Wiggly was taken up on her offer, and the Akira made an appearance at Felica Shipyard within the hour as promised. With a few good words and a glowing report from Howling Tempest to the governor, the news was spun to claim Morales and Mote were allies of the Initiative. A flood of volunteer dock workers arrived to assist with the repairs within the first day. The governor delayed it for a day by insisting on tightly vetting anyone who got even close to the Akira for fear of pirate reprisal.

Much to their surprise, Wiggly and Wire were given a hero’s welcome, what with not actually doing anything to help the colony yet. It did however make pledging to retrieve a mass nullifier a matter of personal honor. The cathrex were treated as curiosities and honored guests by both the governor and populous alike. Morales was all too eager to sample the offered food, both junk and fine alike. Mote was treated with a bit more curiosity than honor, as news of the Waylan was minimized to a scant few. All too eager to finally engage in diplomacy rather than fighting fires, the governor took every opportunity to be seen in public with them. The aliens were busy being treated to every luxury the colony had to offer for the two and a half weeks it took to return the Akira to fighting condition. This high treatment was not entirely out of the governor’s good graces nor the approaching election.

It was the beginning of the third week and the end of the Rainbow Dash’s patrol that found Captain Howling Tempest seated in front of Governor Signed Ballot and the two surviving members of the admiralty board.

Ballot was an aged earth mare. Surgery and rejuvenation treatments kept her wrinkle free, but she long since stopped hiding the gray on her once yellow face, and her mane had gone thin and gray with time as well. Her office was planetside, and was decorated in wood furnishing. Some of which had been crafted by her own hooves in her youth. “Captain, thank you for coming,” she began with a false friendly tone.

Tempest eyed the admirals with disquiet, and gave a curt nod. “Of course, ma’am.”

The smile on Ballot’s face slipped for just a moment. “Before we begin in earnest, I have the medical report on Lieutenant Winter Gale. She was one of yours if I recall, yes?”

“She was.” Gale kept his growing unease carefully under wraps. He had to consciously stop himself from glancing at the admirals. “I wasn’t told her mental baseline exam was finished yet.”

“Oh it was complete a couple of hours ago when you were on the shuttle down here.” Ballot tapped the tablet on her desk. The silent message of him not being informed was made quite clear. “You’ll be glad to know her mental state falls well within expected parameters.”

That meant only one thing to everyone involved: Winter’s medical treatment left her mind untouched by the cathrex. Sighing in relief, Tempest nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.”

This time, the thestral Rear Admiral Clarity on the left side of the room spoke up. “That includes the alteration giving her tail connectors. Even with the added gray matter, she is still fully herself. The only question is her recovery from being chrome free.”

Tempest’s bearing was cast to the wind and he went wide eyed. “You - I thought she was only having her body restored.”

“She was,” Clarity responded evenly. “While you were finishing up your patrol, a dreamweaver was able to speak to her unconscious self thanks to both of them being thestrals. Winter agreed to the altered treatment due to the requirement of pilots to be able to directly interface with their craft. She’d lose her pilot wings otherwise.”

Gazing about the room, the faces arrayed against him didn’t change. “I presume Winter Gale recovered well.”

“She’s a bit wobbly, but part of what this meeting is about is that her mind is her own.” Ballot shook her head at him. “The fact is, Captain, that your suspicions about our guests have proven unfounded.”

In an instant, Tempest was set on edge, and his voice became defensive. “Now wait a minute, I had no way of knowing that at the time. I knew the Akira had ship-based FTL. I did what I had to to save those ponies with the information I had.”

“You’re a product of our times, captain,” Ballot cut in, leaving Tempest in confused silence. When he couldn’t find a response, the governor shook her head and sighed. “We’ve been content to leave you in command of the Rainbow Dash because you bring hope to the public. You’re a war hero for Luna’s sake. Everypony in Trireme will attest to that. You’ve done a commendable job against the pirates. However…” She sighed deeply, and resisted the urge to rub her face. “Your immediate reaction to a pair of aliens was to treat them like pirates. In spite of what it may feel like out there in the field, we are not at war anymore, captain. We didn’t even hear about the aliens until after your face-to-face meeting!”

