. “Taking what we need, and leaving the rest.”

He stood. “…So we’re not coming back.”

“We can rest when we reach Cypress Central.”

“Why the change in plans?” He scratched at his neck with a cloven hoof, watching as Fokienia—now prone—began methodically field-stripping the disablers. “Bad feeling?”

Her upper lip twitched. “You could say that.”

He shook his head. He’d have to find time to get her to relax at some point. “Need help with that?”

She gestured for him to sit, and he did. “Have you ever taken apart a disabler?”

“Sure, a long time ago.” He plucked the disabler harness with his magic. It was his own equipment, but he knew it would have to stay. Still, he couldn’t say he was sad to see it go. “It’ll take a second to remember.”

Fokienia tapped one of her steel hooves. “If you need help, I’m here.”

Huddled over the pile of weapons, Cold tried not to punch-up the circumstances. But even though things were fine on the surface level, the cyborg’s words soaked deep into his mind. The infractions were accumulating, and while Fokienia was nowhere near a downright criminal, he knew the difference wouldn’t be night and day to the authorities: Cold had a feeling that their interaction with station administration was going to be all but peaceful. It was only a matter of time before history repeated itself, and he truly joined the mare in exile. Yet, those thoughts brought a degree of peace and understanding to the situation.

Cold was a kirin: exodus was in his blood. Fokienia had tasted it, but Cold had lived with it. Yes, what she needed was a way to feel natural again. To feel at peace, no matter where she tread. To feel like a pony, amid trying times.

“I have a mare in my life, you know. I think you’d get along with her.”

Fokienia’s ears went up. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely. “All the pretty mares love shopping.”

Cold anticipated a punch, as Holly had given him before for similar comments, but he earned nothing. Instead, Fokienia smiled. “I’ll try to enjoy it, then.”

He was sure she would.

7 - Iridescent Ichor

Fokienia was a medical mare, and she knew how to self-medicate. She was trained for it: in any kind of conflict zone, she would be the foremost pony to call upon for medicinal applications. That was by design. Like a lot of what she’d been educated in, she’d learned to get used to the more ‘advantageous’ qualities that ponies saw, and installed in her. Though, her work with potent chemicals and a hypospray was something she greatly preferred. Plus, how could you extract information from a target if they weren’t conscious, and alive?

Well, there were ways around that. She just preferred not to opt for the gritty solutions, at least until she’d exhausted all her other options. Success was above all, even if it demanded sub-optimal self-sacrifice.

“Shouldn’t we go tell the mare up front about this?”

Cold was stood at the counter. The ‘pharmacist’ was slumped over in a chair next to him, his eyes hazy. Every so often he started to move one of his legs, but Cold gently eased it back down each time.

“No.” She sniffed, then navigated away from the shelves of narcotics and chemicals. She stopped in front of the backroom door. “Because his current state is self-induced.”

“Self-induced?”

She slightly pried open the door, then shut it. Her muzzle scrunched. Was this pony trained at all? “He either made a mistake, or he intended on his current state.” She thought about it… for about a second. “It’s almost certainly the former.”

“So… he did drugs?”

She snorted slightly. “No, he was dealing with the wrong components in the wrong way.” Making her way back over to the shelves, she began pilfering through them at her own pace. “He’s experiencing psychosis. And maybe some delirium, but that’s more difficult to… nail down.”

“I’m not… crazy,” the pharmacist muttered. He raised a quaky foreleg.

Cold pushed it down, and frowned. “He seemed fine, until he started babbling.”

“I suspect that he was working with some degree of stimulants, so it’s likely that it took some time for the effects to work their way into his systems. I can smell some of the residue from that room back there. It’s clearly where they keep their synthesis equipment.” She shook her head, and continued her search for a remedy. “It was extremely dangerous for him to work in that environment without protective gear, especially if any of the components were contained as an aerosol.”

“It sounds like it’s a good thing that you’re here.”

“…Yes, he’s very ‘lucky’.” For now.

Making a mental list of some of the items she’d seen, Fokienia returned to Cold and the pharmacist. She twisted the seal off of the bottle she’d obtained. She popped the cap off of a disposable syringe, and plunged it into the gap. Her augmented hooves didn’t have the best grip for the small, fragile tool—it took her a few tries to get a good hold—but she was still precise with it.

She eyed the pharmacist, then stood, syringe in hoof. “Keep him still. I’m going for a muscle.”

Cold nodded, and held the quiet, dopey-eyed pharmacist with his cloven hooves. “That’s going to help him, right?”

“It’s a neuroleptic. Antipsychotic.”

An invisible weight lifted from Cold’s shoulders; he squared up, and gave Fokienia a clean opportunity.

The injection was swift, and easy.

Tossing the syringe to a trash can close by, she gave the pony a closer look. He was a lanky little thing, and hidden below his plastic coat were a pair of scraggly wings. Fokienia had to give him a great deal of doubt: was he really a licensed medical officer? Still, an ID was hung around his neck by a lanyard, and it held a clean headshot of the pegasus in question. Whether or not he was licensed, he was a medical officer charged with a major role in this facility. The pegasus was still young, nervous, and maybe a bit high on his own supply. For the few moments he’d been standing, he hadn’t appeared as the most untoward sort, just out of place.

She checked his eyes. There was some dilation, but not much. He was definitely out of it. “How do you feel?”

The stallion mumbled nothings, and breathed.

Fokienia straightened out. “No adverse reaction. It’ll be a bit longer.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“That room needs to be purged. I’m going to go do just that.”

Cold blinked. “And what about him?”

“As I said, he’ll… be fine.” She gave the pegasus a look. “Unless he doesn’t start improving, then he’ll need an expert.” Her eyes turned upward. “Who shouldn’t be difficult to locate, seeing as how there are three other ponies on the second floor.” She went back to Cold. “And we’re in a medical facility.”

Evidently conflicted, the kirin released the staring contest through a sigh. “Just make it quick, please?”

“That’s the plan.”

A quick search of some of the cabinets sourced a few spare rebreathers—which she was glad to use over a makeshift rag-filter—and she fit the respirator over her muzzle easily enough. With a few quick steps, Fokienia stepped into the production chamber behind the pharmacy counter.

The odorless scent present in the room would’ve gone unnoticed by most ponies, but Fokienia had a good chunk of experience in navigating this very hazard. It was faint, but not faint enough to avoid tickling her senses. The boringly average, non-pneumatic metal door that led into the room was lined with baffles that restricted the free-flow of gases. It didn’t mean much, because the room wasn’t a properly sealed chamber, but most advanced synthesis equipment regulated cleaning protocols on their own. Sure enough, several self-contained pieces of production equipment were set up around the miniaturized laboratory. Electrical and mechanical faults weren’t the cause for the current unseen disaster in the room however: an inactive exhaust hood and raised shield sat above a set of distillation equipment. Raising a brow, she strode over to the tool set.

Whatever the pegasus had been developing, it certainly would’ve paid to be more careful.

A flipped switch brought the hood on. Fokienia set about examining and identifying what components were laid out. There was enough there to produce a number of dangerous combinations, but in experimental amounts. Certainly enough to be covered by the now-roaring fume hood. Picking up a few bottles in hoof, she racked her mind for any applicable chemistry. She was surprised to come up empty: despite the portents established by the variety of dangerous chemical mixtures, anything resembling a stimulative substance was missing. There were a few signs of the pharmacist’s rush—some of the components had been scattered and knocked about ever-so slightly—and she tracked the trail back to a disposal unit. Pulling the lever action, the chute opened to reveal a still-idle disposal system; it hadn’t sent its cargo away.

Behind her mask, her lips curled back. In the dark abyss, sloshing, colorless liquids bobbed about. The full tube rack of vials stared at her. The disposal pipes groaned below. Her hoof tapped against the lever, but it did not yield.

Reaching down, she plucked the rack from the bottom of the disposal, and trot on three legs to the work area. The aluminum rack clattered against the metal sheet, and rumbled as her weighty forelegs swept the rest of the chemicals away. She lowered the acrylic shielding for the enclosure, almost closing it. Snaking her hooves under, she unstoppered one of the vials. She rose it up toward the vent, and watched it. In the light, it glittered. But there was no chemical reaction.

Plugging the vial, Fokienia set it back with the rest. She left the fume hood running. Her hooves led her out of the room, and back to the front of the pharmacy. She unstrapped the muzzle from her face—just barely stopping herself from ripping it clean off—and cast it aside haphazardly. The plastic respirator tumbled to a remote space on the floor.

The pegasus, still in the chair, was just beginning to sit up when she spoke, her voice low. “What were you doing?”

“Huh…?” His words were a murky slurry. “You shouldn’t be back… here.”

Her eyes bored a hollow into the disoriented pegasus. “Cold, close the shutters. Switch behind you.”

The kirin spun. He searched with a blind hoof raised, before finally flicking the switch. The shutters to the pharmacy’s shopfront rumbled as they sank down. Cold gave Fokienia a worried brow. She just nodded her thanks.

“Look… I’m just trying… trying to do a job, okay?”

Fokienia trot closer to the pegasus. She towered over the lanky amateur. “What job?”

“Working for… money.”

The servos in her hoof wound as she moved. Suddenly, her hoof was pressing into the exposed breast of the pegasus. He wheezed.

“Hey!” Cold hissed. “What are you doing?”

She ignored him; it was easy to set a limit for herself. “From who?”

“Anypony, buying!” He was starting to wake up a little, but her wandering hoof was eager to redeem more attention. She pressed her metal hoof deeper, and closer to his neck. His eyes widened. “I-I’m not… I’m not hurting anypony!”

“How did you learn to produce it?”

“Produce what?” he squeaked.

She snorted. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The solution you exposed yourself to.”

His breathing hitched. “Oh, mare… you’re… you’re Concord?”

Her eyes traced along his frozen features. She let her hoof off a little. “Yes… Concord… Special Operations. It’s in your best interests to answer honestly. Cooperate.”

“I-I am, I am. I’m sorry I—”

She shoved her hoof against him. “Talk.”

“Everypony knows about it, but they don’t know it like I do!” He gasped for breath. She let off him, and he instantly rose a hoof to the base of his throat, holding defensively. “Everypony else is just some street peddler. I’m making the good stuff. No addictions, no hurting ponies, I swear!”

“What is it?” Cold broached calmly.

Fokienia opened her mouth to interrupt, only to end up shaking her head. She gestured with a hoof. “Answer him.”

The pegasus made to look over his withers, but couldn’t bring himself away from Fokienia’s glittering yellow-blue eyes. “H-Hyperplasma. It’s a blood additive. Does everything it can to enhance a pony’s blood. A lot of benefits! B-but there’s also a lot of psychoactive ingredients, which you can root out if you optimize the process, which I do!” The tiniest of smiles touched his lips.

“No.” Fokienia stomped, and her steel hooves rattled the room; glass containers and walls shook. “You’re purposefully leaving it in an incomplete form. You know it has other uses.”

His eyes widened. “No, I wouldn’t—!”

“But I know.”

The pony froze up again, but this time, he looked at her not with fear, but something else. His lower lip trembled. “No way. You’re actually…” His face wound up, and he started to right himself. His gaze fell to her hooves. “How are you…?”

Her metal foreleg whizzed, and cracked out against him. His head slid along the blow, and he fell limp.

Cold gasped. He stumbled over to check on the pegasus. “Fokienia! I… did you just…?”

“He’ll be fine,” she muttered. She stepped away, back toward the shelves. “Hurting, but fine.”

Cold’s anxious hooves teetered by the unconscious pegasus, but they eventually followed after her. “That was… awful. Why did you do that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she fired back. “He’s not a source. Just another branch.” She made her way over to the back of the pharmacy’s stocks.

“A branch of what? A drug trade?”

“No, a war trade.” Her hoof rummaged around, and Cold came close to her. “Grab the scanner from my bag and check it.”

“Okay…” She felt the flap open, and the contents shift. A click. “…It’s… there’s one blip. In the center.”

“Ignore it. Monitor for everything else.”

Cold’s hooves shuffled. “…A war trade?”

“Hyperplasma isn’t just an enhancement of a pony’s blood. It’s a direct upgrade. And in the right circumstances and measures, a replacement for natural plasma.”

“The same plasma in a pony’s blood?”

“Yes.” She plucked off some of the stimulants and chemicals from the shelf, and moved to the next. She’d have to deal with the actual resupply once they’d left this place behind.

“But if it’s just plasma, how can it be so dangerous? How could it cause… that pony, to go off?”

“It’s not just plasma, it’s the blood of war. A pony with hyperplasma can operate at extended lengths in spite of severe physical harm. Penetrating trauma, grievous bodily damage, destruction of the nervous system. It’s a result of both its effects on the pony’s natural blood pressure, clotting, and immunity, but also their neural inhibitors and senses. Its effects are both mentally, and physically concentrated. A constant flow of signals guiding the brain to a higher consciousness, while numbing secondary functions. A combat stimulant by design.”

Cold gave the body at the front another check. “But his version clearly didn’t work.”

“It did. He simply turned it against himself. An impure distillation like the one he created carries enough potency to pose a threat as an inhalant, but its mental effects can be mitigated and manipulated. A stimulant in one form, and a mental paralytic the next. In either case, it’s functionally a silent weapon.”

His jaw worked hard for a second. “So, the ponies buying it would be criminals, and not… ponies seeking a high? Ponies looking for a uh, tactical advantage?”

Fokienia nodded. “Anypony with the knowledge of the solution’s formulae possesses classified information. From what I have learned of Concord thus far, they appear to be a kind of peacekeeping force. The simplest assumption is that it is as illicit as it is classified. It would be in the vein of their critical interests to suppress the spread of it. And it is to my interests as well.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s unnatural, and dangerous. In the wrong pony, it could devastate their natural processes. It’s too chaotic for a harmonic world.” She suppressed the wince that rode along the backs of her words. “I would still like to pay for these supplies, if possible.

“Okay, I guess I could… wait, where are you going?”

She looked back at Cold. “Purging his solutions, and creating my own.”

“I’d imagine that hurt, didn’t it?”

The pegasus didn’t reply. It was hard to when you were trapped in a dreamless world.

Cold cast his gaze toward the back room of the pharmacy. Fokienia had just disappeared into it again, and he wasn’t sure just how long it would take. In the mean time, he idled in a corner of the pharmacy, eyes constantly switching between the still pegasus, and the door leading back into the hallway. The counter shutters were still folded shut. He wondered what the staff of the clinic would think about the quiet takeover happening in the back of their facility. He was surprised nopony had come to check yet.

He checked the ‘scanner’ Fokienia had ordered him to monitor. The lone blip in the center had moved a short way, but turning his hooves on the spot pointed it in the direction of Fokienia. The device was certainly attuned to her, but with every moment the blip stood alone, his anxiety grew: where were her pursuers? She’d also said there were… three ponies? It was possible the clinic staff were in the middle of calling for Concord, or contacting the pursuers themselves. Cold shuffled again; he needed to break away from all of this. He left the scanner on the nearby counter. Stepping over to the pegasus, he sat down, and pulled his PDA from his jacket with a slow draw of his magic.

Sliding a hoof across the screen, Cold manually tapped away his commands. A thrumming, vibrant beat replaced the buzz in his ear. The serenade of a symphonic choir, and a rumbling guitar. The brush of each recorded hooves against bass strings, and the shaking of close cymbals and drums. His own free foreleg tapped against the floor, and he smiled. Closing his eyes, he pocketed the PDA again, and let his magic twinkle out. The tune started to drive him away from the pharmacy. He went with it; his voice reached out.

“I believe the morning sun… always gonna shine again. And…”

He fell back into humming, his head joining his hoof in bobbing to the beat.

In his mind, he conjured a scene. Despite the darkness surrounding the edges of the sparsely lit space, it was enough to display the fixings of a homely room: faux-wooden accents, and soft polymer furniture. Nothing was real, but it was real enough for the souls in the room. Sat at the room’s dining table for two, Cold focused on the pegasus across from him. She was gorgeous; her mane was done up in another new style, and a dim blush splashed across her cheeks, the result of a prior compliment spit from betwixt Cold’s lips. A laugh reached up out of his gut, and he set his hoof on the table against her own. The bottle of cognac was forgotten; the touch filled the gap between them. Her icy, sapphire-blue eyes glowed brilliantly. A giggle touched the air. She bat at his hoof, and leaned away.

Cold wanted to press more than a hoof against her, but Holly was always just too far. Smiling, he simply tapped the table. “I believe in skies forever blue…”

Behind her, a shadow crept.

Cold reeled back, and tried to stand, but he couldn’t. Frozen, the only reaction that escaped him was a worried croak. Holly turned, and met the bright yellow gaze of the shadow. Holly squeaked, and—

She laughed.

A hefty breath left him as the black jumpsuit of Fokienia left the shadows. She stood to the side of Holly, her stoic stare cracking into an energetic beam. Cold fell limp: his withers slumped into the sides of his chair.

“Why shouldn’t I believe the same in you?”

The large earth pony sat at one side of the table, close to Holly’s side, but she didn’t interfere with Cold’s vision of her. He would have found it awkward, were it not for how out of the way she made herself appear. As he dove back into sharing his time with Holly, he invited Fokienia to speak up. With permission granted, the mare jumped in every now and then, eager to add to all parts of their conversations. There was no violence, or abrupt, disrupting outbursts. It was an entirely natural flow: Fokienia was along the same current as them, even though she was still the shadow of life she’d entered the room as.

“I believe in second chances, and that’s why I believe in you.”

He wasn’t a Ponyanna, but he could always do better.

Cold sat up, and before opening them completely, rubbed at his eyes with the back of his fetlock. Grumbling, he clicked his earpiece off—maybe music wasn’t what he needed right now—and checked around him.

The pegasus was still there, and still out. Quietly, Cold prayed that Fokienia hadn’t hit him that hard. Cold tugged out his PDA with a good old grip of telekinesis, and trot over to the counter. There was bound to be a payment processor somewhere around here, and he could use the work to distract him…

With a chair pulled up to the shuttered counter, Cold settled into the monotony of his work. He gave sparing glances to the paperback dockets piled neatly in a stack nearby. From there, working out the clinic’s info and the way they authorized payment was an easy, if boring affair. The process was a little backwards, but it wasn’t all too different from subverting somepony’s salvage rights—something that he’d dealt with all too often. It came with the territory of operating with sleazy shipbreakers, ponies who’d squeeze you bit-by-bit. Cold was certainly no stranger to paperwork, even though he usually stayed digital.

Tapping across the screen of his PDA with his tactile magic, the rush of air and clink of glass in the room behind him fell away. Soon enough, the scene of the pharmacy, too, dissipated, but no illusion replaced it. There was no power-nap waiting for him on the other side of the device in his grasp, just a pile of traces to lead to his financial records, at the clinic’s behest of course… and station authorities, if the proper leverage was applied. It didn’t bother Cold too much. He could rack up fines all day; even the worst crimes in space could be paid for. It was just the way the pony jurisdiction operated: you could evade the law easily in space, but everypony had to return to port at some point. It all came down to whether or not you wanted to get reduced to shredded hay when you came back.

In reality, ponies saved the real punishments for those who couldn’t afford to be in space. Independent spacers like Cold were few and far between, and the Crown—and by extension, Concord—preferred to let bygones-be-bygones, so long as it meant you got back to work. The bottom line? If the law was after you… you were the bottom line.

And right now, Cold was treading that line like fiberglass.

Sighing, he shook the thought of the Waste Peddler from his head. He’d already checked it twice while working out the invoice for the clinic’s pharmacy. An investigation had already been launched, but there was no fine with his name on it. On any other day, that would’ve been a good sign. But on any other day, he would’ve been in-transit, not on-station—station law overrode quadrant accords. Still, as it stood, he was in the clear. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that nopony had made any attempts to notify him of the situation: an automated station alert didn’t bring peace of mind, only a taste of the coming storm.

“Spirits, help me,” he groaned. He tucked the PDA back away in his jacket and leaned into the counter. He needed to stop… thinking. “On-station liberty is supposed to be relaxing…”

Metal screeched as a door was kicked in.

“Cold, scanner. NOW.”

He didn’t look back. He fumbled for the device on the counter, before getting the better mind to drape it in his magic. Flicking it back on—

Fokienia’s hooves finally reached him, and she wrenched it out of his magic with her hoof. Cradled in her foreleg, they both had a clear view. On screen, two white blips blinked, one was at the center, and the other…

“Smart.” She shoved the device into his breast. “But stupid. That’s what gave them away in the first place.”

Awkwardly clutching the implant scanner, Cold got up. “What are you talking about?”

“They increased their unit size. They’re not switching strategies, they’re doubling down...” She picked up the rebreather she’d thrown away earlier, and inspected it. “Come here.” Before he’d even made it halfway across the room, Fokienia had saddled up to Cold, and stowed the scanner back in her bag. She held the orange rebreather out to him. “Put this on.”

He didn’t dare to question her. While fitting it with his magic, Fokienia went down on her haunches near the synthesis room’s door. He dimly noted the hole where the handle should’ve been, and the pulverized metal bits across the floor. When he stood again, Fokienia was back, with another respirator strapped to her own muzzle. He blinked. “What now?”

Her reply was just as muffled as his. “Take the disablers out.”

Both of the remaining the disablers floated out of her bag, and she grabbed the grip of one with her hoof. While Cold levitated the remaining one, she settled it into a loop on the front of her jumpsuit. It wasn’t exactly a perfect fit, but Cold had a feeling it wouldn’t be staying there for long.

He kept the disabler pointed up at the ceiling. “Did you finish what you were doing?”

“Yes. And now, we need to go.” Her eyes went upward. “Come on, don’t blow through the roof…” She paused. And then… she laughed. “I knew it, same old tricks.”

Before he could form some hacked-together answer, he followed her gaze. It turned out, he didn’t need to look through walls like she did. From a ceiling vent, a cloudy mist of white began dribbling its way into the room. It was perfectly silent.

“Hm. And they’re sticking to a non-lethal response.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Fokienia tilted her head at him. Her ears fell back. “Cold, I’m sorry about all of this.”

Cold interrupted her with a raised hoof. “Fokienia.” Behind the full muzzle covering, his lips twitched into a grin. “We’ll talk soon, okay? You’re going to get me through this. You’ll get us through this. Don’t let me get in the way of your work.”

Even behind her mask, he could see the grateful smile in response. “You can help me. So, listen very carefully…”

“Well?”

An electronic hum.

“She’s not moving.”

Scratches. Heavy hoofsteps.

“Nopony brought the new scanner?”

“Eggheads wouldn’t let it up.”

“Comms.”

Hydraulic fluid dripping from an upper frame. Hissing pipes. A click.

“Making entry.”

A settling, opaque mist. A hammering thud. Then, silence. Several sets of heavy hoofsteps.

“TOC, we’ve got a civilian. Forced compliance confirmed.”

“Roger. Keep us updated.”

“Affirm. Clearing.”

Hoofsteps. Rubber shifting.

“Stupid…”

Two pats, and a grunt.

“What’s your issue?”

“Mask is slipping. It’s… not fitting.”

“Maybe you ‘oughta lose the weight, big guy.”

Low chuckles.

“Comms!”

Silence. Staggered steps.

“It’s just the agent, boss. Why the anxiety?”

“Shut it, guys. Remember the briefing.”

“Last I heard bat, you all got your rumps served straight to ya.”

“For once, CCI’s right—can it, tribalist.”

Telescoped metal.

“Last time I’m saying it. Comms. I will shove this where the sun don’t shine.”

“Entry team, what’s your status?”

Hoofsteps. A sigh, and click.

“TOC, entrance clear. Open hall. Proceeding.”

In the mist, a waving hoof. Slow steps. A cough.

“C1, are you compromised, or not?”

“I’m fine, it’s just this stupid… shoddy…”

“Sweet Celestia… just return to rearguard.”

A pause. A metal pin. Air. Three bounces. A constant hiss.

“Status on the target?”

“End of the hall. One o’clock.”

Hoofsteps. A sudden halt.

“Specialist. Put a charge on that door.”

“You sure? She’d be right on the other side.”

“You don’t get paid to question orders, do you? She’s a tough filly. Full-payload, now.”

Shifting weight. Light hoofsteps. Grunting. Metal clicking. An electronic conversation. A red light. Hooves shuffling, backwards.

“Go.”

Click. Silence.

“It’s a dud, specialist.”

“What?” Tapping. “Charge is responding, and it’s not the clacker…”

“Go re-arm it, then.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Now.”

A moment of silence. Then, hurried hoofsteps.

“…Wait, I hear magic—”

Metal shutters. Blue light. A meaty thwump.

“CONTACT!”

From the mist, beams of blue light roared by. More soared back. A stray blast resulted in a grunt, and a stumbling fall.

“TOC, Gold-Four is down, Gold-Two hit.”

“Moon’s sake! How does she have that angle?”

“Ain’t her! Target is unmoved!”

“C1, on me.” A radio was wrenched from a vest. “Red lead, we need a flank on the lower stairwell ASAP.”

“Copy. Hang tight.”

“Who’s shooting? Civi?”

“It’s gotta be that kirin captain!”

“Kirin? No way, kirins don’t fight!”

“This one does. Only kind of pony crazy enough to work with her, too. TOC, suspect-k is confirmed for affiliation.”

C1 reclaimed his radio, and fell back. “Step aside, bat.” He held his breath. Amid the blinding lights and screaming triggers, his noise spoke above the rest. He exhaled: a blue beam roared from his long-arm. It met the other side of the mist with a mighty crack. The only bolts that soared now were that of the ponies beside him. “Target’s… down,” he coughed.

“Nice shot, C1. Alright, fall in.”

“We’re not gonna wait for red team?”

“Scanner?”

“Target’s still in place, boss.”

“We’re going. Stack up.”

C1 lagged at the rear, sucking in a breath through his filter. He let his long-arm fall with its sling against his side, opting to use his wing to push at his ill-fitted gas mask.

“Somepony pull Gold-Four back. And grab the clacker. TOC, we’re gonna need EMT.”

“You’re still gonna blow it?!”

“You… fine, I’ll do it myself!” He roughly holstered his levitated disabler pistol, and stomped ahead. “You useless, blabber-mouthed—”

A vicious bang sucked the oxygen from the corridor, leaving a maleficent vortex of orange and red swirling in the midst of the hall. C1 shielded his gaze from the fiery crescendo, barely managing to stay standing… until the bat pony in front of him stumbled and fell against him. He heard air rush in, and he gasped involuntarily. He sidestepped, letting the unconscious bat fall limp to the ground. He held the wing tighter to his mask. His breathing quickened, fogging up the green lenses.

“Oh… oh sweet Celestia! TOC, squad lead is out. I repeat, SL is—”

The pleading cry of his comrade disappeared into the mist with one fell shot of blue.

C1 dropped the mask completely. He couldn’t see, and he was already compromised. “F-FOKIENIA!” he gagged out. He leaned against the wall with a hoof and stood, raising his long-arm back up with a wing. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

He saw a shadow in the mist, and he fired. Twice, thrice. With his teary eyes, he couldn’t tell what was a hit. He fired. And fired. Gasping, he finally gave way, and slumped over, his disabler clattering harshly against the wall. Blinking hard, he managed to squint through the tears. A black form stepped over the bodies of his squad. A pony his size. Above an orange muzzle, two yellow eyes pierced him.

“Y-you… why?”

The orange muzzle tilted. “I wanted to be free.”

His augmented lungs fought hard to process the air. Everypony else had gone to a clean sleep within moments of their mask breaching. Stubbornly, he fought to breath, hoping his scrubbers would somehow clear the mist away from him. Long enough to… to…

Fokienia held her hoof down on his. But… gently.

“Did we get them all?” came the nervous question of a stallion behind Fokienia.

“You almost got them all.”

“Almost?”

C1 met the eyes of the strange blue stallion as he rounded around Fokienia. He had a red horn, but no unicorn horn. His horn was… curled. Misshapen. Biologically engineered in a way like no other horn he’d ever seen. In his magic, he levitated a disabler pistol. Slowly, it came to rest in a loop on the front of Fokienia’s jumpsuit.

The strange stallion looked at him, and… winced. His voice was muffled, but his emotions bled through. “I’m sorry… Sequoia.”

Sequoia’s lung scrubbers gave way, and he closed his eyes. He took one full breath, easy, and unchoked. The mist crept in: odorless, and commanding. He let it fill him.

And he slept.

8 - The Tampered Well of Hope

Cold ripped the respirator from his muzzle, and flung it hard against the alley wall. Breathing as much of the city air as he could, he bit back the rising wave of bile. His eyes teared up in the process, but that was hardly the issue. Beside him, Fokienia peeked calmly out into the sky. A few of the pegasus pursuers had doubled back to the dead-end clinic after a short sprint and chase, but at least one was still out there. Were they circling? It wasn’t his job to know, or at least he wasn’t in any state to be looking. Grimacing, he spit, and wiped at his slobbered mouth.

“They’re regrouping.” Fokienia hugged close to the alleyway corner, but gave Cold her attention. “Good example of a fatal funnel back there. They got sloppy, and they paid the price.”

As a reply, Cold coughed and heaved.

“We need to keep moving… but just catch your breath.”

Cold’s PDA chirped anxiously. He knew what that sound meant.

“What was that?”

Not now... “N-Nothing,” he managed. After a few more shuddering breaths, he waved a hoof. “I’m… good. Let’s get out of here.”

Fokienia gave the sky one last check, before undoing her own respirator. She let it fall to the ground at her hooves. “This way.”

Nopony’s interest dawdled too much on them as they galloped down the Cupresso streets. Hugging close to the buildings, Fokienia drove them back toward the outer-edges of the city. After two blocks of traveling, they slowed, slinking to the edges of the crowds once again. There were substantially less ponies than before, but more than enough to give Cold reason to stick right by Fokienia’s side. She wasn’t bothered by the lack of spacing, but he figured there were currently more pressing matters than an invasion of personal space.

“Can you see them?” He didn’t bother to whisper; his lungs were burning.

Trotting further away by the moment, Fokienia was forced to stop bending her neck. “No. But we still need to leave.”

Again, Cold’s PDA chimed. “I can look up a map. It’ll… take a bit.”

Fokienia’s hoof landed on a nearby pony’s withers: she tapped them once. The stallion spun, only to come muzzle-to-neck with the looming earth pony mare, and her holstered disabler. His indignant look swiftly gave way to shock. “Y-Yes…?”

“Where is the nearest access point to the main bus transportation system?”

He snapped a hoof down the road. “E-Elevators are that way. At the wall.”

Fokienia tracked the sign, and wound back around to the stallion. She smiled sharply. “Thanks.”

As they trot briskly in the indicated direction, Cold kept his eyes on the road. “…That works, too.”

‘The wall’, as it turned out, was not quite what its name implied. Rounding around the last bend of the road, they slipped past the outer residences of Cupresso, and stood before their destination. The crowd of ponies behind them fell out of notice, and the worries of the chase dissipated. Fokienia stared. Cold could only imagine what thoughts were going through her head; even with his own experience with station transportation, he hadn’t expected the solution the engineers of Cypress had settled upon.

“I can’t believe they give everypony access to this.”

Fokienia tilted her head his way. “Elaborate.”

“That’s a gravity tunnel. A utility gravity tunnel.”

They both watched as an ‘elevator’ departed: with ponies on-board, a metal shuttle was magnetically un-clamped from the moorings of the transport station’s docking platform, and lifted upward into the abyss of the station interior, all without power. The tunnel itself was sealed from the atmosphere of the station and city, further isolating it from external forces. There were no visual indications of force at play, and still, the shuttle soared upward, passing behind a towering transparent shield, then behind the metal walls that separated Cupresso from the expanse beyond. Up and away, the ponies ascended, succumbing to the whims of their gravity-operated vehicle.

“Well, at least there’s no way they can shut it down.” Cold pointed, and Fokienia followed. “See that? They’ve got ten of those shuttles. But two of them are on their own side of the grav-tunnel.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re utility. Notice that nopony’s riding them. Even if this part of the station were to lose power, those would still be active. They maintain a zero-g atmosphere for this whole tunnel. Probably even keep a good bit of gravity and magnetosphere management along that access corridor.”

“So they can’t remotely prevent us from escaping.”

“Right, but they also can’t…” He paused, and glanced at her. “That’s… not what I meant, but—”

“Cold. We need to keep moving.” She started walking down toward the transport station.

He sighed, and continued after her. “Just trying to show that if there are ponies waiting for us to try and leave, we’re not out of options.”

“How would they be waiting for us? Do they have a monitoring system around here?” She glanced around fruitlessly. “I haven’t seen any cameras.”

“No, Cypress doesn’t employ cameras in public areas. No need to.”

“Why?”

“Nopony wants to be a criminal at a sovereign station. Only criminals you’ll find are the spacers at the docking hubs… and the white-collars behind businesses. I’ve been using Cypress as a home station for about three years now, and have never seen a crime committed, just quiet reports.”

There were a few lines of ponies attached to some of the elevators and empty docking clamps: all were short. A majority of the ponies at the station were resting around the seating spaces, but one couple was speaking to the one pony attending an information kiosk. All of them wore outfits—suits and dresses—a familiar sign that these were more business, corporate, and maybe even governing ponies. Ponies typically didn’t have a reason to travel between the different parts of the station, so Cold wasn’t surprised to see a lack of locals among the small crowd. If he had to hazard a guess, most of the ponies coming and going were from the residential sector above, the same place he’d passed through while on the main bus a day prior.

“So there’s no security?”

“Well…” Cold pointed out the kiosk attendant. “That’s the most ‘official’ presence we’ll see. But I can guarantee you that pretty much everypony here has the ability to call Concord.”

They both stood and watched as a shuttle descended from above, its rapid descent halted easily by the humming of the grabby magnetic clamps. Seals hissed, and after a brief moment, the pneumatic doors leading into the tunnel cracked open, and the ponies aboard stepped off.

“Shall we?”

Fokienia looked back at Cupresso. She sat still. “We have to.” She turned away.

They stepped aboard the shuttle. There were seats, but they both stayed up. As they waited for the doors to seal, nopony came aboard. The whole time, Fokienia’s eyes were on Cupresso’s false sky. Cold stood on the other side of the elevator, watching with her.

And then, the doors shut.

With a whir and a growl, the clamps released the shuttle. A weight settled across Cold’s gut as an invisible current guided the gravity-less shuttle upward. Fokienia stayed staring through the glass windows, unmoved by the shift in gravity.

“Is it possible for you to commandeer one of these shuttles?”

Cold blinked. “Can you?”

She sighed, relaxing as she turned away. “Yes, Cold. I know I can. Through the hatch in the floor is an access point. A terminal that can operate this shuttle. Along with the rest of what I can only assume is the life support system responsible for why we’re currently breathing. My question is, can any other pony access these systems?”

Momentarily, Cold remembered to breathe. He hadn’t even considered that they were essentially in an independent craft. They were completely isolated from the station. “Huh… maintenance crews would, I think. I’m not sure how Cypress manages their gravity tunnels. Most stations don’t even have the liberty of using shuttles like this.”

“There are currently projectors on all sides of us. They are responsible for the propulsion of the shuttle. If somepony could access these systems, they could easily alter our course, or expose us to the vacuum outside.”

They were both silent.

Cold sighed. Fokienia probably didn't intend on fostering paranoia, but he was starting to feel it. “Let’s hope that nopony’s waiting for us, then.”

The ascent was broken by an ear-piercing buzz from Cold’s jacket. Fokienia flung her head his way. She seemed impassive, but Cold could see the turmoil roiling beneath the waves. Dutifully, he reached out with his magic. There was no use hiding it anymore. The PDA slipped free from his jacket, and came to life. A corner of it flashed with red. He tapped the symbol with his magic, and turned it away before the screen could change. He didn’t need to see it.

Fokienia looked at the device levitating in front of her. After a long moment, she gently pushed it away. “Does this change anything?” she asked, voice quiet.

Cold pulled the PDA back. “Think it means I’m sticking to you for the foreseeable future.” He put on a light grin. “That’s not so bad, right?”

“You’re a criminal.”

He closed his eyes. His smile fell. “I’m just trying to help somepony out of a bad situation.”

“Some ponies… can’t be helped. They can only be punished.”

“Guess that makes us a pair of masochists, then.”

A warrant. A warrant for his arrest. Not just a fine, or a ban from station services: a straight, grimy, warrant. Deep down, a part of him was terrified. But another part of him… was proud. And it drowned out that terror from the deep. He’d never been one to callously dance around the law, but he did pilot circles around them. Cold was a courier, a captain, a pilot. Fokienia was a mare in dire need of deliverance, and the first pony he’d ever met that truly skimmed the law while seeking justice and absolution. As far as he could tell, Fokienia needed answers, and hope. If there was ever a time to question if he was doing the right thing, it was now.

Her voice was soft: nigh-melancholic, nowhere near the flat intonation she usually exhibited. In this precious moment, they weren’t two ponies cross-threading moral fibers, they were just two ponies. She looked at him. “You really trust me?”

“Yes,” Cold admitted.

Fokienia’s eyes lingered on him. She dragged herself away to a corner of the shuttle, and sat down on one of the cushioned seats. The earth pony watched him as he watched her. “You’re a good pony.”

The kirin breathed. In a flash of the gravity tunnel’s lights, he saw wings, wings for her. But it was no illusion. “Have faith, Fokienia. There are more ponies out there who will see the good in you.”

“…I hope so,” she said earnestly. “But there’s been little hope in the… life, I’ve known.”

“Even in war, there is hope.”

“Even if a war must be waged for the truth?”

“Yes. The answers to life do not necessitate death as sacrifice. You’ll find truth, so long as you believe and trust in the inherent good of ponies. Be kind, and help those in need. Even if you never know them, they will know you. And where ponies like you stand, hope will exist. And hope always finds history.”

“If ponies are inherently good, then why was I created?”

She knew he couldn’t answer that. Cold didn’t speak.

“…I was promised a future.” Fokienia’s gaze wandered upward, through the roof of the shuttle. “Not a second chance at life, but a promise for a future I would help build. My body was broken, but whole. They engineered me in the pursuit of the future, and they led me and others in the path of their grand design. A future to mend the broken, and create the unbroken. The Project and the Facility were established to root us all in life, and ensure a lasting future. That is what I learned, and that is what my hope relied on. And then, that path turned. Perhaps some goodness was tainted along the way, or perhaps some natural poison seeped into the well. Peace turned to war, and I was blind to it. Raised on that goodness and hope, it all seemed a part of my good fate. And it would’ve been so, had I not made my choice. Made my destiny.”

The shuttle began to slow. Fokienia looked down from the ceiling.

“If ponies can be inherently good, then they have shown themselves to be prone to self-corrupting destinies. We may be born equal, but we are made unequal. War is the most accomplished source of imbalance for ponykind.”

The shuttle hummed low, and the rooted tunnel of Cypress drew them to the final branch of its concourse.

“I have studied war. I have practiced subterfuge. I understand inequality.”

The elevator arrived at its stop. The hull outside clunked as magnetism swam through metal. A hiss erupted from the doors, and a growl wound through the stale shuttle air; the doors kissed.

Fokienia pulled the disabler from the front loop of her jumpsuit. She placed it gently in her bag. “But in spite of my history, I want to be seen as an equal.”

Finally, the shuttle doors opened.

They shared a look. She spoke one last time. “You’re a good pony, Searing Cold. You followed me. Now, I follow you.”

There was nothing he needed to say. He just had to act.

The kirin led the pony into the world that had loomed above her for so long: a burrowed bastion of a former asteroid outpost, founded by Equestrian pioneers, and hope. The roots of five cities led to its trunk, and from it, branches of hope and prosperity had spread across its corner of the galaxy. In peace, Cypress Central had brought a great deal of life to the species of the Cloudsdale Quadrant, and its neighbors. A shining diamond of commerce, ingenuity, and hope. In one of the most inhospitable systems on the rim of the Equestrian Core Worlds, Cypress had fostered an example as a new Equestria. The prospective grounds for a new paradise.

But ponies had never been very good at keeping track of history. It was easy for them to forget conflicts. Cold saw the inherent goodness in ponies, but he recognized that they had their failings. Equestria—and by extension, the systems it controlled today—whether ponies knew it or not, had been forged through war. The holistic truth of Cypress Station was that while it was untempered by war, it had not left war untouched: the Project and the Facility, as Cold knew them now, had forged for years without reveal. Ponies had suffered, and would suffer, just as Equestria had in its millennias-long history.

The peacemaker had brought a war machine to Cypress Central. More than ever before, he saw that what would come was inevitable. The sooner that war came, the easier peace would be. The fires would be stoked by his guiding hooves, and he could only hope to be there to help quench them.

Cold was ready to sacrifice his destiny in order to preserve the ones he believed in.

It was the kirin way.

Fokienia was used to tight, cramped corridors. She was a big mare, and the world knew it. That didn’t mean it cared much for her. Ventilation shafts, coil conduits, maintenance crawlspaces: there was almost never room for her, but she made room. She always blended in. Whether on order or out of self-satiety, Fokienia had to make the narrow quarters of the world work in her favor. It was tiring, but success was paramount. In the end, claustrophobia was not an option. Fokienia had to squeeze by, or die trying.

Cypress Central was everything but cramped.

To Fokienia, if it could be found in Cupresso, it was probably five-times larger in Cypress Central. Yet, none of it seemed too different in purpose and capability, save for the ponies: somehow, there were many more ponies here, but that likely had something to do with the sky-scraping apartments around them. Even the streets of the urban polity were more spacious, and she had already thought them to be a bit of a stretch. Following Cold through the populated streets of the artificially noon-lit city, she took the moment to lower her guard somewhat. Her curiosity got the better of her situational awareness. A fierce tactical error, but that was fine: in order to properly get a feel for the city, she had to walk like the ponies around her. A kind of innocence settled over her mind as she let herself be enraptured by the wide world.

She tried not to think about where she stood in the world before her induction into the Project. At least, not often. Sometimes on the slower training operations, she was forced to spend hours in isolation, waiting for a simulated target to pass by or ‘wake up’. Alone in the vents above, or below the proving ground floor. Secluded with just the methodical countdown of her quiet breaths, and the solace to bide memories. It wasn’t as if she wanted to forget, but it was impossible to meet her regime’s standards if she didn’t keep moving.

Now, she didn’t have those limits. The only ones left were the self-imposed rites she’d grown to dance around. So Fokienia took a breath, and enjoyed a spell of ignorant bliss. The walls of the steel sky crumbled away, leaving only her infinitesimal home, the one she’d never truly known, open to the expanse of the galaxy beyond. A bit of her heart panged—she really did want to leave Cypress and explore what was out there. The cold truth was that her work was unfinished, and only just beginning. For now, the sight of the skyscrapers brought some fulfillment to her new thirst for adventure. It was good to be free.

“We could still bus the rest of the way to Cypress Central. We’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of us.”

Cold’s words brought her back to reality. “A hike?”

“A walk.” He looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. You meant the actual distance. Yeah, it’s a long walk. We’re in a residential zone right now. There should be a station nearby, the buses run underneath.”

“Walking is fine.” She preferred the certainty of hooves over the next gravity-powered vehicle they could be riding in. “Harder to find us that way.”

Cold nodded. “That makes sense.”

It was almost a little hard for Fokienia to believe that they weren’t in Cypress Central already; like Cupresso, these were just the outskirts of the station’s center. “How far do these residences reach?”

“As far as you can see,” Cold replied simply.

There was already a lot in view. A ways ahead, a concrete ocean laid a berth of streets between the buildings, followed by the ever-climbing cluster of neon-lit slabs. The crowds doubled back in size there, sequestered among the high-rises. From where she stood, it was at least a few minutes trot to reach them. So Fokienia looked from left to right, observing the profoundly quiet residences. The morning time had come, and presumably, many of the ponies who lived here had gone to work. At least, she couldn’t possibly imagine why a pony would hide themselves away indoors when there was so much to see around Cypress.

The upper-floor shuttle station fell behind them as they navigated down the city streets. Fokienia’s eyes swayed back and forth, capturing as much of the place as she could. High above, orange lamps of false suns beamed from between the apartments. No pegasus dared to dart between the buildings, opting instead to fly near the searing bulbs.

The city itself had a distinct sound. In the Facility, there was a rhythmic thumping that tended to coil behind her ears, worming its way deep until it followed her into her dreamless sleep. In Cupresso, the industrious grind of metal and bustling airflow had been a constantly assured feature, audible even among the toiling crowds. Here, even on the edges of Cypress Central, the crowds were much more reserved, but the cracking of hooves echoed through the plates of concrete and steel below her hooves. Thunderous and cantankerous, the density of Cypress Central exacerbated the mellow march of the ponies who lived here. Cupresso had choked out much of her awareness of the working state, as there was still plenty of good feelings amid the smoke and steel, but even without the acrid black clouds that drifted barely overhead, Cypress Central was still marked by pocks of industrialization and economic prowess.

Halfway to the looming towers of white and gray metal ahead—notably sleeker than the concrete apartments—Cold gently pried her from her thoughts. “What do you want to ask when we get there?”

She didn’t quite know yet. She just wanted answers. “I want to speak with an authority. A pony in power.”

Cold shook his head. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I really doubt the governor, or anypony else for that matter, would be willing to see you.”

“Why?”

“Well… for one, I’m a criminal, now. Even if you’re not a criminal in their eyes, you’d be guilty by association… unless it doesn’t count if I wait outside.” He smirked lightly. “Plus, I don’t know if a busy pony like the governor would be around.”

Fokienia frowned. “I am certain that they are responsible for the orders I receive. They’ll make time.”

The kirin didn’t reply.

Internally, she huffed. He didn’t need to hear all this in the first place, she was the only one who should’ve been involved. “Tell me about the governor. What is their role?”

Cold rolled his withers as they walked. “I’m really scrambling my brain today. Okay… so, governorship covers a lot of matters for a station. For Cypress, the governor’s pretty much the de facto owner, like an old Equestrian vassal in servitude to the Crown. It’s not supposed to be a permanent role, but it might as well be seeing as how Cypress is still classified as a station and not a hab. And sure, he could be traded out at any time, but none of the corps have proposed a referendum for the role in say… the last ten years?” He paused, then shook his head. “Sorry. Anyways, he keeps tabs on all things station, and system-related. Files reports and communications for the Core Worlds. Regulates everything traffic-related, too. All of that with plenty of corporate backing, of course. Advisors and the like. A business council is what Cypress really needs, but again, it’s officially a station, not a habitat.”

“What forces does he command?”

“Forces?” Cold hummed briefly. “On the security side of things, he’s just about the ultimate authority on all matters for the star system. The headquarters for the Cloudsdale Quadrant Concord is stationed a dozen systems back toward the ECW, so as far as running system lockdowns and authorizing permits for pilots, local Concord are region-level enforcers under his office. So, station and system security, and then some.” He thought for a little longer. “It’s a neat gig, but I wouldn’t want to spend a day in his horseshoes.”

Fokienia looked up at the gleaming citadel. Above them, the ceiling of Cypress Central crawled upwards, opening up further. The pegasi seemed to come back down, tucking into straight, laterally constricted lines. “Why?”

“I already have to keep up-to-date with all station and system regulations. If I had to make them, report them, and disseminate all of it, well… I’d go insane.” He finished his profession with a low chuckle.

“Are there no other stations in this ‘star system’?”

“Just a fuel outpost orbiting our gas giant, but that’s technically a subsidiary of a corporation here in Cypress. Nowhere near the size of the station, either. Maybe a few dozen ponies working there? I’m not sure.”

The buildings around them fell away. Fokienia blinked rapidly, and stepped closer to Cold. She’d been caught up asking for and processing Cold’s answers. Suddenly, they were in the midst of another crowd, and the quiet murmur of voices surrounded her. Her heart briskly beat twice in succession. They passed through the fetlocks of the city streets boxed around the city, and truly entered the heart of Cypress Central.

Cold stopped, and she did as well. He pointed with a cloven hoof. “See that up there?”

Following his hoof led her eyes to a place deeper into the city. Past a few squat buildings, the rising towers disappeared, leaving a vast swath of empty air between the ground and the raised station ceiling. All across the roof at that point, much of the asteroid shell had been left unreaved, and all the metal about the ceiling met an end at the stone. Implanted to the belly of the natural roof was an enormous cube of blue-green metal. It jut outwards and down, blooming like a swelled bruise. From a distance, it was hard to tell what exactly it was, but there were several wide windows that glowed in bright whites, bleeding out onto the city below.

“That’s Central Command. That’s where Concord HQ and the upper offices of station administration are holed up.”

“How do we get up there?” Her eyes stayed locked to the location.

Cold set his hoof back down. “We’re not uh… we can’t go up there, Fokienia.”

“Why not? If that’s where command is, then we’ll go there.”

“It’s a restricted area. We can’t just go…” Cold stopped, and she felt his stare on her. He scratched at his ear with a hoof. “Look, station administration has offices down here. We’ll just go there first before we… get drastic, okay?”

Fokienia opened her mouth to object, but as she turned to face Cold, she halted. In his eyes, she could see fear broiling. That vile feeling crept up her throat, and she swallowed before her neurostimulators could intercept it. “Okay.”

A small part of Fokienia felt like a filly again; she let Cold guide her completely, letting her optical augments ‘rest’ for the stint through the central city. Even with all the activity she’d seen across Cypress so far, all the flashing lights and sounds here proved there was no shortage of things to find and experience. The sounds of life amid the residential zone paled in compare to the inner streets of Cypress Central: while the street sat on a flat level, cheery voices called out on loop from glowing signs and screens. It was a constant barrage of information that looped over each other a hundred times a second. Ponies in the crowd around her chattered just as energetically, acting as if the noise overhead was permissible. Beside her, Cold was impassive, save for a light smile stretched across his muzzle. How could he handle such a shift in volume so easily?

“Is this why you sleep with music?”

Cold tilted her way abruptly. “What?”

“There’s so much noise, here. Do you enjoy it?”

All the befuddlement on his face disappeared in an instant. He laughed, his head dipping before he replied, “A little bit, actually.” His focus was still largely on the road and ponies ahead, but he tried to make eye contact with her as often as he spoke. “But no, I sleep with music for other reasons entirely. How’d you know that, anyway?”

“When I was using your computer, you slept with music. I heard it playing.” It was probably best that she didn’t mention how her early suspicions had brought her so physically close to him. A sharp laugh from a passing pony caused her to swing her head, but she returned soon enough. “Why do you enjoy this?”

He looked to his right, where the main thoroughfare and flow of ponies bubbled by. “I guess I just like knowing that ponies are doing well.”

“And your music?”

Cold didn’t answer immediately. “Space is a lot of empty quiet,” he began, much of the gusto having left his voice, “It’s good for my mind to have some kind of noise to process. Makes it all feel real.”

“Feel real,” Fokienia repeated. She let the words hang in the air between them.

“Yeah.”

A deep cold bowled over her senses. It wasn’t emotional, but it wasn’t indicative of external forces. Fokienia shivered, and turned a corner with Cold. What had settled in her that made her feel so… unwell? Before she knew it, her neurostimulator buzzed away, and the shiver dissipated. She kept walking, waiting for the feeling to return, even though she knew it wouldn’t.

Until she shivered again.

Her eyes caught a glint of green in the distance. She was galloping before Cold could reply.

Cutting across the street, and through the crowds, Fokienia ran. Whatever words came from the ponies’ lips, they fell futile against her deafened senses. The pervasive cold doubled over, and she pressed harder into the ground; it shook beneath the tremendous full-weight of the augmented mare at a dead sprint. The tapping of servos and motor neurons alike dug cavernously, shrouding away from the cold as it tried its damnedest to control her. In the vision she held, all she could see was that great green glint, not taunting or jeering, but calling, waiting for her. Great thumps of steel and ‘crete turned to soft soil and brush. The earth crumbled beneath her, and she breathed calmly, not the least bit winded by the exercise. Now, only the cold and the colorful visage remained.

The path came to an end abruptly. The enamored colors billowed around her. Her hooves buzzed angrily, but not all of her felt the same. As she slowed, feeling soared back into her hindhooves. Warmth sept in, trickling like a babbling brook, a warm spring. She glowed while eyes fell across her. She didn’t care, she wanted that warmth to stay. Tilting her head upwards, she breathed, and let her eyes fall shut. The warmth crawled in so very slowly, but there was still such strength behind it. Up along her body it traveled, until even the rooted stumps beneath her cold steel forelegs teemed with life.

Cold approached, his voice calling her name with worry. She didn’t reply, and instead brought her head back down. This was right. This was well. She needed this, and had waited so long for this.

Finally, there was a pulse. That slow, syrupy warmth she desired. It filled her completely. Her neck dripped with warmth, and a sweet fragrance drifted by. A bubbling laugh rose in her chest. Almost panicky at the feeling, she tried to hold it close. Soon, she realized, it was meant to be free. She laughed, bright, happy. The giddiness was new, and she relished in it. Her neurostimulator, for the first time in so many years, waned. Fokienia had control.

Something reached out to her. She didn’t push it away. It was ephemeral, but just like that warmth seeping through her, it was no mere stimulation of her senses. This, she knew, was real. A tangible touch. A force. Magic.

She looked up, eyes open. Needle-like trees ascended toward the steel sky above, all proud. They were trimmed so finely, sharpened to a point. Together, in juxtaposition to a circle of water and grass, they enveloped a central tree. Giant, gangly roots, and a lithe, yet sturdy trunk. It towered so high above her, maybe even reaching above the low buildings surrounding the enclave she’d entrenched herself in. The strange trees touched at her through the soil and roots, and she knew for certain that they had spoken to her. The warmth in her hindlegs thrummed, and the leaves of the great tree seemed to wave back.

For a moment, Fokienia’s thirst was quenched. Her eyes fell to a gold plaque at the end of the path, a few lines of inscription centered on a small podium.

CYPRESS GROVE
THIS GROUP OF CUPRESSACEAE
DEDICATED TO THE COLONISTS AND SETTLERS
IN FOUNDING CYPRESS OUTPOST

Once more, she looked to the trees. They stood so out of place with the silhouette of polymer and steel in the distance, completely out of their element in both environment, and history. They were woefully underdressed for the place they’d rooted themselves, but they were prideful, and had grown so strong in spite of the differences. They did not merely loom, towering above the ponies here, but projected strength in droves, sharing it with the station-dwellers through their mere presence alone. A pulse waved through her hindlegs, and she smiled to the cypress trees.

Fokienia recognized Cold by her side. He had stood with her, gazing at the trees as she had. He looked to her, analyzing. She opened her mouth, closed it. Said nothing.

Cold didn’t. “How do you feel?”

She asked herself the same question. Among the myriad of artificial answers at her disposal, there was only one natural, organic outcome. “Alive.”

At this point, Fokienia had compiled enough data to form a solid scale.

Cold was infatuated with the expression of life: despite all signs otherwise, the destiny he’d formed was neatly attuned to the continued flourishing life of ponykind, and maybe all things living. A courier bringing life together, like that of the blood cells beneath her skin. Through his business, he helped maintain the connections that threaded ponies along cosmic strings. He hadn’t deserved to be put through her ordeals, but Fokienia could see that he wanted to help her. It was the destiny he chose.

Fokienia sought the existence of life. After so long held away from Cypress, she’d seen herself in Cold, but that hadn’t turned out to be true: he was a complement to the destiny she wanted to create. The skills she’d fostered through fate were all built to discover, and posit the existence of life’s hidden aspects. Yet, even if it was ill-fated, war was still life. Life that she knew how to control, and enhance.

In the spring of cypress trees, Fokienia found her place in that life. War and peace: she could destroy, but she could also create. As both life and machine, she saw everything. The fields were here, and she could plainly see that they yielded what she desired. But the water that fed them was tainted, passed down by some authority above, seeking to break life for their own creation. She, too, had seen her purpose tainted by that force, but the words of the grove cleansed the final vestige of that creator’s control.

Now, she knew that she could morph her destiny. She was not so sealed in fate, and she was still a pony. Right now, she didn’t know who or what was responsible for her life, but finding out was the easy part.

Fokienia spared a look to the kirin captain. Cold smiled at her. He knew where to take her, and she knew what had to be done.

“Are we close?”

“It’s not much further. You ready to go?”

Fokienia was trained to collect secrets. Soon, she would share them.

“Yeah.” She rolled her withers, then beamed. “I’m ready.”

Author's Note

Illustration for this chapter: “CYPRESS GROVE”

9 - Trust in the Good of Ponies

The PDA rumbled away fiercely. It was too hard to ignore any longer. Cold grit his teeth and breathed. He slid it out of his jacket with a burst of magic. While he scrolled through the menus, he maintained a steady gait. Amid security alerts about the status of the Waste Peddler—which he was quick to push out of the way—bits of news feeds trickled down; the myriad of topics he’d set for his data-bank to crawl were exploding with activity.

“What is it now?”

“Security scanners are picking up a lot of Concord activity back in Cupresso.”

“You have access to that?”

“Independent reports about station activity.” He frowned, and glanced over at her. “With some private trackers that I may or may not pay for.”

Fokienia eyed his PDA. “That’s not a very secure link, is it?”

“No, it is. Although… couldn’t you break into it? I’ve seen what you’ve done to electronics, like locks, and back there with that bomb…”

“Breaching charge. And no, I only work with linear systems, simple mechanisms. That is beyond my training.”

His withers drooped, and he tucked the PDA back away. “At least I know whatever corp or organization you were working under can’t crack it.”

“…I didn’t say they couldn’t,” she half-stated, half-mumbled.

Cold chose to not hear that.

By now, Fokienia’s curiosity for Cypress Central had largely fallen out of the way; she’d resumed watching the sky with that haunting, long-drawn stare. Cold didn’t know how she put up with the feeling of being watched—he was certainly feeling more and more paranoid and disillusioned with the world with every step he took away from his typical life. If anything, he wanted to unlearn a lot of the things he’d seen. Briefly, he wondered what would become of the chemist in Cupresso. The colt was young, and obviously had done well-enough to make it into that rather clean job… even if his skills may have had questionable, not-so-clandestine roots. What was more worrying was how he’d mentioned ‘everypony’ knew about the artificial stimulant: like Fokienia said, the chemist was just one branch. He pushed the worries out of his mind, rounding them around one of the last few bends before their final destination.

Cold tried not to think about the curiosities of life often, but fate often provided avenues for him to explore, and for as routine as he preferred to keep his life, he was very much an explorer. It just so happened that Fokienia was just the kind of pony he preferred to lend a hoof to: a pony with untapped potential, and dormant ambition. It just felt like things were moving so quick with her, and she hadn’t quite grown in the best way… but she was changing ever so-slightly, and bringing back more of that filly beneath her shell. What she really needed was a pony like her; no matter how hard he tried, Cold could never be the kirin ponies could relate to.