Grinding his teeth, Tempest was allowed time to recognize that fact. He nodded slowly, and settled down. “I acted within the purview of my standing orders.”

“Your standing orders say nothing about aliens,” Ballot stated firmly. “The instant you realized you were dealing with non-Equiss life, you should have contacted me immediately.” She grew frustrated, yet kept her temper from getting away from her. “The cathrex could be telling the truth about their civil war, or for all we know, the Akira could be a litmus test.”

Clarity looked down her nose at the fuming officer sitting in between them all. “Forget the Waylan, the cathrex tested you, and you almost failed us all.” The full admiral seated next to her waved a hoof in front of Clarity to quiet her.

Fuming, Clarity leaned back, giving way Admiral Trident Thrust to speak. “Which is why this is an inquiry, and not a court martial. In spite of your indiscretion.”

Tempest was sorely tempted to request a jag officer, but held back for now. He had been on the other side of these inquiries before, and he felt it never looked good in his eyes when a jag was requested before charges were leveled. “I made a hasty judgment call, I’ll admit, but no harm came of it.”

Ballot tapped an impatient hoof on her desk, unhappy with his deflection. “If this had been your only moment of indiscretion, I could overlook it. But it is not.” She lifted the tablet up to her eyes. “There have been no less than ten instances of you ‘hijacking’ parts and equipment earmarked for other ships over the last five years. The worst one recently was you buying off the alicorn’s share of the salvage from the Cloud Jumper.”

“The Rainbow Dash is a fighting ship, not a glorified weapons platform like the others. I did what I had to.”

“We have a process for a reason, Captain,” Clarity reprimanded. “There have also been twenty seven instances of you prolonging or cutting short the service time of your crew members. Is it one thing to pass along transfer requests, but you have a habit of acting as if the requests will be automatically accepted, and moving those personnel on your own .”

“There’s only been one time one of my transfers was denied, and I didn’t argue it back then.”

Clarity had had enough, and stood up in a flash. “And that attitude is why we’re here! We’ve been too permissive of you thus far because you get results and are a war hero. But this was the final straw.” A sharp look from Trident again, cowed Clarity enough to sit back down with a scowl.

Trident waited a moment before speaking with more composure than Clarity was capable of at the moment. “Captain. As of this moment, you are relieved of command. Publicly you are to be commended for your long service. You will be traveling with the Akira to introduce the cathrex to whichever high queen you find first.”

“If the Waylan threat is as real as the aliens claim it is, you need me!” Tempest stated with restrained anger.

Annoyed that he was making this difficult, even if it was partially expected, Trident Thrust leaned forward and put enough steel in his voice to silence any argument. “No. We do not. Molded Clay will take command in your stead. Meeting a high queen is an honor, Captain,” he reminded Tempest with curt words. “We will of course compose a letter of commendation recommending you for the Navy Cross. Provided the high queen doesn’t offer you a different assignment, you are to be transferred to your birthworld of Tarsonia. There you will be recommended for a position at the naval academy.”

Recalling his birthworld, Tempest knew full well it was a stronghold of the Initiative. If anywhere had escaped heavy damage from the war, it was there. A professorship… The idea was bitter, he had no desire to teach. Yet what felt worse was that a part of him felt relieved. He was finally done with the Lilian system. “Is my recommendation to have my crew both current and former given preferential placement on the Akira?”

“Those whose homes lie outside of Lilian, yes.” Ballot tapped her tablet a few times before swiping a file his way. “This is the manifest of names.”

Seeing the file pop up on his vision, Tempest searched for a few names in particular. Ones who served him with distinction. Enough appeared that he was satisfied. “And the honored dead?”

“Already in the Akira’s cargo hold,” Clarity replied swiftly. “From what I heard, once the passengers learned about it, nearly all of them refused to take more than a go-bag so more cargo space could be reserved for coffins.”

A thin smile played over Ballot’s face. “I personally bought all of Captain Sprocket’s spare cargo so more could be sent home.”

There was little Tempest could say against that. Even less that he wanted to. There was only one thing he needed to know. “If I am to meet with a high queen, are we also returning High Admiral Gleaming Light?” Even now, he wasn’t too keen on risking such an important hero on the alien ship, Wiggly being the captain or not.

Clarity nodded with a solemn face. “Wiggly Sprocket insisted on it. Not that we could realistically refuse to allow Flurry Heart the right to send him off. Any delay would be rightly seen as an insult.”

“There is one more thing,” Ballot announced right before the grim business could derail them further. “Your sole purpose is not just to be a glorified herald of the honored dead. I am composing a second letter for the queens. It is in my judgment that moving forward, all captains are required to have first contact and diplomatic training.” That earned a curious eyebrow from him. “You perceived the cathrex through the lens of pirate hunter and wartime commander. What you needed to be was a diplomat. For as much as I wish you had contacted me that day, you were the one physically there.”

“So not only am I to be sidelined, I become the subject of a training seminar.” Tempest grumbled darkly. “How kind of you.”

Smirking, Clarity threw on a mocking expression. “It wouldn’t be the first training regiment with your name lashed to it.” Her smirk widened a bit at the hot glare he received from Tempest. “Come now, Captain, I’m sure a stallion of your talents will find fulfillment at the academy.”

Standing up, Tempest fell back on his training and saluted after bottling up his indignation. “I will do as ordered, sirs.”

Ballot presented him with a tablet, and as soon as he claimed it she looked to the admirals. “If that is all…” None of the admirals made a move. “Then you’re dismissed.”

Tempest moved to leave, but stopped just short of turning around. “If I may ask one thing?”

The admirals shared a mildly annoyed look, but settled back into their seats. “What is it?”

“Since I’m being forced to wash my hooves of Lilian, might I know what you’re doing about the Commodore?”

Ballot and the admirals shared a look to which she nodded. That left Trident to speak. “We’re moving forward with creating a cadre of sailors to be de-cyberized. Enough to fully crew the Rainbow Dash and several police cutters.”

Clarity continued the thought. “In case you haven’t heard, the pirates already made a move. The police skiff PT-12 intercepted a probe four days ago.”

PT-12
Trireme outer defensive line

The five pony crew of PT-12 was distracted. Aside from the skipper and pilot, who were busy adjusting their heading, the three boarding officers were gossiping about the Akira.

The senior boarder was a weathered earth mare, aged by the job and borderline substance abuse. “I’m telling you, Sugar, I don’t care if he’s half pony, that Morales guy doesn’t want any of us.”

The younger unicorn mare snorted and flipped her nose at the senior. “Just because he wouldn’t want your crusty tail, Cinnamon, doesn’t mean he’s off the table for the rest of us.”

The last mare, a crystal druid by the name of Sapphire Shine, was exasperated, and rubbed her face. “By Cadence’s love, will you two shut up about the aliens?! It was bad enough listening to the skipper and Longshank over there debating if they could run Dune on the robot. I don’t want to spend another three hours listening to you two as well.”

“If you knew the historical importance of Dune, you wouldn’t say that,” called a voice from up front. PT-12 only had three rooms, the control center, bunks and engine compartment, and the armory that doubled as a boarding hatch.

Sugar Straw leaned over her chair to give Longshank a vulgar gesture. “Why don’t you take your Dune and try running it on the dispatch computer. I bet it’ll go just about as well for you.”

“Cut the chatter, ladies.” The skipper’s voice silenced everyone in a flash, and he used a second to roll the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. “Just picked up an object on an intercept course with Trireme. Looks like a probe coming in from the outer planets. Long, move us over so we can shoot it down.”

“Aye sir.”

The three boarders got jumpy, causing Sugar to loudly whisper to the others. “Hey, did either of you hear about that new weapon the pirates got?”

Lighting up a cigarette of her own, Cinnamon took a long, lazy drag. “No, and I don’t care either.”

“I did,” Sapphire replied with sudden nervousness. “Some sensor weapon that kills everyone.”