“It’s probably a good time to start discussing… contingencies.”

He shuddered, and whispered her way. “Contingencies?”

“I’ve thought about what you’ve been saying.” Fokienia paused. She’d been doing an awful lot of that quiet thinking. “And I think I need to do this alone.”

Cold wanted to agree; he almost did. Instead, he listened.

“They’re not going to be happy about seeing me. I’m not supposed to be seen. All the ponies I interacted with in the Facility have a level of understanding on me based off their clearance. When I enter this administration facility, I won’t be doing it quietly. My current existence should be a credible threat to them by now, and I have no solid convictions of what they might do. The ponies who know me will almost certainly have plans for getting in the way of my answers. You can’t be there when that happens.”

“They haven’t been hurting us,” Cold argued, “so why would they start now? If they wanted to, well, get rid of us, they would’ve tried.”

“They’re trying to reclaim me, Cold. I’m an asset.” Her yellow eyes met his. “And the tacit problem is that you’ve become one as well. You’ve clearly shown your willingness to cooperate with me. You know about the adjustments I’ve made under your tutelage, and they’ll want that information. I’m sure.”

He swallowed thickly. “You’re not an asset, Fokienia. You’re a pony. You have learned, and you need to.” Cold found that tutelage was a bit strong of a word, but he couldn’t find a way to disagree. “You need help. Just, you know, not in the way you’re used to. If it means I get to give you opportunities to be free, to make choices, I’m sticking with you.”

Ever-so slightly, Fokienia’s eyes softened. “I do want your help. But I don’t want it if it means putting innocent ponies at risk. Ponies like you, or the administrators. Unlike the operatives… ‘collateral damage’ is not an option. Even if they’re targets, they’re more civilian than military.”

His heart trudged out of a trough of worry. Suddenly, the revelations poured across him. “…You’re just going to talk to them?”

“These administrative ponies may be in charge, but they’re not combat specialists. They’re by no means a threat, just a source of information.” She looked back ahead. “But the moment Concord makes an appearance, I need to be gone. And that’s why I want you out of the way before that happens.”

“I can understand where you’re coming from,” but… “the only option I can see is turning myself in. I’m not built to resist arrest.”

“If they capture you, they will likely employ the same punitive measures as they would for me.”

Against his better judgment, he delved further down that line. “Like what?”

She looked at him. The blue sheen crossed her eyes, and she turned away without saying a word. It took Cold a moment to understand, and he bowed his head away. Fokienia wasn’t so blind to emotive states at present; she was still breaking that shell. It was clear from the gesture that she had intended to stop him there—to spare him from following that line. He asked nothing more.

“Do you know of a place you can take refuge while I conduct my investigation?”

He knew several. “Yes.” A moment passed. “But Fokienia…”

She let him hold out for just a little longer. “Yes?”

“I’m going in with you. I want to be sure you’ll be in control, and be able to get out of there when it’s done. Then, I’ll personally lead you somewhere safe.” Beside him, one of Fokienia’s hooves let out a mute whine. It was a short, curt interruption. “We’ll sort out this mess together, alright? I know ponies who can help. Ponies who’d agree with me when I say that your situation isn’t just some selfish exploit, but a path that needs to be explored. A zone open to all. Right now, this only concerns us, but it should be the concern of all ponies. You are clearly just one piece of something greater, and I know what it’s like to be a catalyst.” He took a deep breath. “I need to deliver you to where you should be, and nothing wrong will happen to me until your safety is confirmed.”

“…How can you be sure?”

“Because I trust in the good of ponies.”

Even with Cold by her side, Fokienia still felt grossly out of place. She’d thought she’d conquered her fear of being seen by now, but this was no minor degree of insurgency; the only thing between her and absolution were the ponies who ran this major administration office aboard Cypress Station. Cold’s words barely scraped across her ears as she focused completely on keeping her hooves moving. They’d already crossed the threshold of the bland plastic-steel-polymer residence of the ‘lower’ admin offices. The eyes of several ponies in the waiting room of the lobby landed on her, and she shriveled under their gaze. How had Cold talked her into letting him come? This was not how she wanted things to go.

Somehow, none of the ponies seemed to particularly care: their eyes didn’t stray, and there was a prevailing sense of calm to the place.

Before she knew it, a pony was in front of her, across the counter like the others before. Her smile appeared genuine, and concern laced her lips as she asked Fokienia if there was something wrong.

Cold started to speak. Fokienia spoke first. “I’d like to speak with somepony about station matters.” Her heart beat to the tune of a long second, and she corrected herself. “I need to speak to somepony about station matters.”

The secretary was still smiling! “Under what authority?”

Fokienia looked to Cold, but he was waiting for her. “…Station government?” she tried.

The mare was pinpoint in her reply. “Station government matters? Of course, hun.” At this point, Fokienia couldn’t tell if the look on the secretary mare’s face was real. The mare’s hooves clacked on a physical tool of some sort, and the screen of her ancient non-holographic terminal sped by, the green font of the blackened screen burning the longer Fokienia stared. “I’ll get you hooked up for the proper office in a jiffy. Now, is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

Cold spoke cleanly, but his voice was distant and remote. “Interstellar Factors. I’ve got a standing matter with Cypress Concord I need sorted.”

The mare gave Fokienia’s partner a look. She had stopped tapping on her clacking little device at her hooves to give that firm, steel-eyed glance. “Are you aware that you can contact IFB associates from your ship, captain?” Her voice was still sweet—almost sickly so—and carried no hint of malign intent.

The kirin nodded. “Yes, but I like to deal with business in-pony.”

After another long pause of that look, the secretary returned to smiling, and went right back to tapping. “I’ll send word to the office of the Concord marshal. Will you be going there immediately?”

“No, I’ll be accompanying my friend, here.”

Fokienia’s heart jostled giddily, and her muscles loosened.

“Alright, that’s fine… just a moment then.” There were a few brief pauses in the mare’s work, before she finally lifted her hooves from the machinery below the counter. “Okay, hun. There’s a set of elevators down the hall to your right. Step right into whichever one is open, and it will take you to the floor you need to be.”

“That’s it?”

The mare smiled gently, nodding. “That’s it!”

“Cold—” Fokienia started, but the kirin was already moving. She stepped after him, glancing back at the lobby, and the calmly waiting ponies. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why is she… why is everypony, so…?” Words failed her. She thought things felt ‘off’, but by now, she wasn’t so sure if that was what it really felt like. “I don’t know,” she admitted, surprising herself. “And why are there no guards? Or even basic background checks? This is a governing facility, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

Sure enough, at the end of the hall, six sets of steel-doors were waiting. One of them was open, and she followed him into it. There was no panel or indication of control in the elevator. A chime played, and the doors slid shut. The room hummed around them. As she looked through the walls, Fokienia couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary: there were dozens, maybe upward to a hundred ponies in the building, but all of them were grouped together. She couldn’t see any signs of movement for things she considered weapons, and she didn’t see any ponies walking around, either.

And more strangely, Cold still hadn’t replied further. Had the office’s aura gotten to him, too? The room lurched, and Fokienia felt the ascent press on her gut. The elevator slowed to a steady crawl.

“Searing Cold?”

The kirin fixed Fokienia with a look. “You can trust this place. We only have to worry when we enter a room.”

Fokienia shuddered when she matched Cold’s eyes. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “Why?”

“This office complex is corporate-owned. Every authority, from system to business, can own a section, here.” He turned away. “Everypony has their own protocol. Just listen to what the mares say, and keep moving.”

The elevator lurched again. It made an awful grinding noise. Fokienia thought it might have failed, but the doors opened cleanly to the next floor.

They didn’t make it far: not ten hooves from the section of elevators, a mare sat stock-still at a desk placed in the middle of the wide hall. Beyond her, the hall crossed almost the entirety of the building’s span. Fokienia could see the back of another pony at the other end of the place. Metal doors were spread out evenly along the path, and through the walls, she could see ponies in some of the rooms.

“Hello! Are you here for station government matters?” the mare chirped. Her voice and mannerisms were different, but her smile was indisputably as genuine as the secretary on the first floor.

Holding to Cold’s word, Fokienia didn’t hesitate. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Great!” The mare’s island desk also had an old terminal on it, which contrasted strongly against the clean walls and floors of the complex. She tapped at even more clanking keys hidden out of view. One of the doors close to her swung inward. “To my right, there is an empty conference room configured to fit your needs. One of you will also be needing to speak with our marshal, correct?”

“And that’s me,” Cold answered.

“Good! Well, come back and speak to me when you’re finished with the conference room, and I’ll sort that out for you!”

Cold nodded, and strode away from the elevators without another word.

Fokienia walked with him, and nodded to the mare at the desk. “Thank you,” she said; Cold hadn’t done so, but it felt wrong to leave the cheery mare without it.

The mare looked up from her terminal. She didn’t stumble on her smile at all. “You’re welcome.” Her reply was warm, outwardly calm despite her previous demeanor.

Fokienia left the mare behind, and entered the room with Cold. The non-pneumatic door swung on its own again, silently latching behind them.

The room was plain: the tiled floors were the same as the hallway, and the walls covered with a simple coat of matte gray paint over steel. Above, a strip of lamps hummed, just out of reach of straining ears. There was a table with three chairs, and all of them were bolted to the ground. The metal of the furnishings shone with a bright luster. Across the table, a silver-edged, black screen was hung on the wall. Several bulb-shaped spheres of glass surrounded the edges of the opposing side of the room, implanted in the walls by metal rims. Fokienia looked for any kind of hidden door, or pony in hiding, but the room’s only entrance appeared to be the one they’d come through. It was after Fokienia had followed Cold’s lead and sat down that she realized what was going to happen.

“They’re not going to be physically present?”

“No. This is as formal as it gets. Most of this complex is built around remote functionality, and it’s the best projector technology corporate can buy.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, the bulbs of glass began to glow a pearly white. Text crossed the screen ahead: “Establishing comm-link…”

And then there was a pony in front of them. A pony made of light.

Fokienia was no stranger to holograms, but the bristling white outline of the pony before her was baffling. The details were fine and granular, peeking outward like sun-kissed sands, ever-shifting, ever-glistening. The earth pony was four-legged, though they approached the table with a limp in their left hindleg. Unlike the rest of their clean, well-kept coat, the coat around the rear hoof was clearly patchy, if the darkened colors above the receding fetlock was anything to go by. Their mane and tail were clearly groomed with care, and the sole suit jacket they wore was buttoned to the top. Overall, the quality of the hologram was enough to fill the room with the feeling of pony presence. Clearing their throat, the ornate hologram smiled perfectly.

“Good afternoon.” The earth pony stallion’s voice was measured, deliberate in tone, but Fokienia could feel the weight behind it.

Even if he were physically present, he would be a difficult pony to read.

Beside her, Cold appeared to be following a similar, albeit more exaggerated thought: tensed up, the muscles of his usually light shoulders bulged. He stared ahead like a pale ghost, a deathly silent kirin. Was it from fear?

Fokienia looked back, only to meet the eyes of the stallion. Like Cold, it was as if he’d frozen stiff. His ears were twisted and poised high, fully focused her way. Then suddenly, the holographic image contorted, and any sign of alertness was gone. It was so swift and abrupt a change in his attitude that she wasn’t completely sure she’d imagined it, or if she’d misinterpreted the holo-projectors.

The suited stallion cleared his throat, and stepped back a few paces. The beams of light from the projector-bulbs followed after him, glinting with noise where movement ruptured the present illusion. “I’m sorry if my appearance is a bit of a surprise. My schedule was left a little empty this morning due to some abrupt cancellations. If you’d like to speak with another pony about your matter, I wouldn’t take it the wrong way. I promise. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to help you with whatever issue you have with,” he looked to the side, “matters pertaining to ‘station government’.”

He had an air of charisma to him for sure; each word came honeyed and slicked. Even with the multitude of lessons and experiences she’d had in order to practice breaking down emotions and façades, there was a great deal of raw passion and earnest to his words: she’d almost dismissed the concept of it being an act. She’d just barely skimmed the first hurdle. Now on high alert, she had to tread cautiously. Fokienia chewed the inside of her cheek, and peeked back at Cold; she couldn’t start this conversation.

Cold shook himself. His smile was light, and weak. “I’m sorry, Governor Graham. We’d be happy to have you help us.” It was Cold’s turn to squint at his partner.

Fokienia’s heart thud as all eyes fell on her. “Governor…” was all she could say.

“Just Graham is fine, miss. Treat me as if I’m a friend with a placative ear.” Graham looked back at Cold. “And the same goes for you, sir. I don’t want you two to feel uncomfortable. After all, I’m not a princess.” He laughed easily.

Cold nodded slowly, giving his own curt chuckle. “Of course…”

The stallion hummed, and held a hoof up. “Oh, before anything else. You don’t mind if I get your names, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Cold replied, switching from a slow nod to a quick shake. “Searing Cold.”

“Hm… ah, that’s right. Searing Cold, the kirin!” The governor grinned. “I’ve heard good things about you, captain.”

To his credit, Cold didn’t go still; he cocked his head. “…You have?” Fokienia couldn’t tell what his flat look and tone entailed. It at least wasn’t worry.

“Oh, plenty of good words, almost in excess. You’ve got an honest reputation with the ponies running Cypress, and you ought to know it. You do the Princesses’ work out there.” His eyes turned. “And you, miss… you look like a mare bound for good things.”

She swallowed. “My name is Fokienia.”

“Fokienia…” The governor let her name roll on his tongue. He even closed his eyes for a brief time. “That’s a strong name,” he finished.

She tried her best to fight the warm embrace of his voice. Fidgeting, she smiled as lightly as she could. “Thank you.”

Graham stared at her. Had she done something wrong? As soon as she stopped fidgeting, he smiled back at her, and started moving back to the center of the projector’s fields. “Yes… so.” He emphasized his pause with a light stomp. “What can I do for you two?”

“Well, truth be told, Graham, sir, my friend here is the one who really needs the help. But I do have a question, and you’re the perfect pony to ask.”

The governor rolled his withers, and bat at his ear with a hoof. “Ask away, captain. I’m all yours.”

“Why did you lift the embargoes on Griffonian goods from the Griffon quadrants?”

Fokienia’s ears twitched. Her personal barrage of questions hid away; she resolved to listen.

“Ah… the embargoes.” A pained bout of hesitation was plain across Graham’s muzzle.

“I didn’t want to presume it was all in your hooves, sir, but I really am quite… involved, when it comes to matters of business beyond Equestrian borders.”

“I understand, captain. And you’re not out of line. I didn’t say much when news broke to the comm-net.” The governor sighed. “I’d say it was out of the kindness of my heart, but the honest fact is that the civil conflict in New Griffonia has been going on for long enough that I felt it was no longer economically viable to keep enforcing the embargoes. Recent developments with the movement of Princess Luna’s armada have made it a prime time to re-open trade with the imperial capital. I understand the controversy, but really, I only want what’s best for Cypress Station.”

Cold nodded. “It’s not my place to say what should’ve been done, but I’m grateful.”

“You’re…” The colorless hologram of Graham blinked. “I’m sorry, you said you’re grateful?”

“I’ve been there, governor. The system economies are in a sorry state. Piracy is rampant. Until your recent orders, there have been no open hubs for foreign trade, and it’s left a great surplus of goods in circulation. I’m sure the word you’ve heard about me pertains to the contracts I’ve delivered for supplying Equestrian interests, but I’m not just a courier, sir. I’m a free trader.”

The governor breathed. “I see.” Then, he grinned. “Well, we all have our pasts, captain. I’m not going to hold smuggling against you. Life outside of the core is all about opportunity, and we can’t help but reach out with our hooves and take it.” He paused, and lowered his outstretched hoof. “Or provide opportunity, as your case might entail.”

Fokienia stared aghast at the kirin. Why had he just given out all of that information so freely? He’d just alluded to breaking the law, and the governor had seen right through it. Of course, he’d forgiven Cold, but that had been a dangerous risk to take. She opened her mouth, but the pieces immediately crossed her: this was the same pony who’d just taken on a fugitive status, for her sake. It was only obvious that he’d put everything about him on display; with so much personal sacrifice already behind him, he had everything to gain in being truthful.

Cold bowed his head. “I appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate your decisions as well, captain.” The governor faced her. “Now, Fokienia… miss.” Graham paused, his eyes tracing her as held his thoughts back behind a raised foreleg. “What can I help you with? I’m sure you have another big question, and as the captain here put it best, I’m the perfect pony to ask.”

Where could she even begin? Did she start slow, or did she adopt the same boldness Cold crashed into the conversation with? Suddenly, Fokienia was overwhelmed with the dozens of questions she’d formed over the many years of ‘living’ in the Facility buried in the maintenance corridors of Cypress. From his outward demeanor, she was unsure if the governor was even remotely responsible for the operations of the Project. Her thought process swept over to the kirin at her side. He’d come in with the truth, and received a kindness in return: an exchange of sorts, which she could definitely work in her favor; the governor was certainly a businesspony.

Fokienia inhaled, her nostrils flaring as she raised a foreleg and set it on the table. Graham looked right at her steel foreleg. The servomotors thronged against her nerves, joining the governor’s stare in drawing out a low, itchy nervousness in her throat. With her other foreleg, she rolled the sleeve of her black jumpsuit, the fabric noisily ruffling, until she'd peeled it back enough to reveal the peachy, patched coat of apricot that led down to her steel-composite hoof. The room’s ventilation clicked off, leaving the floor silent for the three watchful ponies.

For a time, the governor simply stared. Fokienia followed him carefully. The gears were turning, but his lips were pursed flat. Then, he began to move. Trotting slow, the hologram of Governor Graham approached their table. His vision was laser-focused, tunneling right in on Fokienia’s stretched foreleg. Even though he wasn’t there, he crouched as if she were right before him, keeling his muzzle low to look up and down Fokienia’s foreleg. Oddly, Fokienia found no reason to pull away, but she didn’t relax completely. Graham stood a little straighter, and reached up with a hoof. As light as a feather in the wind, the particles of light that made the governor’s hoof glided along her foreleg, all the way up to her untouched coat, and true flesh. He stopped there, then leaned away suddenly.

Graham’s eyes did not leave her. “Do you know who did this?”

“Only some. The ponies who worked on me in a subterranean facility. The leading operatives have called this work ‘The Project’.” Fokienia began rolling the sleeve down, bending her head as she did so. Her short lime mane spilled into the corners of her view.

The governor’s voice was gradually sharpening. Anger, but not toward her. “Was this done to you under duress?”

Yes. Or rather, yes, at some point. She rolled the sleeve down completely, and with the last tug, a weight fell into her gut. “Yes.”

“I see.” The governor took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

She’d learned to get used to it, and for a time, embraced it.

“I can stop the ponies who did this. I just need names, if you have them.”

Names…? But…

“Fokienia.” She looked up, and saw Graham frowning. “I can only help you if I have their names.” His brows were loose as he spoke to her. “I can’t trust what they might look like.”

No, nothing. It was all classified, or evident pseudonyms. All of it was fake. Except… she did have something.

The question was if it was worth giving.

“I only know one real name.”

“That’s all I need, Fokienia.”

Was it? “Would it be enough to stop the Project?”

“Stop the Project?” The governor trot back to the screen on the wall, and turned away, his hoof came up, and he began tapping at something. It was likely in the actual room he was present in. “Not immediately. I tried to shut it down before.” He sighed, and continued to plug at the invisible controls. “But not everypony is so loyal to the Crown.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Tell me more about the Project.”

Graham stopped, and looked straight at her. It was a piercing look that drove straight into her. Uncharacteristically, she felt herself starting to glance away. She stopped herself, but still, there was something about this stallion…

“I suppose you deserve to know. And you as well, captain.” She looked back just in time to see the governor approach again. He was shaking his head the whole way back. “This will be another comm-net blowout, anyways.”

Clearing his throat, Governor Graham took the floor. “Cypress isn’t an old station, but it’s always been in a rough spot in some way. I’m not sure how much you two know about the station’s history, but what you do need to know is that we’ve always been pioneers. When we hollowed out this asteroid nearly sixty years ago, we found out the hard way that the usual regolith methods of developing arable soil just didn’t work. It only got worse when we sampled other asteroids in-system for potential exploitation, and found the same properties. The initial probe scans had done well-enough to detect valuable minerals, but we couldn’t start mining if we couldn’t eat, and bringing in food that wouldn’t drive us insane was beyond our budget. So, we started importing soil from the Core Worlds. With what little of a setup we had, the growbeds went through supply quick. For about a year, we were one of the most expensive colonial outposts in the entire quadrant. Then, when we finally established a little atmosphere for our thousand-strong colony, and started saturating our air with magic diffusers, the news only got worse.” He looked around him. “Something about our little star just doesn’t bond well with magic. It’s why we’ve got a lot more magnetosphere systems than most stations. More advanced to boot.” Graham shifted his attention back to Fokienia. “That little ticker for our star is why, since the start, we’ve pursued technology over magic.”

Cold was leaning forward now, sitting a little straighter. Fokienia mirrored him, bringing her ears up with her. So where did the Project come in?

“This is where the Project comes in,” the governor continued. Had he read her mind? She quieted herself… just in case. Graham went on. “Cypress’ early development had a bit of a tradition to it. Due to our stunted colonial growth, we always had to put our resources into developing select portions of the station at a time. It’s a big part of why we’re such a large station, though it also means we lack a lot of amenities other, and younger stations already have. I’ve been trying to change that, but that’s beside the point. We’ve always had to put business first, with family a close second. The Cypress Projects were a way of doing that.”

Fokienia’s ears twitched. “Projects, as in, plural?” she interrupted.

“Yes, the Cypress Projects.” Graham sat his rump down, his casualness catching her attention. “Some of the first Cypress Projects were simple things. Sun lamps to appeal to the pony circadian rhythm. Durable, and modular atmospherics systems, scalable for population growth. Station-bounced radio infastructure to coordinate during comm-net blackouts. That used to be a common issue, you see, because the Equestrian comm-relay network relies on magic. We’ve had to upgrade our system’s relay with what we’ve developed in magnetosphere-shielding.”

“The exact kind of shielding all ships in the ECW use?” Cold asked.

Graham smiled proudly. “We developed it.”

Cold was impressed. Fokienia was, too, even if she didn’t really know what all of that entailed.

“More of what you spacers might use everyday, too. Once we got big enough to go from outpost to station, our technology sector got bigger. We used to have R&D wings all over the place, practically all of it station-owned. Excuse me, research and development, I mean. At that point, the Cypress Projects got complicated. We were poking and prodding at all the mechanics of the universe, asking ourselves where magic came up short in Equestrian society, and if technology could pick up the slack. Taking old concepts we’d thought certain, and reworking it all for the benefit of ponykind. Before I was station governor, I was a young little pioneer among many, and two decades later, I was leading those ponies as Head Research Director. Every wing on Cypress was privy to pursuing its own interests, but I was the pony who ordained priorities, and organized the chief, and most resource-intensive projects. We always had that one big project every year, and rain or shine, we got it done. Little ‘ole Cypress Station, leading ponykind, one year at a time.” A big beaming grin had broken across Graham’s muzzle. Now, it started to fall. “Then… the Project shuffled into my purview.”

He looked down at his hooves, particularly at his splayed, patchy hindleg. “Something ponykind has always had trouble with… is healing. Getting better. We can bounce back from all sorts of maladies, but some… we can’t. Not even with magic. I wanted to fix that. Me and plenty of other ponies. So, we started the Project.” His voice fell away.

Fokienia teared up slightly. Her neurostimulators couldn’t begin to try and stop her. She spoke the classified word aloud. “Bioengineering?”

Graham licked his lips, and looked up at Fokienia. A sad smile touched his muzzle. “Yes. We tried to master our biology. And we tried to go beyond just fixing ponies.”

“A-Augmentations.” Her voice wavered. Still, her neurostimulators stayed their place.

“Yes,” Graham whispered. “And we went too far.”

A pair of tears dripped from her eyes. “…What happened?”

“There was… a pony… they fell ill. And we weren’t ready.” He closed his eyes, and his voice closed to a whisper. “I wasn’t ready.”

A silence fell across the room. Cold and Fokienia waited. The cyborg rubbed at her eyes, and Cold looked away from the governor.

Graham took a hefty breath, and opened his eyes. “So, I ordered a halt to the Project. Brought about the end of the Cypress Projects. New research at the scale we were doing it fell out of favor, but not entirely. We didn’t liquidate everything, we downsized. Most of the R&D labs were sold to corporate entities. They still build off of some of our research, but not the Project.” Again, he breathed. “A few years ago, some of the Project’s research surfaced. A theoretical mixture, condensed into the form of a drug. I thought I’d shut down the rogue lab responsible for continuing elements of the Project’s research, but now, it’s in circulation. Its presence was confirmed in Cupresso.” He looked at Fokienia. “And now, I can see it in you.”

Fokienia looked back. The eyes of the hologram were soulless, but the pony behind them was real. “I never asked for this.”

Governor Graham stared. He didn’t speak until he was ready. “I believe you.” Graham looked at Cold. “And I trust you, captain. I searched up your warrant just a few minutes ago. I know you’re not working with them. Your nav records for New Griffonia are a solid alibi. Some of the information in the report is off… but I know it’s beyond your doing.”

Cold didn’t know what to say. Or at least, he didn’t speak.

Fokienia watched Graham stand, and turn back to her. “Give me the name you have. I have access to the records of every single R&D facility location on-station, black site, decommissioned, and otherwise. I have enough names to fill a dozen data-banks. I can find every researcher who’s contributed to the field, and at least one of them can be corroborated with whatever name you have. It doesn’t matter if they’re some non-Cypressean merc operative,” he spat, though he quickly relaxed, “or even your real name. Tonight, I’m going to go through them all, and if you give me that name, I can minimize the damage of whatever’s coming.” His voice and face softened. “I’ve helped you, Fokienia. So please, help me.”

This was it. This was the mission she’d trained her whole life for. The moment where her exploration and exploitation of subterfuge came to life. But if she acted now, she would be delivering information to the pony who would have been her enemy, if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t loyal to anypony. She turned to Cold for support, but his eyes were turned away again. Instead of opening her mouth, she stopped, returning to Graham. Why had she looked at Cold? She didn’t want him to help her make this decision: this wasn’t his purpose, his destiny. This was hers. And it would be her own decision to make.

She looked again at the holographic stallion. The warm disposition of the governor: was it a façade, too? Was it possible that he was a plant, an operative placed on the upper-echelon of the authority spectrum, coming around in a last ditch effort to sweep up the breach she’d made?

Fokienia looked past the context, past the hologram, past the governor, and deep into the eyes of the flesh and blood pony. Somewhere above this office building, Graham was stood in a similar conference room, looking into her in that same way. There was a passing familiarity, there. Two ponies on opposite sides, each seeking trust, each the heralds of a war they all knew would happen. But where she hoped to stop it, he was determined to start one. Could war be waged for good?

Then again, was it inevitable? That pony trust would be abused, and so it should be abused whenever opportunity favorably struck? The pony of the name she held had told her so. Did they believe those words? They wouldn’t have expected their training to be used against them. But somepony would trust the governor if she didn’t, somepony who lacked the intent and knowledge she had.

Graham didn’t speak. He looked at Fokienia, eyes still soft, his body language reserved, patient.

Fokienia looked Graham in the eye. “Give me your name.”

It was instant. “My name is Golden Graham.” His voice was solid, stocky.

Fokienia stood from the table. The bolted chair bent slightly as she pushed away. She looked back at the door. The door was sealed shut. She looked through the walls around her. She saw what she believed was ‘normal’. What was happening in the room was contained. Fokienia faced Golden Graham. She spoke, uninfluenced, her words and choice independent of fate.

“Her name is Sundown Periapsis. She is a gray-coated, blue-maned bat pony.”

The taste of betrayal was fresh, and vile. She wondered why she had spent so long in willing service to the art.

Graham stepped back, leaned away, and tapped. They all waited. After a long moment, he turned. “Thank you, Fokienia.”

She started to leave. “Cold—”

“Wait.”

She stopped. Her heart beat faster. She didn’t move back, but she turned from Cold to the hologram.

“Captain Cold… I’m going to send the Concord marshal in the complex to retrieve you.”

Cold nodded, slumping a little in the chair, resigned.

Fokienia stared at Golden Graham.

“Fokienia… tell the secretary at the desk in the hallway to follow directive zero-zero-alpha.” He looked away. “You need to leave.”

She trot over to Cold quickly, worriedly glancing between him and Graham. “Cold, are you going to—?”

“I’m staying.”

“Fokienia,” the governor pried. “I can keep the captain, but I can’t risk keeping you here.”

She ignored Graham. “Cold…” she whispered.

His horn lit. She watched his magic pull his jacket open. His dark gray PDA floated out and into the air. The screen flickered the whole time, swiftly shifting between menus. It levitated in front of her, and stopped. “I trust the governor.”

She read the screen. A street. A number. A name.

“Take the PDA with you.” He reached out, and tapped the side, depressing a button. “This turns the display on and off,” he chuckled.

“Cold you’re really going to—”

“I’ll be fine, Fokienia. I’m going to be fine. You’re more important than some cargo ship captain.” The PDA slid past her, and she heard her bag’s flap open up, but she couldn’t stop looking at Cold’s smiling muzzle. “Don’t get caught.”

She swallowed. Resolve sat thick between them. There was nothing she could do to change Cold’s mind.

Fokienia trot backwards. She gave Graham a look. He simply nodded at her.

Cold spoke again. “We’ll see each other when all of this is over, okay?”

Fokienia closed her eyes.

Something clicked behind her.

“Okay.”

Fokienia turned and ran through the open door. It swung shut behind her automatically. Her hooves thundered across the short sprint to the secretary’s desk. The mare jolted, breaking her façade, and gawked openly at Fokienia.

What if the order was a trap—?

“Directive 00A,” Fokienia intoned.

She had to trust in the good of ponies. Her handler hadn’t. Her friend did.

With practically no bridge between, the mare had composed herself, and tapped across four of the many wide analog keys, now visible to Fokienia as she stood behind the desk’s veil. The heavy metal doors of one of the elevators slid open.

“Step through that elevator!” the mare chirped, cheery as ever.

“Where will it go?”

“Sub-floor one.” Her face sharpened into worry. “I don’t know what’s going on, but stay safe.”

Three galloping steps forward, Fokienia halted mid-stride. “You too.” Then, she bolted for the doors.

The room chimed, and the steel slid shut. The elevator began moving, and the weight in her gut pulled at her, worse than before.

Fokienia descended into the belly of Cypress, just as she had two days prior, and that very morning. But alone again.

10 - Hydrophobic Baptism

Why did she run?

She had left so much unanswered, so much unasked. She’d thrown away what might have been her only chance, all on the words of a stallion she’d been in a room with for less than an hour.

Golden Graham had answers, but it was too late to turn back.

Fokienia wore herself out on things to blame, citing all the princess-damning words she could recall. Her regret crawled in slowly, but surely.

“I’m sorry, Princess Celestia...”

Slumped against an elevator wall, she sat down. Her eyes tracked lazily around her: the ponies above fell away, and she was drawn into the isolation of the unmoving darkness below the office complex.

She knew how it had all come to be, having been made aware of the machinations leading to the technology powering her, but she still didn’t know why she was made, or who had made her and the others. What had made them likely candidates for the Project? The fundamental motives were placed in good, but the true results were much less pure. Training under a military background was a far cry from the civility of universal healing Graham had laid out.

Then, there was the illness. It was unlikely that his words weren’t true, and given the mounting supply of Cypress doomsday prophesies, there was a high likelihood of a potent bioweapon existing aboard the station, a disease that couldn’t be stopped. But she’d never seen any of that in training. In fact, all of the technology used to keep her and the others healthy, growing, and breathing was nigh miraculous. Still, she certainly felt like she’d been weaponized with that technology in some way: healing the injured wasn’t the only thing she could do with her skills and equipment. It wasn’t too far-fetched that she might’ve been a potential carrier for whatever the Project had concocted.

However, because she’d broken containment on her handler’s word, things had changed, but war was still on its way: if the ponies developing the final Cypress Project didn’t require her for use in their plans, what did they have instead? Were she and the other cyborgs the weapons that would destroy Cypress, or a distraction to deploy something worse? She’d reached the extent of what she knew for absolute certain.

Now, there was this talk of a real war, a ‘civil conflict’ in a place called New Griffonia. Without a doubt, she’d broken out at such an inconvenient time for the governor, who had just recently played a risky hoof, betraying allegiances and stirring controversy in some vague attempt to bring about the ‘best for Cypress Station’. For a pony who seemed so proud of his station’s heritage, she found it hard to believe he wanted to bring war to it. Still, he was evidently opportunistic, and clearly had loftier goals in mind. She supposed that before conquest and expansion, consolidation was needed. The ponies of the Cypress Project were a loose end that needed to be wrapped up, and presumably, she’d just given the governor the ability to do so.

Time and time again, it all seemed to come back to the governor. Governor Graham: a hardy stallion of science turned charming businesspony. She couldn’t help but feel as if she’d submitted to his demands, and given up her one piece of leverage. In the process, she’d lost Cold… though, she hoped it would only be for a moment. Did she really trust Graham? Why did he intend to keep Cold? He had control of Concord, and yet, he’d only ordered Cold’s detainment, opting to make her leave. What did he know that she didn’t? Did she know enough of the truth to put it together, or was she lacking a critical piece that could change everything she knew? More importantly, could she do anything amid the growing chaos left by the wake of her escape?

She didn’t know how exactly Cypress was threatened. For the moment, the future was out of her hooves again. And she loathed it.

The fear of the unknown rooted deep into her, but she channeled it into a quiet anger. She was supposed to know the unknown. Yet, it felt like she knew less than before. And she didn’t know where to go next. She stomped, and the metal creaked from where she sat.

The elevator slowed. She stood, and her bag slapped against her side. She reached back, and drew out the PDA. The screen came on. She read it again.

Fokienia did know where to go.

“Holly Rain.”

The doors opened into the unmoved darkness.

Fokienia took a breath, and exchanged the PDA for the stowed disabler pistol. It was the last one left—Cold’s pistol had been blown to pieces by a heavy disabler beam in their previous firefight—and she had a few charges to go with it. She slot a new charge into place, dumping the near-exhausted one on the elevator floor. It clattered to the steel, the echo bouncing through the elevator and the unlit space ahead. Holding the disabler by the mouth-grip, she crept out into the dark. Her optics showed nothing ahead, but she fell back on her training; she’d only spent three days with her augmented eyes, and while she’d learned to exploit their capabilities, she knew better than to rely on the tech alone. The organic pieces of her mind and body hadn’t been honed just for show.

The room was filled with cold concrete. She passed under a billowing ceiling vent, and her body shivered beneath the jumpsuit. As she continued forward into the darkness with her weapon readied, the pin-drop silence shattered; pairs of caged, circular, dome-shaped lights clicked to life on either side of the hall. The red emergency lighting was all too familiar, and it put Fokienia on edge: from the Facility, to Cold’s vessel, and to this lonely, cold hallway, red lights had promised nothing but trouble. Fokienia focused so deeply that she began to measure the passing time with each breath she pulled.

At the end of the hall, a single pneumatic door stood. A heavy inter-locking mechanism, like that of a vault door, was exposed on her side of the doorway. As she approached, it began to spin, clinking rapidly like a lowering anchor. The door hissed, and cranked inward. She stepped backward, waited. It all shuddered to a stop, and more red lights revealed themselves to carry the illumination forward, framing a cramped stairwell: it ascended at a steep angle, up and away from the frigid, featureless corridor. There was the sound of steel sliding, and Fokienia whipped back around. The elevator had just closed. Now, the only way out of the empty space were up the stairs before her. Bracing, she took a breath, and trot past the heavy pneumatic door.

With every step she took, more lights appeared. Click, clack, click: she counted each activation of the guiding lights. With no movement ahead and to the side, the stimulation was precious, forcing her to keep her guard up. This was the kind of nerve-wracking situation her neurostimulators had been designed for, and yet, they were still quiet. She shifted her rump to jostle the bag at her side. Maybe it was for the best that they learn their new place in the hierarchy: she had total control of her body and augmentations, and she would let them back in when she wanted them in.

A few more seconds of her careful crawl passed before more stimuli reached her sphere of awareness. The outline of movement fed to her through her modified optical nerves was a transparent, cloudy sight, and the glimmer of moving crowds was something she was now well-acquainted with. Away and above her, ponies were trotting, though she could still hear nothing but the lights. Then, her path flattened out, and the steps gave way to more smooth concrete. A metal runged-ladder led up to a thick mechanical hatch, painted with hazardous blacks and yellows. Giving one last check behind her, she holstered her disabler in the front jumpsuit-loop, and began climbing the ladder.

The lever of the manually-operated door was slick and oiled; it turned smoothly. Groaning in spite of the ease of access, the hatch allowed Fokienia to push it open. It swung out wide, then stopped before hitting the floor above. She clambered right out and into a stuffy, pale-lit room. A ceiling fan spun idly above her, and a cursory look about showed her several empty shelves. On one side of the room, there was a rectangular outline sized perfectly for a door, but lacking one. On the other, a proper external pneumatic door was fixed in place. Finding nothing else of note in the stuffy concrete room, she triggered the switch for the door.

Fokienia stepped out of the side of the office complex, and right into the rays of artificial afternoon sunlight️.

Without alleyways to shroud her escape, Fokienia dipped back into the wide streets’ crowds. She doubled her speed upon seeing a few pegasi dip out of the other fliers in the flight lanes up high. Their uniforms were unfamiliar, but their red-and-black flightsuits matched the shade of her jumpsuit. A squad’s worth of the pegasi descended—did that one not have wings? She shook herself. Spotty details aside, they aimed right for the entrance on the opposing side of the building.

Fokienia squinted about for any landmarks to indicate where she had to go. Nothing jumped out of her, so she continued on, moving as quickly as she could; she was careful to avoid bowling over the little ponies about. There wasn’t anypony visibly following her, and she wanted to keep it that way. Her swift wake was a minimal trail.

The street and name in her coiled into a mantra of sorts. Pent-up anxiety sulked beneath her flesh, and as she reached out for aid, nothing came—why was the touch of the neurostimulators completely absent? “Holly Rain,” she whispered at her capricious, crowd-weaving canter. Her true feelings and worries were buried beneath the information flooding her other senses. Right now, she had one mission, and one active process: get to her destination. Eyes pivoting left and right, she searched high and low. “Holly Rain.”

Finally, Fokienia discovered where the signs for the street were placed—they were hung high on the bottom corners of the buildings—and she was quick to begin a proper search for the street. With luck, it would be on this side of Cypress Central; she wasn’t prepared to figure out how to work the fragile-looking PDA. There may have been half a million ponies aboard Cypress Station, but she was hoping to get lucky looking for just one. All her escape came down to were two things: intuition, and pure luck. There wasn’t much more she could fall back on.

From quite a ways behind her, a siren wailed. The clattering, whooping bell of it forced her ears to swivel, but having turned a corner already, the source of the sound was out of sight. The ponies nearby had mixed reactions: some shared her pause, holding their own ears aloft; most continued on as if nothing had happened. What few murmurs bobbed about were mentions of ‘Concord’. The siren bobbed across the echoing city soundscape, adding to the ever-pressing crescendo as it sped from one ear to the next. Fokienia turned away; this wasn’t the time to ponder Concord activity.

Now, instead, she turned to the life in her immediate vicinity. Unlike Cupresso, the ponies about had coats clean of soot. Some of the crowd was unkempt of course, but not sullied to the degree the lower city inhabitants were. In general, the unicorns wore either formal attire or nothing at all, while the earth ponies and pegasi wore a variety of clothes, from smooth blue-collar uniforms, to coarse, single-piece threads. Despite the wide range, there were still ponies of the latter two tribes who wore sharp suits and dresses.

Every so often, pegasi would congregate on the corners of intersections, their eyes trained to the restricted rows of pegasi soaring above. Then, they would lift themselves directly up—merging with maneuvers both smooth and rough—into the apparent sky-lanes. From the rooftops of the high-rises, there were occasional teams hauling metal trailers into the traffic with just wingpower, but a vast majority of sky-cargo was carried by the same hovering machines of Cupresso. As opposed to their industrial-grade counterparts, the machines were painted in all kinds of bright hues, and the words of their designation styled in popping corporate-crafted fonts. Moving electronic billboards still buzzed and cried out as the couriers passed by to take their place beneath the sky-lanes. Shadows of sound and light constantly arranged themselves over the vibrant city.

All of it, like everything else she’d experienced outside of the Facility, was an everyday occurrence. A world above her head, full of experiences to be had, and all of it plucked from her reach, and for what?

Maybe the answer didn’t really matter. If it did, it was too late for her to change her beliefs.

This time, the sounds of life brought no feelings of fear. Nor did they bring the warmth that Cold had brought her to see, taught her to feel. Instead, the sounds cleaved a moat of emptiness between her, and the ponies who lived aboard Cypress.

Shuddering slightly, Fokienia’s gait slowed. From a canter, she crested at a trot, only to delve deep into a heavy, earth-plowing walk. Her lower lip quivered, drooping with her muzzle as she strained to whisper, “Holly Rain…” Glazed eyes met concerned looks as a deep frown came to her. Imperceptible to most, ponies began to shy away, but Fokienia noticed. Her heart slowed, and her short lime mane fell into her eyes again. It took longer for her to notice that: it wasn’t often that she brought her head so low. Her hooves carried her autonomously. If she was being chased, or going the wrong way, it didn’t matter. She’d failed her only friend.

Fokienia’s bag buzzed, and it brought a halt to everything. Stopping just short of the alley, she retrieved the PDA with her mouth. It continued to rumble. She swapped to her hoof, and brought the display to life. Amid the confusing jumble of scrawling ‘news’, one repeated line rang clear.

“CUPRESSO CLINIC TERROR-BOMBER DETAINED IN CYPRESS CENTRAL.”

Fokienia closed her eyes. A rage boiled. Her throat welled up in anticipation.

Then, the neurostimulators returned. She welcomed them in.

She sagged, her muscles relaxing in moments. An unnatural calm curled around her, and she gently slid the PDA away. “Holly Rain,” she said simply. A few passing ponies stared worriedly at her, but she paid them no mind.

She had a target, and the location was just around the corner.

Even with what little knowledge she had, the make of the building appeared to be as fine a place as the towers beside it. Etching up two stories, the silver-sheen of the installation glowed in the sunlight. Like many of the imposing structures around, there were few windows, but the presence of one in particular made it immediately clear that the operations within were not too dissimilar from the businesses operating in Cupresso: to the left of the opaque pneumatic front-door, a wide pane of acrylic glass stretched across the building’s face. It offered insight into the goings within, or presumably, it would have, were it not for the metal-slat shutters sealing off all sight-lines. It wasn’t a problem for Fokienia. Peering with her optics, she could see the forms of two ponies facing one another, with a small space between them. There were no signs to advertise a product or service provided by the business, but she knew that it didn’t immediately classify the place as covert in nature: if there were publicly-accessible data-banks to pinpoint the place’s location, then the ponies who needed whatever the enterprise provided could just as easily find that out. Fokienia gave the structure another once over.

The door opened automatically.

The interior was warm. Not a stuffy kind of warm, but with the sweat now foaming slightly in the gap between her jumpsuit and her coat, it was uncomfortable all the same. Discomfort was all but out of mind in the moment, however. Her keen eyes honed in on the two ponies. The door hissed shut behind her, its motion sensor deactivating at the sheer stillness she inhibited.

The floor was covered in an unfamiliar, planked material. Slated against the walls was a simple peachy paint that almost matched her coat, but the floors… it took her longer to identify. She lifted her hoof carefully, only to bring it back down. Wood flooring was an interesting anecdote of the site, but it had little to do with the mission Cold had given her. There were no major furnishings: a few potted plants, presumably for décor; and some recliners and tables to go with them. A big wooden display case was placed beside a door on the left side of the room, and it was filled with all sorts of fine pieces of glass.

When the interruptions of the curiosities had passed, Fokienia re-oriented herself. The other two ponies in the room were staring at her.

“Thank you, Holly,” the mare on her side of the room said, turning slowly. “I’ll call you on my comm-link.” The earth pony leaned over and picked up a plastic case of bottles, then trot toward Fokienia. “’scuse me,” she mumbled.

“What?”

The pony was shaking. Her muzzle quivered around the handle of the case. “’s-scuse me,” she said again, her mumble a little louder.

“Yes?”

“Miss.” Fokienia looked up; the pegasus at the counter called to her again. “Please, let her through.”

Fokienia looked down.

“…I need to pass…”

“Oh.” She stepped aside cleanly. The mare kept her eyes down the whole way out, hurriedly trotting through the pneumatic door.

Fokienia and ‘Holly’ eyed one another. The mare had a look of great curiosity, but the ruffling of her wings suggested there was more to her otherwise placid demeanor. “Welcome…”

“Hello.” Fokienia approached, eyes sweeping left and right, though her neck remained locked in place. She stopped almost precisely where the mare had stood, analyzing the pegasus’ now slightly-worried face. “Are you Holly Rain?”

“Yes… did you place an order?”

“I didn’t. But I was given one.”

An eyebrow quirked above one of Holly’s emerald eyes… a color that reminded her painfully of Cold. The mare tilted her head to sell the look even more. “Given one?”

Her ears twitched, and she puffed lightly to herself. “My name is Fokienia.” She bowed her head, half in respect, half to avoid those eyes. “Searing Cold wanted me to come here.” Discretely: she was sure the governor didn’t know.

“Cold?” The mare’s voice brimmed with warmth. “Are you a friend?”

Did she deserve that much? “He’s helped me… in innumerable measure.” She looked up.

Holly had a beaming smile, but it fell with her pale purple and white mane. “Why did Cold tell you to come here?”

Fokienia’s mind fell into fritz. “I… we were on the run. From bad ponies.”

Holly breathed, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes flicked to the disabler pistol, still on brazen display against Fokienia’s breast. “Who?” her voice was filled with urgency and care.

“Ponies from my past.”

Where Fokienia expected upset, she got it. But it was immediately voiced that it wasn’t for her. “Oh, that stallion.” Holly sighed and looked away. “Always getting involved with the wrong crowd.” She came back up and smiled weakly for Fokienia. “No offense.”

She shuffled. “It’s fine…”

“So where is he? He’s okay, right? He’s usually good at staying out of trouble.”

“He…” Fokienia swallowed. Even under her control, the neurostimulators were faltering again word-by-word. It was painful to force each truth out, but it was only the fault of her biological programming. “He interned himself with the governor for protection. The… news, has reported him as ‘detained’.”

Suddenly, Holly’s forelegs were up on the counter. The pegasus’ eyes were wide. “He—! He’s what?!”

Fokienia’s heart jumped all over the place. “He’s fine, but—”

“Well I’m not!” Holly huffed, and clambered back down. “That stupid, stubborn stallion.” Her eyes softened as she looked Fokienia over. “He always puts his best hoof forward for what he believes in… even though that usually means putting himself in harm’s way. He’s a brave stallion.”

Cold was brave? Fokienia stared into herself with incredulity. He was brave. Searing Cold was a brave pony. She’d deluded herself from the start into thinking otherwise, but at every step of the ceaseless onslaught of a day, he’d proved that theory wrong. Fokienia shrunk inward. “Yes. Very brave.”

“…So, what did you do?” Fokienia looked at the mare. Holly was tapping anxiously. “Well?”

“It started two days ago.”

Holly interrupted, “But Cold wasn’t on station until yesterday.” She wilted. “Sorry… please, go on.”

Fokienia couldn’t blame her. “He got involved when I… well…” She sucked in a breath. Telling the truth of her actions so far was so much harder when the first pony she’d told had suffered for it.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can see you’re stressed out. And to be honest… this is stressing me out, too.” Holly started to walk away, and Fokienia’s eyes followed her. “We’ll talk out back.”

Fokienia looked behind herself. “But you’re operating a business.”

Holly had disappeared into the space behind the storefront. “I was about to close up to do inventory,” she called. The blur-in-motion paused mid-stride, and Holly lifted a hoof to a wall. The bolts to the shop’s entrance thud heavily behind Fokienia. The pegasus continued walking: a non-pneumatic door on the wall beside the counter clicked, and swung open. Holly stepped out. “And finding out what happened to my special somepony is much more important.” After penetrating Fokienia with a steel-eyed gaze, she brightened up, and tapped her hoof. “Here, come on around.”

Fokienia followed after the pegasus, closing the door behind them. There were no other signs of movement, and she had no reason to not trust the mare. She’d been very understanding so far, especially given her failure to protect Cold—Holly’s ‘special somepony’.

“So, Fokienia… is that how you like it pronounced?”

“Fo-kie-nia.”

She tried the word again. “You must be a native.” The light lavender pegasus hummed her thoughts aloud, her back still turned to Fokienia. “And here I’d pegged you for a spacer…”

The wooden floors extended further into the building. The mare, or whoever had built the place, had really gone all out on the wood. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a very, er, Cypressean name.” Holly spun, brushing her mane before gesturing with the same hoof. She smiled. “Through here, Fokienia.”

The small living space beyond was… quite cozy. The floor was real wood, but the wooden trim-accents that had overrun the walls like reaching vines were clearly of the faux variety. A solid, lacquered dining table for two was placed below a sunny, but pleasant ceiling lamp. A few framed and hung pictures brightened the room further. Polymer chairs against the wall, and a few red cushions slid under the table, served as humble, yet comfortable places to rest. A small kitchenette attachment was carved into the side of the living space, and an upward stairwell led off the only other way into the room. Everything about the room was the polar opposite of the clean-lit halls of procedure outside. This was its own little world aboard Cypress, and from the touch of life scattered about—from the few set-out glass bottles of drink, to the smell of fresh linen draped over the table and chairs—this was a well-loved, and lived-in home.

She knew it was all meant to be inviting, but the modest display made Fokienia feel as if she didn’t belong. This was a better place, a place of dreams, and days determined on-the-wing. In a different life, she could have lived here. Once more, she’d crossed paths with a pony who lived a good life. A better life. And one she didn’t deserve to savor.

“Have a seat, Fokienia.”

She flinched out of her sphere of thought. She straightened out as quick as she could. “Are you sure?”

“Please. Take a cushion or chair, whichever is more comfortable for you.” Holly’s visage brought another sprat of déjà vu: she gave Fokienia a sad smile. “I can already tell it’s going to be a long story.”

Fearing that she might break the mare’s chair, she opted for the cushion.

Flapping caught her eyes and ears, and she tweaked to look at Holly. She skipped across the room, teetering just a hoof’s edge above the floor as she hummed her way to the tiny kitchen’s island. Her head crooned as she reached below and retrieved two bell-shaped glasses, just as easily finagling her way around a modest green bottle, tacked with a red flower of some kind. In a feat that floored Fokienia, she swooped into the side of the counter with her wings flared. Where the glasses should have spilled and fell, she swept them easily onto her wings, balancing her way over to the table. With gentle, eased grace, one glass came down before either of the seated sides. It fizzed softly, but not a drop was spilled.

Holly seated herself on her own cushion, beaming as she lifted her glass of amber liquid to her muzzle. Her hoof held the drink so oddly, but it did flow. It clinked as she brought it back down. She shook herself, feathers rustling. “Sparkling tea. My own batch, of course.”

Fokienia stared at the mare with incredulity. She peered down at her own glass, then back up.

The pegasus blushed, and went for another sip.

Fokienia poked hesitantly at her glass. As much as she wanted a drink, it felt wrong to have it without Cold. “Where do you want me to start?”

Now, Holly’s jittery joy took a turn: the rosy blush evaporated from her. She firmly set her glass down. Her whole face seemed to furrow in focus. “Where did Cold come into play for your… business?”

Nothing but the truth.

“I boarded his ship… and I ambushed him.”

An ambush. A boarding action. An escape. A grove.

“To see them… to really see them, not on a data-bank display…”

Beauty. History. Ponies. Cypress Station.

“And then we had to run…”

Gravity-powered flight. Ancient concrete complexes. A rapidly-advancing society.

“Then… the governor.”

“You mentioned him before.”

Fokienia blinked. It took her a long moment to shake the fuzz of her memories, and focus on the pegasus across the table. The mare had since drained her glass. In its stead, Holly had brought the whole bottle of tea to the table. Fokienia’s mind slid inward—it had felt like forever, but had it only been an hour since she’d begun her tale? Holly had been remarkably quiet the whole time.

“Yes…”

“Sorry, go on.” She moved to pour more tea. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Holly was fine: there wasn’t much left for Fokienia say. “The governor sat down and spoke to me. And he knew things about me that most ponies don’t.” She trailed off. Did she tell her…?

“Bad things?”

Fokienia wriggled on her cushion. Cautiously, she picked up a hoof, and set it on the table. “Classified technology,” she murmured.

Holly looked at her cybernetic foreleg with a generous dose of curiosity. “Wait, that’s your leg?”

Fokienia nodded. “Past the knee, and up toward the forearm. For both my front legs.”

“Wow…” the pegasus whispered. She leaned forward across the table, then back. Her eyes lifted Fokienia’s gaze. “How’d that happen?”

“A prototyping process.”

“Did it hurt?”

“…Sometimes.”

Holly sat quietly. It took Fokienia a moment to identify it as patience. “The governor had no knowledge of my current augmentations, but his words provided a great deal of credibility to his understanding as a former ‘research director’.” Fokienia breathed. “Which provides further reasoning as to why he chose to intern Cold. For his protection.”

“…I think I’d like to know more about these ‘augmentations’ of yours.”

Fokienia obliged; Holly would receive the same treatment and knowledge he’d earned. So she willed forward the truth, of cybernetics and cyborgs, augmentations and bioengineering, of covert and overt operational training. Just as Cold had laid out his culture for her, Fokienia put out the secrets of the life she knew to another innocent pony. It was only through sincere, fastened hope, that Fokienia believed she could protect this one from further harm.

Once she’d finished, Holly was remarkably calm. “So after you spoke to Governor Graham, he took Cold. What happened after that?”

“Cold willingly surrendered himself, and I arrived here.”

Holly chewed her lip. “That’s it? He gave himself up?”

“Yes.”

Holly hummed strangely; the sweet tone was tampered by worry. “How do you know you can trust the governor?” She tapped the table nervously. “Fokienia, Governor Graham is a good pony, but with everything you’ve told me about this… technology, and the plethora of ponies after you, and the fact that they’re calling Cold a terrorist, I’m not so sure the governor views you and Cold the way you think he does.”

“What do you mean?”

Holly licked her lips. “He’s a pony of corporate, fulfilling his needs through… manipulation.” She cringed. “That’s not the word I was looking for. But he’s a modern businesspony. They all are.” She shut her eyes, and leaned back on her cushion. “I should know. It takes one to know one.”

Fokienia cocked her head. “Are you a politician?” The loose and chipper pegasus certainly didn’t look the part.

“No, no,” Holly remarked with a tender giggle. All too soon, she gave way to a tired sigh. “I’m just… it takes a lot to get an installation like this in Cypress Central, no less one with full-residential capacity. The corporations usually do their best for the community—most of them are local institutions—but the higher you ascend on the corporate ladder, the more rungs of hooves you have to step on…”

“I see.” She had her doubts, but something about the governor… Holly was right, it wasn’t manipulation, but some ulterior motive was there, or she thought there was. Fokienia hadn’t fallen prey to that trap, had she?

Holly sipped at her tea. Her ears twitched, and she sat up. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You’re probably starving.” She stood suddenly, and flit her wings as she stepped toward the tiny kitchen module. “I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. Real cooked meals, none of the pre-packaged.”

Fokienia knew better than to resist. “Okay.”

Soon enough, ‘some’ leftovers made their way to the table on pretty wings. A steaming dish was laid out before Fokienia. It was loaded to the edges of the fine plate, positively brimming with a smattering of greens and bread. The light drink of tea continued to sit idly, unstirred, but increasingly tempting, especially with the bounty laid about before her. She could imagine the richness of the intoxicating scents pouring down her gullet in droves, filling her till she was capped with all of the most self-servient pleasures she could ever dine upon. And there was little she had to do to capture the feeling.

“Alfalfa and rye with maple butter spread.”

Even if they’d tried, her neurostimulators couldn’t have stopped her.

Salivating, she dug in with max gusto. Holly fell out of her vision as she tore through the plate like no other meal before. Nothing this heavenly had been served in the canteen, and it was absolutely beyond the cold, calculated nourishment of a bio-pod. Her glass seemed limitless: every time she reached for it, it was filled just for her. All signs of greediness fell wayward to her path of devastation, inconsequential in the grand feast freely provided to her by her host, Holly.

It was when she’d cleaned the wide plate that she got the better of her control.

Fokienia stood up. A sharp clink, and gasp shook the room. She tilted her head down, peering at the still-seated pony across from her.

Holly held a hoof to her breast. “Sweet Celestia,” she whispered.

Fokienia faltered. “I…”

“I-It’s okay!” Holly laughed. “You’re fine! Just… gosh, I’ve never seen a pony go through a plate so quickly. And so cleanly, too!”

The cyborg looked down, half-expecting ruins. Instead of destruction, there was a used cloth napkin. The plate was totally clean, and the glass hadn’t even cracked slightly in the flurry of steel hooves.

Holly pulled a pitcher of water away, one she’d presumably been trying to pour. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She paused. “I was saving it for Cold, but… it’s okay.”

“…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A soft pause followed. Holly politely excused herself and stood, taking the ‘clean’ plate with her. Fokienia stayed where she was. She stared into the cool, half-full glass of water. Water flowed from nearby.

“And you know, I didn’t want to say anything… but you’re covered in soot.”

Fokienia scuffed at the front of her jumpsuit, jostling the awkwardly holstered disabler pistol. Her steel hoof pulled away with a smudge of black. She blew it away from the table. “Cleaning it would take time,” she said pointedly.

“Yes, but I intend on having you fully-prepared to go help Cold.”

Fokienia’s ears fell back. She looked at the pegasus, though Holly’s muzzle was turned to the sink. Despite her sated thirst, her throat felt dry. “What would you have me do?”

The water turned off, and Holly reached for a towel. “Well, right now, I have a few things to say.” She came down from the counter, turning to face Fokienia. Her eyes were light, but her voice was hard. “One. You’re going to stay here. Cold told you a lot, and he doesn’t trust as blindly as you think he would. I believe you.” She began walking back to the table. “Two. You’re going to talk about what you know. I might be Cypressean, but you clearly know less about the galaxy than even I do. I need to hear you talk more.” Stopping just shy of Fokienia, she held a hoof out. “And three. I want to know what’s in your bag. I don’t need any unpleasant surprises.” She nodded to the disabler. “But I appreciate knowing you’re armed.”

“You do?”