“Don’t be a leadhead,” Cinnamon chided. “A weapon like that is like giving everyone a planet cracker. As soon as you use it, everyone’s dead. It doesn’t exist.”

“Moving into close sensor range,” Longshank announced. “I’ll have weapon’s lock shortly.”

Sapphire wishes she was back on the colony where she could hear the voices of nature. Space was so utterly quiet. Stations had whispering voices if they got large enough, and ships never had one. So to help ease her sudden bout of nerves, she got up and poked her head into the control center. It was cramped with a narrow footpath to the helm and skipper’s seat. What ships lacked in a spiritual voice, they made up for in the hum of the engine and whine of computers.

The skipper looked over to her, and was about to order her to get back when pain lanced through him. It felt like hot fire just ignited behind his eyes, neck, back legs, and fore hooves. A wordless cry of pain erupted from him which made Sapphire jump, thinking he was angry at her.

Her fear of a reprimand ballooned into terror as the skipper’s howl of pain was joined by Longshanks, and then the others behind her. “What? What’s going on?!”

She moved to the captain to help in some way, but she had been a shaper not a healer, and Sapphire was out of practice. Her training kicked in, and she scrambled for the first aid kit behind the skipper. Yanking it open, she grabbed the medical scanner, and followed the simplistic instructions on the back. She pointed it at the skipper who was convulsing and foaming at the mouth.

As her hooves shook from the loud screaming morphing into gurgling throes of pain, she tried to read the small screen to see what meds she could give to help.

‘Massive central nervous system damage. No treatment possible.’

Sapphire couldn’t believe it. Her lip quivered in horror and she turned the scanner on herself.

‘Elevated heart rate and overproduction of stress hormones. Slow your breathing and taking no more than one clonazepam is recommended.’

She didn’t read the rest. Sapphire fumbled for the painkillers in the kit and tried jabbing one syringe into the skipper. If it had any effect, she couldn’t tell, was still convulsing, but it had gone down to occasional spasms. On the verge of a full blown panic attack, she looked over at Longshanks and he had partially unbuckled himself before falling limp. Her friends were floating in the armory.

Sapphire was alone, surrounded by death. She froze in terror until the smell of burnt metal and meat made her puke.

As her stomach heaved, and she was paralyzed by the act, a loud three-note klaxon from her helmet stunned Sapphire. The alarm gave her something to focus on, and pay attention to the voice coming in as she tried to spit what was left in her mouth.

“This is dispatch. PT-12. Your crew just flatlined. What happened?

“I-I don’t know!” Sapphire latched onto this voice like a lifeline. “Dispatch, I - I don’t know. We were fine, then everypony just started ssscreaming, and shaking, and oh Cadence.”

“Stay with me, PT-12. Are you under attack?”

“Nnno. The skipper was about to fire on a probe, an-and then everyone started dying!”

There was a brief pause from the dispatcher before he continued in a calming tone. “What is your name, officer?”

“S-Sapphire Shine. Is this what that rumor was about?!”

“Stay focused, Sapphire Shine. Focus on me. Okay?”

Nodding more for herself than the other pony, Sapphire was utterly repulsed by the stench in the control room. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. Alright. Now, I need you to switch your vessel to remote control. Can you access the command console?”

She looked over, and saw that the skipper had slumped over the console, and she very nearly threw up a second time. “Y-yeah, give me a minute.”

Trying to focus on the task, and not the corpse, Sapphire managed to unbuckle the skipper and cringed as she was forced to push him into the cloud of vomit. “Sorry.”

Following Dispatch’s instructions, she set PT-12 to remote control. As soon as it happened, the console’s lights went white.

“Good work, Sapphire Shine. Now, let’s take care of that probe.”

The probe had actually flown past the skiff by now, but the coil slug was faster. The probe was blasted into pieces, and the skiff was on its way back to Trireme before the wreckage had a chance to cool.

Once Trident had finished giving the synopsis of the attack, Tempest got angry. “Was the Commodore actually trying to kill everypony on that station?”