Holly frowned. “I know my way around a wing-pistol. Let’s leave it at that.”

After a moment, Fokienia stood to her full height. She towered a full head above Holly. The pegasus looked up, her eyes hardening. In response, Fokienia unslung her bag, and lightly laid it on the floor between them.

“Supplies for my augmentations, three energy charges for the disabler, an implant scanner, and Cold’s PDA.”

Holly flinched. “Cold’s PDA?”

“He gave it to me when the governor took him.”

Holly lifted the flap on the bag and brought out the white tablet. “And this is the ‘implant’ scanner?”

“Yes.”

“What does it do?”

“Use the switch.”

The screen buzzed on. One dot. Holly tilted the device, then looked up at Fokienia. “It tracks you?”

“And the others like me.”

Holly hummed. “The cyborgs.”

“Yes.”

Quietly, Holly shut the scanner off, and placed it back in the bag. She next brought out a few pressure-tight containers. The contents smoothly sloshed. She read the labels to herself. “Is this what you picked up at the clinic?” Fokienia nodded, Holly frowned. “And is this for the others, then?”

“No, they’re for me. I acquired it for resupply.”

“You mentioned needing to resupply. This was why you and Cold went to the clinic… what you were making when you said Concord ‘breached’ the building. What are you supplying?”

Fokienia lifted her steel hoof.

“Oh.”

She lowered it back down. “It is purely medical in nature. Inert, so long as it remains stored. Safe, so long as it is applied in the correct dosage.”

“…Okay.” Holly breathed, and brought the bag up with her. She slung the strap over her neck, and it came to rest against her cutie mark: a dark gray cloud, dripping with lavender rain. Holly’s eyes brightened, and she smiled again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

When Fokienia had seen the niceties of Holly’s welcoming-nature cast aside, she’s figured she’d never see the mare smile again. Now, at the top of the stairs, and through a door, she was stood in a well-sized, white-tiled bathroom. The mare’s sudden flip-flop, her relationship with Cold, and the situation ahead filled her with a great deal of unease.

“Actually, can you take a bath with those hooves?”

Fokienia blinked. Could she? She’d never actually thought about it.

Holly sniffed. “…Have you ever?”

Fokienia blushed, and the pegasus gave a trilling giggle. “I’m kidding! But really, if you can’t, that might throw a wrench in the works.”

“I should be able to,” Fokienia started. Then, her voice dropped. “Both the inner and outer coating are rated for lifetime deployment, and are hydrophobic in nature. A majority of my operating hours are spent in submerged stasis.”

“…Okay then!” Her hooves squeaked across the floor. “Here, let me help you with that jumpsuit…”

Hanging her bag on an empty wall-rail, Fokienia drew the disabler, and set it aside as well. The jumpsuit was well-fit and comfortable. That didn’t mean it would require simple means to escape. “Thank you.”

It’d been a long time since Fokienia had bathed like a ‘normal’ pony. Holly was doing her best to make her comfortable, and for that, she was very grateful.

“There we go,” the pegasus murmured, shucking the last binding from Fokienia’s jumpsuit.

Stepping out of the jumpsuit felt… freeing. It pooled around her hooves in a clatter of metal and synthetic fabric. She stretched her hindlegs, rolling her body from the tip of her spine to the base of her neck. Dewspots of sweat were pinned all across her, and the cool air of the bathroom felt all too sweet; she felt cleaner already.

Running water poured from Holly’s hooves once again. “This shouldn’t take more than a minute to warm up.” Standing, she shook her hoof out, and turned to Fokienia, who was still basking in the glory of her naked freedom. “Wow…”

“What?”

“Your coat is in dire straits, which I can fix.” She leaned to the side. “But your tail still looks great. You do it yourself?”

Fokienia didn’t pout—big mares didn’t, and she was a big mare. But she did make a face, and bounce her tail. “Yes, I practice self-maintenance.”

Holly sounded again with her tickling laugh. “I was just going to ask if you wanted help. Being an earth pony and all, especially with all those hard to reach spots.”

Fokienia glanced between the rising tub and the mare before it. To be honest, it had been a very long time since she’d properly bathed: most of her ‘maintenance’ was held together by the bio-pod process. She couldn’t even remember if a pony had helped her bathe before. “…Are you sure?”

“Of course! Pegasi are the best bath partners, haven’t you heard?”

“No.”

Holly’s cheer fell slightly. “Oh, well… then you don’t know!” She sighed, and put on a light, hopeful smile. “Come on, it’s better than I make it sound.”

For some reason, that was enough for Fokienia. She’d spent two days on the run, and despite the stresses that came with meeting new ponies, sowing chaos, and being an overall target for anypony who saw her, it was the mostly-bubbly pegasus that was her most sudden and unseen enemy. Whether it was a forced kindness or true-hearted attempt, Fokienia couldn’t hold herself back any longer. Even with all the power she had in operating alone—especially without the strain of neurostimulated thoughts—it turned out that one good pony was all it took for her to lose her grip on reality. “Okay.”

Still unsure of how she’d gotten into this situation, Fokienia stepped into the tub of the mare she’d just met.

Holly made a quiet squee. “How’s the water?”

Fokienia had no augmentations directed toward temperature-sensitivity, but what she did have was the experience of hot-cold chambers and pressure pods. “It’s…” She held her breath, and slouched a little more, relieving tension as she pressed her rump and body into the clear water. “Perfect.”

Now well beyond the point of caring, Fokienia closed her eyes, and lulled her optical augments to sleep. The eigengrau world behind the lids of her eyes was smooth, totally unmarred by the slimy feeling of bio-fluid. It was a distinct state of non-sight, and it brought a ripple of pleasure to her ever-soothed mind.

“I can take over for you, if you’d like.”

A wave crashed over Fokienia’s back as Holly climbed into the tub with her. She didn’t have to see to know it was her: the pegasus spoke softly, but the words didn’t have meaning. They didn’t have to, not now. There were no secrets to find in this tub, brimming with two mares. They were both from a different Cypress, but that didn’t matter. It was a good, nigh-melancholy blurb of peace. Holly asked nothing of Fokienia, and Fokienia did the same. She imagined that a song was playing somewhere, and she brought it close. Music was something so rarely felt in the Facility, but the few measures she’d heard of Cold’s sleeping melody played over and over.

Warm water poured across her withers, and a hoof and brush touched at her neck, sliding to a new place when they’d been scrubbed thoroughly. Her apricot coat must’ve been gleaming with suds by now, husked of sweat and subdermal grime. Fokienia had always prided herself on keeping both herself, and her weapons, clean. It was nice to have somepony else take care of her. She’d never felt the touch of another pony, not like this. Loving was too strong a word—but at the same time, it was the right word.

Holly didn’t have to ask how she felt; she hummed happily, and that was enough.

The bathtub was more than big: it could fit more than two ponies. It was even wide enough for her to turn around when asked. There were no big waves made by her movement. The scrubbing resumed. Soapy water and conditioner lysed away the deepest grit. She didn’t so much as make a sound as Holly dug into the worst spots. It felt good, and there was no other way to go about that. She didn’t even mind when Holly asked about washing her cutie marks.

With each passing moment, Fokienia hoped more and more that her freedom would last this time.

“You have such a pretty coat. Is it natural?”

Fokienia opened her eyes. Her pegasus bath partner was hard at work. “Mostly.”

Holly splashed some water on Fokienia’s front, and looked up at her. “Meaning?”

“As a part of early bio-pod testing, my natural pigmentations were altered.”

“And you were fine with that?”

“That process took place…” She slowed; for some reason, she couldn’t exactly remember. A substitute answer quickly bobbed up. “About nine years ago.”

“So, you were a filly.” Holly sighed. Her hoof fell into the water, as did her gaze. “I knew this… life, had to have started when you were young, but still.”

Inwardly, Fokienia winced. “If it makes you feel any better, I like my mane and coat. They let me choose my colors.”

The pegasus smiled faintly. “I’m sure you do.”

“…I’m sorry for getting Cold in trouble.”

“It’s okay, Fokienia. Everything will turn out okay.”

Now, the moment began to slow. Reality dragged its sorry-self back in. Fokienia brought her passive augmentations back online—idle muscles of fiberglass and flesh twitched across her, and Holly noticed. Quietly, the mare excused herself, extracting herself carefully from the bath. Holly took one of the fluffy towels and left the room, leaving Fokienia to finish rinsing herself, and to do the same. Peace could last forever, but it had no safe ground to hold yet; the storm had yet to pass.

Fokienia checked through the walls as she rose from the tub, ripples of filth-straining water dispersing like slick oil. Holly had descended back downstairs, and true to her parting words, she’d snuck into a back room and begun sorting through shaky shelves and boxes: inventory. With one last peaceful breath, Fokienia stepped out of the tub. Holly had left her things untouched, and for that, she was grateful. It was nice to feel safe, especially when there was more work to do.

Resupplying her hardware was another chip in the coding of her life. It was as routine as a pony brushing their teeth. Shuttling up beside the draining tub, Fokienia willed the artificial nerves in the first hoof to move for her. A rack of rigged, opaque tubing slid out. The access port for her own fluid inventory was accessible now, and she took advantage of it. With the bag of reagents by her side, she started the semi-laborious operation of resupplying the complex chemical system that fed the veins and microprocessors below. The whole while, she stayed alert: having performed diagnostics so many times under her supervision, the automated systems were well-tracked, prepared for even the most strenuous of circumstances. Despite working under the lightest conditions possible, they worked as if her life depended on it.

It took less than ten minutes to fully replenish her stores, fewer than that to dry her now field-tested hooves, and just a little longer than she should’ve to brush out her mane, tail, and coat. There was one last thing on the docket to deal with: Fokienia stared at her jumpsuit. It was still sat in a pile on the floor.

She took a breath, and looked further down. Her steel forelegs greeted her. At the top of her legs, her coat blended smoothly against the metal. It was as sturdy as any other patch of coat, but she still felt exposed without the jumpsuit to cover it. Her eyes roamed back over to the black bio-pod jumpsuit.

Fokienia neatly folded her jumpsuit, placed it in her bag, and left the room with her gear in tow.

Trotting down the stairs as a fresh, clean, and now disrobed mare, she watched the bustling crowd outside the front. The waves of motion were like that of lunar tides, though she only knew of one example from her studies. Her lip twitched; she wanted to see the Equestrian homeworld in the flesh. Her hindlegs shared the same sentiment—she loosened her steps to avoid creaking any more of the precious wooden floorboards. With so much to see in the pony-manufactured home of Cypress, it was incredible to believe there was still worlds and stars waiting for her to see them. At least, she hoped they would wait for her.

Fokienia started following along the back-side of the counter to where Holly had gone.

Rising door bolts made her stop.

Her ears and coat-hairs rose, utterly alert. She turned to the front door, the door that should have been locked. Her heart panged: her disabler was still in the bag. The figure on the other side was moving too quickly for her to react. Her guard had been lowered so much that there was nothing she could do but stand still behind the counter in the milliseconds that passed before the pneumatic door slid open.

A pony peeked slowly into the building. Their eyes met hers, but that didn’t stop them in their tracks. Instead, they stood up, and walked out until the door sealed automatically behind them. Around their neck, a small black square was hung by a thin rubbery cord, and the gray-coated pony used a hoof to push it back into the collar of their equally toned attire.

The mare smoothed her blue mane back, and shined her fangs. “You’ve been a busy operative.”

11 - The Blizzard, Braved

Echoing hooves fell muffled as the door to the room shut.

Cold glanced back at the hologram of Golden Graham. Without Fokienia’s history, it was surprisingly difficult to find a position to hold: this was the governor, a pony he’d held in high regard for most of his time plugged into Cypress’ local relay networks. Despite the zealous nature of some of his words, he seemed honest, or enough to fool Fokienia at least. Truthfully, Cold wasn’t too worried. The mood was undermined by the fact that a pony of the law was coming for him… but that was hardly the end of the world. “You gave her a way out?”

The projected stallion nodded at him. “And I appreciate your compliance. I understand it’s been an… enduring, couple of days.”

“What do you mean?”

Graham smiled. “Nothing untoward, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His smile fell as he continued. “There have just been many signs, and unforeseen variables. I’m sorry to have you trapped in the midst of all this. I really am.”

Cold’s voice and look flattened into a deeper monotone, something he hadn’t fallen on since boarding the station. “So what happens when the marshall arrives?”

“He’ll be taking you to a safe place.”

“A cell?”

“…I think I’d agree with the marshall if he took that route.”

Cold just nodded. “Right.”

Graham blinked. His perplexed visage was quickly hidden away. “Given the circumstances, you’re very conservative with your attitude.”

“I’ve been through worse.” He paused. “And I trust that you won’t subject me to harm… if legal consequences are still on the table.”

“They still very much are.” Graham tilted his head ever-so slightly, analyzing Cold while the kirin sat as still as a sunken stone. “I’m not going to do anything to you, captain. This is purely for your protection.”

Cold puffed hot air, but didn’t move. “Why do I need to be protected when— quite clearly—it is my friend who is the target at large?”

“That’s something I’d like to discuss with you pony-to-pony.”

The kirin leaned back. “What?”

“Captain, I…” he turned away for a moment, his head hung low. Clearing his throat, he came back around, trotting along the conference room floor. “Troubles for Cypress are ahoof, and they need to be addressed as soon as possible. The margin of error is only widening with every passing moment, and I’m simply attempting to contain as much of it as I can.” He stopped pacing. “I don’t want to harm you, or anypony for that matter. You will be safe under Concord watch.”

Cold twitched. “…If it’s information you want—”

“No,” Graham interrupted, taking Cold aback. “Captain Cold, I am earnestly doing my best for you. You are a loyal associate to the leading ponies of Cypress. Please understand that you are just a displaced pony. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Your role, as inadvertent as it has been, is at an end. You are an innocent kirin, and furthermore…” he took a deep breath, “I’d be honored to call you Cypressean. I assure you, true to my word, that we will discuss this later.”

A fragment of Cold’s dreams—cached deep below daily troubles and present conundrums—jittered at the claim. A Cypressean kirin. It was almost enough to break his mask, but there was a problem. A big problem. “And in that time, what will happen to my friend? She’s as much a bystander to this rogue research laboratory as I am. They’ll still want her.”

For a moment, it seemed as if the governor was prepared to shutdown the projectors: his hovering hoof came back down. He eventually frowned. “Rogue, you say?” He looked away, once again looking at some panel beyond the projectors’ range. “That’s one way to put it.”

Cold’s lip twitched. He kept his silence.

“My answer is the same as before, captain.” His eyes were hard, and his voice unapologetic. “Whatever her allegiance is, I can’t be sure of it. You’re a kirin. And—”

It should make no difference.

The governor stopped.

Cold’s heart thud. “It should make no difference.” He repeated himself, and this time he was sure he’d said the words. “Neither I nor her wanted any of this to happen, Mister Graham.”

He sighed. “Even if she were as innocent in this as you say, she still carries their proprietary technology. Evidently, they’ve weaponized it. I have to stop the ponies I know I can. I…” He hesitated. “I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt by letting her go.”

“We’ll see how that works out,” Cold replied icily. He didn’t stand, but his hooves started to ache on the uncomfortable steel chair. “She’s got the mind of a filly. Sheltered for a majority of her foalhood by some shadow organization, coerced into training for them, and put through whatever experiments they want.” He openly huffed. “I thought you knew the right way to resolve this, but it’s clear now that you have other plans in mind, and those plans don’t involve her.” It wasn’t like he could leave, not anymore. But he could only wonder what plans he had in mind for Fokienia.

Graham had an implacable, placid look strewn across his face. “The marshall will be there for you shortly. I look forward to speaking to you in-pony.” He lifted a holographic hoof, and pressed it off-screen.

And then, Cold was alone. And like the good kirin he was, he waited.

In just under a couple of minutes, the governor’s orders rectified his onset loneliness. The door opened, and a Concord unicorn in uniform stepped in. A sharp black beret was perched on his short-styled mane. He cleared his throat, not even bothering to look around the room.

“Captain Searing Cold, walk with me.”

Silently, Cold stood. “Do you want me in hoofcuffs?”

The unicorn’s flat look didn’t falter. “Are you willing to continue complying?”

“Yes.”

“Then no, we don’t. Walk with me, please.”

The hallway was devoid of any trace of Fokienia. Cold didn’t know why he’d expected more. The mare they’d spoken to prior was still sat at her desk, quiet as she tapped away at the keys to her terminal. She glanced up as Cold and the marshall passed, but said nothing. Instead, she bore a dainty smile.

When Cold turned around, several ponies in black uniforms stepped out of an elevator. The marshall in front of him ground to a halt. Cold stood behind the unicorn, peering around him with just a pinch of nervousness. The real nerves were struck when he saw the bulky pegasus: his extra appendages were covered by a pair of black fabric sleeves, but there was no doubt in Cold’s mind that there were metal wings hidden beneath them. By his side, a familiar bat pony stared into Cold.

They were here.

An even more familiar stallion spoke for the three ponies behind him. “CSO. We’re here to provide support.” His eyes didn’t stray like his comrades: his full focus was on keeping professional with the marshall.

The marshall, to his credit, didn’t budge an inch. “Where’s the rest of your squad?”

“Securing the lobby.” He nodded. “We’ve also secured a transport. He’s to be expedited to C.C.C. detention and holding. Maximum security.”

“Show me some credentials.” The unit leader was quick to start reaching for his jumpsuit pocket, and the marshall continued. “And off-record, it’s about time you ponies saw some action.”

The glint of light from the unit leader’s pocket flashed Cold. Stoically, he watched the plastic-encased card be put on display.

“Good?”

The marshall nodded. “Governor putting you to work?”

“Aye. It’s been a day like no other.” The unit leader met Cold’s eyes. “Elevator’s already called. We’re trying to keep the terrorist’s presence as under wraps as possible.”

Behind him, Cold could hear the secretary’s constant staccato stumble. It was something nopony else appeared to have noticed—after all, he had a keen ear for rhythm. Still, she had to be given credit for recovering so quickly.

“Terrorist?” The marshal said for Cold. His tone was flat, but he didn’t look back at Cold.

The unit leader’s muzzle twitched. “News is spreading slow. He detonated an explosive charge in a civilian zone. A private clinic.”

Cold didn’t speak. What was there to say when it was his word against four, and more?

Finally, the marshall checked back on him. A dim light shined behind his eyes. “But he’s a kirin.” There was a great deal of doubt in his voice.

“That doesn’t matter,” the leader responded. “Respectfully, marshall, you weren’t there.”

The unicorn peeled away from Cold. He glanced between him and the four pegasi. His horn lit with magic. From his front pocket, a blue-coated metal ring—no bigger than a piece of old Equestrian coinage—was levitated out.

Solemnly, Cold bowed his head out, and closed his eyes. He felt cool metal slip across the jutting bone of his forehead. Tendrils of magic warped and strewn across each keratin groove of his red horn, sapping the life from his own essence. With each step of the slow, frictionless slide, the aching pang grew in severity. At the final thud of an impassable curve, the world thrummed a beat of silence for him.

Across its entire existence, a magic suppression ring had never been applied to a kirin of the enclave, but Searing Cold now knew first-hoof what true void was like.

The peculiar whine that had always tucked itself away in the corners of his ears shrieked openly. He flinched, and cracked opened his eyes. The sheer frigidity of the magical implement was overwhelming: his hooves shook, and he struggled to stay upright. The four operatives, and the unicorn marshall, were all watching him. He fought to stand for himself—if words wouldn’t suffice, then his actions would.

When Cold had finally fought enough to breathe easily, the light of the marshall’s eyes had dimmed further. The unicorn just looked away.

The march to the elevator was harsh. Cold felt as if he were tugging at the controls of a planetside shuttle mid-blizzard. Copious amounts of force compelled him to fight for each hoofstep. The piercing waves lodged in his ears were harder to deal with; the noise convulsed with each focused squeeze he put into suppressing it. Torturous was the only way Cold could describe it: of all the pressure-held ambient magic in the station atmosphere, to have it dangled before him, but barred from touch, was an inhibition worse than the touch of the galactic vacuum.

It was less than two dozen steps to the elevator, but by the time he’d clambered in, he needed the support of the cybernetic pegasus and bat pony to stay standing. Nopony said a word, and Cold couldn’t be asked to look at any of them; he was too encumbered by the simple enchanted ring, carefully constructed by the Equestrian Concord to bog the mind and spirit of a horn-wielding criminal. His stomach lurched at the mere thought of it, as well as the rising movement of the metal box intended to send him away.

And still, not a single word was spoken aloud. To be at the heart of the place he called home, and to experience such silence, it did make the situation worse for Cold. Fokienia had said something about the Project ponies wanting him. As far as he could tell, those plans involved keeping him alive. But could he really say he was safe? Weakly, he pivoted his burdened head around the elevator. There were no eyes to meet; they all stared ahead at the rotund indicators above the sliding door. They ticked by, the yellow bulbs harsh like sun-fire, until the process came to a head on the eighth and final knob. There was no pleasant chime, only the sound of sliding steel.

The doors opened, and Cold found himself herded out onto the flat of a central city rooftop.

Six stories high, a cool breeze of station atmospherics blew through. A ways away, but not directly overhead, sky-lanes of pegasi flit by. Cold’s ears prickled; a whirring siren wailed from a place out of sight, and the invisible gap closed with each passing moment. On the roof, there were a few set plates of secured maintenance hatches, pipes, and façades, but most prominently a flat octagon-shaped pad that spanned maybe a dozen ponies wide in each way. Cold was helped up the steps to the elevated metal-rimed slab of concrete and metal. He stood there on the edge, supported by the cyborg and bat pony, both with a tightened grip.

Behind him, the marshall spoke. “Search his jacket. I… neglected to.”

Cold craned his neck down while the cyborg pat him down roughly.

The bat pony whispered just loud enough for him and the cyborg. “You’re a hard catch, kirin.” Huh, she was a mare. He could’ve sworn they were all stallions… “Gave me and Sequoia quite a run… speaking of, where is she?”

“Hey!” the marshall barked. “Escort or not, he’s under my custody. Governor’s orders. Any words that come out of him come on my order.”

Cold heard the bat slip away, but Sequoia answered with his rough, brusque voice. “Everypony needs answers…” The statement lacked the evocative nuance Cold expected. The cyborg continued to swipe up and down the inside of Cold’s jacket. His burly hooves could crush diamonds if he tried…

“That’s enough, C1. He’s clean.”

Grunting, Sequoia let him be.

“We’re not trying to overstep our boundaries, marshall,” the unit leader assured. He gave Cold a wary eye. “He’s just no shortage of trouble, that’s all.”

The ever-present siren was closer than ever before. Cold’s hooves were beginning to clam up on the ramp, and he couldn’t tell why. He lifted his head again, fighting over the lead-like weight curled around his horn. From the edge of the rooftop, a roaring current of air blasted at him.

The Concord sky-chariot was a rare sight, but only for Cypress Station. Cold was no stranger to it.

Like the other hover-craft in operation throughout Cypress and the Equestrian Core Worlds, the enclosed vehicle made its controlled ascent on exhaustless projectors. Where a typical thruster exploited universal fundamentals to achieve propulsion, the humming projectors breathed the artificially-deposited magic saturated about the station atmosphere. It washed over him, as familiar a feeling as ever: the Sparkle Drive aboard the Waste Peddler worked in its own cyclical manner of siphoning and distributing magic. Unlike his hybridized ship, the vehicle descending before him was very much designed for in-atmosphere use. Even this far from their planet of origin, the magic being pulled through the projectors felt as rich and dense as ever.

Cold was pulled back roughly by one of the pegasi, and the warmth left him just as quickly: his horn froze till it was dull again.

The siren whooped one last time before both it, and the flashing lightbar, settled into nothing. The boxy and black vehicle was imprinted with a Concord insignia, and the usual blue-tinted windows. It didn’t so much as land as it did come to a near-silent hover just a hoof above the roof’s landing pad. The ponies on the rooftop moved for and toward it. After a moment of tapping hooves, one of the few side doors to the vehicle slid open. The limited view of the interior showed nopony.

The brown-coated unit leader rapped on the side of the sky-chariot’s front windshield. The tint was too thick to see through, but that didn’t stop him from smiling. He threw his head back toward Cold, the marshall, and the remaining operatives. “Load up!”

As Cold was once more put to march, one of the pegasi operatives by the chariot called back behind him. “Marshall?”

The unicorn grunted, and passed Cold and his entourage. He paused, tapped his ear twice, then continued trotting for the sky-chariot’s open entrance. “I’m coming.”

Cold was buckled in by one of the operatives, and Sequoia settled into place beside him. It felt strange to be seated where he was in the sky-chariot: the intimidating gunmetal bars at the back of the room were where he’d expected to be. He supposed that, yet again, he was a special case: kirins weren’t typically handled like prisoners. He would’ve smiled and shook his head at the understanding, but he was still so drained from the suppression ring.

Once everypony had piled into the spacious compartment, the marshall slid the exterior door shut with a hoof. He buckled himself to one of the seats beside a sturdy blue-metal door. Presumably, it lead straight to the cockpit of the craft. With a spring of magic, his ear glowed briefly. “We’re good to go, pilot.” His voice rang out through speakers hidden about the cabin.

With the short-wave radio communique signed and sent, the vehicle hummed, and Cold felt the world flit skyward.

Below them, the shielding stretched across the center of the passenger bay’s floor split open; through the windowed floor below, Cold was treated to a view of Cypress from above.

He opted to close his eyes.

“So, nopony’s gonna cuff him?”

“Give him some dignity,” the marshall replied. “He’s already suppressed.”

“Don’t rightly see why we should.” The operative in the seat across from Cold leaned back—his uniform ruffled fiercely as he adjusted. “Charge he blew nearly wiped the unit.”

“You mentioned the charge earlier. What type?”

“Standard door charge,” another operative answered. “Full-payload.”

Despite the marshall’s continued efforts to veil his emotions, Cold could feel the shock buried in his voice… and the draw of his stare. “Were there any casualties?”

For a moment, the only sound in the cabin was that of the projectors humming outside the hull. “Superficial injuries,” the unit leader answered. “The operation was conducted minutes before twelve-hundred. We were back on our hooves in that time.”

The marshall spoke, his voice now steeled. “Then I apologize for my doubts.”

“…Regardless, the cuffs won’t be necessary.”

Cold lifted his head. The unit leader just shook his head at him.

Cold craned again. “I’m sorry.”

He hazarded the chance, and met the marshall’s look. In that instant, the pain that pulsed by Cold hurt so very badly. Hanging his head, he resolved to silence.

The ringing in his ears didn’t pick up. Yet, it felt like more of a punishment than anything else.

All he could think about was Fokienia.

The flight didn’t last much longer. The Central Command Center wasn’t a long flight away, even on normal wings. Not that Cold had much of a gauge on that: typically, ponies traveled here through elevators and tunnels.

The windowed floor of the sky-chariot sealed up as the pilot deposited the curt vessel in the hangar. That familiar magnetic hum buzzed to life, and everypony began to unbuckle themselves. Cold was escorted out by the marshall himself, and stepping onto the concrete below.

Similar to the blue-green exterior, the internal steel-crimped walls were painted in iridescent evergreen hues. There was room for one additional sky-chariot shuttle in the bay, but there wasn’t one at present. There were two sets of doors on either side of the consolidated room—judging by the big sign labeled ‘component compartment’ only one of them was the way forward—but nopony was waiting for them. For some reason, Cold expected a bigger welcoming party, especially with all the fuss thrown up around him. Still, this was his first real look at the interior of the command hub: maybe this was how they usually handled things. Then again, Cold was almost certain the detention center would be devoid of inmates. How many could say they’d been deemed dangerous enough to warrant the highest security possible?

Now, Cold started to worry.

As he was shepherded past the first doors of the complex’s hangar entrance, he put his energy into maintaining a level mind and spirit. He was Searing Cold, the cool kirin captain, and he was being forced into the Hydra’s den; there were bound to be eyes on him from all around, but none were going to be out to directly harm him. Not yet, at least. With that minute degree of comfort in mind, he raised himself up, and transitioned to walking without the support of the operatives flanking him.

The halls were of robust construction, and damp with the smell of melted ‘roid. It was a surprise, considering how far they must’ve been from the real remaining core of the long-hollowed asteroid, but a surprise that filled Cold with fond memories of the past. Metal girders stretched across the open ceiling as vents and croaking pipes worked away. Valves bore free to the open air. It was a good sign to him: Cypress had never been a glamorous place, and the lack of façade to even the most basic systems was a welcome visual. There were bound to be bureaucrats in the halls ahead, and if the rest of the facility was built like this, then they’d be ponies of the more hardy and understanding sort. For the moment, he pressed on, hoping for any hint of a friendly face.

The first ponies they came across were all Concord guards. The white blazed insignia was a messy slurry to Cold’s eyes, and it only doubled down as he was forced deeper into the complex. Black uniforms gave way to suits and dresses, but when he passed, they still dropped quiet, and stilled on the dime. A fuming whine bubbled in his ears in response to their sobering silence. Cold faded in and out. His hooves skimmed the ceramic floor senselessly. He breathed. The operatives at his side found new holds on him.

His first real breath came as the ring was lifted from his horn.

Gasping, he collapsed against a flat slat of metal jutting out from the wall. An evergreen cushion was stretched across it, and a dull white pillow met his outstretched foreleg. He looked up and over at the three ponies at the door: the bat pony, the unit leader, and the unicorn marshall.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” the brown unicorn cut in. He stepped backwards, then out of the doorway. His focus landed square on “If he gives you any ‘special’ issues, ring us up. We’ve got more experience with kirins than anypony else in the nearest five sectors, I can guarantee it.”

The aura shrouding the horn of the marshall paled; the flap on the breast pocket of his uniform fell shut. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Cold. “Governor’s going to be sending more orders soon, I’m sure. For now, I’ll get the warden on his case.” With great finality, he walked backwards, and turned away from Cold. “Thanks for the assist.”

The bat pony took the unbidden cue, and stepped out of the room as well. She gave Cold a curt, fanged grin, and sealed the sturdy steel door shut. Soon after, the viewing slat went with it. The walls seemed to close in, and the roof, too: in the corner of the ceiling, almost out of sight, a red light began to blink. The camera it was attached to buzzed imperceptibly. After its readjustment, the lens refocused, and the whole armature fell still.

The unexplored territory of the detention facility was the least of Cold’s worries, now. He curled up on the cot and tucked his head down. An unintentional groan left him. He let out another one on purpose, as if it would excise the phantom grip of the magic suppression ring. The only thing Cold could care for right now was the comfort of his unloaded mind.

After all Cold had struggled through in the last two days, he knew he should’ve cared more. Why?

Because the world of a peacemaker was all but peaceful.

A new familiarity sounded: the viewing slat gave another sharp clink.

“Hey there, space kirin.”

And that old, deep space dread carved into Searing Cold’s chest.

12 - Lost and Found

“Warden…?”

A broad laugh came from the other side of the cell’s door. “I’m on duty again, but not on that duty. Thank Celestia for that.” Cold started to sit up, and he heard two taps on steel. “Don’t try that horn of yours, either. I don’t know why the marshall didn’t just leave you capped, but the colts down here in ‘D’ and ‘H’ don’t take kindly to violations in keeping.”

“Officer Ripshot…” Cold coughed, just barely managing a dark chortle. “It’s real nice to see you.” It really wasn’t; a nosy chatterbox was the last thing he wanted. Regardless, he sat up all the way.

“Not what I’d say, if I was in your hooves.” There was a pause, followed by some small movements. “You’re not looking too hot there, Captain Cold. What’d you do? Rob an armory?”

“…Y’know, I almost wish I did.”

“Huh.”

Cold wished he could see the stunned muzzle of the pony behind the door. “Nopony’s told you?”

“O’course not. But I know CSO when I see ‘em. And I only know one kirin within trotting distance.”

Cold rearranged himself on the cot, resting his head on the pillow. He held his ears fixed toward the door. “So you came here to laugh, that it?”

Ripshot halfheartedly gave him one. “Oh, wow. You’re real riled. Makes sense I guess. You’re the one in the cell, after all.” An almost dreamy sigh came from the other side. “No, I’m here because word of CSO deployment travels quick on the radio, especially when you’re up in Station Control.” He rapped a hoof against the door again. “Plus, I know the warden. At this hour… let’s just say inmates aren’t his priority right now. But don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m hearing a lot of talk, and you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Alright, alright, cool it, eh? You don’t even have a hoof to stand on, and—whatever. Look, I was curious. CSO wouldn’t bring somepony in on smuggling charges alone. What’d you do to get thrown in maxsec?”

“Terrorism.”

A guffaw rattled through the cell. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“That’s what they said.”

Ripshot went dead quiet. So quiet, that anypony else would’ve thought he’d run off to grab the warden. Cold knew Ripshot enough to know better.

“When we cross paths out there, you’re always telling these little white lies, but now… now I’m feeling your honesty.”

The door bolt cranked, and a red unicorn stepped in. His butter-yellow mane and tail were cut to an all-too-familiar short standard, but his black Concord attire was an effective indication of his allegiance. His eyes blazed with orange fire as he entered the room. He’d never seen the bucky stallion, but the look certainly matched the voice.

Cold got his wish. “Nice to see you face-to-face, officer.”

Office Ripshot snorted. “Likewise.” He pat his loaded chest-holster with a hoof, and cocked his head to the door. “Door’s self-sealing, and I’m quick on the draw. Take those hints as you will.”

“Don’t forget the camera.”

Ripshot didn’t look up. “Yeah, they’re watching. But not listening.”

Cold laid out fully on his pillow, but made no effort to look at Ripshot. “I’m here all night.” He hoped so, at least.

The officer sat down in the corner. “I didn’t take you for a terrorist, captain.”

“They say I am.” Stepping into the cell of an untethered magic user was bold. What was Ripshot’s game, here? The unicorn had been looking to book him for a long, long time… “So, I am.”

“Alright, Mister Finality,” Ripshot quipped with amusement. “Well, what event led to that?”

“That ‘CSO’ team you saw planted an explosive of some kind in the clinic we were in. It didn’t go their way.” He paused, then sighed. “Doesn’t help that I played a part in setting it off.”

Cold could feel Ripshot’s brows burrowed into his next question. “Why’d you say CSO like that? You don’t think they’re CSO?”

“Not a chance.” Cold left it at that, and hoped. His ear whined, but it wasn’t from the still-present earpiece. He shook his head into the pillow, and—

“Why not?”

Sweet Blaze. He wasn’t going to let up, was he?

“Look, Cold, I know we’ve had our differences—”

No objections there.

“—but this ain’t you. Not in the slightest. You’re some 1.0 security rating independent, with a shielded cargo bay, and an off-kilter nav history. You’re as suspicious as a diamond dog in a bank, but you’re no dang terrorist. What have you been getting up to since I last pulled you and your ship out of skip? Which corporation wants your head on a princess’ platter? Surely they ain’t local.”

Cold sighed. He couldn’t tell if it was out of pure annoyance, or sheer disbelief at the next forced conversation pulled up for him to endure. “Right now? I don’t know.”

“What I’m saying is that you’re hardly that bad of an egg. Look, I figured we had a good ‘ole rivalry going around, even got myself a little list of all our encounters—I’ll move myself up from a zero to a one someday—but c’mon, you’re a kirin! Your kind are supposed to be the nicest little lot around. You don’t just go blowing up clinics. There’s not a pony in this day and age would go that far, least not in Cypress.”

“Then maybe it’s because the ponies responsible are non-Cypressean.”

“…What are you saying, that those CSO fellas are Equestrian or… otherwise?”

“What does it matter to you?” Cold replied. He sat up from his pillow, and stared flat-lipped at the seated unicorn. “You’ve got no business being here, and I’ve got no business with you. Not now. I’m caught. I don’t even know why I feel the need to respond to you, because I certainly don’t have to.”

Where Cold expected a scowl, Ripshot just frowned. “I just felt it was a nice change of pace to have you talkin’ instead of keepin’ quiet.”

“Well, you’ve got me. Tack yourself up with a win. I’ve talked plenty.” He gave up, and flopped back down to the bed, still aimed Ripshot’s way. “For Celestia’s sake, just leave me alone. I don’t need you getting involved in this. You were just doing your job.”

“…If it means I can protect more ponies, I’d be glad to hear you out, captain.”

“And I do want that,” Cold replied. “Ponies protected, that is. But getting another pony in the mix isn’t going to make that happen.” He sighed. “I’m no greenhorn, officer. You know that. So for just this once, take my word at full value. Less ponies’ll get hurt with me out of the picture.”

“But I—”

“Colt. Listen. At this point, I’m a dead kirin trotting. Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m still alive. Or how. Forget our history. Forget me. You won.” Cold sank into the pillow, and closed his eyes. “There’s real wars to fight outside of this cell, and that’s where you need to be.”

Ripshot stood, his hooves clacking on the other side of the cell. “I don’t want you dead, Captain Cold.”

Cold sighed. “What do you want me to tell you, officer? Because all I’ve got for you are warnings.”

“Then warn me.”

A glowing image of Fokienia’s face drifted by in the eigengrau of Cold’s eyes.

“…You sure the cameras aren’t listening?”

“They’re probably recording audio. But it’s not like they’re going to run it through. Not until the warden gets you pulled over to the interrogation room, and had his fix with you.”

Fokienia appeared to nod. That was enough.

Cold gave Ripshot his full attention. “There’s a rogue research laboratory on Cypress. They’ve got ponies pretending to be Concord, and it’s like they’re everywhere. The governor’s determined to go after them, said he’d start it up by tonight. And I don’t think he was lying.”

To his credit, Ripshot didn’t laugh. “What kinda warning is that? Sounds more like a call to action.”

“I’m being tactful. Implicit.” Cold rolled his eyes. “Things are about to go big. You need to keep your head down and out of the way.”

“You forget I’m a Concord officer. I know a thing or two about keeping crime down.”

“This isn’t crime, Ripshot. You’re on my level, all things considered.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“Because we’ve got no control over the storm rolling our way.”

Ripshot appeared nonplussed. “What are these ponies researching, then?”

“Things beyond us. Technology that could destroy Cypress.”

The unicorn glared. “You should’ve opened with that.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Cold shot back. “I just had my flank dragged through Tartarus and back, and I end up getting airlifted to some isolated cell, a knife at my horn the whole time. I guess I’m thinking that maybe you’ll get wise, and get out there before things really kick off.”

“Buried in all you’re saying, there’s truth. But you’re delusional.”

“Maybe I am,” Cold muttered. “Maybe I am. All it’s been is questions, questions… too much.” Slowly, his mind cooled. “I’m just a pilot. A pilot who’s feeling way too old for their age.”

“Put the crazy talk aside, then. Get real.” Ripshot sat down again. “Focus on the facts, captain. We can help you.”

“’We?’” Cold tried. “You’re not getting the idea, are you?”

“Yeah, we. As in, Concord.”

“Concord is compromised. You can’t trust anypony.”

“So why are you trusting me?”

“Because you gave me the same faith.”

The officer paused. He raised a foreleg, then stepped backwards and plopped back down. “I don’t get you, kirin.”

“I could tell you more, but there’s no need to. There are stakes here, but they are well beyond the grasp of two ponies.” Cold tilted his head back into the wall. “It’s just a waiting game, now.”

“Well what do you want me to do, then? With the way you’re acting, I can really take your word for once, but I can’t just keep my head down. Why shouldn’t I just talk my way up the rest of the chain and see what’s what?”

“That’s how you get a target painted on you, like me. Innocents get involved, and we all suffer.”

“So how’d you get into this, then?”

Cold took a deep breath, and shuddered. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

For a long moment, it seemed Ripshot was done. Cold took solace in the downbeat, and held close to the wall.

He didn’t know Ripshot well enough to watch out for the second silence.

“Fine,” the officer started again. “You don’t want to talk about how you wound up here? Real fine. But now, now I feel like I’m owed some kind of story. Hay, I didn’t even get to board your ship. If you want me to notch you down, I need something bombastic.”

Cold loosened his neck, and gave the stallion a deadpan stare.

Ripshot shrugged, but he was quick to break into a light laugh. “Like I said, I’m curious about these things. How does a kirin end up so far out here, and without any other kirins to boot?”

He grimaced. “You want my life’s story.”

“Yeah. And you’ve got plenty of time.”

Half of Cold’s mind wanted to shoot the stubborn officer with a mare’s tale. The other half was starting to see a little bit of his own reflection. The insane half, by all accounts.

A sigh was all it took for the officer to turn all smiles, and for a kirin like Cold, that was enough.

“I’ve been out on my own for ten-odd years. Was just breaking out of my roots in the homefleet when we came upon a quiet little sector of space. We always take jobs where we can to run upkeep, and Telfire was a nice hub of industry. Still is.”

“Telfire? I know that body,” Ripshot popped in, his voice dripping with interest. “That’s right next to the Core Worlds.”

Briefly forgetting who he was addressing, Cold grinned. “It’s a part of them. Two shifts away from Equus. You know the Telfire outfits?”

“Yeah, I know the shipbreakers.” He leaned back, but said nothing further.

Cold nodded. “Didn’t start with them, though. More than just shipbreaking out there. First work was on a forge station in-system. Got my fair share of experience repairing equipment from there… the kind of machinery that’s only gotten more antiquated. Fair bit of welding and circuitry, even spent some time in the metalworks doing diagnostics on the forges proper. Fleet was parked there for a few years, so I built up a little surplus of bits. Not enough bits to get my own ship, though.”

“The call went out, and a couple months before the homefleet pulled out, me and some friends hopped on a shuttle for an old-fashioned transfer to Telfire itself. No shortage of work there, and shipbreaking paid a lot better than in-station work. But that’s not what I was there for.”

Ripshot cocked his head. “You weren’t a Telfire shipbreaker?”

Oh, he had no idea; this was going to be good. “I was a Telfire miner.”

At first, the younger stallion just blinked. His brows curled deep. “You’re joking,” he said flatly.

Before planet Telfire had ever been born, there was a star. A bright star that burned bright, just like its brothers and sisters. In the sky of the lunar princess, it had its place among those kin, but its pedestal was one treasured and highly prized by ponykind: it was so close, but still so far. Without the technology to bridge the gap between Telfire and Equus, the bridge remained sealed for many years. This star was named TSC 9007-5848-1.

And its anomalous properties changed the galaxy forever.

Ripshot’s jaw didn’t work for a few more tries. “H-hey, don’t leave me hanging, space kirin.”

Cold barely restrained a shrug—he needed to keep that ego in check. “Yes, I mined telecrystals from the Telfire ‘roid fields. That’s how I got my start as a captain.”

“Your ‘start’? You’re rich!”

A pony stuck in a void habitat all their life wouldn’t have had the perspective to understand the value of space: Fokienia’s delusions of Cold’s grandeur were excusable. But a licensed Concord officer and pilot? Cold shot Ripshot a disappointed look. “Hardly. Most of my deposits went to the homefleet, my rentals, and my equipment. Plus, I didn’t stay in the business long.” The smart ones didn’t.

“So what, after that you just went straight to flying that freighter of yours?”

Cold rolled his eyes hard. “No, I had to go through pilot training, like every other pony.” He lightened up quick; Ripshot was lucky Cold was fond of memories. “But I wasn’t exactly a common case, being a member of the enclave and all, so I got privileges to do my running on a shuttle—which I bought and owned. An N-4 Lark, same model the outfitters rented to miners. Well, to my corps, at least. There are normal belts in Telfire, you know.”

Ripshot tugged at his Concord uniform, totally aghast. “They had you running telecrystal ops in standard fighters?”

“We certainly weren’t doing it in yachts,” Cold snarked. “We were forced to run fighters because of the conditions. Hay, you should know exactly why.”

“Just made it clear that I do.”

Again, disappointment came in droves. Cold shook his head. “Then let me renege on my last statement, because you don’t quite grasp the gravity of it. I don’t blame you.” Cold loosened up, and lightly laughed. “Yeah, you needed all the maneuvering jets you could get. If you wanted to live, you didn’t fly like normal in those fields. But if you wanted to thrive out there, you had to be burning a collision course with a ‘roid that hadn’t skipped yet.”

“So why not interceptors?”

“Telecrystals are too finicky with low-UV lasers, triggers their teleportation with just a few seconds of interference. You needed the larger heatsinks and turret hardpoints to harvest anything. Not unless you fancied your odds of picking out the same ‘roid in a skip range of three-hundred gallops.”

“They really skip that far, even unrefined?” Ripshot replied in disbelief. “My respect for you just went up tenfold.”

“Funny, considering how—just a few minutes ago—you were happy to see an independent nobody thrown in a cell.”

Ripshot snorted. “Yeah, well, ponies change.”

“Sure do.” At least there was some reprieve to be found in the moment. “But after my time in the skip fields, I popped open some connections and started hauling TC on contract. Once I got my full pilot’s permit, I started moving it thirty systems out. I never did get tired of shuttling that stuff around—hay, I’d go back to it if I could—but now I’m a bit too established in assets out here on the border worlds.”

“Assets?”

“Stakes in a lot of exploratory corps.” He idly waved a hoof. “Nothing I need to actively keep up with, but I skip myself out their way from time to time.” Cold paused. “Outfits call me a lucky charm. I don’t believe that, I just know there's a whole lot of unknown out there, and we’re just barely skimming the waters.”

Ripshot idly kicked a hindleg out across the floor. “So what, you got hooked on TC, and now you’re looking for the next big commodity to get rich on?”

“Not actively, but it would be nice. No, what I’m really after are worlds full of magic like Equus—that would be the ultimate prize. So I have all to gain from investing in some exo-ships and ponies eager to split profits on anomalies and survey data. Cypress Station is proof of what a few bits in the right place can do. I understand the cosmic exchange, at least on the small scale.” Cold shrugs. “A businesspony, I’m not, but I do know my trade.”

“’Like Equus’, huh? I didn’t take you for a colonist.”

The kirin shook his head. “I just want a home for my tribe. Not all of us were made for the void, officer.”

“…Sorry.”

“You’re alright.” Cold took a moment. “Definitely not as bad in-pony.”

Ripshot cracked a smile at that. “Fair enough.”

“Beyond that, I’m just any other pony trying to get by. I’m not really one to stick my neck out there. Until recently, s’pose.” Cold breathed, letting the weight of it flow free. “I’ll admit, I’m on better ground than most, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s really like in the black.”

“I never tried to imply anything against that.”

“I know. I’m just making a point, here.”

The officer nodded. “No need to, really. I’ve heard enough.”

“Enough to say what, exactly?”

“Enough to say that there’s no need for bad blood between us.” The officer stood, his uniform’s fabric creasing. He dusted himself off. “You’re an alright sort, captain. Hardly what I expected from you in-pony, too.”

Cold relaxed. It was ridiculous how nice it was to hear those words straight from the pony’s mouth. “I appreciate that.”

“Sure, sure.”

The silence was warm. Ripshot laughed quietly, and Cold grinned back.

It was then that Cold felt the atmosphere in the room change.

He was glad he wasn’t curious about Ripshot’s own history: he was fine enough sharing his past aloud. As the camera in the corner swayed, he peered into its lens. It stared back silent, unbidden.

Ripshot’s laughter died down. He looked at the camera, too. “…I’m thinking that’s my cue. I’d better get prepped for my beat ‘fore I’m missed too long.” Ripshot turned for the door, giving Cold a worried glance. “If anypony comes by, don’t let ‘em treat you too rough, alright? You’re a stand-up pony.”

Again, Cold was left alone in the lukewarm cell, but not without the weight of an unseen gaze.

Still stood in the center of the shop’s floor, the bat pony before Fokienia kept up her fanged grin. “Looking a little cold there. What happened to your suit?”

Fokienia blinked. “I…” She hesitated. “Are you working with the retrieval unit?”

The bat pony raised a brow. “Do you even have to ask?” Her voice was flat, but in the back of her throat, there was a little pep to the question.

Fokienia let herself relax—not completely, but enough for the bat to gain her own bit of slack. She spoke lightly. “I guess not.”

For some reason, the pony seemed surprised. “Do you remember who you’re talking to?”

That extra little glimpse of character was all it took to confirm who she was. “Of course I do…” She bit down for a moment: Control was a dead name. “Sundown.”

Sundown Periapsis smiled—not grinned—back at her. “It’s good to see you alive, Fokienia.”

Behind Fokienia, she heard metal come crashing down. Her ears twitched, and she looked away from Sundown. “Holly?” She called out. There was a muffled reply, but nothing more.

When she turned back around, Sundown’s smile had been joined by impressive eyes. “Holly, huh? Making fast… friends, I see.”

“Yes.”

“…Who else? The kirin, I presume?”

“Yes. My friends.”

More than anything.

Sundown nodded. “Ha. Well, apparently they were friends enough to warrant throwing out the only one who ever put faith in you.”

And that was the problem.

Quick on the bit, Sundown’s smile swiftly sank: her façade collapsed to unveil her true feelings in a way that made Fokienia feel so small. “The site engineers wouldn’t have had any grasp on who introduced the flaws. It was some of my finest work. So, day one was one-for-one. This morning, I turned that two. And neither of us would have benefited from throwing names out, especially not one of our own, and definitely not to station authority.”

By now, the bat’s lips had warped into a dead, flat line. They curled across her fangs, which protruded ever-so slightly. It was a look that most bat ponies seemed to shy away from: any other bat pony carefully maintained their teeth for length.

“You shot high, and you hit good, you know? Not everypony leaves a politician with the bad side of the deal, no less a station governor.”

Fokienia knew better.

A green, bioluminescent hue lit the fine points of Sundown Periapsis’ fangs. “You sold me out good.”

The true cyborg breathed. “I didn’t want to. But it was the safest choice I had.”

“Safe? For who? You?” It was clear Sundown wanted to say more from the way she stepped about, but she shook her head, and took up a sterner pose. “While you’ve been out here—” again, Sundown looked over Fokienia’s still-drying coat, “—bathing, I’ve been blowing all my routes. You think they want you bad? Right now, they’re looking for the ones who actually know what they’re doing.”

In favor of circumstance, Fokienia let the insult slip by. It was just the truth, anyway. “W-what did you do?”

Sundown’s lips twitched. “Don’t you think it was convenient that all the tech was so easy to break? Of course it was convenient. I set it up just like the good old days: with training wheels. I loosened the proverbial wires for you, Fokienia. Even some actual wires.”

The electronic locks. The faulty panels. The unjammable gone jammable.

”When I gave you the word that it was about time to go, I wasn’t advising you, I was ordering you to leave. Now, they’re looking to sweep this up before pulling off all the stops. That leaves me, you, and your friends, right on the edge of a black hole.“ She stopped, voice caught sharp, and eyes analyzing. ”You don’t know about black holes...“

Still muffled, but just barely audible, Holly’s voice rang from the back room. “Are you okay?”

Fokienia glanced back. The shimmering motion scan showed Holly with her side pressed up against a wall. One ear was flopped high.

“Tell your friend that you’re having a private conversation.” Sundown pulled Fokienia back in with a click of her tongue. She pat her breast with a hoof, or rather, as close as she needed to get: the front-facing pattern of Sundown’s jumpsuit shimmered with blue, and the air hummed with the low vibration of a charging disabler. “Or is Holly going to be a problem?”

“...I’m having a conversation.” She paused, then finished. “And I need to keep it private.”

The reply took a moment. Fokienia couldn’t check on Holly through the wall, and so she was left to her Sundown staredown.

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

Sundown’s fangs ceased their silent glow, and the mare herself stood straight. “I don’t want to hurt you, Fokienia. But right now, I really, really want to.”

The bat pony’s withers relaxed after a decade of tensing, and she fell apart in an instant. “They found out about the leak from the retrieval ops. We were still close enough to hear them call it in. The governor isn’t going to stop digging. And they’re going to keep looking. Somepony’s going to find us. And then... I don’t know.”

For the first time since she’d been a filly, Fokienia watched Sundown Periapsis give-in to her emotions. She couldn’t blame her. Not when they’d spent a lifetime in espionage.

A part of her heart twinged. But it wasn’t safe to make a move.

Sundown sat there with her mane draped low. She breathed deep once. Twice. Then, she raised a hoof. She lifted the cuff of her jumpsuit to her muzzle. Her voice was soft, but thrummed with intent. “We’re clear.”

The pneumatic door to the shop opened, and instead of worry, Fokienia’s heart panged with black dread.

Sequoia’s grays very nearly matched the door as it shut behind him.

Fokienia immediately wished she’d let Holly come in. Standing her ground with as much resilience as she could muster, she turned back to Sundown. “You are with the unit?”

The bat pony lifted her head to meet her eyes. “Fokienia. You—”

“Rogue.” The big brute spoke again. “You went rogue. Now, we’re going rogue.”

Sundown sighed. “Thank you for that, C1.”

Casting his shadow across the shop-room floor, the cybernetic pegasus nodded firmly. “Yes, Control.”

“Wait, so you’re both...?”

Glancing at Sequoia one last time, Sundown nodded. “We’re with you, Fokienia. Even with as bad a bind that puts us in, the reserve ops are going to take their sweet time gathering up intel. That gives us a little while to run loose, get our bearings on the current situation.”

The other cyborg added on in his idle, gravelly tone. “We evaded their preliminary scout patrols.”

Fokienia took a closer look at Sequoia. The big cyborg brute looked as sidelong as ever: the noticeable slant to his idle stance, and the faint, ceaseless twitch of his wings by his side was a clear tic that his wings were all but naturally healthy. Even from the way his barrel rose and fell, Fokienia could see every curve of metal and wire that made Sequoia the stubborn wall of flesh and metal he was.

Still, even with two close-encounters under her belt in the last few days, she had no idea what state he was in. He had always been such a hard read.

“Sequoia, you okay?”

He blinked. It was a long, painfully slow moment. “Okay?”

Sundown looked on with an unreadable look, and said nothing.

“They put us under at the same time. What’d they do to you?” Fokienia tapped the side of her head. “They gave me these new eyes. They didn’t do the same for you, so what did they do to you?”

Sequoia stared at her, no doubt attempting to dredge up ‘normal-conversation protocols’. Not that he had any kind of brain augment, save for stem reinforcement. “Why do you care?”

Fokienia’s heart twinged. “I... I’ve had a lot of time to think after leaving the Facility.” She cast her eyes away from his—the only way she could continue to talk to him. “We never asked for any of this.”

He didn’t reply. She didn’t expect him to.

“I always thought this was the right way. And I still think it is, all the progress with augmentations, bioengineering. Ponies deserve to have control over their body. The right to be alive. We just never had that control to begin with.” She stood a little straighter, and convinced herself to meet Sequoia’s eyes. “Now, we have that chance.”

For the last ten years, Sequoia had only ever been a thorn in her side; he was the other fixation for site engineers and Sundown. Built to compete with her, counteract her strengths where she met his own. Yet, they had still shared that time together, grown in the same all-too-familiar ways. Whether he liked it or not, Fokienia finally had a word she could describe him with. He wasn’t an opposing force, a hound-dog built to track her down, a cyborg existing solely to act as her polar opposite. Sequoia was a pony who was so close to her that they both scarcely realized it.

Fokienia had intended to communicate that in some way to the big brute. But Sequoia had never been one for words, not the ones outside of training, and especially not the ones employed during normal ponies’ cafeteria down-times.

She traced her way toward him, hooves paving along the warm wooden flooring. The juxtaposition of wood with the steel they shared wove her closer and closer, and still, all Sequoia could manage was a mindless stare.

No, now she could see the life he still clung to: his ears swiveled, naturally poised, and his lungs slowed to a cadence he’d hardly come close to since his respiratory augmentation. There was more to this brute than metal and machinery.

Fokienia stepped close, not quite matching his imposing stature, but closer than anypony else in the whole of Cypress Station could ever get.

“Fokienia?” Sundown whispered from the sidelines. But it was a fading question.

“Sequoia...” They were only a few comfortable hooves away, but she could feel his breathing quicken at her hushed voice. Gently, she lifted a foreleg, curled it, and held it out before her. His gaze drifted to it.

A multitude of words flashed through her mind. A thousand apologies, a thousand reaffirmations, a thousand hopes and dreams.

Fokienia trained her yellow eyes on Sequoia’s greens. In a body built of gray steel, gray coat, and gray hairs, they were what kept him vibrant.

He lifted his own foreleg, still flesh and blood, and brought it to hers. Tentatively, he met her touch. She could see the hesitation in his eyes, and feel the deep-bound anxiety swelled within him.

Fokienia pulled on his hoof with her own, and swung close enough to set her head aside his own. Rested close to his withers, and pressed to his neck, Sequoia’s sidelong gait drifted. He rediscovered his balance as their hooves met the floor in unison, and straightened with her support. His head held its ground up high, with his neck tensed against her own.

And then, he dipped his muzzle down, and sank into Fokienia’s mane.

She held her emotions at bay. “I’m sorry.”

His even, rhythmic breathing puffed into an unsteady barrage of breath after breath.

“I love you,” she whispered.

And the world fell still.

Breathe in.

For a long time, Fokienia held their hug. The feeling swelling within her was unrivaled: she’d been right, this had been what he’d needed. She’d done right. She’d done well. She’d done something far more important with her training than scoop up information for violence, she’d done it for peace.

The hardest, and most easily misread pony in all her life.

She’d done it for him.

Breathe out.

They stepped down from one another, releasing their grip in a tailing, remorseful way, one matched by both sides. Fokienia gave him a reassuring smile, and from the way the corners of his mouth twitched, she could tell he felt it.

“Well... They didn’t do anything worse than your optical augments.”

Both of them turned to Sundown at the same time, disproportionately knocking her off her tempo. “What I mean to say is that, well—”

“Engineers performed musculature modification.” Sequoia looked back Fokienia, then nodded. “Advanced ligature augmentation.”

“They told you?”

“No, I told him. But before then, he’d already figured out the specs on his own, as with standard protocol.” Sundown gestured her head his way. “He’s a lot better on the ground, more stability, strength. Not quite your level, but still, for a pegasus? Not bad at all. The real kicks of improvement were in the wing department.”

Fokienia started to ask, but Sequoia was already moving faster than ever before. “I can keep up with other pegasi.”

Her eyes widened. “You can?”

“They let me work with active ops.”

She should’ve known better: the all-pegasus teams were pegasi for a reason. And now, he was the perfect fit.

“I see. That’s why they sent you with the initial unit back at the ship.”

He had to think for a moment, but again, he was already talking at a pace she’d hardly heard before. “Yes. The ship.”

A pause filled the air between the three of them. Outside, the city was rumbling to artificial night-time: even with the shop-front window’s shield sealed, they could all feel the darkness coming as the sun-lamps began to cool.

“But why did you leave the ops?”

“Because I gave him an order.”

Sundown gave Fokienia a look, but it was remarkably less-harsh than she remembered it. “Shortly after your explosive soiree at the clinic, the initial retrieval ops pulled out for resupply. You took them down one unit member, but I called in and filled the gap. Team lead wasn’t too happy about that, given the situation you left on-site, which happened on my ‘watch’, and he was right to be.” She laughed broadly. “I had contingencies in mind, but I didn’t expect the cover to last long enough for me to get in and out of triple-C. In a way, it was a good thing you name-dropped me, otherwise I probably would’ve overstayed my welcome.” She idled back, pulling into her own thoughts.

“The kirin is safe, too.”

Fokienia swung quickly back to Sequoia. “He is?”

“Yes. We escorted him.”

“Oh.”

“It was more than an order.” Sequoia swung his head to Sundown, who appeared to take on a grimace. “She told me what she did. But not why.”

Again, they both stared at Sundown expectantly.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I would.” Fokienia blinked, surprised that the words had even left her mouth. “I can see the world a lot more clearly, thanks to you.”

“...Aw, to Tartarus with it. You both need to know.” Waving them on, Sundown moved toward the shop’s counter. Fokienia followed first, then Sequoia. “Bring your friend in here, we’re all in this, now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Now or never, Fokienia.”

Alright... She glanced at the walls leading to the backroom. Holly was still there, back to her boxes and inventory, albeit moving slow. “Holly! We need to talk!”

Fokienia tried to not let the anxiety get to her, but something had felt terribly off about Sundown’s response. It was as if... no, they’d all get their answers soon enough.

Holly Rain stepped in from the backroom, and was surely surprised to see not one, but three ponies at her counter. “Are these your friends, Fokienia?”

Sundown shrugged, and shined her fangs. “Might as well be, sister. Sundown Periapsis. Mercenary.” She pointed a hoof at the brute between her and Fokienia. “Sequoia. Also a merc.”

“Neither of them are a mercenary.”

Sundown leaned slightly over the counter to glare around Sequoia. “You don’t even know what a merc is.”

“No, I don’t. But I know that you care about Cypress, and not just the law. That’s what separates Concord and a mercenary.” She glanced about at the looks she was getting. “That’s what I gathered, I mean.” It was probably best that she didn’t mention it was a groundskeeper’s view of things...

“From my experience, you’re about right, Fokienia.” Holly sighed, then took a better look at Sundown and Sequoia. “I take it you’re the other cyborgs?”

Sundown blinked. “Uh... just Sequoia, here.” Again, she tried to get a good look at Fokienia. “You told her?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to, but she trusted me, so I trusted her.”

“Well it’s certainly the pony thing to do,” Sundown grumbled. “Guess it can’t be helped. I was going to give her the rundown from the start, but I figured she wouldn’t need all of it.”

“We’re all at risk right now. That’s ultimately why I decided to tell her.”

“Just rubs me the wrong way, is all... but it’s fine, Fokienia. I don’t blame you.” Sundown rubbed her eyes with the back of her foreleg, then took a breath. “This was never just about the augmentations and technology. The reason I helped Fokienia break containment wasn’t just for her sake, it was for Cypress’ sake. She’s already figured that out, but C1, both you and Miss Holly here didn’t know.”

Holly shuffled in place, her wings flittering nervously. “What’s at risk?” She gave Fokienia a worried eye. “This is sounding like a lot more than ponies chasing you.”

“What isn’t at risk is the better question.” Sundown shook her head. “I’ve had so many leads crop up all at the same time, but nothing is definitive. Nothing except the fact that there are multiple hooves in play, and that all of them have conflicting interests.”

“On one side of things, we have the dilemma of the Facility. The blacksite researchers and admins, they want things quiet. Thing is, that quiet isn’t coming back. Ever. A lot of ponies want what we’ve got, and there’s been too many little leaks. So, the corporations know. They have known. And they’ll do anything they can to get the tech in their hooves, even if that means openly crossing legs with other corps. At the Facility, there’s been an increase in the number of hired ops, so it should go without saying that things aren’t going to go well when the corps go dark-side up.”

“On the other, there’s station authority. The governor wants the blacksite reclaimed. What he plans to do with it is beyond me. From his history, my best guess is that he at least wants to hide it, but it’s clear from Concord’s movements that they’re more than ready. They’ll tear their own station apart at a moment’s notice, all for the good of the ponies, of course. But with the retrieval ops on the hunt for us, and parading themselves as high-ranking Concord to do so, it’s only a matter of time before the infiltration network breaks down.”

“Then, there’s the third angle... The Griffonian Conflict.” Sundown licked her lips, and took her last chance to breathe. “The princesses are distracted. The station is rife with covert ops. Mercs are being called in faster than the transports can refuel. You wouldn’t find a better ground for war than Cypress Station.”

“What do you mean?” Holly whispered. “Are we going to be invaded?”

“It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.” Sundown chewed the inside of her cheek. “But the way I see it, there’s two options. Somepony is going to to try and take over the station. Or somepony is going to try and destroy it.”

“Why would anypony destroy Cypress?” Fokienia asked.

“Cypress has made all kinds of technological advancements for the ECW, but we’re out on the edge. Practically our own sovereignty. Hardly any support from them comes our way, unless we’re trading tech. It’s been another Telfire situation in-development for the last half of the century. It’s hard to not see why so many ponies support an independent Cypress. There’s ponies like the governor who’d rather pursue that independent role, but in the wide-wide galaxy, there’s going to be at least one pony who wants to make sure nopony else can have that good thing. But... I don’t think that pony’s going to be here to do it.”

Holly finished the trailing thought for all of them. “...Because we’ll do it ourselves.”

A pregnant pause pursued them.

Fokienia looked around at the sullen scene. “What are we going to do, Sundown?”

The bat pony was leaned deeply into the counter by now, sharp pupils trained elsewhere in the galaxy. “There’s not much more we can do from here. We’re going to have to wait.”

“Well... you’re all free to stay the night.” Holly tapped her hooves against the counter. ”I’d like to get to know you both better, Miss Periapsis, Mister Sequoia. But from the way you’ve laid out your thoughts, I just wish we had more time.”

“Trust me, I wish I wasn’t so close to being right.” Sundown rolled her head to face the rest of the ponies. “I’m clocked out of my intel networks now, but everything I just talked about? It’s all up-to-date. It’s happening right now. It’s only a matter of which big actor steps up first.” She sighed. “Sorry, I appreciate the offer. I think we’ll take you up on it.”

“Of course. And if it’s any consolation, I hope we can all make it out of this safely. I don’t want anypony to get hurt.”

Sundown started to say something, but wound down. “I hope so, too.”

“How about I make you something to eat? That’ll give us a chance to talk more.”

“Sure.” Standing, Sundown stretched. “I’m not too shabby in the kitchen, if you need a hoof.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Holly gave Fokienia a purposeful look as she led Sundown to the dining room and kitchenette. But Fokienia was already on it.

Staring at the wall behind the counter, it was clear that Sequoia was in his deepest thoughts. She pat him on the withers. “You’ve never slept outside of containment, have you?”

“No.” He turned slowly. “Why?”

“The first night is the worst.” She smiled weakly. “But if you don’t want to be alone, I’ll be here for you.”

It was a long, long moment, filled with one last look at the wall, and one aimed at Fokienia. But at the end of the long road, Sequoia spoke, and for the first time in her life, she saw his tiny smile. “Thank you.”

2300

“Ugh.”

It was way too early to be sleeping. Station time was one thing, but Sundown was still a bat pony through and through.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter this time, and willed herself back to dreams.

Or at least, she made a valiant attempt.

“Sundown?”

That wasn’t the confident monotone of an elite espionage operative.

“Are you awake?”

That was the voice of a filly woken by her nightmares.

“...Yes, Fokienia.”

“Are you still afraid?”

“I...” Sundown shook her head, and lifted her head off of her pillow. “What do you mean?”

“When I left, you were afraid. I could feel it.”

“You’re not supposed to feel, Fokienia.”

“But I do. And when you told me I had to leave, you were afraid. Afraid for Cypress. Afraid of the ‘destruction’ and ‘war’ that would come. Afraid... for me.”

Sundown stared at her. In the darkness of the doorway, Fokienia’s augmented eyes glittered in their natural yellow.

“Don’t you think we have a chance?”

“...I don’t know anything yet, Fokienia. You need to... rest.” Sundown had no idea what her charge’s specs were like now: the training was supposed to turn mare to machine, where had she failed? Why did she still care about her own ‘success’ in training the ‘perfect’ operative? She’d defected. And did it even matter anymore, given that Fokienia could feel? She was free... wasn’t she?

Sundown pushed her doubts aside. “Go back to bed.” With that, Sundown once more curled up in her blanket, turning her back on Fokienia.

“You gave me this chance. I didn’t know that then, but I do now. You weren’t trying to scare me, you were trying to encourage me. You weren’t telling me to leave, you were telling me to stay.”

Sundown’s barrel rose. Up, down.

“You didn’t tell me any of this directly. I learned all of this after putting it all together. And it took seeing what life was really like before I could do that. An opportunity that you gave me, a chance you pushed forward with an ultimatum of Cypress’ destruction. One last chance to look at all, and decide whether or not it was worth saving.”

Fokienia paused, and her voice fell ever-deeper. “You sent me blindly into the world. The real world, with real ponies, who live real lives. Five-hundred thousand lives. You didn’t tell me that, either.”

Sundown swallowed thickly. Still, she didn’t move.

“Why did you lead me to believe that a cyborg would destroy Cypress, while me and Sequoia have a chance to save it?”

Her voice was soft. So, very, very soft.

And the worries Sundown had buried for the mare she’d created washed away.

“Because I lied, Fokienia.” Sundown’s eyes fell open, only to stare at the wall she’d come to face. “I lied because you believe in lies. Lies are easy to manufacture, easy to ingest for a young, ageless mind. Your life is built upon them. I helped make it happen. And now, you’ve tasted the truth. You deserve it. It was selfish for me to even think I deserved to feel close to you, given everything I’ve done to hurt you.” She hefted a breath, then closed her eyes again. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. So I lied. I exaggerated the circumstances. But you’ve proven your independence beyond measure. You don’t need me to believe anything, Fokienia. The truth is in what you’ve discovered, and what you believe.”

“Then I believe that I’ve found the life I want to live. I want Cypress. And I want you here with me.”

Sundown stared into the near-black gray behind her eyes.

She heard the telltale servos of Fokienia’s motors. It was a sound she’d intimately memorized, and she was one of the few who could hear it to begin with. The cyborg mare was practically dancing in place as she shuffled about, no doubt awaiting a reply. Sundown didn’t grant her that.

“...I’ll go back to Sequoia. Sorry for bothering you, Control.”

A twitch ran right across the entire lower half of Sundown’s muzzle. She heaved a heavy breath, and flung herself up.

But the doorway was empty.

The bat pony was left grasping at her sheets, forelegs curling as she squirreled back under. A lingering moan idled in her throat, and her head churned with pain. She lashed out, slamming her hoof down into the bedspread. Finally, she opened her mouth, but all she could manage were a few weak curses at the world, the ECW, and herself.

She slung herself below.

Holly’s guest bedroom was quiet. Serene. Furnished with love.

C1 hated it. Hate was all he had.

Because he knew he couldn’t have love.

Not a machine like him.

C1’s eyes were on the door the whole time.

Fokienia returned, creeping in like a pegasus on the breeze: flightless, and not fighting. She’d given him bits and pieces of her story since leaving the Facility, but he still didn’t know how she could be so... complacent. It was as if the whole interior they were in was designed to goad him into breaking out; it was too fragile, easy to strip bare. Nothing like containment.

And yet, here she was. Right at home.

“I’m back,” she whispered. “Didn’t fall asleep, yet?”

Trotting carefully—as if the floor was laden with alarm beams—she laid beside C1, and exactly in the depression she’d left on her way out. She snuggled in, hunkering down in the sheets like all was well with the world.

C1 breathed through tight lips. “I don’t like sleeping.”

“I don’t either. It’s hard to adapt.”

“We should be training.”

Fokienia sighed. “Not anymore.” Leaning up against him, C1’s metallic pinions clicked together like closing shutters. “There’s no going back, Sequoia.”

He felt the shudder coming, but his augments suppressed it for him. For some reason, he hated that, too. “I don’t like not having a plan.”

She was almost as big as him, but her laugh still bounced through his core. “Anything else you don’t like?”

“This.” As he spoke, she leaned in a little more deeply. He grunted. “This place. It’s not made for us.”

“The doorways could be a little wider, yeah.”

C1 didn’t dredge up a response for that, or at least, not at first. “Ha.”

She nudged him lightly with her muzzle. “So, what do you really mean? Use your words.”

“I am.” It was as if she was even more annoying outside of exercises and spars. “You wanted to be free. But we have no purpose here.” He gave her a second glance, but was quick to turn away from her yellow irises. “I have no purpose here.”

“But you went with Sundown. You came for me.”

“Because I wanted to know. I wanted to know why you wanted to be free.” He raised his head, and peered once more around the guest room. “This is for you. For Control. But I have no need to be here.”

Fokienia ran one of her augmented hooves along the edge of the bed. “You have plenty of reasons to be here.”

“Explain.”

“To find your purpose. Like I had to.” She sighed. “You’re not the only pony having to go through this. I think Sundown is, too.”

C1 blinked. Inquiring about Control was something he wasn’t supposed to do... anti-protocol behavior. And yet, nopony was going to stop him now. “How do you know?”

Fokienia stopped rolling her hooves. “It’s... something about the Facility. Something they did there. We’ve always had this capacity to... talk, think like this. But never openly.”

“Giving information to the enemy is prohibited.” C1 pulled the words straight from his training. “And so she told you?”

“No. I... felt it. It’s hard to explain.”

If she couldn’t explain her answer, then what hope did he have of understanding? Even at the slightest tick of anger welling up, he felt the suppressants kick in. His barely tense muscles relaxed. He took the moment to properly think.

Fokienia took the silence on first. “Everything outside here, everything in Cypress, it’s nothing like what we know. Ponies live their lives, and they don’t take any kind of training to do it. I can tell, because nopony’s actively trying to control the conversation. Our tactics are over-redundant with how simple it is to get information from them.”

“They’re not targets, they wouldn’t have the resistance we’ve been trained to expect.”

“Were there ever targets? Did we need this training? What were we intended for, if anything?” She turned her head to him. “I think... they just didn’t want us to show how we feel. To act like anypony else I’ve met. To have... visible...” Fokienia trailed off, but her thought was practically complete. She just needed to remember one word...

C1 blinked, and the missing piece swam up. He answered for them: “Emotions.”

For a stunned moment, they both sat there. C1 himself felt his neural inhibitors twitching, and he could plainly see it in her, too.

Memories tucked away, but never lost, suddenly revealed themselves.

“Empathy,” Fokienia murmured. “I remembered... empathy.”

C1 was frozen, glued to the sheets. Inside his mind, a total conflict had ensued: battling against his artificial life, his memories toiled, working and working. To remember what it meant to be a pony.

He looked back. His hind was still stamped with a blend of color. But instead of a meaningless mural, he saw his cutie mark.

He tore his gaze away from the wooden shield on his flank, and to Fokienia. Her eyes were elsewhere, no doubt scouring the rich, fertile plains of her own mind’s memories. He thought to stop himself, to force himself to look again, to see what else the inhibitors had suppressed for so long.

But he was free, now: he had time.

And Sequoia sought to fulfill his purpose.

His jaw trembled as the ever-inflamed itch in his brain dissipated. Instead, his right wing ached. He unfurled the pained wing. Stretching, he reached out until he could safely place the thin, delicately-crafted pinions across Fokienia’s back and withers. Her body jumped at the initial touch, and she looked at him, eyes wide. She was a mixture of emotions. He could finally see that.

“Sequoia?”

“...I remember, now.” He breathed slowly, pushing air through his mouth, and gently through her mane. Leaning down, he planted his neck against the front of her own. “I’m sorry for not fighting hard enough.”

“W-what are you talking about?” she whispered. She pushed herself into him, until her muzzle brushed up against the top of his mane.

He closed his eyes and whispered back. “C1 is gone. It’s me. It’s just me.”

She didn’t reply, but the wet tears that dribbled across his neck soon after were answer enough.

His heart wrenched up, and for once, it wasn’t from an augmentation’s interference, it was from the prevailing sense of freedom flooding all throughout his mind. He smiled lightly, pulled back, and moved to place a kiss right between Fokienia’s eyes. It was slow, methodical, and all-too calculated, but it was the best he could give her. “Kept you waiting, huh?”

“Oh, gosh. You’re...” Her laugh broke so quickly; frothing over with overwhelming joy, she managed to speak up as she nuzzled into him again. “It’s been so long. Let me have this, Sequoia.”

Appealing to her wish, Sequoia slipped into his memories, and let his body go limp.

The room was a blindingly bright white, and the air sterilized with the heavy scent of ethanol. Through the open door, a little filly trot in. Her colors weren’t quite what he remembered, but with a little strain, two apricot-colored forelegs ended up over his withers. And instead of a supervised spar, he hugged her back.

Opening his eyes again, Sequoia looked at the mare wrapped around him. Having been safely rolled away from the edge of the bed, he allowed her steel forelegs to run across him. Somehow, they were warm.

“They’ve put so much in you... I can see all the connections.” Two strips of blue light pulsed up and down her sclerae. “But you were still in there all along.”

He chuckled. “Don’t interface with me, now.”

Fokienia giggled, running her hooves across him with a deep fondness. “In your dreams.”

“Then I’ll see you there.” Dreams... even with what he was beginning to remember, sleep remained a foreign concept. But the taste of familiarity he’d recovered provided him with purpose: to live for her. And right now, he could tell she needed it. “Because where you go, I’ll go.”

Fokienia shivered with mirth. “Sequoia... I’ve missed you.” She had a sharp, yet gentle smile: it was a bright lance in the dark. “Just... don’t let this be a lie.”

“I promise, I remember everything.” He pulled her close, and kept his grip tight. “I’ve missed you, too... Fokienia.”

Pressed together, the steady, unified beat of their hearts brought them to dreams.

0000

“What a mess our lives turned out to be.
It was at its best when you and I were only three.
We can start with all the things that turn us out.
And we can go right down the list and throw them out.

Can we sta-start over?
Can we sta-start over?”

Click.

“...It’s over. It’s over...”

The unicorn’s soft coo echoed about the hull. Her lonely berth only added to the mood left in the atmosphere by the recorded song. Letting it go, the bulky, hoofheld audio player floated off, untethered.

It had hardly left the bedspread alcove before the charging station began to pull on it with its imbued spell.

The mare squeezed her eyes shut. She sucked in through tight lips. “C’mon, filly... you can do this. Up.”

Nodding her head to the invisible tempo, she drew in one more breath, and physically reached for the harness keeping her in bed.

She slipped the bed-belts back into their slots, and pushed gently off the wall, brushing against the poster of a classic starship. As her hoof departed, the faded dent in the poster deepened just a hair more.

“Up.”

She didn’t see her way through the cabin so much as she felt her way through: the filtered beams of sunlight warmed her coat as she glided in zero-gravity. Her mane brushed up against the ceiling, and her hooves reached down for nothing. Carefully, and methodically, she stretched her legs out, until she was splayed like a pony caught mid-jump.

Her hooves wound around familiar steel rungs.

She allowed herself a smile. “Up.”

She kept her eyes shut as she ascended the cramped access corridor: her back brushed against the wall with each pull, and her barrel brushed against some of the ladder’s rungs when she neglected to keep her grip. It only took one mistake to break her pace, but she managed it all the way to the top.

The hatch above her hissed, and she opened her eyes. Cool air poured in as she climbed up and out. The rungs carried on past the door, but she chose not to grab them. Lighting her horn, four metal circlets wrapped just above her fetlocks glowed an electric blue. She touched a foreleg to the floor: her mane fell. She followed with her second foreleg, and ‘pulled’ on the floor as she brought her hindlegs down: her tail fell limp.

Tentatively, she lifted a hoof. Her mane stayed motionless. She sighed, and began her walk.

The metal floor panels in the red-lit space cranked with each hoofstep. It was an awful, grating noise, but she didn’t have to put up with it for much longer: the door at the end of the maintenance hallway opened outward. She ducked her head, careful to manage her horn, and stepped out.

The octagonal hub room had two additional corridors: the sign above the left-most wall would lead her to the docking module, a place she hadn’t seen in weeks; the sign on the right led to the support module, which she’d entered just yesterday in order to fix a power cable leading out to the exterior catwalk of the refinery array.

The opposite side of the room featured open panels, with a full view of the gas giant. With her geostationary orbit, she could rest assured that it wouldn’t change, unless things went horribly wrong. But that’s why she was here.

Settling, the comm officer lit her horn, and felt her way through the controls with her magic. The circular-shaped desk came with a swivel chair, but with her ethereal touch managing the routine diagnostics, she was free to keep her hooves on the main telecommunications panel in front of her: manual transmission.

Under her hoof, the tactile button felt right.

“Station ID, Motherlode RF-1. Good morning, tenders. Cypress time is zero, zero, zero, zero.” Her eyes scanned the display briefly, but she already knew she was right. “All ships, comms up.”

The first crackle took a long moment.

“Delta-4, seeing all green. Morning, sweets. Skipping the paste today, are we?”

She rolled her eyes at the voice of the old stallion. “Delta-4, affirm. All green.”

“I know it is.” He laughed. “Be advised, 6 is gonna be late. He pulled an all-nighter on the skimmers, so don’t fret too bad.”

“Acknowledged. Clear comms.”

“Sure thing, sweets.”

She paused transmitting just long enough to laugh. While the fuel-tenders were practically safe given their line of work on the frontier, the corporation could just as easily shuttle out somepony else if she didn’t adhere to protocol. That didn’t mean she couldn’t feel jealous about their job security.

One-by-one, she ran down the list of the ponies in her care. Some were just waking, others off to ‘rest’ in the beds of their little work-ships, and the rest caught at the start of their corporate-scheduled break; those who made their own schedules had been weeded out long before her time.

Three shifts. Twelve greens. Twelve ponies to keep her company.

A good day.

But something was wrong.

The timing felt off. But she’d stuck her pace just right, hadn’t she?

She checked again.

00:00

She gave it a double-take. She wasn’t that fast.

00:00

“Huh. Haven’t seen that before.”

She wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t the first time the computer had failed to properly synchronize with Cypress; with pioneer-age technology like this at her hooves, it was bound to have connectivity issues. Her horn shined a little brighter, and a terminal above the panel to her right flashed from black to green: the network diodes grumbled as they were forced to repeat the same task they’d just completed.

00:00

Frowning, she reached to transmit. “...All ships, comms up.”

She was met by silence.

00:00

She tore her eyes away from her comm panel, and looked around. Had she missed something, despite her practice?

00:00

No, it was Cypress Station that was reading wrong. Everything was correctly tuned on her end. “What the hay is going on?”

Again, she transmitted. “All ships, report in.”

Silence.

00:00

“This is Motherlode RF-1. Fuel-tenders, get up on comms, and report in.”

00:00

She stood from her desk, horn dropping in an instant. She stood so fast that her mane and tail shot up toward the low ceiling, but she stayed grounded. Stepping out of the nook, she trudged over to one of the large windows. Squinting, she surveyed the world outside.

They were hard to see, but the nav-lights of the fuel-tenders waved back.

She stomped back to the comm station.

00:00

The comm officer was young, but not inexperienced. Settling again, she leaned back in her chair, looking over everything she had. “Comms were just up... Station’s not responding. No local connections. No external connections. System-wide blackout?”

Her horn lit across one panel in particular. It was perched behind all the other panels, but just close enough for her magic to reach. Holding a hoof to the transmit button, she closed her eyes.

With her magic, she felt along the panel’s interface: the knobs of the radio clicked and buzzed, and the speakers crackled to the call of the void. It was unlikely anypony in the fuel-tender fleet would hear her, even if it was emergency equipment, but she knew who would.

When she found it, the telltale ‘ping, ping, ping’ of the emergency frequency was a second of relief.

“This is fuel refinery Motherlode RF-1, requesting Concord assistance. Connections to FTL-relays are absent. Local outage. Possibly system-wide. Cannot attempt repair alone. Message repeats.”

She looked at the clock display.

[ INIT. DIAGNOSTICS ]

00:00

For a moment, the only sound on the radio was the steady blink of the emergency frequency’s pings. With one last flick of her magic, she let the radio loose, and from the waves on the monitoring side of the panel, she knew her message was going through. Comforted, she took the time to calm herself.

And then a black hiss enveloped the room.

She screamed, horn lighting to swing the radio off. She stumbled back, staring at the panel as the previous blast of white-noise continued to ring in her ears. The panel was fine, but what had just come out of it?

[ ... ]

00:00

The comm officer took a step back, glancing at the support module door. “I...” How could she even fix something like that? It was...

A speck on the corner of her vision caused her to tense up.

The white-pressed insignia of the Concord vessel outside her observation window shone on her.

She couldn’t feel it, but as the thrusters of the starship burned away, her hooves shook.

The fighter maneuvered to face the fuel refinery, with hardpoints deployed.

[ NO SIGNAL ]

00:01

13 - D-Beams Glittering in the Dark

Searing Cold had not properly rested in the last two days. On this second day, he was confined to the bunk of his cell in the detention and holding section of the Cypress Central Command Center. Here, it was quiet. But it was hardly the quiet that enamored him with the desire for peace. No, even though Ripshot had just left him to his lonesome not more than a few hours ago, it wasn’t enough. The dead-silent jail instead promoted an ill and dying atmosphere, and no small amount of contemplation.

Others had little patience for this kind of thing.

Cold heard the heavy door to the cell-block slide open, and a single set of hoofsteps follow. They were trotting at a steady, albeit hurried pace, and it made him sit up straight on his cot.

There was a lull in the sound; the hooves tapped against the status monitor at the end of the hallway with a rapid crescendo.

An alarm buzzed once, burning low.

The mechanism on the inside of the cell, welded close to the door, whirred. The door propped itself open, swinging with a sharp metallic crunch. The opposite cell’s door stopped when his stopped.

The hoofsteps continued on, until Cold was pressed with his back to the wall, and the pony stood outside the doorway.

He didn’t know what to say.

“Searing Cold.”

Cold stared at the pony. They wore a sharp black-and-white suit, the kind corporate executives wore. And that’s just exactly who the stallion before him was.

“Mister Mill?”

Mill glanced back down the hall from the way he’d come, then stepped into the cell, just far enough to be in the doorway.

“You may call me Miller.”

The stallion was far from the highest authority when it came to corporate commerce, but Cold knew his craft. The kirin scrunched his muzzle as the well-smoked draft of a high-profile blend wafted in.

“I won’t be coy with you, captain. You’ve made an absolute mess of things.” He looked down, and brushed a hoof against his immaculate suit. “There’s something to be said about the work you’ve done for me and the company. But I’m afraid ‘renegade’ was the last career path we had in mind for you.”

Cold narrowed his eyes. “I never worked for you in any regard.”

“But you did. All those subtle, yet quite profitable trade routes that kept your—as you used to say, ‘dark runs’—healthy? Those fell into our purview through my intelligence services, but you were the one who brought home the end-sum product every time. Fast. Reliable. And unsuspecting. The only smuggler I ever needed.”

He tapped the cold concrete floor. “What am I supposed to do with a kirin who can no longer fly under the radar of Concord, and clearly has no intentions of peace?”

Cold’s lips moved before he could properly think. “This has all been a misunderstanding.”

Miller ground his hoof against the floor, as if stubbing out the cinders of an invisible cigarette. “No no, everything has been perfectly clear. Because—” he took a heavy breath, “—you’ve even stepped onto the territory of my associates.”

A silence filled out between them.

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Miller sighed. “I suppose your interest can’t be helped. Well, captain, that clinic you delivered quite a package to? You may remember that, while in the midst of your ‘bombing’ activities, you rattled up one of their employees very good. That strapping young colt was pursuing some very interesting leads in the field of biological science. Avenues you appear to have become very knowledgeable in. But that mare who brought you there, and the scientists and research behind her... we won’t talk about her, or the lad you let her beat. I’m here to talk about you, and you alone.”

Miller raised a hoof, and set it against the door. He leaned.

“Your actions put me in a state of jeopardy. It goes without saying that our working relationship is... null and void. But... you still know. You know too much. And I don’t have the time or trust left in you to ensure you don’t go making deals with Concord and the like.”

His hoof curled against the door. For a moment, Miller just stared across the gap between them. “You were always different. You showed me just how much a pony could hide by parading as something they weren’t.”

The kirin stared back.

Finally, Miller sighed, reaching into the breast of his suit. “And so... it pains me to do this, Cold.” The hoof reeled slowly back; he clutched at a small black square, no bigger than his frog. He returned the square to the suit, and used his freed hoof to push himself out of the room. “But I can’t leave you here.”

Cold scrambled to his hooves, but the door slammed with a resounding thud.

Words failed him as he made his way to the door. The viewing slat was shut, and as Miller’s voice grew distant, it was clear Miller wouldn’t let him get one last look at the world beyond the cell.

“Devices like these are very hard to come by.” He carried his voice boldly, speaking as if they were the only two left in the wreckage of the world. “This one took has its own journey to make its way to me, one with all kinds of baggage that makes using it a risk. But given recent developments, I’d wager you know how it goes. And besides, it’s only fair that I get to make my own mess.”

Cold was as far from calm as he could be. “What are you doing? You don’t... you don’t have to do this. I’ve never had anything against you.”

The hoofsteps stopped.

“You were good at evading Concord, Cold. Not fate. Live your last moments as a proud smuggler. Not the kirin you think you are. This is the destiny you chose.”

A new alarm began its looping screech: a wailing klaxon. Just barely within the realm of his hearing, Cold heard that same low alarm from before, and Miller’s tapping hooves.

Cold looked up at the camera. “Please...”

He had no idea if Miller could see through the little access screen in the hallway. But maybe his plea wasn’t meant for the pony with the grudge.

The recording light fizzled, then burst.

It didn’t stop the vent at the roof of the room from continuing to cough up its ceaseless lungfuls of murky, pale gas.

“You can thank Concord for giving you all of this.”

Cold stumbled backwards, practically diving underneath the gaseous flow.

“Really, if they didn’t want to turn their cell-blocks into independent gas chambers, they wouldn’t leave ‘riot suppression’ behind such a measly encryption.”

He curled up against a corner where the gas billowed least.

”I don’t want you to suffer. At least, more than you need to. This will hurt. So please, don’t try and hold your breath.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Goodbye, captain.”

Miller’s hoofsteps receded into the noise, trudging into nothing.

The hiss of gas and the blaring alarm were the last notes in Cold’s ears.

“Cold...”

The kirin rose weakly, the skin below his coat was dead and clammy. He tweaked his ears.

Did he hear something?

The door shuddered as hooves banged against it.

“Cold! COLD!”

Yes. That was his name.

Hoofsteps. Tapping. An angry set of beeps echoed in the hall.

Then, a click.

“Here! Come here!”

The door. He had to move. But his hindlegs refused him.

“Cold! Get out of there!”

The door, and the pony behind it. Crawl to him.

Cold pulled himself forward, coughing his lungs out, and tearing up through his still sealed eyes. He crawled through the blackness, surrounded by the hiss of gas. He heard the door screech open on its metal hinges, but his mind couldn’t properly parse the noise.

But the sound of magic distinctly awoke him.

He was violently slung across the floor in the grip of telekinesis; Cold’s scales whined as he careened out into the open hallway. He thumped up against one wall, and each breath there drew no additional pain. He sputtered and coughed, hacking up lungfuls of bad air in lieu of the fresh. A hoof rested against his withers as he laid there in his attempts to recover.

“O-officer?”

“Hey, space kirin.” The voice of Ripshot carried on the heavy air. “You’re lucky I came back for you, because nopony else did.”

Cold coughed into a hoof, and forced one aching eye open. “T-thanks.”

“Oh, maybe that came out a little harsher than I intended. I’m not kidding, I—”

Cold hacked again, and cut Ripshot off with a loose hoof. “I know.”

“...Sorry. I just couldn’t believe they left you alone. All-too convenient timing, too. Every officer was moving like there’s no tomorrow. Felt like an evacuation.” He paused. “You alright?”

“A pony... just tried... to kill me.”

“Right, well... the gas chamber treatment was kind of a giveaway. Always knew these things were death traps.”

At Ripshot’s total lack of urgency, Cold managed to give his head a quick shake of disbelief.

“But who?”

Cold spat on the concrete floor. “Corpo you wouldn’t know.”

“Right... well, cap. While the attempt on your life is certainly an issue, you’re not gonna believe me when I tell you that it’s only the second worst part of my day.”

The kirin chuckled weakly, but he knew the writing was on the wall.

Dry-heaving one last time, he pushed himself up enough to look at Ripshot. His eyes dribbled with neutral tears as he spoke. “Are we under attack?”

“Depends on who you ask. Us? Well, I didn’t see your friend on the way in, so I’d say we’re in the clear.” He grinned. “Let’s get you on your hooves. And while we’re at it, tell me everything you know.”

He groaned, but complied as Ripshot lifted him up. “I can’t.”

“It’s a bit too late for secrets.” The officer cast his eyes down the corridor, and with Cold leaned up against him, started him on his walk back to freedom. The hallway flashed yellow for a few seconds, and Ripshot laughed bitterly. “Main power’s going to clock out. Don’t let go.”

The alarms screamed above, and the emergency lights pulsed to the beat of distant yells. Cold’s ears rang in asynchronous disharmony, the errant screech like the wheeling machinery of shuttle bay doors.

He lit his horn for light; it sputtered and spat, prompting a worried query from Ripshot. He ignored his savior, and reached a gentle hoof to his earpiece. It didn’t so much as crackle. There was no connection to be made.

“Fokienia...”

The grogginess clouding her mind was remarkably unsettling.

For a moment, Fokienia stayed pressed into Sequoia, her ears pivoting all around. Her bedmate was awake as well: from the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her. His ears tweaked every which way, too.

A deep, bassy thrum rattled through the complex walls.

She crept from the bedspread and into the unassuming cold darkness of the room; the warmth of Sequoia’s body peeled away like slick oil.

His voice carried on behind her. “What’s that sound?” His hooves clattered against the floor: the wooden floorboards creaked.

“Nothing normal,” Fokienia muttered. She stood in place near the door to the room, eyes scanning up along the walls and ceiling. Dust trickled down from the space between the metal plates at the behest of another distant ‘thwoom’. “Let’s move.”

Unlike the first floor, the doors of the second floor were simply hinged. The wood was thick and heavy, but it was infinitely more delicate than the steel of the usual pneumatic station doors. Fokienia undid the latch, and pushed the door out into the hall.

She could feel Sequoia shadowing her as she stepped out. In front of the door, her jumpsuit had been hung on a rack and hook. It was pressed clean and bereft of soot. The black fabric shined in the low-lit hall: the station ‘moonlight’ glittered through a cloudy window. On the floor beside the rack, Cold’s bag sat patiently, and given its apparent bulkiness, more filled than when Fokienia had last seen it.

“What’s all this?”

“Holly. She must’ve just left it.” After glancing back at Sequoia, she lifted the corner of the jumpsuit, feeling the weight in her metal hoof.

A blast of orange suddenly flashed in through the window. Immediately, the room violently shook, and a colossal boom followed.

“Can you—?”

“Of course.”

Moving her legs when necessary, Fokienia allowed Sequoia to place and wrap her back in the confines of her gear.

“Comms are down.”

The two cyborgs looked up to meet the hardened gaze of their former superior. Stood at the top of the stairs, Sundown modeled her combat form: she’d shed the covert cover for her uniform, and the unburied armor plating shimmered with blue. The unconcealed disabler firmly holstered to her front was a refreshing sight to Fokienia: unlike the standard policing disablers, Sundown’s weapon was all but bulky; it was slimmed and refined well enough to fit as snugly as a blade in a sheath.

She shifted her eyes to the window. The fiery colors outside continued to paint the room. “And Tartarus is at our doorstep.”

“Where’s Holly?”

“Still awake.” She waved them on. “She’s waiting for us.” Not stopping for a response, Sundown disappeared back down the stairs.

Sequoia diligently returned to fitting Fokienia. He said nothing, but she could feel the weight behind his hooves. She stood there, watching the window. A final zip and click pulled her away.

“Good to go.” Coming out from behind, Sequoia plucked up Cold’s bag and offered it to her. She bowed her neck out, and he settled it across her withers, pulling it all the way to rest against her flank. The new weight of the bag was readily apparent, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. “You alright?”

Fokienia stretched her foreleg out, and checked where the fabric met metal. “...Now I am. Thank you.” She looked him over. “What happened to your uniform?”

“Control—”

“Sundown.”

His nostrils flared. With his eyes briefly shut, he breathed, then nodded. “She had me leave it when we went rogue. There weren’t any wing covers on it, so I was better off without.”

“I don’t think covert is our MO anymore.”

Sequoia looked at the window with her. “Then let’s keep moving.”

Another boom followed them down the stairs.

Moving between the rest of the living space and back toward the front of the business, the silence overwhelmed all attempts at thought. The tension laid on them heavier than their steel. Fokienia led Sequoia through the last door, and the mechanism whined sharply as it sealed.

They found Sundown and Holly behind the shop counter. The winged ponies said nothing as the pair approached.

Holly’s demeanor was notably different from the hours prior: her wings were tucked tightly to the new brown jacket she wore, and her eyes carried a steely look not too dissimilar from the bat pony adjacent. Fokienia stopped where she stood and nodded at her, but not even the slightest hint of a smile graced Holly. She only spoke when Sequoia stopped, too.

Holly turned her head to address Sundown. “I know you didn’t want to be right.” Her voice was gruff and over-laden. “But right is all but what the world is right now.”

She took a deep breath, and turned to face her three guests. It was clear by now that they had passed that point, however: Holly spoke to them as comrades.

“The explosions began maybe half an hour ago. From what I can see from the windows, there’s disabler beams everywhere. Firefights happening in complexes all over, mostly the commercial high rises, but some of the apartments, too. Celestia knows how bad the streets are.” She shook her head. “Station services have been down for longer. Of course, Cypress was prepared in the event of a total communications blackout, but...”

Holly paused, then trot over to the counter. She lifted a hoofheld radio from the space below the top, and flicked it on.

She let the screeching hiss of black vibrate on low-volume for just a few moments. She clicked the dial back to zero.

“I don’t know what’s happening out there. All I know is that nopony’s tried to break-in. We’re safe in here.”

As they spoke, the violent symphony of beam weaponry and chaos leaked in from beyond the shop’s walls.

“Somepony’s scramming station comms, then.”

“It’s a little more beyond that,” Holly started. She tapped her jacket, and lifted it with a wing to reveal a snugly fit PDA. “When the fighting first started, we lost power. Not just in the building, in all the other electronics, too.”

“That could be EM warfare,” Sundown mused.

She tilted her head. “EM?”

“Weaponized deployment of an electromagnetic field. Could be that, or the magnetosphere corridors could’ve failed. Hardware failure or deliberate sabotage is up to debate. But given what we’re hearing outside, I’d say it’s the latter. The station would be cooking right now. If anything, atmos techs will be taking care of it, regardless of what’s going on.”

“So, somepony from your organization, or whatever—” the pegasus glanced at all three of her guests, “—would’ve had to perform an attack like that.”

“Not necessarily. EM manipulation is like water and rye for civilians. It’s especially necessary out here in the Cypress system, but it’s still needed back in the core worlds. Anypony smart enough to subvert or create EM devices could easily reduce them from an industrial standard to the same hoofhelds militaries and mercs use. They wouldn’t be smartbombs, but definitely significant enough to knock out power and fry smaller electronics.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of signal manipulation while working as a sec officer, but I’ve never heard of anything like that. You’re sure it’d have to be that level of disruption, and not just a power outage?”

“When’s the last time you heard about a power outage in Cypress?” Sundown remarked. “And a simple power outage wouldn’t disrupt off-grid systems like PDAs.” She sighed. “Anyways, if it’s EM warfare we’re dealing with, then there’s going to be more than one party of mercenaries and operatives.”

“Wait,” Fokienia blurted. “Sec officer?” She looked at Holly. “Did you say you were in Concord?”

Holly lazily waved a wing. “A hired wingmare in the private sector, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Sundown snorted. “That must’ve been ten years ago. They teach EM warfare to everypony who needs to know what they’re doing. Let me guess, you were just a ‘security consultant’, weren’t you?”

“I worked these very streets, thank you very much.” Holly puffed up and out, as proud as a pegasus could be. “Back when the regulations for flying were still foaling, and ponies needed to be told to stay off random complex rooftops. Shucking the lost from the malicious was good, honest work, unlike whatever business you’re in.”

The bat pony shrugged the words off with a cool look, but Fokienia could see her withers sag. “Be that as it may, I’m trying to change that. We’re trying to change that.”

“There’s an awful lot talking,” Sequoia interrupted, “and I don’t think we ought to stay inside when there’s work that needs doing.”

“We need to find Cold.”

Fokienia wasn’t surprised to hear Holly’s words. She nodded in agreement. “Yes. Cold before anything else.”

Sundown looked around the room, her mouth propped and ready to argue. But her throat locked up, and she relented. “Luna knows what it’s like up in Central Command,” she bemoaned. “Getting there will be a journey and a half, especially if this fighting is going to stay this hot.”

“There are too many ponies out there. It’s not advantageous... or safe, to fight in the open.” Sequoia paused to collect himself, then continued. “But the layout of the city isn’t made for covert ops. We didn’t exactly sneak our way here.”

“And on top of that, comms being down means I don’t have access to my informants or fresh feeds. We’re absolutely in the dark, and not in a good way.” Sundown looked at Holly. “As it stands, you know more about this area than anypony else in this room.” She paused, then nodded firmly. “With all of that in mind, that makes you the most qualified to lead ops in this zone.”

Stunned, Holly took a step back. “So wait, you’re saying...?”

“We are a task force. We have a mutual mission. You have knowledge—and allegedly—training. You set the parameters, and we follow.” Sundown looked at Sequoia. “Do you understand that, C1? You operate under her from this moment forward.”

“Sequoia. My name is Sequoia.” He’d been facing Holly, but as the bulked-up pegasus turned, his stoic look was joined by a stern nod. “I’ll fight alongside you, Sundown. But I’ll fight for what I want.”

“...Understood, Sequoia.”

He turned to Holly again. “What do you want with the kirin? I want to help him to freedom. He helped me see that,” he glanced at Fokienia, “and I want to return the favor.”

“I want him, because I love him.” She smiled lightly, then shook her head. “He’ll know what to do,” Holly answered. “Cold’s always had a way out. Always knew the right words to say to make everything turn out in his favor. If—when we get to him, he’ll know what to say. Know what to do to make things right.”

Sundown leaned forward. “And how do you know that?”

“Because he’s a peacemaker.” Fokienia’s words drew in the rest of the room. “He’s not just a pony. He’s a kirin. And a kirin is exactly who can put an end to the fighting, bring the shadows to light, and give Cypress peace.”

For a moment, the room was silent. And for a second time, the war outside lulled to peace.

The stallion nodded in tempo. “The peacemaker...”

“Cold,” Fokienia added. “Searing Cold.”

Sequoia grinned. “I’m ready to fight for him. And for peace.”

“Thank you, Fokienia,” Holly replied tenderly. “But minimal fighting if you would, Sequoia. War’s done enough for ponykind as it is.”

The attention shifted to Sundown. The bat pony was staring deep into the lacquered wood floor, trying her damnedest to set it ablaze.

“Sundown?” Fokienia tried softly. “Are you still going to help us?”

Sundown finally rose. Her slitted eyes betrayed the pain she further failed to mask in her voice. “I already said this was Holly’s force, now. I’ll work for your cause.”

“Work with us.” Fokienia shifted. “I... I still love you, Sundown. No matter what you think you did to hurt me and Sequoia. Regardless of your history, it made us strong, and now you’ve given us a way out of the cycle. And I want you to be with us on the other side.”

“What would you know about history, Fokienia? I held you and Sequoia both back from your past. Held you for so long that even I’ve forgotten what it was like before.”

“What matters is now. A pony can change. And to do that, you need to stick with us.” Fokienia straightened out, but her voice stayed soft. “Please, Sundown. After this is all said and done, we can finally start our new lives. Together.”

Sundown looked left and right. To her left, the door leading to the city beyond. To her right, the two ponies she’d practically reared for war. Then, in front of her, a pegasus mare she’d relegated command of her operatives to. A mare who knew and loved a peacekeeper of the universe, and wanted nothing more than to give him the chance to serve his purpose.

And for as much as she fought it, this was a mare not unlike herself.

“You’d doing the right thing,” Holly said quietly.

“It’s been so long since I have,” Sundown replied weakly. Her nostrils flared as she breathed, and she lifted her head high to look at the ceiling. After a moment of stretched solace, she sank back down. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, Fokienia was on her. Sundown leaned into the larger mare’s hug. She didn’t allow it to last, but it was more than enough for Fokienia.

“Five minutes,” Holly said. “I need to dig out the rest of my old gear.” She ducked her radio back under the counter. “You all look the part, but I’d advise you do the same. With all that exchange we’ve been hearing, Cypress Central isn’t going to be walk in the grove. But we can get through without fighting.”

Fokienia wanted to believe that. They all wanted to believe that.

But before peace, there would be war.

14 - Where Mare Meets Machine

“Sweet mare of the moon.”

Fokienia could see the quip rising in reply from Holly, but the pegasus’ luster quickly gave way as well.

“I... gosh.” Holly swallowed most of her worry, then turned to the others. “S-stick close, now.” Her wings fluttered. The wing-pistol holstered below her left wing—and the ammo pouch under her right—flashed a few ponies as they galloped by. They slowed, only to run faster.

Fokienia didn’t blame them: of the four of the would-be rescuers, three of them brazenly displayed their weapons. And Sequoia’s imposing presence alone was weapon enough.

“Fokienia.” Sundown hesitated. “...and Sequoia. Eyes up. Watch the buildings.”

Leading on at a steady pace, the four ponies began their descent into the chaos-shrouded Cypress Central.

Smoldering embers rained down from the few burning complexes on this street. They weren’t overwhelmed with flames; in fact, the safety systems appeared to be working just fine: the distant sound of fire suppressants was certainly doing wonders for Fokienia’s own worries. Ponies poured out from the buildings and into the street in droves. Nopony was armed, but the fiery complexes still rang out with the occasional disabler fire—and from the aggressive yelling, it was a safe assumption that various interloping squads were engaged in long-form combat.

Just up the way, the ponies amok in the streets had coalesced into a slurry of emotions. The crowd was massive, maybe even beyond a hundred ponies in size. And it was only growing as more ponies ran up from behind. Their eyes were locked forward: very few were willing to acknowledge the sounds of combat and disaster overhead. Overwhelmingly, trepidation and fear won out over the voices of anger.

It was all set on the demonstrably oppressive wall of black-blue steel erected in the street.

Sundown swore sharply below her breath. “Holly, what are we doing about the blockade?”

“It’s Concord,” the pegasus noted.

Atop the machined barricade, several ponies in standard Concord attire trot along the edge. Heavy, long-rifle disablers hung by their sides, but they kept them aimed above the crowd. Not all of the barricade had been erected: from Fokienia’s place a way’s off from the rear of the crowd, the sliding of steel and yelled commands followed along with the throng of pegasi lifting more of the wall into place. It was still a rapid response, given the close onset of the attacks, but it seemed an ill-conceited effort. None of the officers made an attempt to talk down to the crowd, which by now was teeming with questions.

“What are they blocking the road for?” Sequoia asked. “Aren’t these ponies trying to evacuate?”

“Things must be worse further on,” Fokienia murmured. She took another look at the gunners atop the walls. One was definitely looking her way, now. “Or...”

Sundown flashed a winged salute. The silhouette of her armored vest must have done the trick: the officer glanced at the bat pony, then returned to their patrol. “Or they could be compromised.”

Sequoia rolled his withers. “Either way, I don’t think they’re going to just let us through.”

“Even if we told them our mission,” Fokienia added.

“Which we’re not telling anypony,” Sundown finished. She moved to Holly: the staunch pegasus stared on, but her ears tweaked in acknowledgment. “It’s your call.”

“We’ll go around.” Holly took one look at the buildings to their right, then turned to face her companions. “Follow me.”

Stepping off the road, they maneuvered away from the crowded Concord blockade, and toward the wall of stores on the other side of the commercial street. Holly stopped them before one shop’s window: from the ponnequins on display, it was clearly a boutique or clothing store. After a moment of thinking, Holly moved past the window and checked the pneumatic door.

“Oh... locked?” She leaned around to the window, then back again. She sighed. “Darn it.”

“We need in through here?” Sundown asked. When Holly nodded, the bat pony waved her aside with a wing. Sundown took her place at the door, and dug around the inner collar of her vest for the small black square she’d stowed away.

Fokienia had already seen the device in action, but Holly tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“One of the Project’s...” She slowed. “Er, whatever. It’s one of the Project’s finest achievements, at least for this day and age.” Holding the square up to door for a moment was all it took: the bolts clacked as they rose. Sundown let the square fall back against her neck. The line keeping it around her neck was thin, but Fokienia could tell it was strong. “But let’s just say it’s our skeleton key.”

The team moved inside.

Sundown’s eyes lingered on the shelves, racks, and displays of clothes within. The store was still lit bright, but unlike the storm of the crowd just outside, it was dead quiet. “Where do we go from here?”

“There’s a way into the alley behind. We just need to dip through the backroom.” As Holly spoke, she led them at a hurried trot past the counter. “Bolt? Are you in here?”

There was no reply.

“Hello?” She peeked around the corner of the open doorway at the counter’s end. “Anypony?”

Fokienia took less than a second. “There’s nopony in here, Holly.”

“How do you...? Oh. Right.” The pegasus waited, then moved forward. “This is all... so much. I hope he’s safe.”

“Me too,” Fokienia replied. She caught the tailwind of an eye from Sundown, but she wasn’t sure why. It just felt right to wish well for Holly’s presumable friend.

As they entered the backroom, Sequoia’s voice rose up. “Void previous, Fokienia. He didn’t go willingly.”

Holly blinked. “What makes you say that?”

Sundown squinted where he was looking, then leaned back. “That’s Project pony work, alright. Good eye, Sequoia.”

“I-I don’t quite... follow. Oh. Oh no.”

The backroom, compared to Holly’s shop, was tiny. There was enough room for some tailor’s equipment—a workbench and a wall-consuming sewing machine—and some shelving for fabric, but it was all too tight-cramped a space.

The giveaway signs of struggle were tucked away behind a loaded shelf, which Sequoia easily shoved back to the side. Fokienia’s ears folded back at the egregious screech it made.

A black scorch mark had been blasted into a vaguely spherical shape across the wall, and scorched below it were the crumpled and burnt remains of some cloth and threads.

“What do you wager,” Sundown began, her voice pointed toward the bulky pegasus, “was it for breaching, or an interrogation method?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Fokienia muttered.

Sequoia gave them both a glance before he answered. “Interrogation. The back door here is untouched. This was a lower class stun mine. They placed it here after entering the building. Would have gone through the door otherwise.” He nodded to the pile of burnt fabrics. “Restraining isn’t out of the question, either.

Fokienia took another look around. Aside from the distant motion of ponies, there was no movement inside or close to the shop. “What would have made him a target?”

The question hung heavy over them.

“He’s such a nice stallion...” Holly strained. Her eyes stayed glued to the explosive residue.

“There’s nothing we can do about it.” Sundown nodded to the door. “Sorry,” she added after a moment. “We’ve got a way forward, and there’s going to be plenty more Project operatives out and about. If Concord keeps putting up roadblocks, we’re going to have an even harder time getting to Central Command.”

“R-right.” Holly took a breath to steel herself, squeezing her eyes shut. “Okay... For Cold.” With a nod, she opened her eyes, and moved to the back door. It slid open automatically for her.

She screamed.

The sprawled out, barely breathing body of a pony left everypony taken aback: burned out, the clothes on the back of the unicorn had gone black.

“BOLT!” Holly shrieked. She scrambled out the door, falling to her hooves as she rolled the stallion face up. His eyes were shut, and Fokienia could tell his coat hadn’t been too badly burned. Still...

“That’s...” Sundown struggled to put together a proper sentence. “...not how we do things.”

Sequoia strode by wordlessly, and stooped to peer at the pony from up close. “Fokienia?”

“Already on it,” she replied. Her foreleg whined as she approached. “Hold him still.”

At this shift in attention, Holly was left more curious than distraught. Her worry and anxiety still shone through, however. “What are you doing?”

Fokienia placed her hoof on the burnt stallion’s chest. She could see the blue in her eyes reflected on the metal buttons of his outfit. She waited.

Beat.

The hypospray hissed as the injection went in.

She stepped back. “Waking him up.”

A few seconds later, the pony’s eyes shot wide.

“Bolt!” Holly cried again. “Are you okay?”

“Be gentle,” Fokienia quietly warned. It would be easier to just let the stallion rise on his own, but she knew just as well what it was like to be keeled over a harmed pony... although in this case, some scales on the stallion’s back would’ve helped to lessen the burns.

He coughed. His body was wracked with seizures as he wiggled out every fresh breath he raked in. “...H-Holly? Rain... is that you?”

“Yes... It’s me, Bolt.” She looked up at Fokienia briefly. She gave her thanks without words. “And some friends.”

They propped the stallion up against the wall of the alley. Holly sat next to him, with a wing tentatively draped over him and his flared back. Nopony rushed out a reply from him, but Fokienia could see Sundown’s impatience from the way she stood looking out at both ends of the alley.

Finally, Bolt managed to lift his head. His voice was weak, and his body drooped all over, but it was a testament to his strength that he could power through the pain, even with Fokienia’s administered stimulant. He turned to Holly, hoarse. “These guys... came outta nowhere.”

“They’re gone, Bolt. Y-you’re okay, now.”

Sequoia cleared his throat. “Appearance?” Bolt squinted his way, not out of malice, but sapped of all energy. “What did they look like?”

Fokienia dragged his gaze a little further. “We can help you. We’re going to stop those ponies, one way or another.”

The stallion stopped to recollect himself before he spoke again. “They looked like... her.” He shook his hoof out Sundown’s way. “Couple of pegasi. Came in the front. Locked the door. Didn’t say a word. Tossed a ring on my horn and... took me out back.”

“I’m so sorry, Bolt,” Holly whispered.

“Ops, guaranteed.” Sequoia nodded. “They left in a hurry.”

“They weren’t patient with the... questions, either.” The stallion wheezed, and sucked in a dry breath. While Holly caressed him with her wing, he managed, and went on. “Wanted to know if they could shortcut the streets to... somewhere.” He shook his head with all the vigor he had. “No, no I don’t know about that, sirs.”

“Why would they want to know that? They can fly.”

“Conspicuous as they’ve been, I can see why they wouldn’t.” They all turned to Sundown. The bat pony flexed her wings, and stretched her neck to the steel sky. “I haven’t seen a single flier. It’s late, but still, you’d figure there’d be somepony out. Something’s keeping ponies grounded.”

Bolt didn’t have a reply for that. Instead, he turned his neck back to Holly. His eyes flashed with worry. “Rain... Why are you so cold?”

Holly stood numbly. She kept her wing lifted for him to see the silvery grip of her holstered wing-pistol.

“Why do you need that old thing?”

She shuffled anxiously, and folded her wing back up. “Bolt... I’m working with these ponies. If I leave you here, promise you’ll stay safe?”

After a pursed moment... “I don’t know where to go,” he mumbled. “When the shooting and—and the explosions started, I just tried to stay inside. But you’re not even safe inside...”

“Just... You just need to... Gosh. I don’t know.”

“Leave your doors unlocked, and hunker down somewhere quiet,” Sundown added. “If a certain somepony wants to find you, there’s nothing you can do to stop them. Stay out of sight, for those who can’t do that.” She gave an appreciative look to Holly. “We need to keep moving. Moonlight’s burning.”

“Whatever it is you’re doing... come home safe, Rain.”

The pegasus shook as she approached him. “I need to make sure there’s a home for us to come back to, Bolt.”

With Sequoia, she hustled the nerve-struck Bolt indoors. Sequoia stepped out first. Holly lingered inside for a little longer, then joined her companions back outside.

“I’m ready,” she said simply.

“Are you sure?” Fokienia asked gently.

“Yes.” She looked down. When she came back up, it was only with gritted teeth. “Let’s end this war before it goes any further.”

Fokienia stepped aside, and bowed her head. “Lead on, Holly.”

The sight of a mare on a mission was yet another experience she now held and understood in her repertoire.

The squad of four stepped out at the end of the alley. The pegasi led from the front: Holly and Sequoia flanked one another. Sundown and Fokienia formed the rearguard, with the former watching the pegasus-stripped skies, and the latter scanning every last wave of motion she could. Past the barricade, there were ponies galloping in both directions, but not so many as before. There were very few residences out here, but they still existed. They watched them all as they hurried through the city and toward the semi-distant green jewel embedded in the ceiling of Cypress Central.

The ponies about cut a path around them, avoiding them entirely. Sequoia stared down the stragglers who refused to swerve until the last second, leaving them scrambling to get out of the way. Holly trot with purpose: from the way her left wing was tensed, it was clear she was ready to draw her wing-pistol at her beck and call. Sundown’s tufted bat pony ears twitched and swiveled at each minute sound, keeping her subconsciously in formation while her slitted eyes stayed locked onto the sky.

Fokienia could see into the highrises around. At this distance, it was difficult to tell what exactly the ponies were doing indoors, but corroborating the sounds like Sundown gave her enough of a story: frantic fiddling by a crouched pony in one building was given context by the cacophony of disablers firing from within. Even in the ground beneath her hooves, ponies slinked through the maintenance tunnels, their movements mimicking the slow-trot’s pace of a retrieval unit on the hunt. There were plenty more ‘civilian’ movements in the mix, but she had a good enough grasp on her augment by now to tell that there was still a substantial amount of combatants around. But just as she’d been trained, they all fought away from prying eyes.

Holly was the first to call out the paradox.

“Look out!” she cried in warning. She flit her wings and galloped hard to split off to the side.

Before she could fully process it, Fokienia was rolling for cover while a disabler beam soared overhead. The screams of the ponies around intensified two-fold as all four of them dove for cover in the street of discarded belongings and stalls.

“Quit hiding! You mercs are all cowards!”

Fokienia peeked around her cover. She could see Holly breathing heavily from behind her own stall.

Holly drew her wing-pistol out in a smooth, quick flick. “We’re not mercenaries!”

“What does it matter? You’re working for another corp, and it ain’t ours!”

“We’re not fighting for anypony!” Fokienia yelled back while reaching for her own disabler. Her words passed through her own mind, and the next words flowed right by her lips. “Except for the ponies of Cypress!” In response, a barrage of disabler beams soared overhead.