“We don’t know,” Ballot replied with a chill in her voice. “He never tried to officially contact us. Best guess, he was waiting for the probe to get into position before sending an ultimatum.”

“What it told us was that the fuhai is very real,” Admiral Clarity weighed in. “I suspect the probe was a trial run. Either that or to ransom Trireme. Given the timing and speed, that probe couldn’t have been launched any later than two days after the Akira’s struggle with the Waylan. It was also alone, as there hasn’t been another one since then.”

“We believe the probe was scanning the skiff, and realized there was a survivor.” Trident thumped the floor with suppressed anxiety. “My guess is that the existence of a survivor gave the pirates enough of a pause for us to play catch up.”

Closing his eyes and thinking it over for a long moment, Tempest came up with an idea. “If I may do one thing before I leave. I would like to return a favor, but - I need your approval.”

Caught with surprise intrigue, Ballot leaned forward, her eyes alert. “This is a first. I’m all ears.”

Trying to crystallize the plan a bit more, Tempest mulled over it a bit longer. Then he laid it out before them.

Trident scowled, deep in thought. “Do you honestly think that will work?”

“I think it has merit,” Clarity replied with a bemused look. “He has my vote.”

Ballot clapped her hooves. “Then it is decided. Make it happen.”

Wiggly Sprocket bounced on her hooves as she excitedly left her cabin. As she walked down the hallways of the Akira her heart sang. The hull was repaired, the coolant system was fixed, the weapons and shields were pristine, and there was not a speck of carbon scoring left on the immaculate blue and white walls. Freshly painted emblems of the Initiative had been painted in tactful locations. Yet more than that, as she toured her ship, the comings and goings of her temporary crew and departing dock workers mixed with the omnipresent sigh of the reactor and idling engines gave her a sense of responsibility she never felt before. And she liked it.

Yet today was not to be filled with repair oversight and parties where ponies flooded them with messages and trinkets to send home to loved ones. Today was the day they left, but not before a special passenger arrived.

With Wire and the cathrex making final preparations on the bridge, Sprocket found Winter Gale sharing passing farewells to the dock workers departing the final shuttle as the shipyard didn’t want to risk letting the frigate docking directly, making it harder for a pirate spy to attempt sabotage.

Wiggly moved up to Winter’s side, and the sailor turned away from the gangway. Even two days after she awakened, Winter looked a bit better than before. She was whole and healthy, but her movements were uncoordinated. Standing still was fine, but walking was troublesome, and she winced at loud sounds that didn’t bother others. “Wiggs, glad you made it.”

Flashing a friendly smile, Wiggly patted Winter’s back with a wing. “It’s only right that I welcome such a distinguished guest. Besides, I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

One of the last dock workers raced by as the clock neared the hour, and only gave a passing wave. The mares returned it before Winter eyed the gangplank, waiting anxiously for boarding to begin. “Shaky. Morales said the damage didn’t reach my memory, so I’m still me. But my sense of balance isn’t going to come back right away. I’m going to be doing neurotherapy with him for a few weeks. I can still fly the ship though.”

Wiggly wasn’t sure if that was a wishful boast or not. The pilot hadn’t touched the controls yet beyond the simulator and her brother only gave non-committal updates. Even so, Wiggly couldn’t bring herself to be the one to take Winter away from the helm. “Glad to hear it. If you ever need any help, I’m right here for you.”

A new set of hooves from the gangway making Winter jerk her head that way. With the five other passengers giving him a respectful berth, Tempest’s arrival made Winter snap to attention and salute. The act nearly had her fall over, but Wiggly stabilized her with a wing across Winter’s back.

Wiggly saw him first salute the Initive’s flag then her. She returned the gesture she had practiced after Winter insisted after learning of the auxiliary commission. “Welcome aboard, Captain.”

“And the same to you.” He repeated the gesture at Winter so she could stand with a bit more stability. “And how are you holding up, Lieutenant?”

For a moment, Winter considered giving a white lie, but after being rescued, she couldn’t make it convincing. “It’s been a rough couple of days. I’ve been chromed since I was twelve. Being all meat again and then some is going to take a lot of getting used to.”