“Yeah? Well tell that to the last checkpoint we wiped!”

Ahead, Fokienia could hear a clasp and click from where Sundown had dived. She peeked over, just in time to bear witness to the bat pony in her element.

Sundown had trained both Sequoia and Fokienia on the range, and she had a picture perfect form: she was hunched so slightly around the cover, exactly like Fokienia remembered. Her body was entirely shielded, and the barrel of her disabler eked out just far enough to make the shot. The bat pony aimed with two slitted eyes.

Her down-sized disabler shrieked like a tiny cricket.

Fokienia didn’t have to look further to see the effects. They were profound, and immediate.

“Back up, back up!” A new voice screamed. “They’ve got black-grade hardware!”

Sundown didn’t say a word: she moved around to a fresh side of her stall and lined up her next shot. Return fire came close, but it did nothing to disrupt her aim.

And as Fokienia stood, wielding her disabler in turn, the world slowed.

She could hear her own heart pounding in her ears as the tempestuous roar of weapons in exchange dulled across her senses. The ponies they’d rolled into an all-too natural confrontation were stilled with the same flesh as her: they weren’t all too far, and the whites of their eyes flashed back in her own. Like her mentor before her, she said nothing as she pulled the trigger. Pull after pull, shot after shot, each beam soared and sucked at the air in unwavering blasts of emotionless heat and mirage.

Amid the carnage, Sequoia’s hoof-falls wound in. From her peripheral view, the stallion rushed in, carrying on his back two flexed wings of steel pinions. He reamed through a pony with his crushing stride, their stray beam arcing harmlessly across the street and more than a pony’s height above Fokienia’s withers. She took the moment to move forward to Sundown, and the bat pony, having thoroughly beleaguered her targets from her current position, shifted forward as well.

Holly was no stranger to the warfare at hoof: Fokienia assisted her in downing a stubborn mare who refused to go down after several torso-level shots from the wing-pistol. Her companion didn’t stop to thank her—she hunkered down as more shots were flung her way. Even still, Fokienia’s heart wrenched with pain. Even as a combatant, Holly Rain was an innocent pony, and one who should never have been on the frontlines to begin with.

The blood surged back in as the tremendous weight of Sequoia crashed right through a metal stall. His charge drew in the entirety of the enemy force’s fire, leaving Fokienia, Holly, and Sundown to sweep up the rest; they went down like bowling pins. While metal crunched below his hooves, Sequoia slammed into the last of the corporate hold-outs. Together, the pony and the stall carried into the midst of the street. Bits of metal clattered and clanged along the regolith concrete, until the final occupant of the battlefield air was the rapid, cooling hiss of no more than a dozen disablers.

The street rang no more.

Briefly, the storm brewed again; hardy hooves kicked aside more debris. “Anypony else want to try something?” Sequoia yelled out.

“Clear!” Sundown shouted back.

Fokienia followed up with her own check. “Affirm. No contacts in sight.” She flicked her augments back off, and wet her eyes with a few blinks.

From the back of the squad, Holly emerged. Despite her shaking legs, her grip on her wing-pistol was tight. Her mouth twitched only on reflex as she swung her head around in sentry.

“Holly?” Fokienia called. “Are you—?”

The mare cut her off with a swift move from both wings: the magazine in her wing-pistol was jettisoned with a smooth flick of her left; and a fresh power cartridge curled up from her reloading right.

Holly roughly holstered the wing-pistol, hefted herself with a thorough shake of her wings, and met Fokienia’s look. “I’m fine.” She looked her up and down. “And you are, too.”

Just off Fokienia’s withers, Sundown shrilled with authority. “Sequoia, re-arm!”

Already by the bodies, he snorted, kicked sharply at the unconscious pony by his hooves, and dipped down to tug at the straps of their gear.

Holly, Fokienia, and Sundown weren’t far behind.

As Fokienia shifted to her saddlebag to reload, Holly moved ahead. When the cyborg looked back up, she could see the beginnings of a crowd forming on the edge of the fight’s remains. Gone were the creatures of business dressed in suits and dresses, what stood before Fokienia and her companions were the ponies of Cypress. With them, they carried the shock and awe they had no business in knowing.

“Y-you stopped them,” a pegasus whispered. Her jumpy eyes sifted between the unconscious bodies, and Holly’s stalwart stance.

“They’ll be back up for too long.” Holly’s voice glided into a guiding tone. “Just make sure you get as far away from here as possible.”

The shaken pegasus wasn’t so sure. “What about them?” The crowd pulled back from some of the fallen.

“Well...” Holly directed them to the figure closing in.

As Sundown approached from the sidelines, she gave Holly an approving nod. “Destroy their weapons, arm yourselves, or leave now. I’d suggest leaving. Sequoia?”

A few ponies shied away as the massive pegasus—now strapped with a heavy disabler and Concord-issue armored rig (despite all evidence suggesting that the force they’d swept weren’t Concord)—ambled up. “Good to go.”

The crowd parted for the three as they stepped through. Fokienia followed quietly from behind. She met the eyes of each and every single pony willing to meet her. Most were watching her, but some had reached down to look more closely at the downed ponies. Still, for as much of a mess things had become, Fokienia could see things as they truly were.

Not Cypresseans. Not civilians. Not refugees.

Ponies.

The pegasus mare, speaking again for the crowd, bowed her head. “T-thank you.”

Fokienia stopped. She faced the pony. Ahead, she could hear her companions stop as well. The crowd froze, too. A long pause followed as she passed over every detail of the mare’s visage: from the sag in her wings; to the lack of sleep in her eyes; and her bedraggled mane and coat.

She moved her foreleg forward, and hooked it gently beneath the pegasus’ foreleg. “My name is Fokienia.” The mare let her lift their forelegs together. “I was taken from my life, and built for war.” She flexed her hoof, and the mare stared briefly at the steel of her foreleg. “But I promise you, I won’t let war take yours.”

Tears pulled at the weary mare’s eyes. “I...”

Fokienia could feel it: Sundown’s eyes were on her. And yet... she didn’t interrupt.

She shifted her foreleg to wrap herself around the mare in a one-legged hug.

“Be strong.”

She pulled back, set the mare back on her hooves, and looked to the ponies as one.

Fokienia smiled like the sun.

The ponies watched as Fokienia turned, and pressed on. She joined her friends. All four of them—the only ponies moving along the street at all—didn’t look back.

The crowd lingered for a moment longer. Not a voice spoke.

Finally, they strung themselves together, forwent the weapons at their hooves, and moved to continue their journey away from the worst of the fighting.

In the inner-most region of Cypress Central, the multi-complex fighting disappeared altogether. It had become a ground war in its entirety. The sky was empty for a reason; nopony was willing to find out why. So ponies flooded the streets, and Holly’s force took to the alleys, winding their way through the dark bends in an attempt to stave off any further firefights.

But after all that was said and done, Fokienia couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Why is everypony fighting?”

Sundown answered immediately. “Because they’re idiots.” It was as if she’d been waiting for the invitation to speak.

Sequoia snorted. “I’ve heard that one.”

She glared at the stallion before turning back to Fokienia. “It’s a rule of the galaxy. Every civil polity, no matter its reputation, has a network of ponies dedicated to making a living off of other ponies’ suffering. With Concord rapid-response, snuffing out the other leeches is a covert mare’s game. Now, there’s no need to hide. The moment comms went down, they went right to work.”

“How do you know?”

Sundown’s face contorted with disgust. “You saw how fast the fighting escalated. Remember what I said about the Project flying in mercs? These ponies you’re seeing out in the streets? Those aren’t mercs. They’re the scum who go to volatile systems, just waiting for the stampedes to start. Scum working for the smarter scum who started corporations around it all.”

“I know something like that,” Holly said faintly. “Right before the Griffonian Conflict, Cold was explaining to me why he wouldn’t be able to bring in as many griffon products as he used to. On top of the embargoes, he refused to support certain suppliers. The griffons called them ‘war hawks’. They were profiting off of the violence.”

Fokienia winced. “That’s an awful business.”

“Yeah.” Sequoia nudged her, and gestured with his eyes toward Sundown. “Which tells you who exactly was running the Facility.”

Sundown started again when nopony else would, but it was hardly in contention against Sequoia’s quip. “I thought they were different. Sure, we’d be working in the gray area, but what is progress without sacrifice? That’s the entire history of the Cypress Projects. Of course the Project would demand the most.” She slowed, frowning far more deeply than before. “But, at some point, I stopped caring that the work was getting darker and darker...”

Fokienia leaned into Sequoia before he could say a word. “It’s not your fault.”

“I helped create you both. Training you, teaching you, raising you. It was my choice.” She looked at Fokienia and Sequoia in turn. “But at the very least, I suppose, they did fix what they said they would.”

“...I do like being able to fly like any other pegasus,” Sequoia added, his voice low, and just above quiet. “It only took ten years.”

“I can’t even remember what it was like to have... normal forelegs.”

“I remember. Sparring was easier with you, then.” As Sequoia laughed darkly at his own remark, Fokienia joined in.

She stopped when she saw the pain on Sundown’s features.

“You had other problems before then,” the bat pony remarked. “You probably don’t remember. The bio-pod and gene therapies turned you into a completely different filly. You were the miracle that kept me in the Project.” She sighed with a surprisingly high coating of nostalgia. “I should’ve taken a picture, directives be damned.”

Fokienia blinked, and her heart twisted as the words sank in. “What was I like before?”

“You...” Sundown glanced at her, then quickly away. “You’ve always been Fokienia. I just meant physically... that’s all.”

After all Fokienia had experienced in the last three days, if Sundown was lying, she would know. But the emotions her heart saw only told her of the sorrow and remorse aching through the bat pony.

“I see.”

“Girls?” Holly waved them forward. “Come take a look at this.”

Following after alternating commands between Holly and Sundown, the four of them had maneuvered past a nigh-ceaseless sea of barricades, roadblocks, and marauders. It wasn’t their first time crowding around an alleyway corner to get an unnecessarily simultaneous peek to be sure their path was clear.

Sequoia, who’d been content to lean most of his bulk out, immediately withdrew into the shade of their urban corridor. “That’s a Concord checkpoint.”

Despite what they’d witnessed at the barricade all the way back on Holly’s street, they had yet to encounter that same level of Concord authority. What remained of Concord instead was a series of disconnected cells and patrols: they’d seen their fair share of surrenders and squad-wipes as corporate-backed mercenaries and marauders went about disarming and looting all they could from the once imposing state-of-the-art police force.

“That’s them, alright.” Sundown tapped on the wall and pulled back from the corner. “Fokienia, what do you see?”

She didn’t have to lean around the corner like the others. She stared through the wall at the unmistakable sea of ponies in motion. She began counting. And counting.

“Fokienia?” Holly asked with worry.

“There’s got to be at least thirty ponies clustered over there.”

“Same size as a Concord QRF,” Sundown noted. “With comms down, it only makes sense that they’d keep their assets close to home. Any civilians?”

After an extra second to squint, Fokienia shook her head. “Nopony’s in the street. It’s just whoever’s in the checkpoint. And I can see more than a few weapons drawn.”

“Which makes attempting forced entry... a problem.” Sequoia scuffed the ground. “Untrained units like the ones we’ve been fighting are one thing. This is an actual force.”

“Concord isn’t to be underestimated,” Sundown acknowledged.

Fokienia knew that just as well. “So, what are we going to do?”

Turning to Holly, Sundown spoke gravely. “Is there any other way around?”

“The Cypress Central offices are right there. The lifts to the Central Command Center aren’t much further than that. But there’d probably be even more officers, there...”

“Of course...” Sundown clicked her tongue. She growled to herself. “We’re going to have to face them either way.”

“Maybe they’ll let us through?” Holly suggested. “We didn’t try before.”

“No. It’s too risky.” Sundown looked up, but the buildings flanking their position stopped her from seeing the jewel in the sky. “We’re close enough to the command center that they might still maintain ways to phone home. Possibly with low-tech solutions.”

“Like light signals?”

“Or just word of mouth, especially if they have access to the lifts like you said.”

“Could you remind me why working with Cypress Concord is a bad idea?” Holly sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to being able to trust our officers.”

Fokienia could see the frustration in Sundown’s eyes, so she answered Holly. Besides, it was her fault that the pegasus was in this with them. “Remember, they’re compromised. We haven’t run into any Project operators, and they’ve been integrating themselves in Concord for years. It’s not unlikely that some of the ponies over there are still working with the Project, even with communications severed.”

“There’s a reason the Project invested so much into infiltrating their chain of command,” Sundown remarked dryly. “If Concord knew who they were, I wouldn’t be surprised if even the most loyal officers would willingly support Project operatives. The respect is a two-way street. They’re the best of the best. Ponies cut from the same cloth, just on different sides of the line.” She stopped to think for a moment. “Hold on.” Sundown motioned at Holly. “Get your PDA out. I don’t think comms would be back up, but we can’t be too sure.”

Opening her jacket, Holly retrieved her PDA. They all stared as it hummed to life.

It chimed cheerfully, and started to sing its song—Holly was quick to muffle the speaker with a wing. “...There.” She held the device out for Sundown to see.

“It’s...” Her slitted eyes scrawled across the screen. “Dead. Okay.” Sundown took a breath while Holly stowed her PDA. “Regardless, we’re close enough that reinforcements are a real threat. I don’t fancy our odds of getting through if it turns to a fight or an arrest attempt, doubly so if they manage to get more officers involved.”

While the others thought to themselves, Fokienia checked in on the garrison again.

Sundown froze.

Fokienia looked at her. She could see the mare’s ears twitching rapidly.

“What do you—?”

Sundown’s hoof latched out, grabbed onto Holly’s withers, and pulled them both to the ground. Then, she locked eyes with Fokienia. “Get down.”

Sequoia and Fokienia complied, just as a sharp whine shrilled into the air.

Faster than anything should ever move within a station, a massive black shape zoomed over the alley. The purple glow of the magical projectors beneath wouldn’t have done a thing to them, but the sheer velocity of the object sent a gust billowing up and down the walls of the alley.

The yells came before the explosions.

The world shook and trembled like popcorn as flashes of light powered down from the direction of the checkpoint beyond the alley.

Sequoia stared on, jaw agape. Holly screamed, even while Sundown held her with two forelegs. The bat pony’s ears had folded over, and her eyes were screwed shut like the pegasus in her vice.

Fokienia’s eyes couldn’t leave the shape of the hover-craft as it looped around the sky twice more, before shooting off into the distance.

She was the first to stand, and she stepped to the mouth of the alley to look with her real eyes.

There were no flames. There was only a cloud of white smoke that billowed out like a crashing wave. She could hear screams from within. The figures further bolted away in whatever direction they could. Some bumped into walls and ponies, before managing to gallop in the direction of the station interior’s bordering wall.

Others came her way.

Fokienia was still rooted to the spot when the cluster of Concord officers emerged from the smoke. Their coughs, screams, and tears flew all around her as they fled from the bombed checkpoint. Nopony spared a moment to look at her. They ran for their lives. Trained as they were, nothing could prepare them for this. They were still ponies who acted on pony principles. Ponies who acted for peacetime, not war.

Distantly, the whine of the enemy hover-craft finally faded out.

Sundown’s voice filtered in from behind her. She could tell she was still on the ground with Holly. “What... what do you see, Fokienia?”

“They... gassed the checkpoint.” She stared at one officer as she sprinted right by. She was stumbling on each step. But she ran, and ran.

“Goddesses...”

And then the whine rebounded.

Fokienia jumped back into the alley, staring at the cloud of white gas as the hover-craft returned. It slowed just above the intersection before the checkpoint. The whine of the vehicle descended into a tell-tale hum. The machine had no emotions, but Fokienia couldn’t help but feel remorselessness emanating from the hum. It had served its baleful, ruthless purpose, and could easily do so again. It had been built for this. It was a stark reminder of just how inequine the world could be.

The craft hovered to a ‘stop’ just shy of the smoke. She heard a hiss and the sliding of steel, then the nigh-thunderous sound of hooves hitting the ground.

Wearing gas masks, the ponies emerged and trot easily into the smoke. Their vehicle and uniforms were pressed with Concord’s insignia and colors. But these were not the same peacekeepers who had fled.

Fokienia whispered, “It’s the retrieval unit,” and her voice was left hoarse.

Sequoia’s metal wing graced along her spine. But his response was monotonous. “Yes.”

Sundown appeared in an instant. Her eyes were wide, and Fokienia could practically feel her heart pounding. “They landed?”

“No, they...” Fokienia trailed off.

The craft descended, and the hum fell silent. The purple glow on the street beneath faded away.

“Go.” Sundown’s disabler was in her grip, and she was out of the alley yelling. “Go go GO!”

A door on their side of the craft opened up, and an armed pony—

They were launched backwards, and fell limp on the ground beyond the craft.

Sequoia fired two more heavy disabler beams to follow his first strike, shooting right through the craft entirely. All of his shots went blindly into the smoke. He started sprinting after Sundown, but his aim did not suffer for it: he didn’t splash against the hull of the craft.

Fokienia whipped around, ignoring the rapid-fire and heavy lances of Sundown and Sequoia. Holly was scrambling to stand. She pulled her the rest of the way to her hooves. The pegasus reached for her wing-pistol. Her tears rode on the determination in her eyes. “Go.”

As they raced to catch up to Sundown and Sequoia, Sundown lased down another pony peeking from within the craft: they collapsed inside. Sundown thud her whole side against the hull as she pressed up for cover: now, blue beams returned from the smoke, which was steadily encroaching on the craft. Most of the shots splashed against the hull, leaving the metal arcing and whining with residual magic.

“Cover me!” she yelled to Sequoia. She jumped up, her hooves bouncing on the metal floor, and rounded around the corner toward the cockpit.

Sequoia crouched low, letting his side-mounted disabler rest on the floor of the craft. His weapon beeped aggressively. He responded by slamming more shots through the doors.

Fokienia ushered Holly to Sequoia’s left, right where Sundown had stood moment before. Then, Fokienia jumped in. As she swept the right side of the craft—away from the cockpit—her eyes widened.

The whole craft hummed, and then began to rise again. Seeing the opportunity, Holly leaped up.

Sundown stood with the craft as it lifted back up. He didn’t stop firing, even as he rose from a crouch to his full stance, his weapon braced on the floor the whole time. The gas was mere hooves away from the craft, but he continued to fire, his lips peeling back to reveal gritted teeth.

Sundown’s shrill shriek bounded in from the cockpit. “GET IN!”

Fokienia tore her eyes away from the passenger seats and rushed to manually close the craft’s right door. She slammed on the button, and while it started sliding shut, Sequoia struggled to pull himself up. He stepped back away from the edge of the craft, and punched his screeching rifle from its mount. He reared back, then landed his forelegs on the inside of the craft. Between and around his lower body, disabler beams whizzed by.

Fokienia threw her weapon haphazardly—it clattered elsewhere—and dove for him, her forelegs outstretched.

He gripped when her metal hooves couldn’t, and pulled himself up.

The right door sealed shut, but with one last beam slipping through. Holly ducked below it—where it grazed her mane, searing hairs off in a blaze. She slid around Fokienia. Sequoia was already inside by the time she got around. She threw her side against the wall beside the left door, and the door moved to slide shut.

The craft veered off, throwing Fokienia to the floor.

She felt the cold of the window against her cheek. She lifted her head. Below them, the shielding to the craft’s windowed underbelly opened to show the street just below the craft. The ground sped by with increasing speed. And then, the world began to rise, the craft tilting and turning upward as if it were climbing a hill.

They leveled out. The screeches against the hull disappeared.

A resounding heave of breath freed Fokienia from the adrenaline flooding her veins.

Holly, leaned against the wall she’d slammed into, slowly slid until her back and rump were flush with the floor. She holstered her wing-pistol, folded her wing...

And cried.

Sequoia didn’t rise from where he’d slid into the craft from. His breathing was heavy, but gradually easing out. He stayed there while Fokienia stood.

Fokienia moved to Holly, and sank down to be close to her. “You did good, Holly...”

Her fierce crying turned to choked sobs. “I-I just want to see my... m-my special somepony,” she croaked.

A glance at the cockpit kept Fokienia confident in her reply. “Sundown’s going to get us the rest of the way.” She nuzzled into the crook of Holly’s neck, and stayed there. “You got us this far. You did good, Holly. You did good. Thank you.” She pat Holly down for as long as she maintained her hug.

There was no stopping it from feeling too soon a separation.

Fokienia’s attention moved back to the last conscious enemy aboard the craft.

Buckled into his seat, the familiar bat pony stared on.

Fokienia caressed Holly one last time, then stood. She cautiously trot over to the stallion, the hairs of the coat below her jumpsuit on edge.

“Who are you?”

His eyes were all there, but he was silent. He eventually looked away, then rattled his cuffed forelegs. “Nopony.” He replied. He nodded his head to four beats, but didn’t look back. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Her eyes teemed with recognition. “You...” She looked back Sequoia, who was now sitting up, and looking attentively. “You worked with Sequoia. Back at the clinic.”

“And back before then, too.” He looked at her again. “I don’t blame you if you don’t remember. That whole operation was nothing but a mess.” He nodded, then grinned around. “Nice work here, by the way. Team lead’s been throwing a hissy the last two, three days, and this is the cherry on top. You love to see it.”

Sequoia approached. Instead of the hostility Fokienia expected, she felt his exasperation. “I’m not surprised to see that you’re still working with the unit.”

The bat pony raised his eyebrows like his forelegs. “Does this look like I’m working, C1?”

“It’s Sequoia.”

“And my name isn’t ‘Bat’, Sequoia, but you don’t hear me fighting you on that.”

The corner of Sequoia’s mouth twitched. His exhaustion was replaced by amusement. “You used to.”

‘Bat’ snorted with incredulity. “Okay, Mister Attitude Adjustment. I didn’t know you could be a funny guy.” He shook his head, waved his hooves, and went back to Fokienia. “What’s your friend’s story, hm, Fokienia? Swapped out the kirin for a pegasus?”

She glared at him, and she was a little taken aback at how satisfying it was to see him shrink. She stopped, and settled on a frown. “We’re going back for him.”

Holly broke in before Bat could reply. “You know Cold?” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her fetlock.

“Hardly,” Bat replied tersely. “He was working with Fokienia.” He glanced at Fokienia for confirmation, then continued. “Guy’s got guts, I’ll say that much.”

A brisk laugh broke out of Holly, forcing the last few tears from her eyes. “Yeah, that’s my stallion.”

Fokienia smiled at the sound, and beamed smugly. “We kicked your flank, Bat.”

Even Sequoia laughed. “She’s right, I was there.”

A small wince worked through Fokienia; she had been a little harsh on Sequoia at the clinic, but she supposed it had all worked out. In a way, it was funny that their fights beyond the spars could bring them together.

Bat looked at the three ponies with a growing frown. “Hardy har har.”

Fokienia sighed, somehow eased by the odd, but light moment. “Well, Bat, I think that’s enough flank-kicking for you. Do you want out of those cuffs?”

He blinked, took one look at Sequoia and Fokienia’s augmented limbs, then blinked again. “What? Why?”

Sequoia shrugged for Fokienia. “Are you running with the retrieval ops?”

“No, they thought I let you loose. As if I was supposed to be the one watching you or something.” He shook his head. “If I knew you were going to run off to Fokienia, I would’ve gotten out of that sickbay, and never come back.”

Fokienia tilted her head. “Why’d they blame you for that? Sundown brought Sequoia with her.”

He stared. “Wait, are you...? Are you serious?” He turned to the ceiling and groaned. “Not all bat ponies are the same!”

“Is—is that CCI?” Sundown’s voice called from up front. “Cascade! What’s your sorry rump doing on my craft?”

Fokienia watched Bat’s—or rather, Cascade’s face dip right into horror. “Oh no.”

“Sequoia, bring that idiot up here!”

“S-Sequoia, don’t bring this idiot up there.”

Sequoia grunted. He started toward Cascade.

The bat pony squeaked. “Buddy... guy... f-friend?”

Sequoia paused. He looked to Holly.

The mare was hiding a smile behind her hoof. She pulled away in surprise. “O-oh, yeah! Go ahead, Sequoia.”

In a few moments, Cascade was up and out of his seat, and being forcefully escorted by the scruff of his neck. “C-come on! This isn’t even your craft!” They stepped over the unconscious body of the unit member, and disappeared into the cockpit. Sequoia shut the door behind him.

Thinking better of their second unwilling passenger, Fokienia slipped the gas mask and gear from the disabled unit member, and dragged him to strap into Cascade’s former seat.

“Gosh.”

Finished, Fokienia pulled away from her work, and peered at Holly. The pegasus was looking much less pale, color having come back to her cheeks.

“You okay?”

The mare giggled again. “Yes... I’m just happy that’s all over with.” She looked down at the floor by her hooves, where the terrain of the city was still passing. “I needed that.”

Fokienia came down and sat next to her again. She smiled a little bit. “That should be the worst of it.”

“Thank you. For what you said.” Holly lifted her head. “I’m glad Sundown took control back at the end there.”

“She’s good at that,” Fokienia agreed. “But you still got us there. She might be quick and precise when it comes to going for the kill, but leading us through the streets was all you.”

Holly sighed. A great big weight was still spread across her withers. “I hope we find Cold soon, Fokienia.”

“We just evicted the only ponies patrolling Cypress Central from the sky. We have a straight shot to the Central Command Center. And we have ponies willing to fight, even when they don’t want to. That’s you and me,” she whispered. “I would say things are looking up.”

“...You’re inspiring. Do you know that, Fokienia?” When all she received was a head tilt, Holly continued. “What you said to those ponies in the crowd... that was really sweet of you.”

“I just told them how I felt,” Fokienia said plainly. “Isn’t that how ponies are supposed to act?”

“It is. But ponies usually follow. Leading is an immeasurably difficult task.” Lifting her hoof, Holly gently placed her fetlock below Fokienia’s muzzle, just behind her jaw. “And I don’t mean leading like Sundown... or trying like me. You lead for hope. The hope for a better tomorrow. For life.”

For a time, Fokienia was quiet. She let Holly run her hoof back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Cold told me about hope, once.”

There was a visible hitch in Holly’s thinking, and Fokienia almost thought she’d said something wrong. Then, the pegasus tilted her head down, and nodded, a warm smile wrapping over her lips. “Even in war, there is hope.”

Fokienia blinked in astonishment. “He... he said that. How did you know?”

“Because you know Cold as well as I do,” Holly softly boasted. “Remember everything he’s told you. He understands hope as much as the princesses do.” She lowered her hoof. “You reminded me that we forget just how strong hope is, and how much we need to fight for it.” She smiled sadly. “We ponies never do well to remember our history. It always takes a certain kind of pony to make us remember. You are that pony.”

Silence.

“Don’t fight me on this, Fokienia. I can tell you fought Cold. But you’re more than you think you are.” She placed a hoof on Fokienia’s hindleg. “You have the power to give ponies hope. Be confident. Be strong.”

“But...” Fokienia’s fight fled her.

“The kirins lost so much, but they chose to give,” Holly murmured. “You’ve lost so much, and I’ve seen first-hoof how easily you’re willing to give. You think so little of the wider wake of your impulses, acting moment to moment, not realizing just how much of an impact you have on others. You can do so much good. You have done so much good. Everything you learn, you use, and you share. You have a wonderful gift, and I want you to continue to share your hope. Ponies need it more than ever.”

She didn’t argue against that. “I barely know what it’s like to be alive.”

“But you do. You do know. You do understand. You have drive, Fokienia. You have a willingness to keep going. And... it makes ponies like me want to follow you. Ponies like Sequoia. Sundown. Cold.”

“But I follow Cold.” She looked at Holly’s hoof; she was still leaned on her leg.

“There’s nopony to say that friends can’t follow each other.” Holly pressed closer. “You can build a future together. Give ponies certainty through hope. To show the way forward. To build upon the past. To show that ponies are still ponies. No matter what.”

“You’re asking me for all of this?”

“I am not asking you. I am telling you to show more of yourself.”

Fokienia breathed. “I find it hard to believe that I can do... any of that. That I’ve done any of that at all.”

“But I believe in you. Cold believes in you. Sequoia believes in you. Sundown believes in you. Ponies believe in you.”

“Who do you believe I am, then? A leader? A pony? A friend?” From between her hindlegs, Fokienia rubbed her metal forelegs together. “I... am a war machine. A machine built to seek, analyze, and destroy.”

She met Holly’s eyes. The pegasus was so close by now, and her voice so quiet. But the words she invoked dove deep down through her, and touched right at her soul. The soul she still had. And it was almost far enough to make Fokienia believe in herself. To believe that the observations she’d made of others was something she could now proudly say was a part of her. That she would be able to repeat the same words back to anypony, and truly believe herself.

“You are not a war machine. You are a peacemaker.”

She was quiet.

And then, she wasn’t.

“My name... is Fokienia.”

There was no artificial cadence to her voice, only the vigor of her truths, and the irrevocable hope she carried with her. With it, she reached far enough to believe the words she spoke, meeting Holly on the other side.

“And I am a peacemaker.”

15 - Interlinked

“C’mon, now. Stay with me.”

“...If I’m your second worst... what’s the worst?”

“The worst is that I lost my job.”

Cold managed a quick, whistling laugh. “Ha. Me too.”

Leaned up against the wall, Cold felt Ripshot’s hooves wrapped around him. The unicorn in question looked up briefly. He checked the hall for others, but nopony had come and gone since Cold had collapsed again.

“If you’re not an officer anymore, then what are you doing here, still?”

“I was being facetious, Captain Cold.”

“You don’t even know what that word means... colt.”

Ripshot snorted. “Alright, you’re talking up a storm. That means you’re good enough to keep walk. Let’s get you up.” With a grunt, Ripshot pulled Cold onto his hooves. “Everypony scattered like breezies, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find ourselves some help.”

“I think it does.”

“Shaddup, cap’n kirin.”

They passed through an unattended security kiosk on their way out of the ‘detention and holding’ block, the turnstile and scanner loose and pointless without power. As far as Cold was concerned, the only pony left in these hollowed ‘roid halls was the Concord security officer by his side. It was no wonder his would-be killer had been able to waltz right in.

Eventually, even the klaxons died out. The only sounds left in the halls were the hum of the red emergency lights, and the anechoic, staccato hoofsteps between them.

While he limped along the dark hallways of Central Command, Cold tried to stay out of the worries in his mind. Instead, he forced himself to look at the walls and entryways of the sections they passed. While his mind had been out of sorts on the way in, he still couldn’t see any signs of administration or bureaucratic faculty. It was more likely, then, that they were in the security wing of the facility. He’d have expected Concord HQ to be more clean and white-washed than it really was; the fact that he could still see parts of the original asteroid was something he definitely couldn’t get over.

“Where are we going?”

“Station Control. Power might be out, but we can try and get backups up. Then we’ll maybe see about calling somepony to find out what’s what.”

Cold very much doubted any of that would happen, but he nodded, and continued along. Right now, it was safer to be with Ripshot than it was to be alone.

He was leaned up against a control panel when the facility roared back online.

Ripshot’s grin beamed around the corner of a steel support beam. “Enjoyed your nap, did you?”

“Like a foal,” Cold replied. He kicked himself up, and stood.

Station Control was a very familiar place to Cold. It wasn’t that he’d ever been in here—civilians like him weren’t meant to be in here, especially not a non-citizen like himself—but everything was built just like the bridge of a large star-faring vessel. The terminals may have been built for watching over, controlling, and tracking every little bit of station infrastructure, but that was hardly any different from monitoring subsystems on a ship. Here, it was just expanded to watch over more than half a million ponies.

Cold wasn’t stupid, though: he was exaggerating for his own amusement. There were multiple command centers dotted around the station to be sure, but at the same time, it didn’t make it any less impressive that the Central Command Center control room was large enough to be its own complex. There were even bulkheads at the entrance to the room, as if the whole place could function only in the vacuum of space.

In fact, it very well could.

With the lights back on, Cold readily got comfortable, and began to sink into his element.

“Did they cut this place out of a colony ship?” Cold asked, chuckling.

Ripshot gave him an odd look. “No? Why?”

He waved a lazy hoof. “Nevermind. You wouldn’t understand.”

The officer shrugged, and went back over to the panel he’d been fiddling with since they’d entered the room. Still, he’d managed to bring power back on.

“Wasn’t too long ago that this room was fully staffed. Coffee over there’s yours if you want it. It’s fresh, if a little cold...” His eyes were on the panel, but he smiled anyway. “You like it that way, I’ll bet.”

Cold snorted. “Clever, officer. Where was that thinking when you pulled me out of skip unprovoked? Earned yourself a nice citation, I’ll bet.”

Ripshot’s smile faded. “Don’t remind me.”

Taking heed of the isolated mug at the hastily abandoned terminal, Cold lifted it to his lips and took a tentative sip. “I don’t usually drink this stuff. Not when I’m flying all the time.” Bladders were a pain, weren’t they?

“Yeah... Sorry about your ship by the way.”

“It’s fine. The Peddler’s needed a break for a while. I’ve been running it ragged through New Griffonia.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“No. I just keep track of the known limits of space and time. If anything, I’m less crazy for it, considering you and I both know magic hates being studied.” He sipped again. “But that’s obvious, at least to any pilot worth their salt, Officer Ripshot.”

Suddenly, a terminal near the front of the oval-shaped room began beeping.

Cold’s ears hiked up, and tweaked toward the noise. “What’s that?”

Ripshot looked up, then back down, totally disinterested. “Eh, that’s the monitoring ring. S’probably just some old alerts from when the power cut out. I’m more surprised we didn’t hear ‘em when I pulled the power.”

Shifting from his hoof to his telekinesis on instinct—mercifully, the use of his horn produced no migraines—Cold hurried up the stairs to the next dais of the control room, and right on over. He smoothed his jacket out with a hoof, placed his pilfered mug down, and sat himself in place.

“Let’s see...” He stared at the screen for a moment, then clicked through the terminal with a few inputs. The text was replaced by proper visuals of the Command Center. “Oh... huh.”

“What? Can’t figure it out? I thought antique tech was your style?”

“No. There’s officers coming up right now.”

“That’s a good thing! If they’re not compromised, that is... How many?”

“...A lot?” Cold squinted, and dialed up a few more camera angles. “A whole lot.”

Cold heard the unicorn scrambling behind him, hooves skidding on tile, and then the pony himself breathing in his ear. “Oh, Tartarus.”

Pulling the viewport up to the wider screen on the wall, they watched as the various camera angles tracked the mares and stallions in uniform. Splitting the display into the complete alert spread showed nine cameras in operation at any give time. All of the apparent Concord officers were in full armor, and armed to the absolute teeth: disabler harnesses and long-rifles were worn by practically every other pony.

In total, there were thirty of them.

“I don’t recognize any of them. So, they’re not out to get me... I don’t believe.”

“That’s your first thought?” Ripshot pulled away, and spun around in a circle. “Uh, uh...”

More amused at his worry than anything, Cold leaned back. “What’s the problem, officer?”

“That’s almost enough ponies to run the control room. They were probably leaving power off for a reason.” He paused. “Oh, Sweet Celestia. That’s exactly why. The system-crashes and intrusions, the security failures... we need to turn the power off and hide.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cold ushered. “Look, close the bulkheads, get on the intercom or something, and make sure they’re not going to kill us. They’re moving, but slow. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“You sound like one of the station operators...”

“I don’t sit on my flank when I’m flying. I know what it takes to run a bridge like this.”

“You fly a cargo ship!”

“And I also spent my formative years on a colony-class capital ship housing my entire tribe.” Cold glared at Ripshot. “Get to your station and do your job, officer. That’s an order.”

“You—you’ve got no right to—agh!” Thrown out of his fugue, Ripshot moved off.

Sometimes, Cold missed running on ships with crew.

Slowly but surely, the bulkheads started to grind shut. In the meantime, Cold casually perused the work stations around the room. He eventually found what he was looking for: an actual terminal to monitor the Command Center layout from. The readout and wireframe of the complex’s active structural integrity wasn’t going to be used as intended, but it was a map all the same. He glanced up at the widescreen back at the monitoring station. “They just passed through checkpoint H.” He tapped on the structural terminal. “That’s... by the hangar.”

“Oookay.” Ripshot wrangled a headset over his ears. “Roger, I’ll ring ‘em up.”

Returning to the camera station, Cold watched carefully. “Be nice. I don’t see any cutters, but let’s not make them mad.”

“I am fully...” A few ponies on screen jumped. “Oh. It’s on.”

Cold facehoofed.

“This is Officer Ripshot, broadcasting from Station Control. We have not been compromised.” He paused, then moved to look at the screen above Cold’s station. “There are possible hostile elements in the facility, and... wait, commander, is that you?”

One mare in particular stopped. Cold could immediately tell that she was hardly just another officer: she carried herself in a manner akin to a pride-stricken pegasus, but the lofty horn perched on her head said otherwise. She glared into the camera that was watching her and the two officers by her side.

Ripshot laughed nervously. He covered his headset’s microphone to hiss at Cold. “That’s the base commander!”

“The commander. The proverbial captain of this proverbial ship.” Cold hazarded a guess at their chances of survival, which had just gone from ‘probable’ to ‘Rip-shot’. “So, she’d have access to all the armories?”

“Yes, of course! Including the special operations stockpile!”

“Including CSO,” Cold rephrased in deadpan. “Tell her we’re leaving the control room open. And mention me, like you should have.”

“Uh... Commander, ma’am. I have the kirin Searing Cold with me. I’m sure you were informed of him?”

The mare’s eyes went from a glare to wide shock.

“But he’s not a terrorist! I am not under duress. And uh... we had the doors shut, but... just get here ASAP. I mean, please, ma’am.”

Cold stared at Ripshot as he stowed away the headset, and turned the intercom off. “You are a laugh and a half, officer.”

“If I haven’t lost my job yet, this’ll be my hide for sure...”

The doors took some time to close, but they took a lot longer to wind open.

Standing patiently with a fidgety Ripshot by his side, Cold sipped at his adopted coffee.

The face of the commander slowly unveiled as the door wound open.

At least it was quiet enough to talk. Standing in silence wasn’t an issue for Cold, not by a long shot, but it clearly was for the gabby-mouthed Ripshot.

He was still holding has salute as he spoke. “C-Commander Gale!”

The mare’s flat yet menacing stare brought him down; it was no time for protocol. She looked to Cold in turn. “I am Conifer Gale. Under normal circumstances, base commander. As of now? I am what remains of high command.”

Cold didn’t dare to ask what had become of the others.

“In the Core Worlds, this Concord position would be referred to as ‘hegemon’. But as you may be aware, there is a severe lack of harmony and hegemony in Cypress today.”

Cold winced. She hid the pain well, but he could feel it in her voice, and see it in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, commander.”

She was unnerved by the apology, or perhaps tempered by a slight swell of anger. In any case, she pulled her muzzle back taut before anypony else could see. “The governor filled me in on you and your status not too long ago. Before we lost contact.”

“Lost contact?”

“There’s a station-wide comm blackout in effect. And I believe you may be the right pony we need to break it.” She looked to her left. “Specialist?”

Her escort, another unicorn, stepped up. She had a white coat, and brilliant red eyes that glowed beneath her presumably prescription specs. “Yes, ma’am. Based on the method of interference, it’s possibly system-wide. Now, Cypress Concord isn’t the most... well-traveled force, so we’d appreciate some help from you.”

Cold blinked. “No offense, but you had me in a prison cell.”

“Detention block,” Ripshot corrected. He shied away as no more than thirty-one pairs of eyes landed on him. “...Sorry.”

Shaking his head, Cold continued. “Not only that, but a corporate citizen came by, hijacked your riot suppression systems, and made a wonderful attempt at choking me on gas.”

The commander, to her credit, winced. “The governor made it clear that your circumstances were... misunderstood, but I can assure you that—”

He cut her off with a sharp snap. “Commander. If you’d be so kind, I’m tired of assurances. I want to know what’s going on in Cypress. I can help you with whatever problems you’re having, but I am very nearly reaching my limits when it comes to ponies letting their lives be run by pride. Let me help you.”

Her annoyance gave way to fatigue. “I understand.” On cue, the heavy blast doors finally slacked open, and the mechanism ground into quiet. “You have every right to be upset.”

Cold sighed, and waved them in with a flick of his neck. “Just come inside.” He didn’t idle long on the facet that this room practically belonged to the mare before him.

After a moment, the commander nodded, and the remaining Concord forces began to trickle in.

“Cold, are you alright? You’re... you’re talking to a very important pony, you know?”

He looked over at Ripshot. “No, I’m not alright. Yes, and I expect to run into more. I’m tired of ponies going after each other. I’m tired of ponies going after me. But most of all, I’m tired of running.” He moved to join the commander. “Let’s just get to work.”

By the time the room was re-situated, Cold’s exasperation had only grown.

“We’ve been dealing with hostile forces for the last hour, and you know more about their operations and goals than anypony else. I should have made it a priority to ensure your safety the moment my meeting with the governor concluded.”

The platitudes were ever-so slightly ingratiating. “I’m fine, now. My worry lies with the fate of Cypress. I know things are worse outside. I know I caused it. Just not how your ‘CSO’ team put it.”

She frowned. “We know that, now. In fact, those infiltrators scrapped one of our two available patrol craft with HE charges, and hijacked the other. Last we saw them, they were performing tactical tear gas deployments on our own forces.”

Cold clutched his coffee. “Spirits...”

“It gets worse.”

Of course it got worse. The commander’s long-rifle sat against the terminal between them. It was all Cold could look at as she continued to break things down. “Go on.”

“All sectors of Cypress Central are in a complete state of anarchy. Looters and mercenaries have been overwhelming isolated patrols and checkpoints. We didn’t tell our ponies to establish them, mind you. We’d have rather called them back to reinforce C.C.C. assets—you see how stretched thin we are, here—but not even station-bounced radio works. There’s one coordinated attacker at the top, and a whole lot of less, or totally uncoordinated organizations taking advantage of it. There’s no doubt in my mind that the primary attacker is using their signal interference and consequential chaos to accomplish their objectives. In summary...”

“It’s a war out there,” Cold finished numbly. “Autumn wept...”

“I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.”

“Commander Gale, I was just happy to be alive. Now... now I’m upset I wasn’t more aggressive before.”

She was quiet for a moment. “It’s not in your nature, Captain Cold.”

He shook his head. “Respectfully, I know my history. There is a reason our tribe no longer exists peacefully in Equestria.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, captain.”

“You haven’t. I... I apologize. I’m really not myself, currently.”

“Again, I don’t blame you.”

Cold looked past Gale. The specialist shadowing the commander shrank under his gaze. “What do you need from me, specialist? I’ve dealt with skip-drive interdictions... and even done my own jamming...” His eyes flicked to Ripshot on the other side of the control room. “But I’m not sure how can I help you here.”

She blinked. “Those are the perfect requisites, captain. I just want to run by some solutions with you.”

She seemed a smart mare. Combined with Cold’s experience, it should have made for a perfect match.

It was.

The odds just weren’t in their favor.

“Sim results are negative again, captain.”

“Yes.” Cold creaked back away from the terminal. “I can see that, specialist.”

She ground her hoof into her mane, and right at the base of her horn. “There’s... there’s nothing I can think of to reverse this level of fielding. Nothing punches through long enough. It’s like a total storm. Short of mapping out the spell matrix they’re using to assist their tech...”

Magitech. It was the reason ponykind stayed ahead of any other kind. Including their own. “Run the skip drive manipulation test again.”

She obliged.

“...Nothing.” He sighed. “Again, it looks like the frequencies of older dash drives would still be stable, so skipping around the system is a possibility. But warping out on a Sparkle? No chance.” As he reflected on that, he laughed darkly. “Not unless you’ve got a Friendship Drive lying around, and the TC to service it.” As costly as those things were, telecrystal-powered drives couldn’t be stopped: they stayed harmonic, no matter what.

The specialist gave him a look. “Captain...”

He was ready to crack a joke, but he felt the grave sincerity welled-up in her voice. “Yes?”

“Did the commander not tell you already?”

“You were standing there with her. You heard what she told me.”

She shuffled her hooves from where she sat. “One of the main reasons we evacuated the HQ is because a fighter touched off, deployed hardpoints in the starship hangar, and, well... breached the veil.”

“...What?”

“There’s at least one rogue Concord fighter operating within reach of the station’s no-fire zone. We can’t launch fighters to engage, because the docking bay is currently exposed to vacuum, and we have no way to ID who’s who.”

“Sweet Blaze.”

“On top of that, the status of the FTL comm-relay is unknown, but no ships have been coming in.”

“And that’s why you think it’s a system-wide blackout?”

“No.” She lowered her head, eyes glazed by the terminal’s grim readout. “That’s why I don’t think there’s any way we can get help.”

Fokienia’s metal hooves were the first to touch down on the hangar-room floor of Cypress Central Command.

Behind her, Sequoia drove the door to the patrol craft the rest of the way. With a grunt of exertion, he sent the unconscious retrieval unit member; they slumped down against the steel grate of the landing pad. He followed after. His leap made the floor whine.

Holly fluttered down from the hover-craft. Her nervous eyes tracked around the rather cramped landing bay, then back out to the opening leading out over the skies of Cypress Central. “Well... this is it.”

The hum of the projectors died down, and their vehicle touched down with nary a sound. The three ponies turned around. The moment the cockpit door was open, Sundown’s voice welled out. “Just because there wasn’t anypony waiting for us, doesn’t mean this place is empty.”

Fokienia glanced at the entrance to the rest of the complex, and back again. “There’s nopony at all, Sundown.”

Rounding around the corner with their cuffed prisoner, Sundown sighed. “It’s just not right.”

Cascade barely managed to avoid faceplanting when Sundown shoved him out of the vehicle. “H-hey, uh, Fokienia? Could you tell her to—”

“Shut up, CCI.”

“Sundown, be nice. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Only out of his sheer incompetence,” she sneered.

Sequoia nodded. “I can attest to that.”

“Yeah, love you guys, too.” Cascade received a whack on the back of his neck from Sundown. “Ow! Look, I’m not going to try anything, okay? I want to leave as badly as you all do.”

“Leave where?” Holly asked. “Do you realize where we are?”

Cascade stopped on the spot. He spun in a circle, his cuffs rattling as he stared at the plastered white-black colors and Concord insignia decorating the hangar. “Oh, for moon’s sake...”

Sundown chuckled. “Welcome to Concord HQ, oatwagon.”

With that, the five of them started for the doors that would take them to the facility interior.

Sundown pushed Cascade along. “I can let him loose if you really want to.” She nodded back to the unconscious unit pony they’d left behind.

“I agree,” Cascade said, totally unabashed.

In response, Sundown rolled her eyes. “Or just leave him for somepony else to deal with. I’m not against that.”

“Well, I am!”

“Shut it.”

Fokienia’s eyes slanted with a worried gaze. “I’d really rather not. Sequoia, did you find a key for his cuffs?”

“I didn’t bother checking.”

“That’s fine.” Fokienia stomped a metal foreleg as she walked. “I can break those cuffs.”

Sundown quirked a brow at Fokienia. “You sure you want him? I was only asking out of courtesy.”

“The fact you’re asking me for my opinion means a lot, Sundown.” She glanced over. “So, yes. I do want him out.”

The group stopped at the doors, and Fokienia trot over to Cascade.

“Spread ‘em.”

Cascade scrambled to split his hooves open as Fokienia reared up, then stomped down. The chain of the hoof-cuffs snapped like twig. As she pulled away, Cascade shook his forelegs. The bands were still on, but it was better than nothing.

“Thanks,” he breathed. “No hard feelings?”

“None at all.” She nodded her head toward the door. “You’re going first, though.”

“Oh.”

With a swipe of Sundown’s black-box device on the pneumatic door, they were in.

Sequoia and Sundown trot just after Cascade with their weapons drawn. The hall was thin and short, but at the end, it joined up with what appeared to be the main corridor. “Walk to the end, and take a right,” Sundown ordered.

Holly strode beside Fokienia. Her face was taut with purpose. “Cold’s going to be close, right?”

“We left him in the detention and holding sector,” Sequoia replied.

Fokienia leaned into Holly. It was just a brief touch. “I’m keeping my eyes open for him. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, Fokienia knew her words weren’t reassurance enough: Holly’s ears folded flat against her head. She didn’t blame the pegasus.

She just had to protect her for a little longer. Soon, they’d be in good company.

“We’ve got movement!”

The bursting tone of four measured beeps that followed forced Cold to look up from his work.

“Ripshot,” he called over. “What do you see?”

“Five ponies. Armed. They just came in through the flight deck.”

A few ponies immediately stormed out of the room.

“Excuse me, specialist.” Cold stood from the terminal, and joined Ripshot. He was followed by the commander, and several other ponies. “Put the feed up on the widescreen.”

It took the red unicorn a moment, but he managed.

The commander was perplexed. “They came in on a patrol craft... but these aren’t the infiltrators.”

Cold’s heart skipped a beat. “Holly... Fokienia...”

There were three ponies trotting just ahead of the two mares. Two of them were bat ponies that were practically identical in color, and the last was a metal-winged pegasus. He recognized them, too.

Cold rushed out the words. “I know them.”

Commander Gale gauged his reaction. “Are they associated with the enemy?”

“They...” Cold licked his lips. He didn’t want to tell her that he knew the three at the front were Project operatives. “That mare. The pegasus in the coat. She’s... she’s my special somepony.”

Gale raised an eyebrow.

“The bat in the armor is holding a L5 disabler,” a pony by his side threw in. He looked at Cold. “Your marefriend’s working with spec ops.”

The accusation turned Cold’s blood hot. “Officer, you don’t understand.”

“Lieutenant. And I don’t need to understand. I can see perfectly.” Frowning, he turned away. “Commander—”

“You listen to me. Those ponies will absolutely mop the floor with whoever they go up against. But these are not the Project operatives you think they are, they are our best bet at stopping them.” Cold placed a hoof on Ripshot’s withers. “I told Officer Ripshot everything I know about who the traitors in Concord are. Ask him what I told him.”

Stunned by the claim alone, Ripshot wasn’t prepared for the sharp shift in attention from the lieutenant and the Concord officers.

Before Cold could walk away, Gale stopped him.

“Captain, before you take one more step, I need to know—”

He wheeled around. “I am going to stop your ponies from getting themselves hurt. And then, I am going to talk to my mare, and my friend. You will not stop me.”

“I won’t.” The commander moved away from the others, only sparing a simple glance at Ripshot. “But I need to know how you know about the Project.”

The disbelief sent him into shock. Cold stared at her, his mind suddenly a vast void of emptiness.

Gale’s eyes dimmed out. Now, she reminded him of the marshal. “Princesses’ sake. You said you know about the infiltrators. The Project... they’re the ones who coordinated the attack here, aren’t they?”

“They are behind almost everything,” Cold began numbly, “I didn’t think the governor would hold such critical information from you.”

The words seemed to pass right through the commander. “It makes sense, now,” she muttered. “The infiltrators in our ranks are Project operatives.”

Cold’s reply was restricted, and grave. “...Yes.” He turned his back on the paling mare, and left her to sort out the truth.

The commander was a mare of her word: he was able to make his way over to the intercom terminal without interruption.

With his magic, Cold put on the headset. The terminal’s transmission light clicked on with the press of a button.

“To the Concord officers who just left Station Control, you are approaching friendlies. Stand down.” Cold waited a moment, then swallowed thickly. He watched the widescreen as he spoke.

The officers slowed, their faces belying their confusion. Cold’s eyes sank to the other party that had slowed. A pegasus and earth pony were all he needed to feel warmth again.

“Holly. Fokienia. I’m here.”

At the open bulkheads to the control room, four sheepish ponies stood.

When five more ponies followed, the building relief poured into Cold, filling him like a ceaseless basin.

The mare was just as he’d left her. The hairs of her coat and jumpsuit were spotless, and the smile she bore was brighter than anything else in the room.

Cold stood there, rooted to the spot by the sight for sore eyes.

“Cold!” Fokienia yelled. She brushed past the Concord officers, barreling right for him.

He slid backwards a few hooves when she collapsed against him. Her hooves ended up draped over his withers. He just leaned into her hug—she squeezed like there was no tomorrow—and looked at the next mare to run to him.

“Cold,” Holly whispered. Her body jittered with excitement all over, and she could scarcely hold the tears in. Her wings wrapped around him and Fokienia both. “Oh, gosh. I-I...”

He hushed her with a kiss to her wings. “I’ve missed you. Both of you.”

As Fokienia slid back to give them space, he brushed up against Holly’s neck with his own. He breathed through her mane, then looked up. “Fokienia... thank you for keeping her safe.”

She smiled warmly. “You can thank Sequoia and Sundown for helping with that.” At her words, the great steel pegasus and surly looking bat pony stopped at her side.

Cold pulled away from Holly enough to keep her wing tugged to him. They faced the three before them. “Sequoia, I’m glad to see you on our side.” Cold nodded respectfully at Sundown, who he found awfully familiar... beyond name, at least. “And you’d be Periapsis.”

The mare’s stark façade passed in an instant. “How do you...?”

He smiled inwardly; he wasn’t going to spoil the moment by bringing up the governor. “I listen to Fokienia.” Cold was happy to make her smile.

“Hold it,” the gruff lieutenant ordered. “You. Stallion in the back. Step up.”

The final bat pony from the arrivals stepped forward. His eyes flit about nervously. It was then that Cold realized just how minute the differences were between the stallion and Sundown were: his gray coat and blue mane were both lighter in tone. He’d met both of these ponies, under very different circumstances!

The commander glared. “You’re one of the infiltrators.”

The air in the entrance-way of Station Control dramatically changed. Several dozen weapons were raised and aimed.

Cold’s smile fell, but he kept his hoof curled close to Holly’s wing. “...Fokienia? What’s Commander Gale talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid, kirin,” the lieutenant spat, turning his disabler on Cold instead. “You—”

“Lieutenant.” The unicorn’s hoof rested right on the barrel of the lieutenant’s disabler. “Your anger is misplaced. And you are out of line.” With the lieutenant’s energy sapped, Gale went back to staring down the unidentified bat pony. “Captain Cold, I’ve been more than willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I need this explained. Now.”

Again, Cold looked to Fokienia. And she was all too ready to speak in his defense. “My name is Fokienia. Our unit assaulted and acquired our transportation from the opposing retrieval unit. We found this member being held prisoner.”

“Prisoner,” Gale restated calmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

Fokienia shifted on her hooves, and her voice grew a hair softer. “I want to help my friends, ma’am. I want to work with you, and them, to save Cypress.”

The commander studied Fokienia’s muzzle with an alarming degree of fire.

Fokienia responded with her steel-nerved resolve.

And the commander breathed.

“...Miss Fokienia. I am Commander Gale.” A few officers lowered their weapons as she replied. “That craft was hijacked by that cell. They were using it to attack Concord forces. That... is a great weight off of my withers.”

Fokienia nodded in acknowledgment. “And mine too, commander. Following our action, we interrogated Cascade. He informed us that he’d betrayed his teammates, and they caught him before he could escape.”

Cascade blinked. “What? I—”

Sundown smacked him with the point of her wing. “Yes. So we took him with us. We can’t trust him either, but he’s a chance to get an inside look at the enemy’s goals.”

“And what about you? What organization do you belong to?”

“They are mercenaries,” Cold replied. The lie came as if it were the easiest thing in the world: he could hardly believe what he was doing. “Obviously cut from the same cloth as Fokienia,” he named for all of the room to hear, “who I owe my life to, for protecting me from the Project operatives attempting to recover classified technology I found myself associated with.” He gave her a meaningful glance, then continued. “Hence, the ‘retrieval unit’ moniker she used.”

The rest of the disablers in the room went down. The ponies looked to Cold, completely enraptured.

Gale waved him on. The interest in her eyes was just as overwhelming. “Continue, captain. I’m listening.”

He breathed in deep. He had one shot at this. But history was his calling. “Three days ago, I entered Cypress Station. I am a trader and contracted courier, and I came here with my starship the Waste Peddler. I was delivering a priority package from Opinicus Anchorage, which—for those who are unaware—is a station located on the edge of the of the New Griffonia conflict zone. This package was slated to be delivered to a private corporation in Cypress.”

He steeled himself, and prepared to shift away from the truth. “I was unaware of the package’s contents. When I run courier contracts—as I often do to supplement my trading—I only have a few rules, and I only ask for enough information to ensure that what I’m dealing with is safe, and system legal.” That was as far as he could go; the story he needed to tell had to be built for this broader audience. He couldn’t give away too much: it would totally incriminate the ponies he was standing up for. “The manifest addressed the package as fragile mechanical cargo, and that is how I respected it. Evidently, this cargo was attached to some developmental prototype. I delivered my package, but ponies still came for me. I wasn’t ready for such a hostile intercept, but I managed to get away, meet Fokienia, and continued running.”

He breathed again, and easily sank back to honesty. “The Project operators are relentless, but I made my way to the offices in Cypress Central to clear my name through the IFB. Evidently, Governor Graham felt it appropriate to place me in custody until the situation was in calmer waters. At that point in time, I sent Fokienia to ensure my Holly—” he squeezed at the mare by his side, “—would be safe. While in detention, the founder of the very same corporation I delivered that package to, forced their way into this complex, and personally made an attempt on my life. They felt that I’d somehow enact revenge for the struggles I’ve faced, which I am far from wishful for. Officer Ripshot saved me, and gave me the second wind I needed. Now, I stand before you with several ponies, several good ponies, ill-treated by fate, but willing to sacrifice their destinies as I have to give the ponies of Cypress the peace they deserve. I can attest that they all wish to help put an end to this conflict as much as I.”

For a time, the world was still.

He met the eyes of Sundown and Sequoia. They were quiet, and he could hardly read the looks on their faces. All he could do was hope that what he’d said would be enough to protect them.

Commander Gale, having given Cold an incredulous look for the vast majority of his explanation, finally spoke. “When the governor informed me that you were a part of a misunderstanding, I didn’t expect you to have such a story to tell. I especially didn’t expect how much experience you’d have with the remnants of the Cypress Projects.” Several of the officers around her seemed unnerved at that last note.

The Project had been a label, Cold realized, but with the name provided in full, the homely origin of the officers’ adversary was revealed.

Cold fell back on his natural monotone as his nerves swelled. “There are many things I wish to forget, commander. But so long as there is war, I will remember it all, and show that there is a better way forward.” He paused, and against his better judgment, finished darkly: “I know the temptation to pursue violence is strong, but so long as I stand here, I expect you to heed my words.”

His words had their intended effect: most of the ponies in the room knew exactly what he meant, and the fear he saw sent sweat beading down his scales. But the admiration in Fokienia’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Cold made sure to show his appreciation one last time by bowing his head to her.

“We can’t do much about this... attempted assassination, captain. Not now. But what we do have available to us is a complement of clearly capable ponies.” The unicorn commander looked around the room. “The governor told me little. But I can tell you in confidence what I do know.”

Cold leaned back. His work here—for the moment—was complete.

“Some of you are aware of the midnight raids that were to occur. The threat we face, the Project, as the governor has called them, are the holdouts and their followers who did not stop working when the Cypress Projects came to an end. These ponies alone are not dangerous, but they have many resources at their disposal, the least of which being their minds.” She stomped her hoof and it clanged against the floor with a resounding hum. “We are Cypress. These ponies seek to destroy us. We are Concord. Ponies need us. We will stop this. Our work begins now, and swiftly.” Her ears tweaked forward with the loosening of her withers. “Set up a perimeter. We needed this facility secured yesterday. We can’t trust our own systems, but they’ll come to us on our terms. And I have no doubt now that they’ll be coming.”

Several firm salutes and affirmatives flew her way as ponies moved to pass the newcomers still stood in the doorway.

Gale tilted her head. “Specialist, take who you need, and give us a way forward.” She cocked her head slightly to glance at Cold. “A kirin way.”

The specialist spoke up quickly before too many could leave. “If you have any experience with field modulation, join me.”

None stayed for her. There were a few faces of concern, but those were quickly out the door. There was work to be done elsewhere. The specialist heaved a great sigh.

Commander Gale’s lament was deep and foreboding. “There is not much more I can do to help you here, specialist.”

“Commander, I...”

“These ponies will serve you well.” Gale turned away. “Will I regret allowing all of this, Captain Cold?”

“You are doing the peaceable thing. To strive for peace is to trot the right path.”

“Then I suppose I will have to trust in the good of kirins.” The commander gave Cold’s companions a wary side-eyed look. “I will be clear. There is a compulsion... I feel it. In my mark. In my heart. When I have them, I do not act lightly on my instincts.” Her eyes went to Sequoia, glazing over his Concord armor in passing. “But this is no indication of complete amnesty. I can see it in your wings...” to Fokienia, “your legs...” and finally, to Sundown, “and the uniforms you bring with you. You are no mere mercenaries. Yet, you are undoubtedly Cypressean. So long as you assist us in Cypress’ interests, I will treat you as one of my own, and be glad to have you beside us in our fight for Cypress.”

Fokienia was the only one to reply. Her voice came soft, but determined. “Thank you, commander.”

Nodding, Gale’s horn flickered to life. She hefted her long-rifle back up from its sling. Then, she stepped past them, out the bulkhead, and into the halls of her complex.

Cold took stock of the room. Ten officers remained, but their guard duties were more external than internal; evidently, the commotion at the door was no longer an urgent calling. Most were occupied with the terminals: Ripshot was hard at work on the monitoring station, evidently having picked up a bit of a streak in unraveling the access he now had.

The specialist moved before anypony else could: Cascade yelped as the telekinetic yank sent him flying to a stop before his irate interrogator. “You’re a Project operative?”

“F-formerly!”

The specialist looked to the others while the bat squeaked.

“Yes,” Sundown said flatly. “You’re not going to get anything useful out of him.”

Cold blew a puff of air through his nostrils. “Specialist—”

“Ravenwatch.” She pushed her glasses up with a hoof, and casually tugged on Cascade a little more.

“Specialist Ravenwatch. It would do us well to take a moment before we continue.” Cold broached his flat-lipped look into a genuine, if sad, smile. “I would like to spend some time with these ponies. It has been a long time since I’ve seen them,” as he spoke, he squeezed Holly, who was still glued to his side, “and they are very dear to me.”

Ravenwatch was parsed to argue, but relented. Her magic unclasped Cascade’s heart. She stepped back, and in turn, the bat pony stumbled back to hide behind Sundown. “I understand, captain.” Her nerves broke through as she turned to step away. “Please, don’t take long.”

“We won’t. Thank you, specialist.”

Once more, Cold looked over the ponies. One way or another, they had all come for him. He almost felt it wrong to relish in the feeling, but in the end, it was a good thing they’d come for him: with the unique perspective he held, he could properly guide these ponies away from the violence. A control room was the perfect place to plan for their next actions.

But right now, he just wanted to see his friends, and meet new allies.

Fokienia could not express the fullness of her happiness in any meaningful way.

“You kirins carry yourself so... weirdly.” Sundown leered over. “You’re loose one moment, then all business the next.”

“You are just an ungrateful, miserable sort, aren’t you?” Cold deadpanned.

Sundown’s sharp ‘kee’ laughter sent ripples down Fokienia’s spine. It was a tingly, but assuredly heartwarming sound. “You’d make for a good op...” The word lodged in her throat. She coughed. “A good merc, captain. You learned everything there is to know about him with just a couple words out of his mouth.”

“He’s better at reading ponies than you think.” As Holly spoke, Fokienia watched her lean into Cold.

The cybernetic mare was surprised by the pang of jealousy she felt. In a semi-active response, she sidled up close to Sequoia. A shudder ran through her when Sequoia settled a wing over her. It was truly wonderful to have her closest foalhood friend back after so many years... It didn’t make her any less wanting of Cold’s affections, however. He’d taught her and given her a lifetime of experiences to study.

And with all the thinking she was doing, she was missing another lesson in motion.

“But not as well as I’d like.” Cold’s deadpan turned bright: he leaned over to Holly, and pressed a kiss right to her muzzle. The mare blushed while he went on. “I’m Captain Searing Cold. Unfortunately, my name precedes me. Sundown, Sequoia, it’s a pleasure to meet under more... appealing circumstances.”

Sundown’s laughter died slow. “Yeah. I’m sorry about the suppressor. You looked terrible.” She paused, then stepped back. She shoved Cascade forward.

“W-what...?” He squirmed about in a slight panic. “Oh um, yeah. Sorry.”

Cold’s look was unreadable. “I cannot speak to the length of your history, but your incompetence seems to stem more from your luck than anything else.” He leaned back. “We may have more in common than you think.”

Sundown—and even Sequoia—were ensnared by a pair of bewildered looks. But they didn’t interrupt.

Fokienia had never worked with any other operators; she had always worked alone. There wasn’t much she could say about Cascade: he had assisted the retrieval unit, acting as Sequoia’s ‘partner’, but to little success in both her encounters with him. Given her own experiences with failure, she honestly felt more bound to be kind as opposed to chastising him.

“But you’re a kirin!” Cascade blurted suddenly. He stepped back, his metal-banded forelegs clanging against one another. His ears folded while he cringed. “I-I’m just the pony you call for dirty work. That’s not what you guys do. You don’t have marks, but you have your own place...”

“I have my own colored history, Cascade.” Cold’s eyes were full of life, but Holly and Fokienia were the only ones who could see the darkness pervading within the recess of his mind. “One full of tragedy. A tragedy not at my hooves, but trailing me in my wake. Chasing me. And I abused it. As I’ve done with you and many others, I exploited your defenses by opting to not correct you. I allowed my appearance and natural inclinations lead me to opportunity. I let ponies trust that I’d do good, and used it to place myself in advantageous situations where I could operate independent of the normal Equestrian laws and authority that others are beholden to follow.”

Sequoia murmured, his voice low. “I knew you were more than you seemed.”

“The same can be said for all creatures,” Cold said simply. He extended a hoof out to Cascade.

The bat pony flinched, then stared at the cloven appendage. “W-what’s this?”

“I am offering you my friendship.”

Cascade’s tufted ears fell back. “Friendship?”

Cold was unmoved.

“But... I’m nopony. You’re somepony. You just... you just faced down Cypress Concord, and laid down your law in their own home!”

“I laid down nothing,” he replied calmly. “And I adhere to the natural laws we are all right to follow. The ways of harmony. But, we all make choices. Many mistakes. I know these mistakes. I make no self-righteous claims, save that I try to help others make the choices that lead them to both collective, and independent harmony.”

Cascade looked at Cold’s hoof, just as antsy as before. “I’ve never had a friend...”

“You live a life of fighting. Subterfuge. You are terrible at it.” As Cold spoke, Fokienia bore witness to Cascade as his mind and body slowly caved in. “I have seen that side. Lived those moments. To be good at what you seek is its own kind of terribleness. It is not a place I wish upon anypony.”

Finally, with a dim flap of his wings, Cascade clasped Cold’s hoof in his own. He shook, silent. His slitted eyes glimmered with some kind of morose emotion.

No, Fokienia realized, it was admiration.

“It is good to meet you, Cascade.”

“L-likewise... sir.”

When the two separated, Holly giggled. She brushed at Cold’s mane, all while her stallion managed to impassively stand there. “You always make the colts go starry-eyed.”

“It is the unerring work of a starship captain to lead ponies into the unknown.” For a few more moments, he allowed his words to sift through the air. The contemplation in his thoughts was clear. Then, like hucking raindrops from his back, he burst out of his harmonic fugue. “I’m glad to be among good ponies.”

“I’m glad to have you back,” Fokienia quietly admitted.

“I am beyond the Stream to see you safe, and with friends, Fokienia.” He breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief. “When I sent you to Holly, I didn’t expect you to return for me.”

“She was always going to, Cold.” He turned to Holly, and she continued. “You always had such a large impact on ponies. Not just because of your tribe, but because of just how good you are. I’m glad you’re starting to see that, now.”

“I’m sorry, Holly.”

“Don’t be.” She gave him a sullen sort of smile. “You always listened to me. You just refused to believe in yourself. I think all it takes to bring out the best in you is to have you help other ponies.”

He breathed slowly. “Then, in that case, there are many ponies in desperate need of our help. The situation has hardly been explained to me in full, but given what Fokienia and I have experienced...” He trailed off gently, and looked right at Fokienia.

She looked right back. “I led you. Then, you led me.” When he smiled in reply, Fokienia’s heart swelled. After the restless hours without him, the affirmation was all she needed to feel right. Together, they could overcome anything, and achieve peace.

“Now, we can lead together. Specialist Ravenwatch is waiting for us, and I believe we may have enough laying around to stitch together a better picture of our situation...”

The specialist was looking much brighter and pleasant. Gone were the streaks of worry and sweat gleaming on her brow. Her glasses were properly straightened out, and the lenses reflecting the fluorescent ceiling light may well have been bouncing the arcing rainbows of a rainy sunrise in Equestria. The pure-lit visage on the mare’s face just left Fokienia happy.

“I’ll admit, captain, I was apprehensive about our chances. But seeing you with these friends of yours, I am confident we can work out a solution.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know that I think the same.”

The sunny disposition in the air somehow stretched across the rest of the assembly: Sundown, Cascade, and Sequoia, while bearing the darkest coats in the room, were brimming with energy. Cold and Holly were practically a single twined sun; Fokienia swore she could see flares of sun rays bouncing along Holly’s twitchy wings and up along the twists of Cold’s unique red horn. It was a moment like no other, and from a scattered sect of ponies who had once stood on opposing sides.

They had gathered around a clean set of desk-space between some of the room’s center-most terminals. There were no chairs or cushions pulled up, but nopony seemed to mind. All the focus here was being put into their thoughts. The only distractions around were the officers moving about—the understaffed control room left most officers running three or more stations—and the few nearby officers working close by.

“Does anypony here have experience with field modulation? Magical or otherwise?”

“Nothing you would find useful,” Sundown said. “Fokienia and I both share experience in manipulating nearby electronics. Between us, I have practical knowledge of jammers and other devices, but she has a more intimate understanding. A feel for it, you could say.”

“Nothing large,” Fokienia added on. “I’ve only worked on small things.”

Ravenwatch nodded. “And I’d be right to assume that anypony else seated here is... less so?”

“I’m sorry.” Holly ran her hoof along their cleared space. “I really don’t have much to add.”

“It’s alright. We’re in murky waters. Every little bit helps.”

“What exactly are we facing, if I might ask?”

For a second, the unicorn specialist didn’t react. Her reply was followed by an abrupt hoof tap. “Well, I wish I could go into length about it, but I’ve barely made a dent in understanding our problem. Cypress is currently undergoing a total communications blackout, and it’s probably system-wide. The interference has been holding at the same frequency since it’s gone up. In fact, it matches any attempts at other signals to ‘be louder’, so to speak. It’s almost like it’s alive.”

Fokienia’s ears tweaked. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything literal, but there’s somepony clearly quite good at this exact kind of thing. The destructive interference is perfect. There is an almost zero error margin, so breaking through the signal requires alternative solutions that you just wouldn’t typically employ. It’s a frustratingly perfect setup that counteracts all the solutions me and Captain Cold could come up with.”

“Could you track down the source?” Sundown asked.

Disappointingly, Ravenwatch was quick to shake her head. “No. On top of being buried in the absolute cacophony that is the Cypress magnetosphere, narrowing down the right signal would be almost impossible. Like I said, it’s constantly changing and morphing. Matching everything. It’s blending right in, hiding in plain sight.”

Cold sighed. “We mostly tried brute-force solutions in our simulations. Sudden signal punch-throughs, decoys, noise generators, anything to discombobulate or catch the apparent algorithm monitoring everything off-guard. It’s the perfect jammer. There just seems to be no weakness to it.”

Cascade’s voice was softer now, but the small slips of his hooliganism were still there. “I have an idea of what exactly might be going on.”

Ravenwatch narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate.”

“...It might not be a setup at all.” He paused. “You said it was almost like it was alive?”

“Lightning quick reaction times. Even the best jammers have blind-zones where you can slip in.” Ravenwatch tilted her head. “Are you going to try and tell me that the jammer actually is alive? It’s highly advanced.”

“That, we can agree on,” Cascade nodded, tapping his hooves together. “But... what if I told you I know ponies who are uh, dangerously good with tech. Like, integrated with it.”

The roll of Sundown’s eyes practically shook the room. “Cascade, you—”

He cut in quick. “There are more than just a couple cyborgs in the Project. I’ve met them. Worked with them. You haven’t.”

The hairs on the back of Fokienia’s neck rose. Not because she didn’t know this—of course she knew there were more cyborgs, she was surprised they hadn’t run into any—but the fact that Cascade knew them...

“Cyborgs?” Ravenwatch’s muzzle curled in confusion. “What the hay is a cyborg?” From what Fokienia could tell, she wasn’t going to get an answer. And for her own part, she was too caught up in Cascade’s words to respond.

“It was a totally different department. Nothing like our section. The one the retrieval unit was based in? Exclusively yours. And Fokienia’s.” He turned from addressing Sundown. “Those ponies... they had a worse fate than you, Sequoia. You were almost one of them.”

Sequoia turned to the bat pony, a deep grimace set into his features. “What are you talking about?”

“...You know each other?” Ravenwatch asked quietly. Again, she went unheard.

“You weren’t always an idiot, Sequoia. The fact you actually have your brain back is a miracle. Just the other day, you could barely hold your end of a conversation.” Totally ignorant of the bulky pegasus’ grit teeth, Cascade looked to their proverbial round table. His voice rose, wavering slightly, but it did not give out. “They were like pneumatic doors. The door opened, closed, and the work was done. Built for one purpose, and one they were designed and machined perfectly for. You could see they were ponies. They weren’t a mesh or blend of flesh and steel. But they were all action. No talk. No hesitation. Only cold indifference, and an unstoppable drive to achieve their objectives. They didn’t train like you. It’s clear they were the way they were from the day they were inducted into the Project. Like... like a cyborg without the pony. A machine wearing a pony’s body.”

Fokienia felt sick.

“You’re speaking from when you worked with them?” Sundown butt in. “I knew there were other cyborgs in the Project. I never had the clearance or access for them, but...”

“It wasn’t cross-training or anything like that. And I never really worked with them. I was... I was basically practice. Like a live hostage in your standard interrogation demo. There were others like me who were there for the same purpose. And... I almost enjoyed it as much as they did. It was fascinating in an awful way, Sundown. Those ponies walked and looked like us, but there was no drama or haywash to them. They just worked, and at the end of their pattern-pressing, returned to stay close to their special machines. Not quite bio-pods like in our department, but... they had to go there every now and then. It was all magitech. I got a peek one time, and it was like all of the magic just went right into their head. That’s the only thing you could see on those giant things, just... the viewing window, and a pony’s head.”

“What were they training them for, if not subterfuge?” Fokienia asked. “Cascade, I don’t like where you’re going with this.” Her worries had irreparably scaled into a full-blown sickness.

“Combat. Logistics. All kinds of technical stuff that I couldn’t wrap my head around. It was almost always electronics. And while they work with normal tools that you or I might have, they do it... perfectly. All the training was for was to build new patterns, never reinforcing. And they learned a lot. They were built for any situation. The perfect engineer corps. The perfect EM specialists. The perfect soldiers. But... they never had the element you had. They were always only loud ops. They may not have said a word, but they had no way to hold back like you or Sequoia. They had no way to question and disobey orders, they just received, and followed.”

The silence settled uncomfortably.

But Fokienia had heard enough, and she didn’t waste a moment to share with her companions. She knew what the element the other cyborgs were missing. “And all it took... was stripping the pony from them.”

“Stars...” Sundown whispered. “I... I didn’t think they would do it.”

“Do what?” Sequoia and Fokienia asked in near-perfect unison.

Sundown’s voice was heavy, dark, and so very small. “Do you recall your lethal force training, Fokienia?”

She swallowed, looked to the ponies watching—by now, Ravenwatch’s worried stare was joined by the nearby Concord officers, and a slack-jawed Officer Ripshot—then replied, “Yes.”

“You’ve never had to use any of it. They cut out further tactical training. I never knew why.”

“They replaced us,” Sequoia said slowly.

“No. They made a different kind of cyborg.”

They all turned to Cold.

“Fokienia. You were never destined to be a war machine.”

Sundown closed her eyes at those simple words. “He’s... right. You never were. It looked like you would be. You and Sequoia. You were the test bed. You were the first cyborgs. The first results of the Project. The first experiments. That’s why they always iterated, always prototyped new equipment for you. Forced you away from the more equine aspects, and to things beyond ponykind, beyond the tribes... Then, one day they stopped caring so much. Got loose with our regulations. And slowly, you returned to being that filly I raised.”

When Sundown’s voice could give no more, Cold finished for her. “The question, now, is if these ponies have no augmentations like you or Sequoia, and practically act as shells for their training, what mental augmentations do they have?”

Cascade looked meaningfully at Sequoia.

“Inhibitors,” Sequoia responded. “I have neural inhibitors.”

“They weren’t inhibited at all,” Cascade corrected in a weary chide. “Not when it comes to their dead-to-rights efficiency. They were enhanced. They worked like machines, and with them. And they didn’t have to lose as much as you did to accomplish that.”

Once more, Cold was the one to bring their thoughts together. “These ponies could be in the subsystems of Cypress. And the very ones maintaining an interference array wide enough to cover the entire station.”

Ravenwatch shuddered. “Like...” She stumbled on her false-start, licked her lips, and tried again. “It’s possible that it’s magic. Not a purely mechanical or electrical jammer. Not even quite magitech. A spell matrix could do it, because a spell is only limited by the amount of magic available. An array is the only way the signal could be so encompassing in a local space, and one such array could only be so precisely controlled by a watchful pony... or many.”

“It’s no normal magic,” Cold said. “I’ve seen what the Project has produced. It is a blend of magic and technology on a scale no creature in this galaxy has ever seen.”

“There’s no other way around it...” Ravenwatch was on shaky legs as she tried to stand taller. “What we’re facing is a spell matrix array powered by the minds of ponies who understand the intricacy of every signal in this star system, and right down to every cut of the wavelength.”

A thunderous crack reamed through the control room. The room plunged briefly into darkness. The terminals all around tumbled offline, and when they returned, each one resounded with its own wailing klaxon alarm. Even the most stoic ponies were shaken by the shocks.

Fokienia could hear the words before Cold’s lips began moving.

“They’re here.”

16 - Forged in Telfire

Fokienia and the others swarmed around the monitoring ring. Ripshot had filled the screen to the max, but even with twenty-five camera angles, there was no sight of the intrusion. The only evident signs that there was conflict were the thirty-odd Concord ponies scrambling to finish fortifying their positions: from the security checkpoints, to the hastily furniture-piled hallways, ponies leaned up and awaited the appearance of any hostile force.

Commander Gale’s forces had spent the better part of an hour in preparation, and the control room ponies had spent that in discussion.

Fokienia was used to patiently-paced operations. She realized now that time was not on their side.

“Do you have a plan?” Ripshot asked. He spun about in his chair to look at the ponies all watching over his shoulder. “Do we have a plan?”

Another officer replied first. “We have minutes at most.” They briefly glanced back. “The grav-tunnels have been lifted out of lockdown. Somepony’s coming up.”

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” Ravenwatch answered. The dryness in her throat was evident. “Our options are thin. We have no way to defend against further system intrusions. We only have weapons to fight. But holding here does nothing. And leaving is worse than nothing.”

“Specialist...” Cold let her title hold in the air. “There’s nothing we can do here in Cypress. But in space, we have a chance.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you suggesting a full-fledged evacuation?”

“No chance,” Ripshot nearly shouted. “I’m not giving up.”

The other Concord officers agreements laid in heavily.

Ravenwatch continued. “You know we can’t do that, captain. It’s impossible to warp out of system.”

“No. I’m not suggesting we leave. I’m saying we go on the offensive.”

Fokienia blinked, and the room with her: an offensive kirin? She stepped close to Cold. “Just tell us what you’re thinking.”

“We need to send a message for help. We can’t do that here. But there is one place in system that we can.”

Ravenwatch’s line of thinking was visible in her eyes. “Possibly.” She rubbed her muzzle with a hoof. “The blackout is only system-wide so far as the local Cypress polity is concerned. We can’t send or receive signals from Motherlode, even though they’re just on the other side of the giant, so it’s safe to assume they’re as jammed as we are.”

“That leaves us with our one unknown. The FTL comm-relay.”

The specialist nodded, and her inquisitive hoof fell. “The relay... it’s an entirely isolated installation.” Ravenwatch raised her eyes back up to the camera-displaying widescreen. “That may very well be our only hope.”

“The system-comm relay?” Ripshot’s voice was both curious and appalled. “Are you suggesting somepony has to fly out there and make a direct upload? That’s our only hope?”

Ravenwatch’s energy continued to dip into more somber affairs. “It’s not a guarantee, either. It might be incredibly unlikely that their signal jamming can reach the inner-system, but we have no way to confirm its range.”

“Why is this an issue?” Sundown asked calmly. “That’s a sound plan. The more distance you can put between you and Cypress, the longer it’ll take for modifications to their transmitters to affect our signal. We can definitely get out there and do it.”

Ravenwatch was pleased by the response, though that didn’t last long. “You’re right. That makes breaking through the frequency block easier, if it were able to reach that far in the first place.”

“But?”

“That’s why we need to go on the offensive,” Cold said quietly. “There’s at least one deployed starfighter in Cypress’ space, and they are not our friend.”

Sundown paled, and went silent.

“It’s not Concord?” Holly was aghast. “Where are the other patrol craft? Where are the other ships? Surely somepony has to be wondering what’s going on.”

“The nature of our star regularly interferes with cycle-to-cycle operations. An important piece of Cypress Station’s infrastructure are the flight-alert packets that get transmitted to the system relay and the fuel outpost.” Ravenwatch paused to collect herself, then nodded. “With comms down, that information isn’t getting sent. Anypony looking in from out of system would only see a default system-lock warning. Nothing out of the ordinary by our standards. Barring a permit override, not even an exploratory vessel could make a blind jump in. A ship’s navigation systems would need to be illegally modified, or officially-sanctioned. Civilians who would’ve been here are either annoyed and waiting, or turning around. A formal investigation would take another day at least, because it’s only been a couple of hours since the interference began.”

“In other words,” Cold interrupted, “we need to send a declaration of emergency through FTL. A payload that requires a direct upload to the system-relay. We don’t have time to wait for help. We need to take action.”

“But we still need somepony to deliver it.”

“And...” Cold paused. Fokienia watched him carefully. He only continued after meeting her eyes. “...We’ll need a ship.”

“What ship?” a Concord pony responded. “The only proper starships around are at one of the docking bays, and Cypress Central doesn’t have one. The closest thing we’ve got are our patrol fighters, but our hangar’s compromised.” They nodded to Ripshot. “Bring up the cam for the bay. It’s bad.”

It only took a moment for the unicorn to pull up.

Surrounded by the views of hunkered down Concord officers, the interior of the hangar bay was a sorry sight. The camera’s field of view was restricted, but Ripshot had the control to swivel it around for everypony to see. There were seven fighters in the hangar, with an eighth and empty docking pad. Red, strobing lights flashed along an open expanse. Where there should have been a wall, there was... nothing.

For the first time, Fokienia saw the vast blackness of space.

The cameras had no visual noise, but the little depth they had left Fokienia lusting for more. The sight was vivid and all-engrossing: she could scarcely tear her eyes away from the speckled canvas of black. Yes, there were little spots of light in the black, no doubt brighter were she to stand there. And how she wished to stand there. She barely took notice of the damaged steel around the frame of the hangar door; space was all she could take in.

Sequoia sucked in a breath: his eyes instead roamed the damaged hangar. “That’s a lot of firepower.” He almost sounded envious.

In return, Ravenwatch produced a solemn nod. “Concord starships use variable beam weapons, but they’re rated for vacuum use. Using it in a magically saturated atmosphere results in... more explosive consequences.”

“That’s still a usable exit.”

The Concord officer went on again. Fokienia’s ears folded in reflex. This whinging pony was ruining the view. “The hangar is in vacuum—”

“Shield veil or not, you can get a pony in there, board a fighter, and take-off.”

“How?”

Cold gave the pony his trademark deadpan. “They’re fighters. Life support is minimal. You get a suit, you depressurize, you board.”

Ripshot held a hoof a hoof up before the irate officer could reply. “Captain Cold knows what he’s talking about.”

He nodded. “And I know well enough that I’m going to be flying one of those fighters.” He raised a hoof and stopped Holly before the pegasus could fully flare her wings. “How many pilots do we have here?”

“Cold,” Holly budged, “you can’t.”

“I can, and have to.”

Ravenwatch shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, captain. We—”

“I asked you a question, specialist.”

The mare looked at him in surprise. “Well... I...” She looked around for help. Nopony stepped forward. “This is Concord HQ. We’re guards, controllers, the ponies out in the hall are QRF. But we’re not CSO.”

“You have a hangar. Where are your pilots? Where’s CSO?”

“Nopony expected to fly today, captain. Everypony’s all over Cypress. It’s an achievement in itself that your friends managed to get here. There are no pilots here, and the best of the best are out of reach.”

“Then who here can fly? We don’t need the best. We just need ponies who can give their best.”

Finally, one pony spoke. “Some of us can fly, but... we’re watch-and-report. We’re not patrol pilots. And we’re not on interstellar permits.” They took a moment to collect their swelling emotions; Fokienia could hardly believe how jaded, and remorseful the pony felt. “There’s at least one fighter out there, captain. Flying Concord colors. The same exact fighters in that hangar. We can do scans, spool up skips, call in real pilots, but not engagements.”

Specialist Ravenwatch chewed the inside of her cheek the whole time the pony spoke. When they were done, she threw in the rest of the conundrum. “And with signals jammed, our IFF transponders will be entirely in flux.”

The Concord officer nodded. “Exactly. We wouldn’t be able to distinguish between fighters. Target analysis isn’t what we’re trained for. And again, we’re not even combat-rated.”

“We wouldn’t have to fight,” Cold responded. “We just need to break through, evade their fire until one of us transmits the data, and wait for help to arrive.”

“They’d interdict us,” a fresh face argued. “After that, it’d only be a matter of how long our shields can hold up.”

“You—” Cold stopped suddenly, then breathed sharply. “You can avoid an interdiction. But I can see now that none of you have experienced that.”

On the other cameras, a great stir erupted between some of the Concord ponies. Moments later, klaxons filled the control room again. The lights flickered and spat, but power didn’t drop completely. A few of the officers in the crowd ran off to tend to their terminals once more.

“We’re running out of time,” Sundown noted.

“I’m a pilot.” The remaining ponies turned to the red unicorn seated at the terminal: Ripshot repeated himself. “I’m a pilot, Captain Cold. You know that.” Fokienia noted that Ripshot’s tone was awfully tame. Cold had said that Ripshot had saved him. The unicorn, from what little she’d heard and seen of him, was bold and boisterous. But he was deadly serious as he finished. “You flew fighters. You flew Telfire. There’s no doubt in my mind that you can move like a pegasus, even in our birds of steel. If you’ll have me, I can be your wingpony.” His eyes moved away. “That is, if Commander Gale gives this plan the green light.”

The silence that followed his statement was as black as the view of space: if it weren’t for the screaming alerts behind them, a hair from Fokienia’s mane could’ve dropped, and everypony would’ve heard it.

“...The commander gave me my orders.” Ravenwatch shivered. “This very well could be a one-way mission. But, if this is our best chance—” she closed her eyes “—we’ll do it.”

Cold glanced at Ripshot, then back to Ravenwatch. “I’ll take him.”

Holly broke out of Cold’s grip and pressed a hoof to him: she dove right through the wreath of mane hung below his neck. “Cold, you don’t need to prove anything. You can stay.”

Fokienia sidled up beside them. “You’re right, Holly.” Her eyes moved to him, and the words she invoked, no matter how true they were, still hurt. “But I don’t think he’s giving us a choice.”

The stubbornly brave kirin leaned forward, nuzzling into the crook of the pegasus’ neck. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

She clung to him with her wings.

With Cold occupied, Sundown dragged Ravenwatch’s attention to her. “Can you monitor local space? If we had a better idea of what we’re facing, we could plan accordingly.”

Ravenwatch shook her head. “Sensor arrays went dark. All we have access to are in-station readings. And even those are shoddy at best. Maybe if we were at a local control station, at a different sector of Cypress entirely, we’d have a better picture. But we don’t have that liberty.”

“Guys...” Cascade interrupted. “I think we’re out of time.”

Just as he spoke, one camera on the monitoring screen erupted with a flash of white. When it faded, the view of the Concord officers and disabler beams was unmistakable. And following that, the distant echoes of their fire came soaring down from the hallway past the control room entrance.

Specialist Ravenwatch backed out of the crowd. “I’ll prepare the data.” She waved an urgent hoof as she retreated. “The captain and officer are going to need escorts. Figure it out.”

That was on the backburner for the two pilots: Ripshot flicked through several camera angles, and Cold leaned in close, dragging Fokienia and Holly with him. “There,” the commanding kirin muttered.

“Yeah,” Cascade murmured. “That’s them, alright.”

The cyborgs were nothing like Fokienia expected. They looked... just like normal ponies. They wore jumpsuits that were near identical to her own, but she could tell they didn’t have the connection ports like her bio-pod suit. They stood out in contrast to the properly uniformed Project operatives around. There was a stiffness to their movements, too: perfectly rhythmic strides, and demonstrably efficient reloads. Hardly any action and movement was wasted, so far as she could tell; the momentum of one movement carried into their next. So smoothly did they move that they appeared frictionless on camera.

By far the scariest quality was the way they ducked and dodged through the disabler beams they received in return for their own onslaught.

Fokienia turned to Sundown. “We can escort them. Me, you, and Sequoia.”

“I don’t fancy our chances, seeing... this.” The bat pony shifted her weight from one hoof to the next. “But we’ve got training on our side.” She looked to the remaining Concord officers. “We still need one of you to lead us.”

On screen, one of the officers was hit directly in the neck by a disabler beam. They tumbled over their cover, unconscious. The frantic yelling that followed hurdled through the corridor and right to the control room.

Almost all of the officers gave their unanimous agreement.

“Cascade,” Fokienia said next, moving to the horror-struck bat. “You need to stay here with Holly.”

“What?” Holly crept off of Cold. Her shock sent tremors through her voice. “Fokienia—!”

“I can do that.” The bat pony shined his fangs. “No sweat.”

“Coward,” Sundown grunted.

“It’s safe here. From the speed of their advance—” Fokienia tilted her head to the screen for emphasis “—we might not make the trip back from the hangars.”

The pegasus mare sputtered and spat, trembling. Her eyes flicked between Cold and Fokienia. “B-but I... I can help.”

Ripshot leaned back in his chair. “Look, the big mare’s right, ma’am. We can seal the bulkheads here and hold-out if need be. No disrespect, but you’re the most civilian-looking pony here. You might have a nice wing-pistol on your side, but that’s about it.”

The withering glare Holly sent Ripshot had him quickly ease off.

“Knowing that you’re safe is all I want to think about when I’m up in that cockpit in the next few minutes.” Cold stepped back over to her. As he pressed into her, the mare’s trembling gave out to a few bitter tears.

“Cold... I don’t want to think about losing you anymore. I-I was so terrified.” She looked at Fokienia, then back to Cold. Her feathers were ruffled something fierce. “I’ve been trying so hard to be strong for you...”

“You are, Holly.” He wrapped his foreleg around her head, and pulled her into his neck. “You’re the wonderful mare I love. You give me strength. And I can’t bear the thought of losing you, either.”

While the moment deserved some respect, Ravenwatch came back from behind. Held in her magic, a tiny blue square bobbed forward. “Captain.”

“A moment, specialist.” He held Holly until her shaking stilled. Then, patting her one last time, he lit his horn, and exchanged telekinetic grips with Ravenwatch. He pulled the square toward him.

“That drive has the codes you need for sending a distress signal through the relay. I’d have sent you on your way already and transmitted them to the fighters, but...”

“I’m aware of the situation now, specialist. Thank you.” He pocketed the miniaturized data-bank and looked around. “We need to be moving.”

Ripshot stood from his seat. “Let’s go while we still can.”

“Before you do,” Ravenwatch interrupted, “are you sharing a fighter?”

The pilots looked at each other, then back at her. “Are two fighters not better than one?” Ripshot asked.

“Unless you choose to engage and shoot down the fighter, you’ll be attempting an upload under fire.” The mare pushed her glasses up, showing a great deal of unease. “Transmitters have a broad cone of range, of course, but most ships are usually at low speeds or close to a stand-still when uploading. The upload could take too long and need another attempt, or you might not get a proper lock. The only way to guarantee a transmission is having somepony act as a guidance system, and keeping the transmitter locked on.”

“Then he’ll be my co-pilot,” Cold responded with finality.

“Yes, captain,” Ripshot replied. “I could take over a hardpoint and give them some fire to worry about. I’m definitely not as good at maneuvers as you are.”

Fokienia knew Cold had a joke he could crack, but he didn’t so much as smile. “Then let’s get out of here. Time’s wasting.”

“Thank you for doing this, captain.” Ravenwatch bowed her head. “I’m sorry things have come to this.”

Cold didn’t say a word in reply; he pressed close to Holly and whispered something in her ear. It was enough to make her ear flick, and bring her a smile. They shared a tender, full kiss. When they separated, his voice shook with determination. “I’ll be back, Holly.”

“You better,” she mumbled.

Fokienia’s heart was pounding in a place it shouldn’t have been. But she knew it wasn’t from dread. “We all will,” she said firmly.

As the team slipped from the control room, they left in their wake three officers, and the specialist. The garrison paid their respects in hurried wishes, before turning back to the consoles.

The last thing Fokienia saw before rounding the corner were the flashes of white from the cameras on the widescreen.

Sequoia led the team with an officer by his side. His steel wings were flared protectively over the tight crowd behind him. The corridor was wide, but his wings still covered almost all of it. Fokienia knew he could take at least one shot to his wings—it was one of her favorite sparring tricks to use against him. While she was used to seeing it as a weakness to exploit, she realized now that it was a strength he could use against most ponies. Nopony expected to go up against a pony who could take several shots, given that they were properly aimed.

Just as the sound of disabler beams and further flashbangs grew close, the guiding officer turned them down a right turn.

The hangars, mercifully, were only a distant minute. But Fokienia knew they were still cutting it close on time.

The corridor cut into two subsequent rooms. As an officer sealed the door shut behind them, Fokienia looked through the plastic-white door ahead. It was nothing like the pneumatic doors around Cypress. It seemed more reminiscent of the doors she’d seen on Cold’s ship: sliding, and interlocking. The light in the room beyond it flickered. And further out, she could see the hints of black. Her heart hammered again. Space. A world beyond Cypress. She shook herself, and checked back on the busy officers.

To the side of the room they were stood in, various cylindrical tubes jut out from the walls. There were some steps leading up to them, and a small panel with a few buttons beside them. There were sixteen of the cylinders total, eight on each side. One had opened: the odd curved door was more like a shield than anything. The interior was bathed in bright white light and pure steel.

She heard a sharp hiss behind her, and when she looked, she instinctively stepped back. A great white mist flowed out from below the shielding of the pod as it rose.

“Cold!” she gasped.

The kirin held a hoof to stay her. The mist pooled around his hooves, before settling on the floor. “I think this is cleanest spacesuit I’ll ever wear.”

Beside him, Ripshot pressed a hoof to a different panel. The shielding on his cylinder began to rise in turn. “You’re not exactly clean yourself, captain.”

To Fokienia’s surprise, Cold laughed into the mist.

When the shroud descended, and a savage chill with it, she realized that the cylinders were meant for some sort of cold storage.

The black and white ‘spacesuit’ suspended in mid-air was something to behold. It was a bulky uniform, but it didn’t look armored at all. The bagginess didn’t do it any favors; in fact, the suit looked entirely impractical. There was some kind of metallic glint, even beyond the metal bands at the joints of the equine-shaped suit.

Cold’s magic lit. The data-bank hovered out of its pocket, and settled on the panel beside the pod. He threw his jacket to the floor.

Fokienia’s voice was quiet. “Cold?” Evidently, he hadn’t heard her. But she didn’t know what to say next.

Cold turned around, and backed in. He hummed in satisfaction as the remaining mist swirled around him. A tiny smile lit his face. “Just like the airlocks in Telfire.” He easily slipped a hindleg into one cuff of the uniform.

“Excuse me...” Fokienia stepped out of the way almost immediately. The officer who’d spoken up took her place with a respectful nod, then turned to Cold. “Captain Cold?”

He grunted as he continued to climb into his suit. It sank to the floor with his weight, but it still bobbed in the air where it could. “Yes?”

Two more ponies sidled up beside the Concord officer. “We have a proposal.”

At the front of the room, Fokienia could see Sundown and Sequoia tense up. They’d been keeping watch of the entrance with their respective pistol and long-rifle, but now they turned their gaze inward. The remaining officers beside them shuffled nervously: did they know what this proposal was?

Fokienia herself tensed. The disabler in her chest holster suddenly felt heavy.

“We’ll fly with you, captain. Give them more targets to worry about. And we’ll take as many hits as we can.”

“A diversion?” Cold murmured more to himself. “Full power to shields... That could work.” He shook his head, and gave the officers a hard look. “You’d be risking your lives.”

“So are you,” the officer responded simply. “We... we aren’t real pilots.” His companions nodded. “I’m not stupid enough to claim otherwise. But we can still fly. They won’t know your mission, captain.”

“We could take some pot-shots,” the second officer added on. “Throw them off track. Draw their fire to us. You can focus on getting a head-start on the relay.”

The final officer spoke warmly. “We’re not throwing our lives away. We know our limits. And we’ll give you as much as we can, captain.”

Cold stared at them for a moment. When he spoke again, he reached down with his magic, and started tugging the seals on his suit closed. “Then suit up.”

With three snappy salutes, the officers hurried over to retrieve their own spacesuits.

Cold and Ripshot stepped down from the pods in their new attire. Fokienia was surprised to see how well they fit them, now. It was as if they’d somehow sucked in the bulk of the uniforms. They were as form-fitting as the Facility-made uniform she was wearing.

After placing the data-bank in a foreleg pouch on his suit, Cold stopped. “Helm test,” he uttered flatly. He pressed a hoof to a stud just below the collar of his uniform. There was a strange sort of pop and hum. An aura, like a very transparent facsimile of Cold’s magic, suddenly founded an existence around Cold’s head. It was barely a hooftip away from his body, and as he craned his neck left and right, the shimmer followed. It even traced a perfect outline around his mane and horn. The only discrepancy to its pattern was where the aura flared out to end at the inner collar of the uniform.

For a few seconds, Cold strained his eyes, inspecting the aura for his own self. Then, he tapped the stud again, and with nary a sound, it was gone. “Not the sturdiest field I’ve seen. But it should be safe enough for canopy use.”

“Helm test,” Ripshot repeated. He took barely five seconds to look it over. “Well cap, we don’t usually perform EVAs in these things. So take that as you will.”

Cold didn’t bother with a reply. He hurried over to the white door, and peered in. “Airlock still looks good. It probably cycled after the breach.”

Fokienia stepped over. She wanted a better look at the view through, and she got it: space didn’t seem so far at all, now. On the fringes of the battered hangar exit, she could see bits of rock jutting outward. She’d seen some of it in the hallway ceilings of the HQ, but seeing it juxtaposed against the speckled black of space sent shivers riding along her spine.

“That’s where you belong,” she said softly to Cold.

She was surprised to feel a hoof around her. She lowered herself so Cold didn’t have to strain himself as much—she was a big mare, after all—and leaned into his leg. She continued to look out through the airlock door.

“When I get back,” he promised, “I’ll be the first one to show you what being out there’s really like.”

Her voice was a scant whisper. “I think... I’d love that.”

Cold was going to come back. He had to. He’d promised her.

Cold reluctantly released Fokienia. The large mare slipped off like a meek little filly, stopping to stand by the others guarding the door. “We’ve got it from here,” Cold announced.

Nopony moved.

After waiting just a little longer for the last three members of their apparent flight team, Cold cycled the airlock.

The airlock hummed fiercely with magic and energy. The other door slid shut, and the hiss of air filled in after the vacuum. The process didn’t last long, perhaps owing to the magical elements supporting the airlock—Cold was used to purely mechanical airlocks—but when the door before them opened, they quickly surged in.

“Helms on.” When Cold turned his helmet on, four others followed him. “Are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Ripshot replied.

With one last look at Fokienia, Cold set the room to cycle one more time.

The hiss of air was more akin to a roar as magic and machine worked to depressurize the room.

Cold placed a hoof on Ripshot. “Sound check.” He felt his voice waving through the suit as they approached near vacuum.

The unicorn laughed for a moment, then stopped. “Oh. This is because we’re not gonna have short-wave radio, isn’t it?”

Cold pat him reassuringly. “Smarter than you look, officer.” Leaving him frowning, he gave a quick wave at the other officers.

No, not mere officers. Brave pilots.

“We know what we have to do,” Cold muttered. They couldn’t hear him, but they nodded anyways. Just to be sure, he checked the sleeve of the uniform for the radio. He found it exactly where it should’ve been, but hitting the switch did nothing but fill his earpiece with static. He cut it out and sighed to himself; he should’ve just taken it off.

The airlock pinging as it opened assured him that he wouldn’t have that chance anytime soon.

The gravity was still present in the hangar, but Cold could tell that a depressurization event had occurred: unsecured fixtures on the walls had been ripped from their holdings; and heavy crates and containers had ground and toppled over a fair distance. Debris was scattered all over the landing platforms, but he could feel the strong magnetic locks as he approached one of the fighters. The fighters had no interior beyond the canopy, and the boarding platforms that led to them were thankfully designed as a part of the station superstructure. All that was left to do was extend them to the canopy, board their fighters, and let the platform sensors order their gangway components to retract.

He felt the metal shaking beneath him. When he looked to his left, he saw Ripshot pointing meaningfully at the fighter.

It was time to go.

Cold gave their accompanying officers a check, and was glad to see them quickly ascending their boarding platforms. He followed after Ripshot, and scampered quickly up the steps.

The fighters were about three ponies tall, thick with steel, and sloped in perfectly symmetrical patterns. They were shaped quite like a trapezoid with a flat top and bottom. The only outlier to the design was the spherical dome canopy that capped the nose. It didn’t extend above or below the rest of the hull, sitting more like an inset gem on a crown. On the sloped armor, Cold could see the white lines painted around the edges of the ship’s hardpoints: the square weapon-bay doors were closed, but it was clear this ship was fit with weapons. The design wasn’t what he was used to, but Cold knew there would be a third hardpoint on the ship’s underbelly. What it was fitted with was a mystery: he could be certain that the top hardpoints were fixed beam weapons, but the ventral hardpoint was usually a turret, and that could be anything from a smartbomb launcher, to a projectile-based weapon.

For once, Cold regret not spending more time learning about ship weapons at the outfitter: knowing what the fighter’s weapons were capable of—if they came down to fighting—would be helpful.

From the top of the boarding platform, a look through the canopy showed a standard cockpit configuration: the pilot and co-pilot seat were placed side-by-side, and a third seat behind them at a curved terminal was no doubt intended for a gunner. The seats were placed on a platform that hung in the middle of the dome. The hatch to the cockpit sat above the hull, and the airlock beneath turned out behind the seats.

The airlock was just a nicety: in most circumstances, fighter pilots would keep their cabins depressurized. They’d lock their suits into the seats, and get their air that way. A canopy breach was unlikely, but not impossible.

With no proper way to communicate with Ripshot, they’d need the atmosphere.

Cold followed Ripshot down the ladder of the airlock, closing the hatch behind him with a button. In the red-lit airlock, a quick pull of the manual switch had them inside the cockpit.

Before Ripshot could make his way any further in, Cold grabbed him. “I’m going to pressurize the cabin. Don’t be surprised.”

The unicorn nodded. When Cold let him go, he moved toward the seats.

Cold had the atmosphere regulator running before Ripshot had even locked his suit in place. It beamed a positive blue, and a light in the collar of his suit flashed on to a pleasant green.

The ship was already faced toward the hangar. Where the shield veil had once been, space awaited them. The sight of the burnt out veil generators made Cold twitch, but just seeing space again made him giddy. He put his emotions in check, and joined Ripshot at the controls of the ship.

Ripshot turned his helmet off as Cold seated himself beside him. “Nice to have you aboard, captain.”

He grunted. “Keep your helm on. You can still talk through it.”

Ripshot rolled his eyes. “The canopy’s not gonna get breached.” Regardless of his attitude, he engaged his helm again.

“Alright.” Cold’s suit locked in with a satisfying click. “Let’s keep this sys-check quick. Raising his hoof to the terminals, the holographic interfaces waved to life. ”Starting boot sequence...“

The ship delved to darkness, taking the holographic control panels with them. The ever-present hum died, only to return with the lights a moment later.

“Power plant online.” Ripshot’s voice echoed.

“Critical functions online.”

“Tertiary functions online.”

A rumble sifted through the ship.

“Thrusters online."

A blue light flashed across the canopy.

“Shields online.” Ripshot looked away from his own interfaces. “We’re good to go.”

Cold’s hooves went to the controls by his sides: he rested one hoof on the tiny panel to his left, and his right rested on a button covered control column. “Flight assist off.” The terminal before him flicked with a satisfying click at his vocal command.

Ripshot’s neck shot to him. “Don’t show off in the hangar!”

His words fell into his gut as Cold lifted them off the platform.

They sat there hovering, turning ever so slightly as Cold manually kept the ship oriented. “I’m not.” He looked to his right. Through the canopy, he could see two of the ships follow in his takeoff. The last one came up after a few more moments. On the holographic interface to his left, he could see three white indicators flash on the radar. It worked, but it was thoroughly scratched out. It would prove to be mostly useless in the expanse of space: the furthest of the three ships on the scanner was practically faded to nothing. “Whoever’s waiting for us out there isn’t going to be expecting us to come out FAO.”

Resigned to his fate, Ripshot just tucked tight into his seat.

And Cold boosted the ship forward.

Cutting the thrusters, he rolled them vertically until they faced the on-hoof entrance to the hangar. While in the station’s gravity, the movement left Ripshot groaning. Cold just leaned into the motion.

The inertia carried them right out the hangar doors and into space.

Boosting again, Cold pushed them as far as they could away from the station. The rocky and metal surfaces on the outside passed in a blink as they rapidly accelerated. Holding steady, he kept them pressed as close as they could to the station. A faint sweat started on Cold; it was good to be back in a fighter.

Cold lit his horn. The data-bank floated out of the pouch on his suit, and over to Ripshot’s station. “Get this plugged in.”

He felt Ripshot’s magic invade his grip, and he let the package go without looking.

Cold’s eyes swarmed to the radar. The officers were already well out of the scrambled scanning range. “We’re on our own from here, Ripshot.”

“Do I need to deploy hardpoints?” The wooziness in Ripshot’s voice made Cold frown. The exit hadn’t been that bad...

The panel before Ripshot pinged with a ‘station proximity’ confirmation alert.

“Cancel!” Cold shouted over. The panel fluxed out, and he left his ire for Ripshot. “No. Leave that to the officers.”

“But I’m... oh, whatever.”

Their craft skimmed along the edges of Cypress. The lights of the many viewing surfaces for the outer cities poured out and into space. Cold tried not to think about the fact that there were likely a lot of ponies watching his piloting in action. He really wasn’t a show-off. He was aware of his skill, but he had been loathe to even share it with Ripshot in the moment.

If he made it through this, and anypony found out who this fighter was flown by, everypony in Cypress would know a kirin could fly a fighter. And that wasn’t a thought he was comfortable leaving in legacy.

“Data’s in. I’ll get the transmitter prepped.”

“Good. We’re coming around to the hangar-side.” He took a quick glance at the interface before returning to the viewport. “Skip drive has fifty-five seconds left on the charge.”

“Roger... Keep it steady—” A yellow proximity alert flashed on both pilots’ interfaces. “TARGET!”

Pulling around the station in his first complete circumnavigation, Cold veered off in shock. The ship inverted over the view below.

A Concord fighter glowing red-hot glided into the hangar, and the second one behind it lased two blue beams right where Cold’s craft had just been.

Beside Cold, Ripshot gripped his control column in a vice. “Cold—“

“Do not deploy.”

His co-pilot swallowed his nerves, and loosed his controls. “H-he’s right on us, Cold.”

With his left hoof, Cold slid power from engines to shields. The ship rapidly lost a good deal of its acceleration. He thrust backwards to slow, and the vessel flew by, sending its next two beams into the void.

The rogue was real.

Cold grimaced. “That’s a Concord fighter.”

“I was really hoping they’d have better things to do.”

The fighter, now not too far away from their front, flipped over and turned back to them. The telltale glow of its two top-side hardpoints glowed. Despite the pace of the moment, Cold had the foresight to lock on and keep track of the fighter. The beam weapons were gimbaled: even with the significant distance the overshooting ship had put between them, he could see minute movements of the turret adjusting. An alert on his panel warned of a target lock.

“IRCM!” Ripshot shouted.

The three hull-thudding puffs that followed left a trail of triangles on the radar. When Cold flicked their ship back to start their next skim of the station exterior, two of the bright countermeasures in their wake were suddenly pierced by twin beams.

Ripshot shouted the princess’ name in disbelief. “I flared! I’ve never actually flared!”

“Stay focused,” Cold warned, his voice cool. “Keep him locked.” Truth be told, his heart was pounding. Ripshot’s quick response had just saved them from tanking a beam. He threw power back to engines in full, and lowered the shields recharge to account for the resetting flare mechanism. Having dropped out of full speed, the time on their skip charge had slowed: Cold had to keep them moving. “Thirty seconds.”

Mercifully, Ripshot didn’t shout any further. He clenched onto his panel in tense shock, and watched the system readouts as they slung themselves around Cypress.

“He broke off again.”

When they came around to the Concord HQ hangar-side once more, they weren’t treated to an ambush.

“No... Get outta there!”

Cold kept them flying low and fast. But overhead, the dogfight in progress was high, and practically dead-slow.

The exchange of beam fire and the scattered confetti of flares lit the no-fire zone of Cypress Station. Two Concord fighters circled one another, though it was clear only one of them was a real fighter: the shields of the weaker pilot flickered as they absorbed lance after lance from the rogue fighter. It was made worse by the fact that the poor maneuverability kept Cold and Ripshot’s ally in the firing cone of the rogue’s third hardpoint: a fixed lance. The third fighter swirled around them like an orbiting moon, but it made no attempt to engage.

The friendly fighter was red-hot by the time Cold and Ripshot zoomed out of sight.

“Cold, we’ve got to do something!”

“He’ll make it, Ripshot...” the kirin muttered. His right hoof gripped tighter to the side-stick, and the muscles in his foreleg tensed. “He’ll make it.”

With a heavy breath, Ripshot read his interface aloud. “Fifteen seconds.”

Coming through on what would be his last fly-by of Cypress, a sharp spike on the radar caught Cold’s eye. It was an explosion of light, and it quickly faded out. His heart leapt into his throat. But he couldn’t choke or move. His coat prickled as he pulled on the stick. A sickness brewed in his gut.

And Cold almost thought he felt the insides of his suit warming.

“He...” Ripshot paused, then cheered uproariously. “He dropped a heatsink!”

They pulled to the hangar-side one last time, and relief flooded them both.

The fighter was clearly without shields, and its hull was darkened near its thrusters, but it slid into the hangar without anymore hits.

Pulling away from the station, however, the radar flashed with two signatures. Cold pushed to get them away from Cypress. With the flares recharged, he drew power back from the ship’s systems, pumping it completely into their thrusters and shields. His left hoof tapped quickly through the navigational side of the holographic interface. He locked the bookmarked location of the system relay in, adjusted his angle just right, and boosted as fast and often as he could. “Ten seconds...”

Ripshot strained to look at the very bottom of the canopy as Cold spoke. “Cold...”

Two Concord fighters flew past the front of their canopy. Cold didn’t stop boosting, even as he very nearly clipped the firing fighter. And not even when he saw the arcs of blue wrapped entirely around the craft.

“He...” Ripshot slowed, turned back to his panel, and sifted swiftly through his interface. “His subsystems are offline. Power plant included.”

Their last friendly had been disabled.

“Five seconds,” Cold managed, though it was hardly with the energy he hoped for.

There was nothing more they could do.

Just when the fighter appeared on the edge of their scrambled radar’s range, Cold’s interface pinged with a dash of hope.

He announced their skip with a quiet click from under his left hoof.

The world turned inward as the building magic in their warmed skip drive fired off in a relieving cascade of energy. The space in front of the canopy flashed with purple as they dove forward, lurching in their seats despite their secured suits. The ship’s velocity soared to an unreadable measure.

And then, they slipped out of skip.

A teleport was just that. A blink of an eye. And what a blink it had been. If Cold pivoted the ship back now, they might’ve been lucky to see a glint of light from where Cypress was.

In more earthly times, to walk back to Cypress now would take not even close to a dozen lifetimes. Even on the wings of alicorns, decades would pass before they reached Cypress from the section of space Cold and Ripshot now occupied.

Cold kept the ship moving forward at full tilt. After the first skip, the drive would charge their next teleport faster. But they were still at least a few skips away.

Cold leaned back. Said nothing.

Ripshot shared in the silence.

Then, Cold’s ear crackled. And his earpiece spoke with the voice of a mare. A young mare. A far too young mare.

“This is... Motherlode RF... requesting... Concord assistance. Connect.... FTL-relays...” The static fell in, then out. The last of her call came clear. “Cannot attempt repair alone. Message repeats.”

When the word of the mare repeated in full, Cold’s ears folded against his head.

“Cold, you hear that, right? I’m not dreaming that up, am I?”

The kirin breathed, and flipped the receiver for the fighter off. “Yes, I heard her.”

Ripshot didn’t complain about turning off the receiver. Like Cold, he was unfortunately happier to not hear the mare’s plight. But his quieted thoughts did not leave him uncaring. “...A lot of ponies are relying on us. And they don’t know it.”

“I’m getting us there as fast as I can.” On cue, another skip was ready. “Watch the scanners. We’re clearing the interference field.”

“Yes, cap.”

Cold boosted them forward, and fired off the next skip.

Fokienia had tried to fight peacefully. She’d tried. It wasn’t why everything had gone wrong, however.

The assault was in full-swing by the time they’d shown up at the checkpoint where the worst of the fighting was taking place. Commander Gale had barely spared her, Sundown, and Sequoia a glance as they went to work returning fire. They had fought hard enough, but they’d lost many, and pulled both them and their casualties back as the fighting pushed away from the corridors and into the various side-departments of Central Command.

The elevator was closest to the administration side of the complex. The hangar they’d arrived from were somewhere in the middle between the control room and the grav-tunnel. It had been a shorter sprint to get to the commander and her forces than it had to get to the hangar, but every little bit of ground counted for something. While Sequoia stayed on the frontlines, Fokienia kept Sundown with her; she made excellent use of her vision to keep stragglers from flanking them.

The art of vent warfare was something all Project ponies were trained for. But the cyborgs only fought in the open, and stopping them from successful flanks was a true trial for Fokienia, even with Sundown’s assistance.

So she’d tried to talk to them.

“My name is Fokienia! I’m augmented like you! We don’t have to fight!”

Sundown pulled her back into cover as a disabler beam sizzled through where she’d been standing. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “They’re not going to listen.”

And they hadn’t. They hadn’t even tried to lull her into a false sense of security, or any tricks of that nature. They’d just kept fighting.

It was horrifying to think that there were ponies even more emotionless than she’d been.

She wanted to believe she could free these ponies somehow. But all they knew were commands...

Fokienia had trained to take care of enemy VIPs.

After further losses of the complex, she’d left Sundown, and taken to the vents her own self. Slipping behind the enemy lines, she swept up those she could. And she did make a dent in their numbers, knocking out several operatives by the score.

But after not even ten minutes, that changed.

She’d been in the process of holding down the elevator in the hopes that reinforcements would come, and then Sundown had come.

Fokienia crawled back into the vents with her, and they scrambled their way back the way they’d come.

Sequoia was waiting for them. Since Fokienia had last seen him, he’d taken several shots to the Concord vest he wore. And the officers he’d been meant to be escorting were nowhere to be seen.

“Sequoia, what’s going on? Sundown just said we need to fall back.”

“The retrieval unit came through. They took the commander.”

Fokienia swung her head around in a panic. There weren’t many ponies standing nearby: the fighting had slowed to a crawl as numbers thinned on both sides, and the efforts of her vent-to-vent engagements took effect. The operatives were moving as tactically and efficiently as they could, and they’d even reigned in the aggressive pushes from the cyborgs. Somehow.

“How long ago was this?”

“A few minutes,” Sequoia replied. “I wasn’t sure if they had—they flanked from behind—but I told Sundown we needed you back.” He couldn’t fit in the vents, so of course he hadn’t gone his own self.

In other words, she shouldn’t have tried flanking them in turn. She should’ve just stayed in place...

Her heart sank. “Where do you think they took her?”

“Somewhere close. But they couldn’t have gone back toward the elevators.” Sundown nodded her head back in the vague direction of the control room. “I need you on point, Fokienia. If they set up another ambush behind us, I want your eyes.”