“I can only imagine.” Tempest pulled his two suitcases forward, an act made easier since the gravity had been slackened for the passengers. “But I’m sure you’ll be back in the cockpit before the year is out. You survived too much to give that up, no?”

Feeling her personal pride flaring, Winter stiffed her stance and voice. “Yes sir! Live Wire’s been a big help.”

An evil glint appeared in Wiggly’s eye. “Oh yeah. A loud one too.” Winter went completely red-faced as Wiggly continued with a sharp smirk. “Even with these thick walls I had to make a noise canceler to get any sleep.”

“That is a lie!” Winter hissed as she rounded on the mare. “I do not-” Winter hastily covered her mouth with a hoof to keep from making things worse.

Tempest gave a loud belly laugh which only embarrassed Winter further. “It is not my ship, Lieutenant. Personal relationships are much laxer on axillary vessels after all. Now, I don't wish to delay the launch. Just point me to my accommodations and I’ll settle in.”

“I wouldn’t unpack too much,” Wiggly announced with barely contained excitement at seeing the wider Initiative. “Morales claims it should only take two days to get to the Zelpher system from here.” Winter was giving the pegacorn a death glare, one which Sprocket ignored at her own peril. “I’ll get a mechan to escort you to your cabin. It belonged to the original security chief, and it’ll give you a rundown on hyperspace travel.”

On cue, one such robot passed an intersection, only to turn back around and approach them. Tempest found it strange that its movements were so life-like, but tried to ignore it. “Much obliged.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Winter growled loudly enough to catch Wiggly’s sheepish attention. “Why would you say that in front of my old CO!”

“I don’t know, he seemed to approve of it.” Wiggly started to inch away, fully expecting Winter to make good on that promise real soon.

Instead of rising to the bait, Winter was acutely aware of her temporary disability, and had to bear it for now. She huffed smugly and sauntered past the skittish mechanic by gliding a wing along the wall for support. “I’re going to pay for that. But not now. Retribution is to be savored like a fine wine, not your version of instant noodles.”

Not too long after Tempest settled in, Wiggly and the others manned their stations in the CIC. Winter was getting slightly dizzy from the new HUD her biology allowed. The readouts and status updates were fuzzy almost to the point of uselessness. The fact that I even got the correct ones is a small miracle.

Wiggly Sprocket craned her head around to look at Morales. “All systems green on my end. You want to do the honors of a countdown for the crew?”

Winter was facing away from them, and wore a deeply sour face at her stubborn hud. She gave up for now and opted to have the helm console give her the needed information.

Briefly forgetting the pilot’s troubles, Morales bowed as much as he could in the tank. “With pleasure.” As kind as the locals have been, I’m glad to finally complete the mission. He tapped into the PA system. “Attention all hands. We will be conducting hyperspace transition for the next ten minutes. All non-essential activity is to be halted until then. It is recommended to be seated or laying down for the last thirty seconds. That is all.”

The crew eagerly waited for those excited ticks of the clock, all with eyes glued to the external cameras. Howling Tempest however had eyes only for the distant moon on the edge of the system. His last act for Lilian done, he let off a sigh that shuddered him to the bone. It was over. Two decades, give or take a year, and he had given up seeing home again. Yet here he was, about to do just that.

“Maybe they were right to relieve me,” he said to the shot glass of cognac he poured for himself. It floated there in front of him as he idly inspected it. He had saved this particular bottle for when the war ended. But in his heart both then and now, the war never ended. The pirates had seen to that. But now..? His war was over.

“To those fallen, may their new lives be free of war.” He toasted the air before downing the shot. For a long moment, he stared first into the glass, then back towards the distant moon. He never liked Thaddeus. Or any centauri for that matter. Incompatible cultures he heard often cited. What he could do was respect the admiral’s adherence to honor, as the centauri defined it. The same could not be said of the Commodore or his ilk.

With initial reluctance, Tempest poured a second shot, and this time directed at the pirate moon. “May your death be worthy of song.”