She nodded. “Of course, Sundown.”

“Let’s go. Luna knows where they took her.”

“Who’s Luna?” Fokienia had heard Sundown say it before, and in fact, she could vaguely recall something the governor had said... right! “She has an ‘armada’? What’s that?”

Sundown did a double-take—if the moment was less critical, Fokienia would’ve been proud to have surprised her mentor—then shook her head. “Now’s not the time. We need to go.”

“Right.” With a breath, Fokienia hefted her disabler pistol. She’d been scavenging what charges she could, but she hoped she had enough left.

Keeping her optical implants busy, Fokienia pushed them safely across the corridor and back toward the control room.

The corridors were devoid of personnel, though the occasional sound of disabler fire echoed behind them. She lamented having to fall back like this, but at this point, there couldn’t have been more than ten officers left. And the Project had come in with a force just as large, if not larger. Still, she tried her best to remember what the commander looked like in her unavoidable gaze: she’d been getting better at taking note of the unique silhouettes ponies made, and with enough time, she was sure she could accurately pin down who a pony was based off of her vision... Cold was the only one who stood out to her.

Similarly, a horn was what she was looking for. The glint of wings caught her eye instead. She stopped them at a familiar place in the Concord side of the complex.

Sundown looked down the corridor, then back to Fokienia. “Did you see somepony on the deck?”

“I saw somepony flying.” She paused. “That’s probably where they flanked us from.”

“So you don’t see anypony, now?”

“No.”

“...It’s an ambush.”

“No doubt,” Sequoia said. “And they’ll know we’re coming.”

Fokienia teetered in place for a moment. “I’ll go first.”

“No, you won’t. You might be able to take a few hits, but so can I. And you’re the better shot.”

Sundown huffed. “There’s no point in planning this out. They have our VIP. We’ve already lost.”

A weight settled across Sequoia’s withers, and he shook his wings out. The pinions sliding against each other was a hollow, metallic sound, like dull knives crossing one another. “Fine. But I’m going first.”

They stacked on the door. Fokienia held them for a moment. But there was no further movement from beyond. “Go.”

Sequoia opened the pneumatic door, and the three of them pressed out. They were prepared to sweep the corners of the hangar, but they didn’t expect a target to be right in front of them.

Or rather, the commander.

And the governor.

The door shut behind them. Sundown twisted suddenly to look, but Fokienia and Sundown kept their eyes on the unarmed ponies. Sequoia didn’t lower his weapon, but Fokienia did: the governor was a civilian...

“Hello, Fokienia.”

“Golden Graham?”

He hummed. “I was hoping to see Captain Cold with you. I’ve been waiting to speak with him. And now, I need to speak with him more than ever.”

Sundown turned back around, advancing to stand beside Sequoia. “What in Tartarus are you doing here? How’d you get here?”

The governor frowned. “Sundown Periapsis. You’ve been helpful to us so far—”

Sundown fired a beam, and it landed right at the governor’s hooves. “Shut it.” To his credit, the governor only flinched a little. “Answer me.” When the governor didn’t speak, she aimed at the commander. “What? Did that little specialist of yours tell you something?”

Unimpressed by her bravado, Commander Gale raised a brow. “Tell me what, exactly?”

Sundown was silent. Her tufted ears twitched, and her muzzle scrunched in annoyance. Fokienia could see the hint of her fangs, and that was a sight you never wanted to see from Sundown...

“I’ll give you one chance to answer me, operatives.” Fokienia couldn’t help but notice the way the governor postured toward Sequoia and Sundown; he wasn’t paying her attention anymore. “What were those four unauthorized starfighters doing? And where did the last one go?”

“There were five,” Fokienia answered. All eyes turned to her.

“Fokienia!” Sundown hissed.

She couldn’t help herself. “Four of those fighters took off to help Cypress. The fifth was rogue.”

“That’s right,” Graham said. “You’re a very smart mare, Fokienia. But that doesn’t answer my question.” She withered as his eyes pierced her. “I will not lie, Fokienia. I like you. You willingly gave up the name of the pony beside you, a close friend by all accounts, and you did it for Cypress. I can see the good in your heart.” His eyes lost their edge, and his voice grew soft. “So help me help Cypress. What were those starfighters doing?”

“I...” She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“You manipulative... Shut it! Don’t listen to—” Suddenly, Sundown’s ears twitched harder than before. She spun around, crouching into a firing position as she went.

Fokienia turned with her. They looked up just in time to witness the harnessed Project pegasus drop their cargo: a brown unicorn fell through the air from the rafters of the hangar. His metal horseshoes glinted in the orange light of Cypress Central’s artificial night.

Sundown fired, and the shrieking blast knocked the pegasus straight in the head.

And for her troubles, the falling unicorn planted a disabler beam right in Sundown’s muzzle.

“SUNDOWN!” Fokienia screamed. She fumbled for her disabler as two shots lanced overhead from behind. One shot planted itself in Sequoia’s wings, which started to fall limp.

Sequoia turned again, and his long-rifle whined as he fired as well. There was a thump behind her and a panicked yell from the governor.

Still struggling with her holster, Fokienia looked up to see the retrieval unit team lead aiming right at her: the brown unicorn bore a sharp sneer. His eyes were planted right behind the sights of the pistol he levitated before him. One one was covered by a strange single-lense eyepiece that was hung over his ear.

Fokienia flinched as Sequoia slid in front of her. He toppled to the ground, firing his disabler as he went.

Fokienia turned and ran for the closest cover she could find: the patrol craft. As she went, she heard the thud of metal hooves hitting the ground—a sound she knew all too personally. Sequoia’s angered yell fell silent after the sound of three energy-filled impacts.

In cover, she finally managed to pull her disabler from her holster. She crouched behind the patrol craft, watching the movement of the unicorn, and the outline of Sequoia’s once-moving body slowly erode.

“Quit running, Fokienia!” the team lead yelled. “You can’t hide from me, not anymore!”

Suddenly, her foreleg gave out. She gasped as she tumbled forward. Another shot flew out as she tried to stand, taking out her second foreleg.

Like the first, the beam came from the space beneath the hover-craft.

She dropped her disabler in shock: the sensation warping through her forelegs was terrifying. The only times she couldn’t feel her hooves was after the engineers had come for her...

Her heart wrenched in terror, and she screamed.

“Stop hurting her!” the governor’s voice yelled from nearby.

“Let me do my job! I’ve been waiting to use this scanner all day!”

With her hindlegs, Fokienia pushed back into a limp sitting position. She pressed her spine into the cold metal of the patrol craft. She stared at her limp forelegs: the only movement she could make was at the point where the muscles met her artifical nerves.

The team lead came stomping around the corner of the craft. He was breathing heavily, and his sneer replaced by a triumphant grin. He heaved another breath, and leveled the disabler pistol with her.

Fokienia looked up into his eyes. “Why?” she whispered.

“Because...”

For a moment, the unicorn lowered his disabler to the ground. His eyes looked past her, out of the flight deck.

And then, he smiled.

“It’s past your bedtime. Goodnight, princess.”

Cold shuddered as they came out of the last skip.

“You good, captain?”

“No.” He whispered. He tried again, louder than before. “No, I’m not ‘good’, Ripshot. Let’s upload this and get back to Cypress.”

The FTL comm-relay was visible. But beyond it, the bright star of Cypress peered at them. Cold basked in the little bits of warmth that slipped through. For a brief moment, it pushed the shudder right out of him.

He targeted the relay, and looked over the info on his display. “Four gallops off. Get on the transmitter.”

As Cold brought them in closer, he couldn’t shake the phantom feeling creeping up his spine, even with the aid of the sun watching over them. “It feels like we missed something.”

“Transmission’s starting. It’s a small package, so it shouldn’t take too—”

The sound of a ship skipping in was unmistakable. The hull groaned as the close teleport clashed against their systems.

Cold boosted them suddenly, well aware that he was knocking Ripshot off target.

“I’m—!”

“Just do your best!” Cold yelled. “Cypress is counting on us!”

“I am! I am, captain!”

The whine of the engines hummed through the hull, joining the phantom force crawling up Cold. He ignored it, and forced himself back into his muscle memory. The same maneuvers he’d mastered in the ‘roid fields of Telfire flooded back to him. His eyes tracked the radar as he cut the view outside the canopy outside of his peripherals. The only thing that was important was avoiding hitting the relay, and dodging the fighter hot on his tail.

He cut the acceleration, bleeding speed to veer off and dodge three sharp beams from the fighter. “You’re gonna need to do better than that,” he growled.

“Cold, I need it steadier! The upload restarted!”

Steadier? Oh, he could do steady. Cold drew up another growl, and it forced the phantom force on his hindleg back down. Slowing for a moment, he took pleasure in watching the fighter take a long turn to reorient, and re-lock.

He watched the fighter for a careful moment, then spun sharply to orient himself toward them.

“Just like mining lasers,” he muttered.

“What did you say?”

His left foreleg clicked into its panel.

His growl was joined by the sound of the three hardpoint mechanisms.

“Oh—Cold?! Are you actually...?”

“Full power to weapons...”

The fighter, which had been charging its beams, suddenly pulled up. But it couldn’t avoid the fresh lock from Cold, and the fresher prisms that were aching to be used.

“Gotcha.”

The roar of the beams was tremendous. The beams sank deep into the shield, and on the other side of where his hit had landed, Cold saw arcs flying from the canopy. The fighter flittered off in a scramble, and the sight of the weapons powering down and instead shifting to engines made Cold one very happy kirin.

“Is he disabled?”

“Focus, Ripshot.” Cold knew the blow would take the pilot inside the canopy a moment to recover: the EM properties of the beams could be fixed through a reboot. But he wasn’t about to try and fry the fighter completely. “How much longer?”

“Forty-five seconds, captain.”

They were going to take some hits on the way out when the pilot of the enemy fighter rebooted his systems, but they would at least get the upload done.

And then, the phantom force returned in full.

Cold’s eyes widened as the shockwave of a second skip drive brushed against the ship’s magical components; it was slight, but it was there. His eyes shot from the fighter in front of his canopy and over to the radar.

The new target had made a longer skip than either of the two fighters already at the relay—they were more than seventy gallops out. But they were fast approaching. Too fast.

Ripshot was gripping hard with both hooves. “T-Thirty seconds!”

Cold pressed all the power he could into the shields, leaving the engines dry save for the lightest maneuvering thrusts. Quickly, he looked at the interface for the subsystem readout. The transmitter was at the front of the ship. With the direction the fighter was coming in, he had to keep their engines in the line of fire to minimize any EM effects on the transmitter, and that meant exposing the underbelly of the ship.

He locked onto the incoming fighter, and popped flares.

But this fighter only had one hardpoint deployed. One placed on its underbelly.

Cold closed his eyes when a scan revealed the enemy’s subsystem target.

A full power, fixed shot, directly at his powerplant. And one unhindered by movement, or the failings of an automatic targeting system.

“Ten!”

The phantom had crawled up to his neck by now. But a strange peace settled across him.

“Five!”

A warning beep. The fighter was in range of their weapons.

“Brace,” Cold said simply.

Ripshot’s mouth was open when the beam hit.

Heat flooded the cabin. The interfaces snapped offline, and the lights fled. The rest of the ship groaned.

Then, it was quiet.

“...C-captain?” His co-pilot’s voice was faint.

With no shield, and only the tint of the canopy, the warmth of Cypress’ sun could be felt in full.

The rumble of magitech engines slid across their hull. And the fighter slid before them. Cold didn’t have to look to feel its shadow: the fading touch of the sun was enough.

“It was an honor flying with you...”

There was nothing to protect them as the final beam plowed through the canopy.

17 - A Tall White Filly Played

“She’s waking up.”

Fokienia was drenched in sweat. And no matter how hard she tried, the world was dark.

But slowly, she woke her optical implants.

And the movements around her became clear.

A pony had just laid themselves in front of her. She couldn’t tell who it was. An earth pony, but beyond that... “Fokienia.”

“G-Governor?”

“Yes, Fokienia. It’s Golden Graham.”

She pulled herself up. Her hooves... they worked again! But when she tried to separate them, she found herself unable. “Am... am I in hoofcuffs?”

“Of course not. You’d break those things.”

Fokienia recognized that voice, and the figure that went with it. The brown unicorn. The retrieval unit team lead.

The memories prior to her awakening came back in full.

Vicious anger bubbled in her.

“Fokienia...” Graham’s voice sapped the anger from her, and she turned to him. “We just need to talk.” He stood from his prone position. She could see the corners of his lips turn up in a smile. From this close, her augmented vision provided her with an almost perfect replacement of sight. “And from what I’ve heard, you’ve talked to a lot of ponies since I’ve last seen you.”

Calmed by his tone, she still directed her words to the unicorn stood a fair distance away. “What is he doing here?”

“Actual Gold—”

“Gold Actual.”

“This would be simpler if you just—”

“It’s as simple as it gets, governor. I don’t do names.”

Graham sighed heavily. “Well, Fokienia. Mister Actual and I have... a mutual understanding. Well, he came to me, took me hostage, forced me into some negotiations... you know how these things are, I’m sure. After all, you’re both members of the Facility. ‘Project ponies’, as Commander Gale saw fit to call you. Dealing with political problems is very much your line of work.”

“Get to the point, governor. The package is on the way, and it’ll be easier if we get this done before then.”

Fokienia could see the lines of patience wearing thin in the governor’s movements: from the flick of his tail, to the subtle shift of his facial features. Ponies gave so much information through their movement...

“Fokienia. I realize now that when you gave me the name of Miss Periapsis, you were under the impression that I would do my best to stop the Project. It would take some effort, but I would try. And you would be correct. I did put my best effort in. And they responded fittingly.”

“They sent Cypress into war?”

Despite the fact she couldn’t see normally, the governor shook his head. “No. That was simply a byproduct of their actions. It was a problem that’s been fermenting for the better part of the last decade. Many of those corporations were locally founded, but the ponies they hired were more of the... well, non-Cypressean sort.”

“Are they still fighting out there?”

“Unfortunately, yes. However, Mister Actual was kind enough to inform his superiors that their blackout of station communications could be eased, given our mutual agreement. With the emergency bands unblocked, Commander Gale has begun regrouping Concord forces, and putting a stop to the worst of the riots.”

Fokienia thought for a moment, and Graham let her. “Is this ‘mutual agreement’ because of whether or not a pony is ‘Cypressean’?”

“Close!” Graham broke out in a grin, but he collected himself quickly. “I have the answer for you. But in order for me to give that to you, I need you to sate my curiosity.”

If she told him no, it would just delay the inevitable. She could wait out the clock and see what happened... No, she needed time. Time, and more information.

She could do that.

“Are those terms agreeable?”

“They’re... fine.”

“Well, good. Fine is good enough for me, wouldn’t you say the same, Mister Actual?”

The unicorn grunted.

Graham just turned back to Fokienia. “Tell me, what was Captain Cold doing at the system comm-relay?”

“We know what he was doing,” Actual barked. “We need to know what his message was, and who it was for.”

Fokienia’s heart beat. Did Cold and Ripshot succeed? She couldn’t ask... not without giving them the answer.

“Cold was saving Cypress.”

This seemed to genuinely grab Graham’s attention. “Was he, now?”

“The Concord base commander gave the order to send him out there. She was willing to do anything to save Cypress, even if that meant letting Cold take a fighter.”

“Really?”

“She’s lying, you...” Actual bit his tongue, and shook his head.

“That Captain Cold. He may have been a kirin, but he fought for what he believed in.”

“He’s still a kirin,” Fokienia added.

“Shut up,” Actual growled. He still didn’t move from his place across the room.

The governor laughed nervously. He scuffed a hoof against the floor. “Well, er, of course he is. I just meant that kirins don’t typically go out fighting the way he did.”

Something had happened to Cold. She knew that for certain, now.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Fokienia. But I really must know, what was Cold doing?”

“He was sending a message for help.”

“To who?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Somepony in a ‘star system’? I didn’t even know about ‘space’ or the ‘galaxy’ until he showed me.”

“Oh...”

“She knows more than that.” Actual started moving. “Just let me—”

“I can talk just fine, Mister Actual. This is a situation that requires tact, as opposed to your... tactical approach.”

The unicorn groaned even harder, and fell back.

“Honestly, you’re being such a colt about this. We have a moment where we can finally talk as civilized ponies, and you want to go right back to violence.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You fired a disabler beam at her point blank,” Graham said darkly. The room seemed to suddenly drop several degrees, as if it were following the octaves of Graham’s tone. But Fokienia knew that wasn’t possible... was it? “You point-blanked a very nice mare, and she was the only one who didn’t fire back.”

“Because I stopped her before she could.”

“From the short debriefing you delivered, it seems more to me that you spent more time trying to stop her than she ever did trying to stop you.”

Actual didn’t respond. He was stood so still that Fokienia saw the flickers of his movement fade from her vision; it was as if he had left the room.

“Thank you.” Graham turned back to Fokienia. “Fair enough, Fokienia. Captain Cold wanted help for Cypress?”

“Yes. He did. He cares greatly about the ponies here.”

“And I believe you. So, thank you, Fokienia. You told me what you know, so now I can tell you what I know.”

“If you tell her anything about my orders, I will—”

“Put a disabler to my head and pull the trigger? Is that what you’ll do, Mister Actual? I’m going to tell her my plans, and I can assure you, for as closely as we are working right now, my plans are much kinder than yours. And furthermore, they are mine to share.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

“Thank you for your input,” Graham replied dryly. “Now, can I please speak without your incessant interruptions?” When Actual faded into the darkness of Fokienia’s vision again, Graham was all too happy to turn back to her. “Perfect... Let’s start from the beginning.”

“Several years ago, Cypress Station was picked up by the Equestrian Core World Induction Committee. This is because our census reached a high enough population to be deemed a successfully settled system. Now, as a little refresher, the greatest strength of Cypresseans has been our ability to innovate in the face of such a desolate and isolated environment. Our star, blessed as she is, brings many challenges. For decades, we struggled with these challenges, and we overcame them through the Cypress Projects.”

Fokienia nodded, and through the dark of her eyes, she watched Golden Graham as he began to pace. She couldn’t help but take notice of his left hindleg’s limp.

“Now, our adoption into the ECW would have meant a great many changes for Cypress. On a minor level, we would lose our station title, adopting the more pleasant ‘Cypress Habitat’ designation. Pleasant so far as Equestrian citizens are concerned, as Cypresseans are great pioneers and colonists. But more significantly, the status of our sovereignty would change. We would be treated as an equal, and be given the same access to resources as any other core world. Unfortunately, we would also be held to the same regulations... we would be forced to adhere to any Royal mandates, and effectively act as an extension of the other core worlds. It’s a harmonic union, you see.”

“But Cypresseans have never had a need for that. We are collectivized by our struggles, coalesced into a single unionized body through our beliefs and history. We’ve always had to interact with other worlds, of course. We are a busy and rich station for commerce. But once we lost our need to depend on those worlds, our independence became our greatest strength. As a truly independent station, we reap the benefits of our Equestrian heritage and connections, without the need to pay fiefdom to the Crown. Now, we all love the princesses, but they tend to become... overbearing. It was not a princess who forged the way to the stars, but her student. Why would it be incorrect to follow in her student’s path, and develop our own? Ultimately, to share, of course. Many of our advancements have been freely given to the Equestrian Core Worlds, for the good of all ponykind.”

Unnoticed by Governor Graham, Fokienia watched as Gold Actual stepped away. He was quiet, and it was clear he’d slipped through a door as he disappeared down the hall. Free to move, she tried to get a better look around. She could see the faint outlines of ponies patrolling.

In the meantime, Graham went on.

“So my mission, as you very well can see where I’m going, is that Cypress would always remain independent. For these hardest working years of my life, I have put everything into ensuring Cypresseans keep the home that we built. To ensure that no non-Cypressean would ever hold direct authority over our actions and business. The destiny we forged is the one we ourselves forged. From the regolith roads of our wondrous cities, to the miraculous technologies that keep ponies happy and industry... well, industrious! The most authority we’d allow, if only to keep things amicable with the princesses, were the Cloudsdale Quadrant Concord.” He paused, and with a look over his shoulder, realized Gold Actual had left the room. He trot over to Fokienia, tone more conspiratorial, but still giddy. “Now, we’ve had our fair share of trouble with ECW loyalists, but it turns out the Project and I have a great deal in common. They want Cypress to stay independent as well!”

Fokienia saw the unicorn form of Gold Actual galloping down the hall. She stared past Golden Graham.

“Are you—? Oh, I’m sorry! You can’t see. I’m right here, Fokienia. Here, let me get that blindfold off of you.” As he unwound the thick cloth from Fokienia’s eyes, he prattled on. “At first, I worried they’d continued their research as a way of undermining Cypress for pure profit. But after some in-depth explanation, the militaristic operatives they were training were actually meant to aid in my mission. They were planning to usurp Concord in a more violent way, but now that they know that Cypress Concord are loyal to my cause, we no longer have to worry about that.” Stepping back, Fokienia met the beaming grin of Golden Graham with her real eyes. “So really, it was all a misunderstanding, but soon, we can have that solved, and the worst of our past put behind us.”

The wooden room they were stood in, Fokienia realized, was almost identical to the conference room she’d initially met Graham in. A projector on the wall was aimed directly at an empty space, and beside that space, a terminal and control panel were sat next to a setup that looked an awful lot like the computer Cold had in his ship’s quarters.

“Fokienia?” He looked behind him at where she was looking then back. “Are you well? If you’re worried, we’re in my office. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. You don’t have to run or fight.”

The galloping hooves burst through the wooden door. It didn’t break, but it did slam into a doorstop fiercely.

“YOU IDIOT!” Gold Actual roared.

Graham stumbled backwards in shock. “W-what?”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you in here without bugging the room, did you?” Actual tapped his ear, then started advancing on Graham. “And you told her exactly what we didn’t want her to know.”

Graham stopped, then coughed. He adjusted the tie of his suit. “To be fair, you just told her that you didn’t want her to know that. Not that she couldn’t.”

With Actual’s rage focused on Graham, Fokienia looked down at her hooves. She could see now that the thing keeping her hooves locked together was not a set of hoofcuffs, but something even more familiar: a magnetic lock, specifically designed for her. The small metal cube was a tough thing to crack... if she hadn’t spent hours learning to slip out of it over the years.

With a few slick shimmies, the logic puzzle she’d memorized slipped off. She stood, kicked it off to the side, and looked back over at Actual and Graham.

Actual was holding Graham by the scruff of his suit jacket with his telekinesis.

A part of her wanted to intervene.

And then... she looked over at the door.

“Fokienia...” Graham laughed nervously. His brows furrowed her way. “Run.”

By the time Actual had turned, Fokienia’s servos were sending her full tilt down the hallway.

The hallway of the governor’s complex was cramped and easily blocked, but the patrolling ponies were not prepared for her in the slightest. She barreled right through most of them with her sheer weight and stride alone. The only ponies who gave her trouble were the unicorns as they ducked into the side-rooms to fire disabler beams after her, but she didn’t have to put much effort into dodging their panicked shots.

A locked pneumatic door at the end of the hall easily caved into her electronic whims, and she locked it behind her with a happy hum. Now out of the corridor, she took a look around the massive room she’d stepped into.

The tall white fountain caught her off-guard.

The courtyard was filled with green patches and symmetrically planted trees. Above her, a great dome of glass peered out into space. There were other buildings scattered around the practically marble cavern, and they looked identical the one she’d escaped. There was no sign of anypony around.

But the one thing that did catch her eye was the distant shape of a hover-craft.

Galloping to the right, she peered over the edge of a railing and was treated to a wondrous sight: far below her, the city of Cypress Central appeared as little specks. She was at the top of Cypress! As the hover-craft roared up, she found the little landing pad close by, and smiled brightly as the Concord vessel landed.

There were a lot of ponies inside, she realized. But for some reason, a great joy was filling Fokienia right now. The giddiness of freedom was intoxicating; she had run not out of her willingness to appease Graham, but to taste freedom again.

And she was rewarded by the opening of the Concord craft’s doors. Just not in the way she ever wanted to be.

Commander Gale stepped down from the craft, leading a pair of officers who came after.

A pair of officers who came after with Cold.

He was unconscious, but he was alive.

Gale blinked at Fokienia. Her mouth was totally inoperable, it seemed—she didn’t even make a sound. Thankfully, she eventually did. “Fokienia? Did they just... let you go?”

She ignored Gale, too occupied with taking in everything around her.

Another pair of ponies stepped out, dragging a familiar red unicorn with them. It was the officer Cold had taken with him... Ripshot. The pony who’d saved Cold had come back with him.

They were both still wearing their spacesuits, which had somehow been turned black, but they otherwise appeared fine.

Fokienia could only care more.

When Specialist Ravenwatch came after them, Fokienia’s spirits somehow rose even higher.

“Specialist!”

“Huh? Oh!” She blinked. “H-hello, Fokienia, now’s not really a good time...”

“But did they send their message?” She looked back at the governor’s complex, momentarily realizing the circumstances. But that, too, crumbled under the sheer optimism Fokienia was feeling. After what the governor had just told her... all it would take would be one glance from Princess Celestia to save Cypress. One message to reach the princess.

Gale blinked, and turned to the specialist. “Message?”

“I-I, um...”

The air began to shift. Fokienia felt it in the grass she was standing in. It traveled up her hindlegs. And it was... bad.

The very earth she stood on was scared.

And that terrified Fokieina.

Fokienia backed up toward the fountain. More officers disembarked from the craft. Everypony was watching her with wary eyes. But nopony made a move. She had no idea why.

From the governor’s complex, she heard a great commotion. And then...

The pneumatic door was wrenched open, and its screech shattered the blissful sound of the spraying fountain. Sundown came through first, and Sequoia ducked through the opening he’d made. They galloped up to Fokienia.

Sundown was breathless, but she managed. “F-Fokienia... We saw you... run. What’s the plan... now?” She found herself staring at Commander Gale and the veritable contingent she’d come with.

Fokienia pressed up against Sequoia, he laid a wing over her. The fountain behind them continued to spray, and a light mist coated them.

“Something’s happening,” Fokienia whispered.

Sequoia didn’t have words. “You... you’re...”

“I’m what?”

Before he could reply, a flood of operatives and cyborgs from the governor’s complex filtered out into the courtyard. Trailing just behind them, Gold Actual appeared. He was still latched onto the collar of Golden Graham’s attire, but he now had an additional disabler levitated against the governor’s head.

All of that resulted in the Concord officers drawing their weapons. And following that, a second Concord hovercraft appeared. It was blasted with burn marks, and it was missing a door, but it was flying all the same.

Three parties stood in the courtyard. And to Fokienia’s surprise, she felt an inherent goodness among them all.

Nopony made a call-out, or moved at all. Most of the weapons were aimed at Fokienia, Sequoia, and Sundown, but a fair few operatives and officers—allegedly now allied—were aimed at one another.

“You’re you again,” Sequoia finally managed.

“What more do you want, Fokienia?” Gold Actual yelled out. “You got your answers. You heard what’s happening. This is Cypress. We aren’t letting Equestria stop us.”

Fokienia didn’t reply.

“For Project ponies, you can’t even keep your own projects under control!” Commander Gale yelled across the way.

“This isn’t your fight!”

“Oh, but it very well is!” Now, Gale levitated her long-rifle from her back, and mounted it in the side of her armor. “The mare’s harmless. There’s no need to fight anymore. So, what are you fighting for?”

“Harmless? That mare—”

“Wiped your team out several times? That says more about your leadership than her.”

“She did so with the help of the kirin you’ve got there.”

Fokienia couldn’t believe what was going on. The bad feeling was fading, and it was quickly being replaced by... something familiar. It was warm, but cold, and yet, good...

“He put more effort into caring for Cypress than you have. I’ll bet that you’re just as non-Cypressean as the mercs with you!”

“I—”

Instead of Gale’s next lash back, a new voice called on Gold Actual. “Your family was from Equestria!” an operative shouted out. All eyes landed on the random pony. Or rather...

Cascade? He’d flipped sides? Again?

Or had he ever?

Beside him, Fokienia saw Holly. She’d been disarmed, but she was safe. It made stopping to listen to the prattling bat pony all the easier.

“Yeah, you were from one of those mining fleets! I remember you babbling non-stop about it off-duty!”

“Shut it! I was born in Cypress—”

“Nopony believes that!” Fokienia realized she’d mistaken Cascade’s tone as anger, as opposed to the sheer wall of stubborn smugness it really was. He continued, this time aiming to share his jeers with Commander Gale. “Yeah, Gold Actual’s just as bad as the rest of us! Some of us actually care about Cypress. He’s as bad as the Project directors!”

“And how would you know anything about them?” Gold Actual seethed. “You’re talking out your flank!"

Fokienia realized what was going on, now.

This was the life ponykind had been intended to live. The way they’d behaved before they’d become inhabitants of the void. The way they acted in the history books she’d grown up in.

The way Equestrians acted: solving problems with words instead of violence.

“I’ve got ears in places you’d never believe!”

“But you don’t know the history as much as I do! You’ve been in the Project for what, three years? I know more about our prized mare than anypony else has right to know! I’ve spent ten years stopping her from getting out, ten years working this retrieval unit with every muscle in my body. Every last drip of saline, blood, and plasma.”

Fokienia could see the cyborgs shifting, and when she looked, she saw them looking at her.

“You want the truth?” Gold Actual threw Golden Graham forward, who crashed against the white regolith concrete. Actual met Fokienia’s eyes. “You want the truth about who you are, C0? You are the very pony keeping us all from the grasp of Equestria.”

Fokienia shivered. “W-what?”

“You don’t remember! We made it so you didn’t! You were the perfect genome, a filly with an albinism that where most saw flaws, we saw a gift!”

Graham, who’d been in the process of pushing himself off the ground, froze. Fokienia stared at him and Actual both.

“The directors staged an accident, and I fulfilled it! Their bio-engineered payload set off that chain of nerve destruction! Blamed some disease at the behest of the docs, and got your father—” he pointed down with his pistol “—to ‘shut us down’. To give us the cover we needed to keep our work going without prying eyes! To build you into the mare you were meant to be! Delivering that payload was the best thing I ever did!”

Graham pushed himself onto his forelegs. He stared up at Fokienia, his jaw agape, and his eyes a flurry of pain.

“We saw the military applications genes could do for us! We had the perfect base to build augmentations from! And we did it! You know you can see! Look at your new legs! Look with your new eyes! Look at what you’ve allowed us to bring to Cypress!” He gestured in the direction of the cyborgs.

And they looked to Fokienia with that same spark of emotions that she and Sequoia had just unlocked.

Gold Actual dry heaved for a hair of a moment, then stood back up. “We’re done! The Project is complete! Cypress can fend for itself! Not even the power of alicorns could stop us from keeping our freedom from the Crown!”

The soft voice that pervaded the silence in the wake of Gold Actual’s screamed confession was a yell of its own, and one that pierced the heavens themselves.

“But... you failed.”

Searing Cold stepped forward, hoof by hoof. He was still standing, and as he walked, flaking bits of his suit cracked to the ground below.

The seething of the unicorn carried on ten-fold. “You—you have nothing to say! You did nothing but take Cypress further away from freedom!” Actual yelled. “Taking C0 and trying to tell Equestrians about her was a gambit you made out of your own self-righteous need to muddle in the affairs of ponies!”

Cold didn’t speak. He continued his way up the street, his eyes intent on Fokienia. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she watched the bedraggled stallion pull himself on.

“Her name... is Fokienia!”

Gold Actual fumbled his speech as a fierce buck of an earth pony plowed right into his gut. His disabler dropped with his telekinesis, and he went flying across the street.

The governor dusted his hooves with regolith, and strode with purpose toward the felled unicorn. “I gave Cypress everything.”

The shattered voice of Gold Actual broke across regolith cobblestones. “You... weren’t willing to give enough...”

“You TOOK—” Golden Graham broke into a gallop “—my DAUGHTER!”

As Graham rushed after the unicorn, Fokienia felt herself pushed ever-so slightly.

Her heart sank as she turned to the force. “Cold...” she whispered.

The kirin clung to her weakly. “Stop him...” he managed.

Fokienia looked to Golden Graham. Looked to the unicorn who had done nothing but hurt her for half of her life. And in that moment, the good feeling in her froze still.

She could allow this violence to happen.

Or she could put an end to it.

As her mind put everything to process, her eyes caught on the tiniest detail. As Golden Graham galloped, his patchy left hindleg swirled with a flashing aura, before it burst in a flash of light. Where his hoof fell, instead of the steady staccato stride, a metallic clunk now reamed out.

The illusion faded in its entirety: it was a metal hoof, extending down from the top of Graham’s fetlock. It didn’t whir and whine, but it creaked and groaned.

It was him. It was really him.

Fokienia screamed, her voice the shrillest it’d ever been. “DAD!”

Golden Graham stumbled and slipped, missing Gold Actual by mere hooves.

As Fokienia galloped down the steps of the fountain, Holly flew by to take her place. She didn’t look back to see Cold being supported by her, or the love and faith she pressed into him.

Fokienia galloped over to Golden Graham. He stood there over Gold Actual, breathing heavily. His neat comb and tail were now a mess, and his tie loosed by his fury.

“Dad,” she whispered. “I... I never knew...”

Graham’s hooves were heavy, but he stepped forward to meet her. “They may have forced you to forget our family... but I never forgot my foal.”

“But... I’m not...” She grappled with her own words. “Am I what you believe?”

“I had a feeling,” he muttered, cresting close enough to hold her cheek. “When I first saw you... I wished it was you. I saw you, and I imagined what my little filly would look like as a mare. And she was beautiful. And bright with the colors she always wanted.”

“...They let me choose them.”

“And your name?”

Fokienia smiled lightly. “Sundown said it’d be a strong one.”

Golden Graham laughed. The laugh was deep, and joyous, a far departure from the tight terseness Graham once spoke in. A pure distillation of the kind of peace she sought.

Fokienia leaned down to the earth pony, and she allowed him to rear up and embrace her. Graham winced as he came to rest against her, but that was fine: together, these wounds would heal.

Above them, the dome sky shifted in color. A great wave of rainbows appeared in the black of space, leaving spatial ripples, like stones skipped across a lake. The reaming hum that followed it twinkled like the comets and stars in Equestria’s celestial sphere... and it resonated with the good feeling of harmony, friendship, and peace. The same feeling that now flowed freely through Fokienia.

The capital ship was not alone: it was followed by a mix of several dozen cruisers and destroyers, whose drives left imprints in space-time. Their entrance paled in comparison to the lofty capital—there was simply no contest with a vessel almost half the size of Cypress—but they still flashed the ponies below with a show of rainbows.

The grand armada settled into the space above the station.

And the princess willed an end to Cypress’ darkest hour.

Author's Note

Against the dark, a tall white filly played.

Thank you very much for reading. We’re almost there.

18 - Ad Astra Per Aspera

“My name is Fokienia.”

The mess hall of Central Command really was a mess.

“What’s yours?”

But that could be fixed in time. Destroyed furniture could be replaced, and disabler beam burns could be scrubbed out. Probably.

“...My name is C23.”

“So you do talk!” Fokienia pursed her lips. “But that’s not your name. Not one that matters. You had to have had one.” She looked around at the other seated ponies. “You all had to.”

The cyborgs stared blankly at her. In truth, it was difficult to tell they were cyborgs at all. But now that they were close, and weren’t actively moving, Fokienia could see the augmentations they had.

She was capable of scanning electronics, and so far as she could see, the skulls of these ponies were filled to the brim with more electronics than she or Sequoia had ever held. They weren’t simple, either: there were definitely traces of neurostimulators, and for the most part, their strength came from whatever training had been placed in the apparent data-banks, which were dangerously crammed into their heads in an all too literal way. The reasoning behind their enhanced endurance could be seen in the tiny glazed sheen across their eyes: like her and Sequoia, their blood had been treated with hyperplasma, but the sheer amount present in these ponies...

Without a doubt, were it not for their dulled receptors, the pain they would be suffering from would be immense.

A chill sat deep in Fokienia’s bones. If the Project had gotten away with all of this...

She closed her eyes, and breathed. “It doesn’t matter. We can get help, now.” As she spoke, Concord was currently coordinating their raids on operative hideouts... and the Facility. She was all too glad to never see that place again. “No more Containment. We’re free.”

She didn’t tell them that the Equestrian soldiers now assisting Concord and the ponies of Cypress weren’t exactly letting them free. She barely understood what would happen to all of them before the princess’ armada lifted Cypress Station—and the system at large—out of lockdown.

She glanced briefly over her withers at the plethora of Equestrian troops guarding the sides and entrances to the cafeteria, then back to the cyborgs.

All she knew was that her friends were safe, the detention center in Concord HQ was filled with operatives like Gold Actual, and the ‘compliant and neutrals’ like herself just had to wait.

She was more than happy to.

The doors to the mess hall opened again. Fokienia sat up expectantly. Sundown, Sequoia, and Cold had all been taken away one-by-one, and for the longest time, it had just been her and the cyborgs.

The pony at the door wasn’t one she knew. All of the Equestrian soldiers looked the same. It was a weird facet of their force that she wasn’t sure how to take: even the cyborgs still kept their individuality.

“Miss Fokienia?” The guard asked.

She twitched at the odd addition to her name. “Yes?”

He nodded. “Come with me, if you would.”

She glanced back at the cyborgs. They followed her every move. Just like the guards watching them in turn.

“What about them?”

“You’re all receiving the same treatment. Now please, the princess is waiting.”

Fokienia blinked, and with a quick wave at the cyborgs, hurried over to the guard. The giddiness in her steps didn’t go unnoticed by the soldiers around, but she didn’t bat an eye at their smiles.

The princess, it turned out, had been receiving everypony in the control room.

And the princess was not the one she knew.

“You’re not Princess Celestia.”

The eyes of all the ponies in the room, including her friends, stared at Fokienia with enough energy to genuinely discomfort her.

The alicorn just smiled. “No. But I have answered Cypress’ call for aid. And I am most pleased to meet another ardent defender of peace.”

Her coat was a dark blue, and rivulets of black were pressed to the coat on her haunches. The alicorn’s cutie mark was that of a thick crescent moon which sat against the dark splotches, and a less accurate moon was pressed to her peytral. The rest of the shiny black regalia she bore in place of Princess Celestia’s gold customs accentuated her tone in a much darker manner than Fokienia expected. But the genuine smile she wore, and the lightness in the alicorn’s graceful tone indicated otherwise: it was very nearly motherly, as the soft tenderness behind her words settled sweetly on Fokienia’s heart. She’d listened to a few audio recordings of the Princess of Equestria, so she very well knew what she expected to hear.

The last touch of light that made following the alicorn a viable prospect could be found in her mane and tail: the striking resemblance of stars streaking through her ethereal hair sent ripples of delight through Fokienia’s heart. Dark as she first appeared, a close look provided Fokienia with the hope she sought.

Princess Luna was not Princess Celestia, but she still carried the regality and glow befitting a leader of ponykind.

“I am Princess Luna. But you, Fokienia, may call me Luna.”

Fokienia, somehow managing to pull herself together, bowed for Luna as she would for Princess Celestia.

Luna didn’t speak until she’d risen again. “Your companions have informed me of much. But they spoke of you most highly.” She paused. “Even in the wake of the great destruction you have caused...”

To the side, Sundown awkwardly shifted. Sequoia settled her with a wing. She quickly shrugged it off, but not as roughly as Fokienia expected.

Fokienia looked to Cold. He had been cleaned up since being taken from the cafeteria, and he looked like his usual self. He nodded at her.

If he was so brave and strong, then she could be, too.

Her throat still fell dry as she went to reply. “I...”

Luna raised a foreleg in a staying motion. “Your actions need no justification. As we speak, I am certain of several happenings, and as my ponies continue our investigation, I am further certain that we will find all actions taken by you to have been necessary, and many more as outcomes of happenstance. Sundown Periapsis, a most loyal subject from the tribe of the night, has confessed a great deal on your behalf.” The princess beamed briefly at the bat pony, then returned to Fokienia. “But as many truths have been tested, and passed, I have only found it fitting to deliver amnesty in return for your acts of valor and redemption, as I have for others beyond this place.”

“Others?”

The princess nodded. “I do not wish to heavily persecute those involved in this... conflict. Along with my advisors, we see no need. Equestria has seen vast, scathing waves of violence in these passing centuries. Despite my role as the piercing horn of Equestria, I have tried to take after my sister, to offer leniency to ponies where I can. I have seen the ends an ill-held grudge can create.” She paused. “We must treat this situation with respect to all, in spite of the lines crossed here. I would be a fool to preach against redemption, especially where great bouts of effort have been poured into the path of atrocity.” A puff of air escaped her nostrils. “But that is enough of that. Some ponies—certain... corporate entities, shall we say—will require more forgiveness than others, but you and your companions are far from that fate. You have done Equestria and its citizens a great service.”

Having only acted on the feelings she’d rekindled, Fokienia didn’t know what to say.

“I must thank you again, captain.” Now, the princess turned to Cold. “Were it not for your leadership in this time, I would not be here today. Furthermore, I must confess that what I have learned from our prior conversing has led me to question my own decisions in the current Griffonian Conflict. When I return to the systems of strife, I am sure to lend my hoof more willingly to those beyond ponykind.” She bowed her neck. “You have my utmost, immortal respect. The involvement of the kirin ways in this history will not go unnoticed. Our stars will remember the path to peace as you have taught me. I will ensure it.”

Searing Cold bowed deep, and slow. “Thank you, princess. I’m honored.”

She gave him a satisfied nod. “And I as well, for you have done more than teach me. You have saved a most precious gift for ponykind as a whole to learn from.” When she turned again, Fokienia was caught off-guard: Luna’s eyes were predatory in a strangely desirable way. She swept the room. “Fokienia, Sequoia, and the machinations behind them will prove to be a boon.”

Sundown suddenly sputtered. “P-Princess Luna!” She stepped forward. “There’s nothing good about—”

A guard in a deeply-hued purple set of metal armor suddenly stepped into view. Fokienia hadn’t seen him anywhere, and yet, the bat pony now had a spear pressed a hooftip from Sundown’s throat. The action made the room, save for the princess, harshly flinch.

Luna’s eyes were hard as she stared Sundown in the eye. “Sergeant, I shall allow our subject to finish.”

When the sharp-point of the spear curled away, Sundown swallowed thickly, then continued. “Princess, with all due respect, I gave Fokienia the means to escape because the Facility’s research had to stop. Nopony was going to stop them, and I knew something had to be done before they made their move.”

“Yes,” Luna replied simply. “That is why there are thirty-four of these ponies awaiting judgement. Two of whom stand among us, now. Because this Facility’s research sought resolution.”

“Are you going to destroy us?” Sequoia’s voice was a dull monotone, but the words made Fokienia shake.

The princess took a sharp breath, and leveled off with Sequoia. He was half a head shorter than the alicorn, but she still craned her neck slightly to look at him. “No such examples will be made, dear Sequoia. You present the means for a way forward.”

As she paced back, the room drew its attention to the camera angle centered on the monitoring ring’s widescreen. The camera was pointed directly into the cafeteria. Fokienia could see the thirty-two cyborgs still sitting where she’d left them: their eyes were still pointed at the door she’d exited through.

“These are our subjects,” Luna said softly. “In allowing Cypress to keep its independence, we allowed this technology to develop too far without a staying hoof.” She reflected for a moment, and Fokienia could tell her friends were thinking just as hard as the princess was. Luna came about again. “Since my sister’s late student’s passing, and the loss of a true, true friend... I have eagerly watched over the development of Equestria’s borders, and the technologies our little ponies have fronted to contend with the rigors of space. When I was a filly in ages long past, it was a scant concept to leave our homeworld. The stars could never hold physical form for us, we thought. Twilight Sparkle fulfilled this dream in decades of great cost.”

Luna bowed her head, and spoke quietly. “She had been my first friend after a millennium of loneliness. She accomplished a great deal in her long, yet short life. A wonderful soul who understood friendship and magic in a way no single pony has since come close to.” She raised herself high. Fokienia swore she saw a tear, but the princess’ eyes appeared dry. “The ingenuity of Cypress reminded me of her work. It became my duty to ensure the Cypresseans could fulfill their ambitions, but to also do so in a way that maintained harmony. And I tried to keep out of the affairs of this place, for I feared I would topple the tentative balance required to mix technology and magic with an overtly cautious approach. Alas, it collapsed on its own.”

Finally, Luna returned to Fokienia. “But, in the ashes of this conflict, you persevere. A pony pure of heart, holding the magic of friendship, but also the undeniable proof that technology and magic can co-exist without violence. You are a peacemaker, a pony as pure as the kirin before us.”

Cold spoke up, and the purple-armored guard allowed him to speak in full. “I’m not exactly the greatest example of a kirin, Princess Luna.”

“And yet, you have shown that this pony, a mix of machine and mare, can know peace. Can seek to understand friendship. Try to make sense of life’s tenets.” Luna smiled. “I see no reason why these ‘cyborgs’ cannot co-exist with Equestria, and give ponies the inspiration to pursue life-altering technologies.”

“You want to make an example out of them?” Sundown asked. She didn’t step forward, but she fired a hot glare at the guard when he thumped the back of his spear into the floor.

“In a way that has yet to be realized. This research... I can see it has taken the journey of life on a different course. Where technology is not simply a means to our existence, but a path of its own. Twilight Sparkle forged a path to the stars. Fokienia has trailblazed a way for healing. A healing of both the equine form, and the astral erosion of ponykind’s minds. Surely you see this, Sundown Periapsis?”

When Sundown replied, she was the meekest Fokienia had ever heard her. “I joined the Project because I believed that we’d be healing ponies. I wanted to put my talents to use in giving ponies a way to build their strength. I was tired of believing my destiny would always be about fighting. But ponies will always abuse trust...”

“To be sure, the ponies who developed this technology had conflicting ideologies, but what you say is simply not true.” The princess stepped forward, her wings extending slowly; they were expansive things, very nearly scraping the floor as she moved toward Sundown. The candor in her tone intensified. “I do not blame you for your beliefs. It is a conflict ponykind has faced since we began reaching for the stars. But I believe that any pony can change. Every pony has good in their heart. It is only a matter of being willing to find it, and that struggle has often conflicted with the danger and rigors of life among the celestial bodies.” She stopped a few hooves away from Sundown. “With proper guidance, this technology can bridge the gap across the fear ponies face of mixing technology with our very bodies. If we may morph ourselves with magic, why should technology face such stigmatism? Especially when technology can heal where magic cannot.” Princess Luna reached out with a hoof, and placed it gently on Sundown’s withers. “This, my little pony, is why I wish to give these ponies a chance.”

“...I trust in your judgement, princess.”

“I do not want your trust. I want you to trust in the ponies around you to do good.”

Sundown sucked in a breath, then nodded. “I understand.”

“Thank you. And thank you for the choices you’ve made. The suffering you’ve endured... and the suffering you have inflicted... in time, you will see that others have already forgiven you, and that you may forgive yourself. It was the most difficult task I have ever faced. But I can assure you, you will be a better pony for it.”

Sundown wiped her fresh, hot tears. “T-Thank you, princess.”

“It is well to cry, my little pony.”

And so, she did.

As Sundown quietly cried, the princess enveloped the bat pony in her great wings. Sequoia stepped in again, settling his metal pinions over Luna’s own, and wrapping Sundown further. The princess didn’t seem to mind.

Cold looked to Fokienia, and she bore a tiny smile for him. Cold smiled back.

When the princess separated herself from Sundown, she hushed her subject’s apologies with a caress of her wings, and moved to stand between Fokienia and Cold. “There are some things I would wish to discuss in private, if you would join me?”

She received an instant nod from Cold. “Of course, princess.”

Seeing no reason to refuse the princess who’d comforted her surrogate mother, Fokienia joined them.

As they strode through the halls together, the princess said nothing. Fokienia remarked in just how sizable the alicorn was: though Sequoia was taller than Fokienia, she was still impressed by how she stood a full head below the alicorn. It was especially impressive for a mare with so lithe a body; she’d often wondered if her imposing stature was a result of needing the body weight. But Princess Luna’s graceful façade proved otherwise.

The princess led them to the patrol craft flight deck. While the corridors had been filled with guards, as they may have on any normal day in Cypress, the flight deck was entirely depopulated. The only things present were two patrol craft: the pristine one that had brought Fokienia here before, and the damaged one that still looked like a scrapped wreck. And yet, it had flown.

By now, daybreak had come: Cypress Central’s orange hues had shifted back to artificial sunlight for the most part, though tinges of sunrise lingered at the far end of the city. Almost all of the smoke had been waved away, and the skies were once more filled with flocks of pegasi, although no carts or vehicles pulled through the working teams and scattered civilians. Cypress Central was already recovering from the four hour war they’d endured, and Fokienia could only hope that Cupresso and the cities beyond had fared a better fate.

In her heart, she knew everything was going to be okay.

The princess stood on the edge of the opening to the city below, just over the black-and-yellow hazard line etched there. Cold stood to her left, safely behind the line, while Fokienia joined her at the edge. For a time, they didn’t speak.

Out over the smoldering embers of the war for Cypress, three peacemakers pondered the future that would come.

“I am only sorry that I cannot stay longer,” the princess finally told them.

“You’ve saved Cypress,” Cold replied. “You’ve saved us all, Princess Luna.”

“Have I?” Luna turned to Fokienia. “There is much work to be done to fulfill the dream I envision. I can weave these dreams, but it is perhaps harder to bring them to fruition in the waking world. And it shows. It was through your joined efforts that you both brought peace. I am surely less experienced here than in the unwaking plane.”

Fokienia tilted her head. “Where’s that?”

Luna tittered. When Fokienia tilted her head further, Luna shook herself. “I apologize. I am not laughing at your lack of knowledge. The realm of dreams is not so much a physical place.” She took a breath. “I have devoted my immortal life to ensuring the continued existence of Equestria and its ponies. Often, the aspirations of my subjects appear in their dreams. It is there that I travel to help them conquer the doubt that plague their attempts at destiny. A pony who can conquer these fears and unknowns alone is a rare pony, indeed.”

“I don’t have dreams.”

“Oh, but you do, Fokienia. Dreams that you and I both share.”

Fokienia tried to think of what they could possibly have shared. Dreams... aspirations... Luna had said so much in so little time, and not all of it was profoundly clear to her.

“These ‘cyborgs’... Do you believe they are still ponies beneath?”

“Yes,” Fokienia immediately replied. Of course they were still ponies.

“Do you believe they can be saved? That they can earn their freedom as you and Sequoia have?”

“Yes.”

“If I were to task you with doing so, would you?”

She hesitated. “I would try.”

Luna smiled warmly. “As my sister might say, that is the correct answer.”

“Where would I start?”

“I would wish to keep contact with you, and help you. When I return to New Griffonia, I cannot say how long their war shall last, but I will do all I can to assist you as you feel necessary.” She paused. “I am making the assumption that you wish to stay in Cypress. I fear I may have been too quick to impose this request on you. I will not blame you if you wish to leave.”

“No!” Fokienia took breath. “No, no I don’t want to leave.”

“Searing Cold informed me that you wished to see the galaxy.” Luna’s brows furrowed. “Are you certain?”

A part of her still wanted to. But at the same time... “I... I have family here. And friends.”

Luna sighed in a certain way: it was almost exasperated. But whatever the princess was feeling, Fokienia knew it wasn’t aimed toward her. “As much as I am willing to forgive the governor, he will not be maintaining his position. His confessions, to his credit, were greatly detailed. But the extent of his attempts to evade Equestria’s regulations are simply too grievous to dismiss, without imposing on the autocracy of our ponies’ worlds.”

“But I still want to stay with him. To get to know him. He’s... he’s my father.” Fokienia paused. “I... I have a dad. And the chance to get to know him.”

“I see. And of course, your friends, yes... I simply wouldn’t want you to feel pressured to achieve this dream, Fokienia.”

“No, I want to help you... Luna.”

The princess nodded. “I am looking forward to forging a future for ponykind with you, Fokienia.” Smiling, she then turned to Cold. “Speaking of which... I must inquire about your deliveries.”

Cold stood as tall as he could against the alicorn and the earth pony. “As you wish, princess.”

“Your co-pilot, Officer Ripshot, I believe. He will be recovering for quite some time. Unfortunately, he does not have the resistance to heat as you do, and the beam that disabled your vessel was quite the blow.”

Fokienia’s eyes went wide. “Cold! You were shot?” For some reason, she hadn’t even considered that they were burned because of what had occurred during their mission for the relay.

Despite the circumstances, Luna smiled. “Bravely so.”

“I’m glad to hear that Ripshot is alright.” Cold relaxed his withers. “I was getting worried when nopony would bring him up.”

“From what remained of your vessel, ‘alright’ is not quite the word one should use.” Luna’s tone was grave. “T’was even luckier for your message to reach us. We had been preparing the Tantabus and its Friendship Drive for a warp across several Griffon quadrants. The diversion of our destination was as well-timed as fate could allow.”

“I’m sorry for inconveniencing you with your rescue, then.”

She leaned in, shocked. “You did not—” When Cold laughed, the princess hummed with playful disdain. “Ah, I see. I was informed by my investigators that you were quite a different kirin... most would not think to joke in my presence, no less in a time such as this.”

“It comes with working with ponies, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Which brings me to your history of smuggling in New Griffonia...”

Cold shrugged his withers, still jovial. “It’s free trade.”

“And courier-running for several local corporations that we have identified as aggressors in the bloomed conspiracy of this station at large.”

Now, his face fell. “Yes...”

“I’m sure you were aware of the illegal actions you took.”

His voice grave: “Yes, Your Highness.”

“But am I correct to say you were unaware of say, their connections to this... shall we say, anti-Cypressean effort?”

“Yes. So long as the cargo was safe and not strictly illegal, I delivered it.”

“And what did you plan on doing with the substantial amount of bits earned from your line of work?”

“...Cypress is my home, Princess Luna.” Cold straightened out of his slouch. “I have intentions of marrying the mare of my life. As much as I am one for seeing the stars, I would ultimately wish to spend the next years of my life in a place with ponies I care for. I have invested almost all of the bits I’ve earned into contributing to my special somepony and her business, as well as funding several exploration-based corporations.”

“And why is that?”

“To find a homeworld for my tribe.”

Luna was silenced by that.

“If you believe that I should be prosecuted—”

“No, that is not my intent, captain. I was simply curious, as I have a delivery I would wish to ask of you.”

His ears perked upward. “And what would that be, might I ask?”

She held a hoof up, then turned to Fokienia. “Fokienia... would you like to meet my sister?”

“Who is your sister?”

Luna glowed as she spoke. “Princess Celestia, who is currently residing in Canterlot Castle in a world quite far from here. You may know of her...”

The Princess?! Or rather, the princess she knew?! “I-I would love to!” More than anything, she wanted to say. But now, there were many things vying for that position. But still.

“My sister will be buried in her work, but I have it on good authority that she will be quite fond to make time to meet a pony as good at making friends as you. It will be a good break for you and her both... if that is a yes?”

Fokienia was too occupied bursting with joy to do more than nod. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Luna winked. “So now, Captain Searing Cold. Let us arrange a contract...”

19 - The Skies Forever Blue

“Miss Fokienia? The princess will see you, now.”

She stood carefully. Her metal forelegs clicked against the stone floor: the marble, the real marble tile was ancient, and she took great care to traverse it. The chances she could break it accidentally were low… but she wasn’t taking chances. Not here.

Not in Equestria.

As she followed after the guard, she took the time to inspect their garb. The gold armor of the Royal Guards that had brought her from the spaceport had been an ever-present sight, but she hadn’t had the chance to get a proper look. The fittings holding the golden plates together were worn and weathered, but the armor itself was polished to an absolute sheen. If she stood at just the right angle, she could see herself reflected in its surface. As for practicality, she knew she could cave the armor in with a quick throw of her forelegs. But this armor was the same armor they wore in the history banks. Perhaps they wore it not for protection, but… for history?

Cold would’ve known the right word for it. But he wasn’t with her; while she had come down to the ancient world that Equestria called home, he was instead docked at a massive station in orbit.

Fokienia had long since left her uniform behind. Cold had advised her to wear something nice, but she hadn’t had much of a selection, especially with the short time she’d had to prepare for the journey. Holly had taken her to her clothier friend’s shop, and while Mister Bolt had an eye for fashion, Fokienia had seen nothing that resonated with her.

So, Fokienia had gone as she was. For some reason or another, her friends had agreed that the princess would like that. And Fokienia very much wanted to please the princess.

The spaceport had been on the fringes of a sprawling city named ‘Ponyville’. On the shuttle she’d taken to descend to the planet—which was a smaller kind of starship that she’d been informed was meant for planetary flight—the only thing she’d been able to look at had been the sky. The sky was so blue and pristine, and as they’d punched through a sea of white clouds, she’d seen the city of Canterlot pressed to the side of the Canterhorn. It was much larger than the historical resources in the data-banks had portrayed it as: the city now wrapped all around the mountain—and then some—but the purple-gold colors, and the impressive waterfall, were much the same.

As they’d turned to the south, the landing in Ponyville had not been so fantastical: it reminded her too much of Cypress. Sprawling metal, concrete, and synthetic complexes, no matter how colorful, were still not the Equestria she’d learned about. She did like the ‘bullet train’ the guards had taken her to. The fast land-crossing Friendship Express had been a wonderful, albeit too short moment to see the green-laden fields of grass and flowers that still stretched beneath the Equestrian sky. Even then, the stones of the magnificent halls of the venerable Canterlot Castle satisfied the particular sense of homesickness Fokienia hadn’t realized she’d fostered.

Was it possible to be homesick for a world she’d only visited in dreams?

Yes. Yes, she was certain she could.

The vast halls were beyond tall, and beyond wide. Each hallway seemed even more expansive than anywhere in Cypress. The open air, the sheer amount of distance between the guards hugging the walls, and the immense stained-glass frameworks that were actually made of glass. She gaped openly in awe as she followed after the guard. Now, she actually regret not wandering from her bench: there was so much to see in this place alone that she could probably spend years traversing the hallways.

This place, she quietly noted, had existed for thousands of years. Few ponies had been here during the peak of its activity, and far fewer were here now. Still, she could imagine the flood of ponies in this grand palace, vying for a sight of or even a word with their princess.

Fokienia and her escorts turned away from the one room she recognized from her history banks: the grand doors leading to the throne room. Instead, they diverted onto a quiet side corridor.

The marble-cut walls appeared less dull than the rest of the castle proper, and the tiles rattled less. No, this area was relatively new. A frontier that she had the privilege of being one of the first to explore. There were even less guards here, and as they walked further and up increasing levels of steps, Fokienia became aware of the fact that they now had to be going into the depths of Canterhorn Mountain itself.

She sucked in a breath as the air cooled, and she squinted ahead with her optical implants, eager to catch sight of the princess. The only shapes she could make out were far too small to be ponies, and they skittered along inside the walls around them.

Fokienia decided that it would be wise to not inform the guard. If those little things weren’t hurting anypony, then there was no need to disrupt their activities.

Finally, the cool under-mountain air led them to a simple door, simple in that it lacked any technological apparatus: there was no console, ID reader, or kiosk; it was a heavy vault door embedded below a marble archway, and that was that. Still, the end of the long hall was grand to be sure, but it was hardly as decorated as the tapestries and stained glass of the inner-castle hallways. It was clear they that many weren’t intended to come through here: where they stood now was practically a bunker.

The guard spun the strange white-metal vault door open, and gestured her in. Fokienia moved forward before she could get stuck looking in.

As the guard shut the door behind her and took up a position as sentry, Fokienia was treated to the isolated study of Princess Celestia.

And the princess herself was just like the pictures.

Fokienia immediately broke into a full bow, pressing deep into the soft carpet below. Her ears twitched as the sound of a softly crackling fire fumed—which made her worry just a little bit—but even more when she heard a tittering giggle pass through the lips of Princess Celestia.

“Welcome to Equestria, dear.”

Shaking, Fokienia lifted herself up. She gazed longingly at the white alicorn: she was even wearing her regalia. The crown was identical to the one in the pictures. And her voice... perfect.

“P-Princess Celestia...”

“Come closer, Fokienia. I have not had a guest in quite some time.”

As she approached, Fokienia took stock of the greater room. The oracle-like chamber was painted in soothing shades of deep lavender and cornflower blue. The few pieces of furniture were either purple with yellow trims and accents, or simply made of gold. The foremost of the gold pieces was a gilded cage on a pillar; the door was open, and the cage empty. The room was remarkably well-lit despite the only sources of light being the fire, and a faint floating orb that rested at the underside of the rotund ceiling. The smell of the old world—paperlike in nature—was strong, and as she grew close to the desk Celestia was seated at, the scent intensified.

Smiling warmly, Celestia invited her once more. “Please, take a seat.”

Fokienia did so without hesitation.

“I apologize for the long trek. As I said, I have not had visitors in quite some time.”

On the desk, a ceramic tea set for two had been carefully arranged. When Fokienia looked into the steaming cups, however, she noted that the bright orange liquid looked nothing like tea.

Fokienia was tickled in an odd way by the sight of Celestia’s horn: the majestic alicorn willed the humming gold mini-fridge below her desk open, and levitated out a foil-wrapped bundle in her pale yellow aura.

“Truth be told, I do miss speaking with ponies in my office. This place is hardly where I’d imagined I’d be spending my years, but the engineers insisted that a more perfect balance between Equestria’s magical leylines and the Canterhorn’s radioscopic focal points could not be found elsewhere.”

Overwhelmed, Fokienia reached with both of her forelegs to grip the ‘tea’. She took a sip of the drink.

It was tangy, strong, and definitely bright. It almost felt as if her mouth was alight, though.

“’Synthetic Bottled Sunlight’,” Celestia explained humorously. “When Luna informed me of your desire to see me, I could look no further than a drink I had a hoof in creating.” She levitated her own cup and took a sip. “It has quite a kick, doesn’t it?”

Fokienia nodded numbly, and took another sip. It wasn’t very watery, and it fizzed on her tongue.

“But I will admit, I have been excited to meet you as well, dear.”

Finally drawing herself away from the rather addictive concoction, Fokienia put the glass down, and poked at the foil-wrapped food Celestia had presented her. “You have?”

“That’s yours, dear. You can unwrap it.” As she started on that, she was well aware of Celestia’s eyes on her legs. “Yes... You are quite a remarkable pony, believe it or not.”

Fokienia carefully unwrapped the package to reveal something quite surprising: it was... a sandwich? It wasn’t as compressed as the packaged meals Cold and her had shared, and it certainly smelled fresh. She peeled back more of the foil, lifted it up, and inspected it with a healthy dose of curiosity. “What is this?” she earnestly asked.

“That, my little pony, is a daisy sandwich.”

Once more, she felt Celestia’s eyes on her, tracking her with an impressive display of effort. Was the princess normally this observant? Well, she had to be! She was the ruler of Equestria.

Fokienia took a bite.

Then, another.

Celestia seemed absolutely delighted. But she carried on in spite of her mirth. “Luna relayed a great deal of information to me about your story. I would say that I have a good picture of you, but truth be told...”

Fokienia swallowed her double-bites, then waited for the princess.

“...you are even more than I expected.”

Fokienia lowered her gift back to the desk between them, carefully placing it down. She was going to eat that all the way through for sure. “More than what?”

Faintly, Celestia’s smile waned. “More than just a pony to believe in.”

Her ears perked attentively.

“You are capable of many things, Fokienia. And although you have only just begun, friendship appears to be quite your strong suit.”

“Princess Luna told me that.”

“I’m sure. But Luna is... more practical. Where she saw your friendship, she saw the work that could be done with it. Now, that’s not to say that I don’t see the good you’ve done and can do, but you are truly an exceptional mare, dear. You have a penchant for friendship that very few in these times will know.”

“I don’t see why. I ran into a lot of ponies who Cold was able to work into helping me... If anything, he’s the one with a ‘penchant’ for friends.”

“And you also helped many, dear. Cold is exceptional in his own way, but he is but one part of a greater whole. You, Fokienia, are a very special pony.” Celestia took another sip of her drink, and continued. “Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, I sent a young unicorn to a little place called Ponyville to make some friends... She didn’t believe in friendship. She wanted to make a difference, to prove her talent. And she did. Oh yes, my Twilight learned to believe in friendship, and she did make a difference...” She sighed.

Fokienia felt a pang in her heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, dear.” Celestia’s smile seemed stronger than ever. “Twilight took her time in this world with care, and that care only grew as she helped move our little ponies to the stars. She lived far longer than any pony before her ever had, and she went peacefully knowing she had spent generations fostering a network of unity in a time where many were unsure of just how brilliant the next day could be.”

“But now, she’s gone.”

“Dear, Twilight has been gone for a long time. Long enough for wars to be waged again.” Celestia shook her head. “You are the closest I have been to taking on a student in a very long time, dear.”

Immediately, visions of her in Celestia’s tutelage came to mind. Fokienia under the wing of the Princess of the Sun. She could scarcely believe that was even a possibility to consider.

“But I am not looking for a student. I am looking for leaders. Ponies to teach friendship. Ponies willing to follow in the hoofsteps of Twilight’s golden age.”

Fokienia’s hopes were dashed in an instant, and replaced by... different ones. She was already in contact with one Princess of the Night, and now she could could possibly be keeping up with the Princess of the Sun! And yet... “I’m not a leader.”

“Oh yes you are, dear. And I will not be letting you leave believing otherwise.” The amiable tone Celestia had was still present, but a somehow gentle sternness joined her. “In all the commotion to colonize the stars, my sister and I have struggled to find good examples for ponies to follow. Wars have been fought over differences that—on a once small scale—were easily solved with a few simple apologies. As I’ve heard it, Cypress Station did not suffer any serious loss of life. It’s the most peaceful conflict that ponies have waged in years, and you are a major reason as to why things went the way that they did.”

Fokienia couldn’t find a moment to break in as the princess’ energetic beam overwhelmed her.

“I want to hear more of that, dear. As my little ponies have stretched to the stars, such decisively positive outcomes have devolved into a rare commodity.” Celestia leaned back, lighting her horn again. A little holographic display suddenly appeared on the desk, and the tinny projector hung on the side hummed as it went. Using a hoof, Celestia ‘grabbed’ the interface, and flung it high.

The starmap flashed upward, and wrapped taut around the ceiling.

“These are the Equestrian Core Worlds, Fokienia. Do you see that little green dot, there?”

Among the dozens and dozens of other lights—varying from green, to white, red, and yellow—that green dot burned brightest. “Yes.”

“That is where we are. I spend every day of my week making sure that little dot is green for ponies to send their reports. And what do I do with these reports, dear? I read. And I watch as the bureaucracy Twilight created exponentially grows.” She shook her head, and looked down. Fokienia kept her gaze drawn to the revolving map of the colonized worlds. “Behind each of those dots are hundreds to millions of ponies. And at these distances, they cannot rely on me to cater to their every need. They need leaders who can be there and rule with them. Ponies of the same character as those of Twilight’s time. But after years of living in the void, these ponies are so very, very rare.”

Fokienia leveled her gaze out with Celestia. The weariness in Celestia’s eyes was suddenly clear. “It pains me to know I cannot be there for my little ponies, dear. To know there is so much hurt and pain that goes unnoticed. There is little I can do but ensure that Equestria burns bright. We are the beacon in the sea of the void. The ideal world that all strive to be.” She smiled sadly. “Were I a different pony, were I as good at friendship as my Twilight Sparkle, I would have done all I could to ensure that ponykind could share Equestria’s sunlight. But all I can do is ask for them to do their best. I love them dearly, Fokienia. And yet, it pains me greatly to see them strike out in the void, to claim stars for their own, and struggle.”

With one final tap of her magic, Celestia sent the starmap swirling back away.

“I will not bade you any further, dear. You came to see Princess Celestia, not an ancient mare too bedraggled by a happening long in the past.”

“History is important to me,” Fokienia said quietly. “I never got the chance to learn much more than what the data-banks said about Equestria. And you.”

“For as wonderful as Equestria is, I wish more ponies could be like Cypress, and see how wonderful a gift their place in the stars is. I didn’t always... but Luna reminds me everyday, now.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“Please don’t be sorry, princess. I want to hear more about the history... and the emotions you struggle with.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Celestia dabbed a corner of a wing to her eye. “But... I apologize regardless, dear. It is simply a part of me in this day and age.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“No... No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Once more, that perfect white smile returned, and Fokienia was all too happy to see it. “I understand that so much of this is new to you. I didn’t mean to overwhelm.”

“If I wasn’t overwhelmed, then I wouldn’t be forced to learn anything. It’s how I learn best, princess.” She cut in before the princess could respond. “It’s just how I am.”

“...I see.” Tenderly, Celestia lit her horn, and went for her drink. As she swallowed, a weak laugh bubbled up. “Listen to me, thinking practically. No, beyond the work, there is one thing I want most.”

Fokienia paused. “Anything.”

“I want to be your friend.” The princess fluffed her wings, and her ethereal mane and tail flowed with her. “I have all day for you, Fokienia. I had... a feeling, that you could help me. And I believe that I am correct.”

“I’d love to listen to you talk,” Fokienia repeated. “I’ve looked up to you my whole life, princess.”

“And why is that?” The question was soft, and non-accusatory.

Fokienia replied in kind. “Because I believed in you, and Equestria.”

Princess Celestia breathed, squeezing her eyes shut to do so. “It would please this princess greatly if you listened to her, dear.” She breathed a final great breath, and when here eyelids cracked open again, the magenta shine of her eyes washed over Fokienia’s very soul. “But be warned, I believe myself bound to dote on you endlessly in these coming moments.”

“I can be your friend, Princess Celestia. I’ll do my best.”

“And I as well. You will do more great things, Fokienia...” She fluffed her wings out, and after a moment, she was back to the picturesque princess. But Fokienia knew she was more than that: she was a pony who needed a friend, and somepony willing to listen. “I will not hold you to promises, but I will ask that you help ponies find peace. Ponies more in need of help than me.”

“But right now, I can help you.”

The princess’ words strummed like harp strings. “Thank you, Fokienia.”

The words tickled along Fokienia’s heart. With her focus on the world-weary princess, she held her ears high, and smiled. “...I think I’d like to hear more about Twilight Sparkle.”

20 - Cypress Zero

Wrapped in a blanket of white, downy feathers, Fokienia realized what she truly needed to understand life, and peace:

A friend to share it with.

On this isolated plateau, the two of them enjoyed the precious whistle of the cool wind at day’s end. The princess had disrobed as they’d come to lay together in the grass near the peak of the Canterhorn Mountain. And for Fokienia’s part, she’d shed her desires to speak, and resolved only to listen.

Just as easily as the stories of this old world came forth, so too did the drinks flow. Fokienia had downed several fizzy bottles of Sunlight, while the princess, for all her majesty...

Fokienia smiled warmly into the real sunlight; she opted not to peek at the carefully erected pyramid of orange glass.

It was hard to not feel happy after hearing so many tales of friendship and magic. Oh, and the lessons to be learned. There was so much. So much to learn. So much to unlearn. But in truth... each little bit of knowledge was everything, even if she already knew the lessons. Reminders of what she was fighting for... one of the most important concepts she’d be holding onto.

The day had been wonderful. So very wonderful, and full of all manner of knowledge to take back to Cypress.

Fokienia jolted slightly when the princess moved. Out of the corner of her eye, the distantly orbiting Royal Shuttle flashed its whites, purples, and golds in the now transient sunlight.

“I must admit something, Fokienia. One final note from your chatterbox princess.”

Fokienia smiled, and leaned close. “Okay.”

“I have not felt this alive in many, many years.” The princess licked at her lips, which caused Fokienia to giggle. “I suppose that is a bit funny, isn’t it?”

The steel-legged cyborg wound up immediately. “I-I’m sorry.”

Celestia tittered as gently as the final rays of her self-setting sun. “Discord... Do you recall his story?”

“Of course, princess.”

She nodded. “He comes and goes often, now. But the latest of his exploits was quite something.”

Recalling the stories of the trickster turned... soft-hearted trickster, Fokienia held her breath, and listened. She’d been doing a good job at not interrupting the princess’ tales, and she wasn’t going to start at the end of their day.

“He morphed an entire star system into a sweet frozen wonderland. A system of planets painted as perfect facsimiles of ice cream. It was really quite something. The first explorers to arrive at the system noted that the tundra planet’s ‘sprinkles’ were remarkably accurate. The triple-scoop cone of ‘immense geological activity’ was unforgettable as well.”

Fokienia, unable to maintain her composure, laughed brightly.

Thankfully, Celestia carried on. “And the Neighapolitan gas giant remains a fond image in my personal archives.” The princess’ ears prickled, and she bobbed her head with a well-mannered grin. “He frolics among the stars like a foal in a sandbox, Fokienia. It is so surprising for one who was so against Twilight’s work... initially. All she had to do to win him over was send Pinkie Pie his way.” She shook her head, though she still smiled. “An endless sea of stars. And an endless sea of pranks to go with them.”

“But now, I know he works toward a different purpose. He doesn’t often speak with ponies, especially in these times, but explorers... he is a bit of one himself. He is as all-knowing as I am. That is to say that we know little. The universe is vast, and full of strange magics, yet it is receptive to our own. He seeks anomalies just as we have, although for what purpose, I have yet to know. I do believe it has much to do with keeping ponykind ever-forward, as I know he does blaze the trail that leads ponies to the anomalies we take advantage of most. Why, the very drive that brought you here is powered by some of those discoveries.”

Celestia’s long horn lit bright. She swirled around her last bottle of Sunlight in a gentle sway of telekinesis. “In the end of her days, he did all he could to help Twilight. I’d like to think he maintains their friendship through his work.” With her musings in the air, she took a light sip, then set the bottle back in their sweet green grass.

“Perhaps, that is the greatest lesson for you to know, Fokienia. As ponykind continues forward, we grow in all manner of ways. But the bonds we form cannot be broken. No matter how distant our stars sit apart. No matter how many ages pass. And no matter what conflicts come.”

As the princess fluffed over Fokienia, the humbled earth pony thought of her dear steel-winged pegasus.

“Without conflict, ponies cannot grow. They become so ensnared in bands and herds that they neglect the histories that unite their destinies. You know this. Ponies are prone to forget. It is with good leaders, with good friends who listen to all thoughts, no matter their differences, that ponies can remember to trust in each other’s goodness. Clashing ideals are not defined as the dissolution of kinship. It can instead promote it. In these expansive times of growth by the millions, these bonds are more important than ever before.”

Celestia pressed her bottle to her lips, and hummed. Another sip. “For as long as I have watched over these lands in this age, I have tried to keep Equestria and our planet open to all. Pilgrimages are common, but restricted. But with your visit, I am reminded of just how important it is to truly meet with a pony, to meet with your friends on shared soil. Perhaps... perhaps I should take to Luna and Discord’s ways, and journey into the stars, if only to see my little ponies, and tell them I hear their worries.” She sighed wistfully. “But I seem unable to hold onto this lesson. So many conflicts have been allowed by my hooves... caused by my own doings, because I did not listen to my dearest friends. Even Discord, our Lord of Choas, has done better to remember his friendships, and lessons of harmony...”

“We’re not perfect, princess.” Fokienia’s heart jumped as the princess looked at her. But her confidence swelled: now was the time to speak up. “There is no healing magic. And there is no way to put an end to war. But we have ways of restoration. We can fix what we break, make up for our wrongs, even if it takes a long, long time. We can make peace, and make it last. We can learn and adopt new approaches, even if it means trying options many would consider... wrong. So long as we are creating, so long as we are attempting to better the lives of others, and finding success in even the smallest ways... that’s what should matter. That’s what we can do... with friends. That’s what life should be.”

The sun dipped past the horizon, and the stars of the galaxy opened above them. Fokienia stared into the firmament.

“That’s what it means to be alive.”

Princess Celestia bowed her head, silent in her swanlike complexion.

“I wish I had more to say...”

“There is little more that needs to be said, my little pony.”

Fokienia glanced back down, and into the gleaming eyes of her princess.

“You have friends, family, and many, many ponies looking up to you. They are waiting for you. And waiting for the lessons you have to teach them. You have a wonderful gift. A passion for peace, and prosperity. The willingness to remember, and pass down your goodness. The goodness you’ve kept close to your heart in spite of war. You are as much a student as you are a teacher, and the same goes for your fellow ponies. You can show them how alive you are, just as you’ve shown me. And you can continue to grow and learn. You are Cypress, Fokienia. And today, you have reunited Cypress with the home of ponykind. You have done great things, and with your friends, you will bring peace to many more.”

“I didn’t get here alone.”

Princess Celestia smiled, and with it, she blessed Fokienia with the last ray of Equestrian daylight.

“Then that will be the story you tell.”

Tread in Peace

Fokienia settled into one of the seats beside Cold. Ahead of them, the window of the Waste Peddler’s bridge peered out and across the blue green orb. The planet of Equestria had been a wonderful place. And now, she had to leave.

“You sounded happy on the comm-link. You’re even happier right now. Must’ve been some night with the princess.”

“I made a friend.”

Cold smiled at that. “That’s always a good thing to hear. You’re becoming a real friendmaker, you know that?”

“A friendmaker? What’s that?”

He tossed a hoof. “It’s just some word salad, Fokienia.”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, okay.”

Cold’s smile increased. He raised a hoof to his ear, then stopped short. “I’m about to call in our take-off. Princess Luna’s contract stipulates that I bring you back before she ends the Cypress System lockdown, and we’re running a night behind...”

“Princess Luna knows a bit about late nights. She’ll understand the delay.”

Now, Cold laughed—a wonderful sound, enhanced by its rarity. “Don’t get too used to keeping princesses waiting.” He glanced at his console, then back to Fokienia. “You didn’t forget anything down there, did you? I can guarantee you this, it’s a long trip both ways.”

As Fokienia took one last look at Equestria, she tried to imagine she could see right into Canterlot. Her augmented eyes strained for her: the sprawling cities and the great green plains around that area were visible, and of course, so was the Canterhorn, but buried deep in the center of that all, she was sure she could feel Celestia looking up at her. Would she ever see her again? There was a lot of work that needed to be done back home. Back at Cypress.

The longer she looked, the more Fokienia’s heart panged. “I just want to look for a little longer.”

“I don’t blame you.” Cold sighed, setting his foreleg back to rest.

As she stared out across the planet housing her Equestria, Fokienia was nigh breathless. The air around her swirled with the exotic hum of the ship, and a muffled tune played cheerfully from Cold’s ear. The white clouds tread slowly across the globe in the crawling sunrise, adding a near-shine to the not-so pale marble of pastel green and blue.

This was an experience to take back to Cypress. And just one of the many sequestered away in the fathomless depths of the galaxy. All beautiful. All real. All out there.

And she had a whole life ahead to find and share it all.

“You see that big dark green spot to the right, there?”

“Yeah... I do.”

“Well, believe it or not, but that’s where the mountain home used to be.”

Fokienia’s heart skipped a beat. She stared harder, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see the same degree of beauty reflected in the cloud-covered sky of Equestria. “It looks... covered in trees.”

“It’s a deep sickness in the soil. A blight you wouldn’t see until it was too late. Even with how close we are, we could never have anything like it again.”

Fokienia looked at Cold. Her lip trembled at the deep sorrow in his lament. But she was strong enough to help them both.

“But Cold,” she began softly. “We can try, can’t we?”

“We?”

“I want to meet some of your explorers.”

“They’re not mine. I just help fund them.”

“You said you were their lucky charm.”

“They said that, Fokienia.”

“But I want to bring some good news back to Cypress.”

“You coming back will be good news enough.”

The return of her friend’s precious smile meant ‘mission accomplished’.

Fokienia brimmed with warmth as Cold brought his hoof to his earpiece. A part of her wanted to pay attention to the conversation he was having with the pony on the other side, but she knew she’d be hearing more of it in the future.

As the starship ascended, Fokienia waved at the face of Equestria. It was a silly motion in hindsight, but she didn’t feel that way when Cold waved with her.

She liked to think that Equestria waved back.

Author's Note

Story notes.

1 - Space Kirin

“SCK-173, call sign Waste Peddler, you are cleared for landing at docking pad seven.” There was a pause, followed by a telltale laugh from the crackly-voiced pony. “Welcome to Cypress Station, captain.”

The starship captain clicked his end of the comm-link off, and tapped back through the holographic interface. The station operator’s voice had hardly faded before the vessel was once more filled with sound. His cloven hoof held its place, hesitating on the selection he’d made. He closed his eyes, and listened for a moment. Flat-lipped, his hooves returned to the flight controls.

“That’ll do.” Searing Cold hadn’t heard this song in a while.

The engine thrummed amid the metal corridors behind him, contesting the music for control of the airwaves. He coaxed the slow-firing thrusters into a roll, aligning the ship with the veil of one of the many docking bays carved into the side of the mountain-sized station. His eyes caught on the queue of ships phasing past the magical shield, and he plot his course accordingly. A set of indicators among his instruments warned him that a ship was pulling in abnormally close behind him, but he was in no hurry: his freighter had the mass to outclass the clear-as-day greenhorn.

Still, he ordered his ship forward with a boost. It replied with a rumble, and a guitar.

Cold glanced away from the canopy glass, once again raising a hoof to traverse his immaterial interface. A distinct tone rang out above the music, and the screen flashed with text: “Automated Docking: Enabled.”

The interface flickered off as he stood from his seat, landing on all four hooves. He gave one last check out the window just to be sure. Beyond the confines of the pressurized ship interior, he could hear jets of impulse reverberate through the hull as the computer made minute adjustments to his nigh-perfect alignment. Satisfied, he turned to the central access hallway.

Faster-than-light was never easy on his bladder.

In the midst of carrying out his business, his earpiece whined. A groan left him. He tapped the device. The music reverberating throughout the ship cut out, usurped by the buzz of a freshly opened comm-link.

“Boat’s as cute as ever, captain.”

Cold was suddenly reminded that his ship could probably do with a fresh coat of paint. Then again, the ‘rusting hulk’ look worked wonders at dissuading ‘unauthorized’ scans.

Unfortunately, it didn’t do much for the authorized.

Cold made his way over to the lavatory sink. His voice was reserved, though he was tempted to make his malice immediately known, if only for this pony. “Hello, Mister Ripshot.”

“Officer Ripshot.” He was on the clock. Great. “Hauling any illicit cargo this time?”

“Never have, never will.” Cold looked into the mirror, and tugged at the portion of aquamarine coat below his eyes. Cold had already felt the urge for a drink, but now it came on twofold. He sighed. “You gonna be riding my flank about that every time, now?”

The joviality behind Ripshot’s voice dimmed. “You’re just too quiet. I don’t like it.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“All of you say that.” A tinny alert klaxon came on the earpiece. “This scan is authorized and enforced by the Cloudsdale Quadrant Concord. Please comply,” Ripshot announced clearly. It was slightly undermined by the previous unprofessional exchange.

Cold closed the faucet. “Don’t make me call up port authority and report one of their officers for species profiling.”

A snort came through. “You’re looking too deep into it, Cold.”

“Based on previous encounters in the black, I’d hardly say I’m out of line.”

“Yeah, sure.” A pause. “You’re clean. Be seeing you, space kirin.” There was a certain pleasure in knowing he’d pressed this pony’s buttons. “Enjoy your stay at our station.”

Cold closed the comm-link first.

He ran a hoof through his mane, steering clear of his red, curling horn, and breathed. Soon, silence loomed.

Wincing, he clicked his earpiece, and the music roared to life where it’d left off. He turned it down a few levels. He trot back into the access hall, and then into the bridge. The automated pneumatic doors sealed behind him with an inaudible hiss, even without the music blaring.

Cold could see that the computer had since taken his bulky vessel in through the docking bay shield veil. As if the garish, metal skeleton of the bio-inimical facility was anything worth shrouding. For the stations closer to the Equestrian Core Worlds, their bays were fitted with projectors that simulated a planetside landing of sorts. It was a vanity made affordable for those well-within the reach of the Crown; they were traditionally sourced from royal edicts and funding. Cypress Station had none of that: it was green only in name.

Searing Cold wasn’t a stallion of vanity. He thrived on the isolation from amenity.

But he really wanted a drink that hadn’t been in vacuum.

Settling back in the pilot’s seat, he allowed the docking computer to finish pulling off the landing. The landing gears wound and ground beneath the vessel while it descended. He didn’t have to do much: he kept his hooves on the controls, ready to take over if need be. A lurch wove through Cold and the Waste Peddler when they finally touched down. While on the outside the ship constantly seemed on the verge of splitting at the seams, it was sturdy enough to weather higher-than-advised velocities when it came to landing, and Cold trusted himself to keep the internal components monitored and maintained. Planetary outposts were rougher in that regard, but those were few and far between in the Cloudsdale Quadrant.

The plating of the docking pad hummed as electricity and magnetic attraction took over. For his part, docking was complete. While the station’s mechanized clockwork pulled the ship in through an internal airlock and into the pressurized shipworks below, Cold disabled the docking computer and most of the other subsystems necessary for spaceflight. He stood and made for the captain’s quarters, which was down in the passenger cabin, closer to the heart of the ship.

At his quarters, he pressed into the hoof-shaped notch on the door, and turned. The slivers of metal that made up the door simultaneously sank and rose. The mechanism was practically an antique, but when the ship had undergone refurbishment, he’d decided to keep it. The passengers he sometimes ferried always commented about it, and he liked talking about it. It was a welcome distraction from the tourist trouble they usually posed. He stepped into the room, and it sealed behind him.

He’d also heard that the hesitation put on by an uneducated pony at those kinds of doors was the difference between life and death in boarding situations. Not that he had ever had an interest in dealing with those: the last thing he ever wanted was a potential fight on his hooves. Cold curated his clientele thoroughly. He was a starship captain, not a security detail.

It was also why the passenger cabin was empty on this particular voyage.

Grumbling, he suppressed his recent memories, and focused on getting prepped to leave the ship. Walking on firmer ground would do him good.

A few minutes later, Cold found himself lowered by the personnel elevator of the Waste Peddler. He stepped off the ship and onto the station, breathing in the fumes of plasma torches and thaumological welds. Behind him, the elevator ascended as it was pulled back into the ship. Reaching into the undercoat of his steel-toned jacket, he retrieved a small yellow tablet, no wider than two hooves, and no thicker than a heavy novel. His red horn lit, and the PDA chimed brightly before coming to life. It had barely finished its startup by the time he was connected to the station’s services. With his horn’s tactile magic, he navigated swiftly through the device.

The public station contacts list connected directly to his earpiece. There was a moment of standby, and then a click in his ear. He cleared his throat, and put a little energy into his voice. “Mister Mill, your delivery from Opinicus Anchorage is now on-station.”

It was a routine interaction. Anypony who was on the public list was a vetted and trustworthy contact. No nonsense, just business. They held a brief bit of discussion over access to his cargo bay, which was solved easily enough: specialized rigging on his ship gave workers access to only where they needed to be, and if they went any further, the station Concord in charge of this section of Cypress would be there. Unlike most stations, Cypress’ security had a preference for the visitors that fueled the local system’s economy. Other stations took care of visitors, sure, but the heightened security response times were something Cold would never turn down.

With one side of his hold’s cargo secured for transport, his time on Cypress was off to a great start. Cold glanced to the PDA to check the station-time—it was nearing evening—and pocketed the device again.

His coat prickled, and he looked around. The massive bay was fit for eight-ships about the size of the Waste Peddler, and a few dozen more for smaller vessels. The platform extending out toward his docking pad branched off from the main platform, where station crew, visitors, and sightseers—mostly young locals—were clustered. There were a few populated commercial businesses here, but all things considered, it was a fairly quiet chamber.

He peered back at the ship. The venerable blue brick loomed. It was motionless, save for a few tracking beacons of red, green, and white, each occasionally blinking. The magnets and electricity that had latched onto the landing gear had been cut off once the pad had reached a resting position. The sole sound that came from the ship now, was the occasional spine-tingling hum of the Sparkle Drive, its housing on the ship’s underbelly having opened on coming into contact with a magic-saturated atmosphere.

Once more, his ears swiveled in the direction of the Waste Peddler. He frowned and coughed. He reached up to his earpiece. If he wanted to get out and into the station proper, he was going to need music to get him moving.

With a fresh playlist assembled, he began trotting to the main platform. It wasn’t his first time at Cypress, so he knew each docking bay had the same general layout. Most notably, there was a subterranean personnel-bus that would take him up through the guts of the industrial sector, across the residential districts, and to the city at the center of the mountain. It was fast, free, and always there. In a way, Searing Cold and the main bus of Cypress Station weren’t too different from one another.

Except he never did it for free.

“This shuttle is now arriving at Cypress Central.”

Cold shivered, earning himself an odd look from the mare seated on the opposite side of the car. He had never found comfort in synthetic voices, and the voice of the bus was particularly jarring. The shakes disappeared, and he offered the mare a little smile. Her look evaporated; she smiled back. Then, the car slid to a stop, hailed by the grinding squeal of the mag-brakes. Both Cold and the pony stood, as did the rest of the ponies among the moderately filled car, and they started for the exits.

Cold was immediately assaulted.

He clicked his earpiece off, and let the music of the city speak for itself. The sound was like warm fire to his ears, searing and brutal in its delivery. The structure of the surrounding asteroid, which had once shielded a humble ‘Cypress Outpost’—decades before Cold’s time—bounced the bubbling concoction of life back into the fray. To his ears, it was a wondrous reprieve from the bitter, unnatural volumes that filled a ship interior.

Behind him, the bus grumbled, then sprang forward a few hooves when the heavy-duty brakes unclamped. Soon, it was accelerating down the track, delving back into the sub-city tunnels. In front of him, the primary commercial and administrative installations of Cypress frothed with a completely discordant cacophony: the evening air was filled with plenty of wandering souls, some working, many hardly. Most of the buildings were open, as was usual for a station that saw day-and-night business, but whether or not you had access was a different story.

Not too far from Cold, a pair of pegasi that had arrived on his same bus were arguing ardently about which sky-lane to take. He almost pitied them; flying in the city was heavily regulated, and always congested. Having apparently come to a conclusion—announced with a friendly smack of a wing—they lifted their wings and flit upward. Watching them soar fired Cold’s mind into an analogue of Equestrian history: he reflected on the time when the pegasi were the veritable starships to the earth-bound. Back then, they had soared when nopony else could.

Piloting automatically into the city streets, Cold’s mind drifted to dreams of winged-flight.

Technology had conquered the boundaries, but it could not replace the pegasus.

That reminded him of something else. Stopping briefly on a purple-backlit street corner—the exotic shade cast by a neon advert above—he reached for his PDA. Instead of navigating for the public contact list, he scrawled through a personal list of his own creation. His magic halted, and he stared at the device’s screen. Heaving a breath, he brought a hoof, and physically sent the comm-link request. His earpiece crackled, sounding with a centuries-old dial tone.

She always picked up quick. For him.

“Cold?”

He cracked a smile, and looked out across the street as he spoke. “Hello, Holly.”

There was a light gasp. “Hello to you, too, captain,” the mare giggled. “Let me guess, you’ve got some goodies for me?”

Cold squeezed his eyes shut, easily visualizing her. “Of course. You know I always have something for when I’m in your skies.”

“Oh, you.” She was definitely blushing. “Anything minotaur? Ponies have been selling me out on Minos brands for the last few weeks!”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He was. “Unfortunately, no, I don’t. But…” he trailed.

“Go on,” she whispered. She was cradling her own device closer, now.

“I do have some Griffonian wine.”

“Oh? Oh, Cold…”

“And I’m not planning on any trips for the foreseeable future. I figured I’d spend some time in station. Maybe run into some pretty pegasi.”

“…Maybe even tonight?”

He opened his eyes. The neon sign above him had shifted to an electric blue. Around him, the city dimmed. Artificial sunset had come. “I’d like to.”

Holly leaned away from her device. “Work?”

“Full cargo bay.”

She sighed in his ear, and it left a pang in his heart. “Working late, huh? I know the feel. As much as I’d like… a midnight visit, from such a wonderful stallion, I have my own orders to ready for fulfillment tomorrow.”

Cold stared into a small band of young ponies as they rounded a corner in front of him. “I’m proud of you, Holly. Don’t let me get in the way of your work.”

“I know you are. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Goodnight, Cold. I’m happy to hear your voice again.”

“I’ve missed you too, Holly. Goodnight.”

They both waited, but there was nothing more to say.

Cold closed the comm-link, and slid the PDA away. His eyes went to a young earth pony colt, who’d split from the crowd to trot up to him. The captain raised a brow, but stood his ground.

“I like your illusion, mister!”

Cold cocked his head. “Illusion?”

“Your horn!”

His horn? He held a hoof up. A peek told him it was still the same horn he’d run with for nearly three decades.

“And the scales! You’re totally looking like a kirin, right?” The colt positively beamed. “Those guys are awesome!”

“Orion!”

The colt’s ears swiveled backwards, and he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you never let me talk to ponies!” he yelled as he turned away, merging back into the group.

The stallion who’d recalled the colt gave Cold a light grin. “Yup, that’s my rude nephew. He’s right though, that is a pretty good illusion. Anyways, have a good night. Sorry to bother you.” He caught up beside the colt and nudged at him, half-playing, half-berating.

Cold was acknowledged simply by the rest of the ponies, but soon forgotten: the group continued on their own path through the city. The street corner returned to its former emptiness, save for the kirin captain. The most he had to offer in the place of the silence was an amused snort.

Still, it was about time he went back to business. He checked on the fading sunlamps hung about the sky of sterilized rock: it was thirty minutes before the night fell into full swing, and he’d barely made it to his first stop. Tugging at his jacket with a flick of magic, Cold started at a purposeful trot. That drink would have to wait.

No matter where you went in Cypress Central, you could do it on hoof. Automotive transports were banned from civil use, but electric roads were still laid out for Concord responses and other emergency vehicles. The latter of the two was much more uncommon thanks to the safety systems installed in every installation, as was standard with the more-populated sections of the station. Just as unnecessary, Cold didn’t have to go out of his way to get to the small corporate and privately-owned businesses that he traded with, but he found that being physically present fostered goodwill with his partners. Ponies still liked being around others, even in a digital age of communication and cooperation.

Close to midnight, he stopped for a bowl of street-fare. It would tide him over until he returned to his ship.

Stepping off the main bus for the last time that night, Cold walked evenly. The crowds had thinned out: just the working ponies remained. With only a few ships in-bound and out-bound, it left the docking bay quieter than ever. Approaching his ship, he could spot the bits of levitating scaffolding and tools left behind by the Waste Peddler cargo bay. He wasn’t surprised; it was almost its own kind of protocol to let the station gear naturally drift back to the supply stations. It was certainly more work-efficient for each crew to avoid cleaning up for the next.

A quick interaction with the docking terminal at the end of the bridge had the elevator descending. He stepped aboard, and watched the world disappear below him. His shoulders slumped, and he tapped his earpiece a few times, idly rummaging through several music tracks.

An awkward clunk shook the hull.

Cold blinked, and cut the music.

The platform rose completely, settling flush with the interior of the ship. The doors slid open, and he stepped out, listening. The hull squealed, and from somewhere…

No. Above him.

A metallic crash rang out, and he slammed into the floor, hooves splayed, belly-first.

And the iciest hoof he’d ever felt pressed sharply into the small of his neck.

6 - Lights Low, Reserves Low, Seek Resupply

Cold was still with her, wasn’t he? He said he would be with her all the way through. The murmur of the morning bustle came low. She looked left and right; the crowd had thickened since her earlier outing. The ponies were short and squat compared to her—she towered a hoof above them—yet she couldn’t make out any signs of the kirin. Had Cold lost her?

A hoof roped over her withers, and pulled her close. It pushed her forward lightly, urging her to keep walking. With her weight, she could have tossed the limb easily, but she followed through on the request. Her breathing gave way.

“Let’s try and stick together from now on.” His voice was terse, but kind.

“Yes,” she replied. Thank Celestia.

Cold let his hoof down, and this time, he stayed by her side.

For some reason, she felt worse walking through the city streets with company. Maybe it was the fact that Cold wasn’t quite as capable as her, or maybe it was because she’d pushed their already limited time by having him sleep. Still, the kirin seemed keen on staying with her: it was the small comforts that made the city worth crossing.

Marching into the commercial district, she kept close to Cold. His eyes swept around in search, and she did the same for the sky. Experience made it a safe bet that the retrieval unit would be much more discreet in their next approach, but she could never be too sure. Those operators always had their own tricks to play, but once she’d seen the same deck of cards hundreds of times, it was easier to pick out their strategies. But in the unseen world, it only took one good hoof to change everything.

Luckily, she had two.

Cold tapped his hoof in proclamation. “This way.”

She followed him to the front of a small concrete building. The ponies set-up in this zone tended to share the same commerical outlet, but this one stood alone. There was a panel of foggy acrylic glass. A dark interior flooded the other side. A simple sign that read ‘Electronics’ had been placed on the flat roof’s lip, and it was the only indication that the building was a business of any kind. Despite that, Fokienia could see the outline of a pony inside, albeit hazy; they were barely moving.

As they entered the store through the pneumatic door, the dust threatened to smoke Fokienia. It was dark, but only because of the poor lighting: the inset lights above glowed sleepily. Across the room, a unicorn sat at a chair behind the counter. She stared into a small blue square that set her red muzzle ablaze with white. Occasionally, her horn lit with crimson, but only to operate the device. Both of her ears swiveled their way, but she didn’t act.

“Do ponies not come here?” Fokienia whispered to Cold.

He puffed at his own dusty cloud. “Some, maybe. Ponies working the industrial sectors aren’t the most well-off. Tech isn’t cheap.”

There were metal shelves that formed aisles, and some that sat against the walls. All manner of devices, components, and tools were laid out. Cold broke off from the door and started looking. She went with him, maintaining security with her eyes and ears. It didn’t take Cold long to find a section dedicated to his heralded PDAs, all of them decidedly non-smoking. He stayed there, glancing along the display case, but grunted.

Fokienia tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, just…” He turned away. “You got any better PDAs?” he called out.

The mare behind the counter yelled back. “Yeah, so long as you’re willing to pay extra.” Fokienia had been keeping an eye on her, and the pony hadn’t even so much as looked up from her device.

Cold rubbed a hoof at his head, just below his horn. “Figures,” he grumbled, motioning with his neck. “I know this type, so let me talk.”

She’d been planning on it, so she nodded.

The red unicorn looked up as they approached. She was left mostly nonplussed by Fokienia’s appearance—she tightened ever-so slightly—but as she shifted to Cold, her look went from a piercing gaze to wide-eyed shock. “Woah! Are you the real deal?”

Cold rolled his eyes. “Cypress just figure out illusions last month? Yeah, of course I’m real.”

Fokienia blinked. “Illusions?”

The mare started to answer, but Cold waved a hoof. “Just some fad from the Core Worlds.” That only made Fokienia’s confusion grow, but he just kept going. “I need a solid PDA. Industry standard if you can. Last one… busted on me.”

“Aw yeah, yeah, sure!” The mare slid her PDA under the counter, and hopped from her chair. “I think I’ve got a few of ‘em in the back, here. Hang tight.”

The mare trot off through a doorway in the back, and Fokienia kept careful watch. Sure enough, the mare began fumbling with what appeared to be a container of some kind, tilting it this way and that as she rummaged with her hoof. From the counter, the two could hear the shifting of bits and metal. Cold idly looked around while that happened.

Fokienia prodded him lightly with her hoof. “Illusions? The Core Worlds?”

He rubbed at his neck and gave her a strange look. “You didn’t read up about the Core Worlds?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “It’s where most of the Equestrian-controlled star systems are. The original colonies, the homeworld. You know, where most history’s been made.” He laughed darkly.

She frowned. “And illusions?”

Cold laid a hoof on the counter and started tapping. “Old breed of magic given some new life. Changeling in origin, I think. Ponies like playing dress-up, so some genius figured ‘dresses and creatures aren’t so different.’ Next thing you know, every major hub in the ECW is lit with illusory magic, and plenty of bits flying left and right.” His tone grew low. “You’re a big CEO and you want to hit the street incognito? You’re a nobody’s business griffon, now. Want a horn to go with those wings you’ve got? Sure, but don’t expect to be treated like royalty. You want to be young again, without the other benefits? Okay, go ahead.” He tapped one final time. “It’s a fad. Too much nonsense in the mix.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” Fokienia said simply. “Ponies get to change and become whatever they want. It’s magic, so it’s temporary, right?”

“Magic doesn’t imply temporary, Fokienia.” He rolled his withers. “Some ponies go for a permanent change, but that’s not illusions, that’s a whole different territory. If a pony wants a permanent change, that’s their business. Illusions? No respect to it. It’s a selfish indulgence for the affluent, and another avenue for the age-old business of fillies and faux princesshood.”

Fokienia saw the mare finishing up. “It doesn’t help that ponies don’t immediately recognize you as an actual kirin… does it?”

Cold was quiet for a moment. She looked at him: he was staring deep into the wall across the way. “No. It doesn’t.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m wrong about it, but I don’t like it. There are better uses for that magic.”

Fokienia shuffled on her hooves.

The mare came around the corner levitating a stocky, dark gray PDA. “Just the one left. A little out-of-date, but it’s industry standard, alright.” She set it down, and waved a monitor on the counter to life. “And yes, it’s unsigned. I’m not a thief.”

“I understand,” Cold chuckled. “I recognize the model. It’ll work.”

“Great.” She lit her horn, and navigated swiftly through the monitor. “That all you need?”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Listen… I hope you accept net-auth transactions, because I’m down a link.”

She laughed. “You’re not the first pony to pay through station services.” After passing a few more screens on the monitor, she looked to Cold and nodded. “Go for it.”

Fokienia listened to Cold ramble off a string of numbers. The two were going through some kind of payment authorization process—it was different from bartering by leagues. Despite the novelty of the experience, she quickly lost interest. Her eyes went back to the store walls, and she stepped away to retrieve the implant scanner from her bag. It went on. The lone blip ticked away.

The mare behind the counter hummed. “Oh wow, you’re a platinum-insured pilot?”

“Cargo. Passenger and courier.”

“Huh! I knew you kirins were cool, but that’s awesome.”

“Of course I’m cool,” Cold quipped. “It’s in my name.”

Both the mare and Fokienia failed to hold back groans. Fokienia filed the scanner and trot back over. Cold was seeing if the PDA fit in his jacket, and the mare was still working away at the monitor.

“You’re clean, captain. Real clean. Cleanest customer in Cupresso, I’d wager.”

A boisterous laugh was the last thing Fokienia expected from Cold. “Yeah right.” He didn’t build upon the act, and neither did the mare. It was a strong divergence for a pony she’d taken to be usually mellow. He carried the conversation by setting the PDA on the counter and turning it on. “Let me hook this up real quick. Gonna make sure your bits don’t bounce.”

The mare beamed. “I’d appreciate that, captain.”

Fokienia resumed her vanguard role with some thought. Cold may not have been wealthy or politically-inclined, but he carried respect; he’d easily broken the tension below the mare’s coat with just his physical appearance, and the title he wore. She wondered what a pony would have thought if she’d introduced herself as ‘cyborg and operator’, instead of his ‘kirin and captain’. Where Cold generated respect, Fokienia commanded fear. Venerable versus voracious. They both eked out an existence above the average pony, but on opposing sides. Again, she focused on Cold, and wondered why he of all ponies had chosen to help her, his natural enemy.

Or unnatural, as the case stood.

“Huh.” He bunched up and squinted. “Weird.”

The salesmare frowned. “Something wrong?”

His magic swept across the interface. “Maybe… but nothing to do with you.” He made a tsk between clenched teeth. With a flick, he levitated the PDA into the interior pocket of his jacket. “You’ve got your bits, ma’am. Net-auth comes through for once.”

The mare smiled again. “Yeah, right? I appreciate your business.”

“And thank you for finding the PDA.” He nodded. “Have a good one.”

“Fly safe out there.” As they started away from the counter, the mare yelled after them. “And tell all the other haulers to come visit Cypress! The embargoes were lifted a while ago!”

“Can do!” Cold replied. The front door opened, and they stepped back out into the streets of Cupresso. Dust returned to smoke.

Fokienia turned to him immediately. “What was that about?”

“What?”

She tapped his side where the PDA rested. “Problem with the PDA?”

A deep frown set across his pursed lips. He gestured with a hoof. “You lead, I’ll talk.”

Right, she needed her things, too. “The groundskeeper said it was this way.” She started at a quick trot, and Cold stayed at her pace.

“It’s about my ship.”

“Good news?”

He snorted. “Of course not. That’d be too good for me.” He shook his head. “No, station and security alerts. It got sent down to the storage bays, but picked up by station authority for ‘illegal activity.’”

Fokienia’s heart thumped. He was in trouble? “Does that mean you’re a criminal?”

“Not exactly, it could mean a lot of things. A firefight counts as illegal activity, so it could just be about… y’know.”

She lowered her head a bit. “Yes… I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… fine, Fokienia.” It certainly wasn’t. “They’ll give it service, but it probably means they’re going to open an investigation on the ship. A lot of intelligence gathering. But more importantly, they’d load up all the information about its whereabouts and corroborate it with recorded and submitted navigation data.” He sighed. “With where I’ve been, I have a feeling it’s going to be grounded for a while.”

“Where have you been Cold?”

Cold’s frown was locked-in, and his eyes focused on the road Fokienia was leading him on. It took a long moment before his curt response. “Where I’ve needed to be.”

She abruptly straightened out. Cryptic: there was hidden information. Given the tone, it was critically important. An acceptable level of force could be used to acquire it now. A precise prod at this vulnerable moment, and the puzzle would finish itself. The new task was set. She opened her mouth, and—

She stopped. A pain wormed its way into her head.

Cold skid. He paused alongside her. “Fokienia?”

Her neurostimulator wavered. “Will it interfere with our mission?” she uttered. She snapped her mouth shut. Her teeth clicked from the force. She looked away from Cold and breathed.

“I… no, no it shouldn’t. Are you okay?”

She focused on her forelegs below. Stinging filled her veins. She relaxed. “We will proceed.” Her head swam back, slowly bringing herself to face Cold. She nodded twice. “Try not to think about it.” He gave her a look that she didn’t stop to decipher. She didn’t want to. She turned away, and started walking again. “Let’s keep moving.”

Cold didn’t speak.

It was better that he didn’t.

Fokienia hadn’t said a word to him since she’d stopped them. Cold wasn’t sure if he’d actually said something wrong. Was she upset about the idea of him being unable to fly the Waste Peddler for the time being? No, they’d already gotten over that hill. Yet she’d appeared so… unnerved. But not in the traditional sense. Still, it was all because of something he’d said concerning the ship. He resolved to not speak about the Waste Peddler for the foreseeable future. For now, he needed to see to Fokienia’s needs: she’d given him the opportunity to pick up what he needed, and now it was time to return the favor.

This district of inner Cupresso was a lot cleaner than where they’d just been. There were overall less ponies, and less smoke, but it still maintained that distinct industrial look. The ventilation systems weren’t as critical here. With his earpiece reconnected to a functioning PDA, Cold was tempted to put on some music; without the strident crowds and fans, it was quiet. The thoroughfare was wide enough to accommodate the large crowds that numbered in the hundreds, but with only a few dozen ponies nearby, things remained relatively calm. They walked at an eased pace, but Fokienia kept her eyes and ears up at all times.

As they’d slunk into the deeper streets of Cupresso, the buildings had risen. The tallest still plateaued at four floors, but the few clustered towers brought an urban atmosphere akin to the high-rises of Cypress Central. Some of the station’s public contacts housed themselves in the residential bubbles like Cupresso, and Cold always found it surprising: they were ponies with the means to operate ‘hub business’ in administration centers like Cypress Central, and yet they chose to provide for the stations’ micro-economies. While there were merits like subsidies, Concord didn’t have as strong a presence here—the streets rarely saw motorized deployment—and contractors like Cold were practically pointless. He had nothing against the ponies who worked here, in fact he respected them a great deal more than most stations’ hub contacts, but there was much more money to be made in interstellar jobs. Bits that every starship captain’s wallet guzzled to feed their hydrogen-helium reactor. Bits to maintain the artificial leylines that kept his ship teleporting between the stars. Bits that couldn’t be earned as readily in an in-system economy. These were the bits that Cold and others worked to distribute among the stars. In the crushing depths of Cypress Station, he was completely out of his element, but the rising towers reminded him of the more comfortable role he played in space-faring civilization.

He locked his jaw and stared into the metal sky. It reached so high, but only so. Space was always in motion, and he needed to move with it. It was his nature.

Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Fokienia; his body knew he needed a guiding hoof when his mind strayed like this. “You’ve lived in Cypress your whole life?”

Fokienia responded immediately. “Yes.”

“Do you like it here?”

Her ears twitched. Like the rest of her body’s build, each part of her was larger than what was typical for an earth pony. It was hard not to notice the emotions behind those ears. “It isn’t Containment.”

He hesitated on his next words. “How many times have you… escaped?”

“I have been involved in all four breach events in the previous ten years.” One of her metal hooves buzzed briefly—a low drone, just loud enough for Cold to hear. “I initiated the last breach.”

“Why?” Cold gave her a moment. They both focused on the road ahead.

The drone stopped. “Since reaching an operational state, I have been on standing orders to train, recuperate, and undergo modification. The last augmentations were… so much.” Her voice faltered for just a step as a more welcome warmth returned. Still, steel resonated in her tone. “It’s… protocol, leaving the integration of our augmentations to self-discovery. Each augmentation has a certain number of operational stages. We are allowed to rest for one cycle on each stage, but only as our integration limit approaches the conditional zero-state. My eyes...” Her words had grown shaky, but she continued to trot. “I woke without waking. It was dark, but no normal dark. And there was no sound. The only thing I felt was the… pain in my eyes, and it would… not… stop.” Her jaw trembled, but she clenched it quickly. “I was informed that it took seventeen hours, three minutes, and… zero seconds in order to… see again.” Her withers sagged. “After that first recuperation cycle, my coordinating agent spoke with me. It was the first time she’d spoken to me since… school, and not delivered orders. She was… afraid.”

Cold licked at his lips, though his mouth had long dried. He looked up at the mare. “Why was she afraid?”

“She told me that Cypress would be destroyed if I didn’t leave.”

Cold’s coat bristled. She looked at him. Where he’d expected tears, her yellow eyes instead glistened with unnatural blue light. Alone in the midst of the street, they stared.

Fokienia blinked, and the blue sheen slipped away. “I was created for a purpose,” she whispered. Her face curled with worry and ache. “I need to know why they chose me. Why they chose us.” She leaned close. “I need to know if they really can destroy the lives of five-hundred thousand ponies with a pony like me.”

A pathetic croak passed Cold’s lips. “Fokienia…”

She leaned away, her ears folding back. “I thought I could run. I believed that Cypress was a large military installation, not a home for so many lives.” She closed her eyes. “She said I could stop the destruction of Cypress if I left. But now I know, I have to stay. The war will be here, with or without me.”

Cold stared at Fokienia. Finally, he looked away. With his magic, he smoothed out his jacket. He shuffled on his hooves. “Thank you for answering,” he said quietly.

A pause, then the faint reply. “You’re welcome.”

Shakily, he clasped a hoof on her back, his eyes still aimed down the street. “Let’s… get some drinks before we grab those supplies, Fokienia. I could really use some water…” She said nothing, but allowed him to take the lead.

Unlike Cypress Central, there were no vending machines placed along the shopfronts, and Cold found it unlikely that they’d find any sort of food plaza. Worse yet, the fast-food and convenience stores had given way to full-service commercial enterprises: the few restaurants here would deliver the drinks he’d promised Fokienia, but he could feel the objections bubbling up; stopping at a proper establishment wasn’t an option on the table. It really wasn’t the time to stop for so long—especially since they’d eaten so recently—but his search of the wide street left him bereft of better thoughts.

Or, he could stop breeziehoofing around the mare, and just state his intent.

He turned to face Fokienia. As if anticipating the move, her eyes were already on him. His lips cracked as he put on a tilted smile. “Alright, forget that. Look, I want to talk to you more about… everything.”

She had an impeccable form to her frown. “Now?” she asked in her trademark monotone... the one not too dissimilar from his own.

He glanced around. “Today at some point, at least.”

She breathed. “Sure.” A hefty huff left her nostrils. “We’re coming up on the place.”

Cold nodded, then returned to the wake of her stride. “We’ll get those drinks one way or another.”

“Okay.”

Fokienia led him a little further up the road. They diverged from the main route, stepping into a dead-end formed by the valley of buildings. A few ponies idled along the fronts, but most were smoking or otherwise lingering about. Unlike the other ponies Cold and Fokienia had passed by on the streets, they wore formal wear, and it was a safe enough guess as to why: the buildings behind them emblazoned by corporate insignia. There was an innumerable quantity of corporations in the Equestrian economy as a whole: many large, and many more small.

Even though these buildings likely belonged to lighter hooves, the ponies behind and inside them certainly held significant buying power. While assumptions were easy to make, Cold’s experience in the business-side of the galaxy told it all: the dirty offices and suits were purely distilled by the breadth of work demanded by inner-station business. As opposed to what other businessponies straddled, their work revolved around an untethered line. He nodded in greeting, and to their credit, they reciprocated the motion, but their eyes stayed square on the mare with metal hooves.

Cold and Fokienia edged toward the more squat of the three buildings on the block. The building was only two stories high, but it was by no means a small place; like the ponies of the nearby offices, there was a bit of wealth behind the clean walls. The Rod of Asclopius was engraved into the concrete on either side of the pneumatic front door.

“A clinic?”

Fokienia hummed. “Yes. It was the best of the options the groundskeeper provided. If they lack the components I require, they should have most of what I require in stock, and enough equipment to synthesize the remainder.”

Cold gave the door a look. “Well, as long as they don’t pull me in for a check-up, sounds good.”

“Does that mean you’re not going in?” Her eyes scanned the door—and presumably, beyond—but her ears flicked his way.

“Well, of course I am. Somepony has to pay,” he joked.

She didn’t reply, but Cold saw the hesitation arching through her back.

The lobby of the clinic was a punishing splash of off-white; with the fluorescent lights above, the edges of the entire room glowed. The cool floor tiles clacked with each step of their hooves, and a vent above them rumbled with the far-off roar of a pumping HVAC system. It was distinctly cool as opposed to the gentle warmth of the outside, and it forced a shiver out of the kirin. He tugged at his jacket with a hoof, and stood idly by the door. Fokienia’s sharp hoofsteps roused the attention of a pale pony behind the counter. The unicorn’s horn lit, and an interface below the counter-top lit with life.

Her soft eyes swayed between the two of them. “May I help you two?” The nurse-capped mare spoke pleasantly.

“A pony assured me that I could find the chemicals I require, here.”

Cold came away from the door, but stayed a little ways behind Fokienia.

The mare looked a bit perturbed. “Chemicals…?”

Fokienia tilted her head. “Chemicals for medicinal application.”

“Oh.” She relaxed, then smiled. “In that case, of course. Our pharmacy is just down the hall to your right.” She gestured to the open hall past the counter. “Our pharmacist can assist you as needed.”

“What other chemicals would you supply beyond existing medical compounds?” Fokienia’s inquiry wasn’t demanding, but it was a bit too sharp for Cold’s tastes.

The mare ran the question across her lips once more, her face curling further. “Well… none. We primarily offer standard prescription and over-the-counter pharmaceuticals, like other facilities.”

“But your pharmacist is able to synthesize compounds beyond standard medical needs, correct?”

“…Yes. He is a licensed medical officer.”

Fokienia stopped to analyze the sinking mare. “Is something wrong?” Her words lacked their previous edge.

“I…” The mare’s ears twitched amid her silence. Then, she sighed. “No, you’re alright. I apologize for my behavior.” She adjusted her cap. “This last week has just been… less than ideal.”

“It’s alright, miss.” Cold nodded Fokienia toward the hall. “I understand what you mean. I just came in from off-station not too long ago, so take it from me that it should all be winding down, now.”

A grateful smile touched the mare’s lips. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Fokienia looked at Cold, then back at the mare. “Thank you for answering my questions.” She paused, then awkwardly bowed her head. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, um. You’re fine.” She fiddled with her cap again, and blew a strand of her mane out of the way. “If you need anything else, I’ll be here.”

The hall wasn’t a difficult trek in the slightest: there were a few closed doors, but the bright lights near the stairwell at the end brandished their goal. They found the pharmacy there, its front tucked away in the wall. The small indent shielded a veritable canopy of containers and covered surfaces.

Cold stepped up to the counter. He tapped loudly. A quiet clamor rose up from out of sight. Beyond the sea of shelves and cabinets, and beyond a closed door, a voice called out an incomprehensible reply.

Cold glanced at Fokienia. “What exactly are you looking for?”

She didn’t respond; the door opened, and a stallion wearing a white, sterile coat, stepped out. His eyes flit nervously. He cleared his throat and trot the rest of the way to them. “Sorry about that. How can I help?”

Fokienia squinted past him. “Are you the requisitions officer?” she asked simply.

He reeled back slightly, then blinked at her. “I… suppose?”

“Then I’m going to need you to name every stimulant you have in supply.”