On that very moon, Thaddeus and Felin were sitting in what used to be an officer’s lounge. It was located close to the edge of the dockyards, and was one of the few places he had neutralized enough spying devices that he could think aloud.

He sat in a booth surrounded by debauchery of the flesh and chemical bliss. The privacy screen helped with the noise, and gave him a reason to be left undisturbed.

To keep up appearances, the table was littered with empty cups and it stank of smoked psychedelics. Both of them were still clothed though, and were linking together via a mobile lobby box. It was a small unsuspecting device that allowed perfect privacy.

Both of them kept one eye on the privacy curtain, and one eye in the war room inside the lobby. It was a recreation of his old flagship’s war room, festooned with holographic charts and maps. Today, it was dominated by two grand problems: the Commodore and his weapon.

Felin was watching five screens, each of them depicting various tests of the weapon. Age, species, type of cyberization, sex, different shielding efforts, armor, barriers, genetics, chemical stimulants, everything they could think of was being tested. Yet not one person survived the weapon until the absolute destitute were grabbed off the street. Those who were too poor or too worthless to be fitted with any sort of implant were the only ones to withstand the weapon none the worse for wear. That left a big important question: how to make cyborgs resistant.

No use deploying a weapon the ponies could simply board and send it back our way. That reason alone was almost enough for Thaddeus to convince the Commodore to give up the weapon entirely. However, many of Thaddeus’ more unscrupulous rivals argued successfully against it. The potential easy profits were simply too great.

“Damn it all,” she closed the videos as they too ended the same way. “I trained to puzzle out strategy and logistics, not draw up a kidnapping plot on a pony that probably won’t do us any good to begin with.”

Thaddeus read the officer’s file, stolen by spies. “It is standard practice for the Initiative to give sailors and police indemnification implants. So something made her immune.” He grumbled at the indignity of it all. “At first I thought the aliens gave the ponies a cure. But if that was true, why wasn’t the whole crew inoculated?”

“Maybe there is no cure,” Felin stated grimly while starting up a new batch of videos, hoping to catch something the scientists missed. A delayed death, a weaker response to the weapon, different symptoms, anything to justify the tests. “Maybe it is just a genetic fluke that that officer is immune.”

Thaddeus was not so sure. He rubbed his chin, trying to suss out the truth. If he could do that, he could act on it. “The officer’s a druid. Perhaps the natural spirits of the galaxy protected her. Maybe that is how those three ponies on the alien ship survived. The aliens bound them to natural spirits.”

That caused Felin to pause the latest videos. “I’d like to know what a druid is doing on a patrol ship and not something planetside. The ponies are many things, but I can’t see them willing to sacrifice a crew just to test one crew member on a patrol with no knowledge of how the Commodore would deploy the weapon.”

“The ponies should be fully aware of how it is wielded. I’m sure they can make an educated guess. But no, I can’t seem them doing that either.” Going back to the file, Thaddeus tilted his head back and forth as ideas rolled around. “She had a falling out with the local order. No other details though.” Thaddeus was inwardly glad he had advised against multiple probes. The failure against the patrol ship won him the good graces of the Commodore, and thus a level of trust. What he was not proud of, was the testing that had been done on the moon’s inhabitants to see what level of cyberization might be safe.

So Thaddeus was stuck. He gave a low growl as dark clouds covered his mind. “We have to kill him, and end this madness.”

Felin’s face was a mask of relieved annoyance. “So it has finally been said aloud. I’ve been waiting years for you to come to your senses.”

“What was I to do?” Thaddeus chided her. “I was shamed by defeat, and the Commodore was zenith in his power.”

“As far as the Ruby Navy’s concerned, you’re the superior officer on this moon. Shame or not.”

“That’s only because he killed everyone else,” Thaddeus growled. “To think the drink saved me.” In a flash of anger, he swatted a glass of brandy away. It sailed straight through the privacy screen with a cry of surprise pain and shattering glass.

A drunken diamond dog barged in, heedless of the privacy screen, and sporting a bloody cut over his left eye. “Hey, which one of you bastards threw that!” He only grew more belligerent when neither the centauri nor drake gave him anything more than a dispassionate look.

Thaddeus tossed a credit chit over at him. “There. Get patched up and a new bottle.”

The prospect of free booze gave the diamond dog pause, yet before he could snatch it up, his hand lit up in a yellow glow before he was violently jerked out of the screen.

Yelling and the muffled sound of batons cracking on bone greeted Thaddeus’ ears. A moment later, a dispassionate unicorn poked his head through. “Our deepest apologies for the interruption, sirs. The lounge values your patronage too highly to allow such behavior.”

Caught between simply wanting to cast the pony from his sight and wanting to keep up the act like he was intoxicated, Thaddeus opted to put on a disgruntled air. “Sure, sure. Just smack him good for me, then leave us be.” Ponies were very rare among the empire, let alone the pirate rabble that was left, which left Thaddeus a touch paranoid.

“As you wish.” His horn lit up, and a credit chit was gently placed close to Thaddeus’ drink. “Here, the captain wishes to compensate you for the gift.”

Before Thaddeus could even ask, the unicorn pulled away. Both he and Felin shared a bewildered look. “What gift?” Felin slid over to poke out of the privacy curtain, but the crowd just beyond was wild with dance and thick enough with bodies to be a mosh pit. The air of classy prestige had been replaced by loud music, smoke, and wild lights. If the unicorn was still there, she had no hope of spotting him.

She slid back inside the booth, and shook her head. In her brief absence, Thaddeus had grabbed the chit and looked it over. “Interesting.” He presented the long side to her. Easily missable in the yellow plastic of the chit was a golden wing with four chevrons below it.

The insignia gave Felin pause, and she spoke through the lobby connection. “That’s an IN captain sigil.”

“Precisely.” Inspecting it closely, Thaddeus saw a crease on the chit and tugged on the money reader. It easily popped off to reveal one suitable for universal connection. “Perhaps our old friend has something useful.”

“Could be a trap,” Felin warned.

Thaddeus did not heed her, and found a suitable port in the lobby box and slotted the chit in. Sure enough, Howling Tempest’s stoic face appeared. It held Thaddeus’ full attention. Not even Felin could pull his eyes off him. “Admiral Thaddeus. You did me a great service, so I hope I can return the favor. As you and yours might have already surmised, the sensor weapon which the aliens call fuhai or The Rot, is lethal to cyborgs.

“That is, however with a singular exception.” Tempest’s stoic mask slipped a bit to one of empathic exasperation. “Not a very useful one, but it could help. Fuhai directly targets the machine nerve interface. From there it rapidly attacks the nervous system and the implants themselves. I probably do not need to tell you how horrific the damage is. The exception I mentioned are the idents we use. They’re little more than coated ifr chips. Even then, survival is a matter of luck if the chip’s coating was done correctly and if it was implanted near a nerve cell or not.”

Tempest’s face darkened, his level tone took on a hard edge. “The aliens lost ninety nine percent of their population first to the fuhai and then to the anarchy that followed. The fuhai does not discriminate between species. I know centauri honor detests such a weapon. I trust you will do what you must.” He bowed his head. “May your ancestors welcome you to Selnata, and your descendants sing of you.”

With that, Tempest’s face vanished and the credit chit sizzled and sparked as it destroyed itself.

Thaddeus pulled the smoldering chit out and held it tightly. “Now that is interesting.” A calculating smirk crossed his scarred face. “There’s no record of any autopsies being ordered by the Commodore, nor anyone taking the initiative to do so. We can use this!”

“How though?” Felin queried, feeling little better about their situation. “The method of the fuhai may be revealed, but we already surmised removing your chrome was the only way to survive.”

“True, true,” Thaddeus began as if he had no plan bubbling in his mind. He waggled the chit a bit before he crushed it in his hand. “But what if we fool our dear leader into thinking you didn’t have to?”

Author's Note

Does peace rain in the larger initiative, or does war still grip the sector? Who knows, maybe the Waylan has ravaged the inner core all without them, knowing. Or maybe everyone decided to stop all wars and settle disputes with hopscotch.