Starlight, Starbright, the Brightest Star I See Tonight

Starlight Glimmer had worked in the computer core of the Equestria for most of her life. She could say “most of her life” now, because she'd passed her thirty-fifth birthday, and she'd started working there when she was seventeen. On the grand spaceship called Equestria, there were many jobs that a unicorn with her attention to detail could have excelled at: maintenance, crafting artisanal products, gem growth and refinement, management, historical studies, and so on. But while she'd been interested in most of those paths, the ship's primary computer had assigned her the Mark of a Programmer. A purple spark, signifying data, and a wisp of magic above it, signifying creation. On a starship run on data and managed by computers, to have that mark inscribed onto her was an honor that she took seriously.

That honor brought benefits with it, as well. Starlight lived in a cabin that was nestled high in the central habitation bubble. Out of her skylight, she saw the endless stars of space spread out above her. Out of her windows, she saw the immense Everfree Park.

It was full of centuries-old trees, gnarled and yearning for the artificial sun suspended above them. Wild plants, as wild as any plant could be, sprouted up in the shadows and underbrush.

In her opinion, it was one of the most beautiful places in the entirety of Equestria.

But every morning, when the sun brightened outside of her window and she looked out at the forest, she felt like she was missing something. It was hard to describe what that feeling was but she knew it was as essential to her as air. Despite that craving it hadn't killed her yet, so she continued on through each day.

She trotted through the halls and rode an elevator down through the levels, tapping her back hoof as she watched the number count down.

Outside of the window behind her, she could have watched the Everfree grow larger, and then disappear behind rows of living quarters and recreational centers, until she was surrounded by level after level of fully enclosed ship decking. Starlight had seen it so many times that it wasn’t worth watching.

On deck level E20, she finally disembarked only to quickly duck into a side hallway to avoid a group of other Programmers, talking energetically as they got off of their graveyard shift and headed to the elevator.

As they passed by Starlight briefly saw Raven Inkwell, the Executive Administrator of Programming, listening to the others talk.

Technically, Raven was Starlight’s boss, but Starlight did everything she could to only interact with her through text. It was far easier to focus on her work if she didn’t have to spend time parsing the behaviors and desires of others through language.

With her shoulders tight and head low, Starlight finally left her hiding spot once they were gone and made her way into her office.

After closing the door behind her, she trotted to her own personal coffee machine and made a cup of coffee exactly how she liked it. Espresso with three lumps of sugar, two pumps of hazelnut creamer, a dash of cocoa powder, and a short pour of fresh whole milk.

Once she stirred it sufficiently, she took a sip and looked out of her office’s glass wall opposite of the doorway.

Through that glass wall she could see the two massive cylinders that took up most of a sports-field sized room. One was gold and lit with white lights, the other was silver and lit up blue.

Celestia and Luna.

Good morning, Celestia,” she said as her horn lit and a holographic interface appeared on the glass. It picked up where she’d stopped the day before, displaying the routes and variables in the program she was currently working on.

The computer core, capable of carrying on over a million conversations simultaneously with all of the ponies of Equestria, still responded to her in a personal way.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it Starlight?” Celestia said.

Her voice, projected from speakers embedded into the walls, was a gentle and calm tone. It shifted quickly into a more playful one, however.

“Or are any mornings good for you, Starlight? You don’t seem to like the sunlight much.”

“Why do you say that, Celestia?” Starlight asked, barely paying attention to the conversation as she started pulling up an interface with Luna, the computer core that was used for testing.

“Well, every morning you seem so grim. It isn’t until the evening that you smile.”

Starlight paused while Luna finished generating a report of every activity she’d taken during the night.

Luna, due to the more straightforward programming she utilized and the extra focus she gave each task, had a much more pragmatic interaction with the ponies of Equestria. She generated reports, directly made the changes needed, and she generated a holographic representation of herself whenever she had to speak. But Celestia had a lighter touch, and a way of hinting or prodding at things over time.

Starlight could even list off the tip of her horn the programming that would cause Celestia to pay so much attention to her happiness. It was the controversial “Harmony pursuit,” a program that ran at all times, seeking ways to pick up on the troubles of ponies before they might express them verbally.

It was designed to pay five times as much attention to ponies who were in the “isolated” category, which Starlight obviously was, as she had fewer than ten acquaintances that she enjoyed interacting with, or fewer than five friends, or fewer than two significant friends.

In fact, Starlight knew quite easily that she had exactly one friend, and everyone else she just put up with.

“That’s because in the evening I get to see Sunburst,” she said as she skimmed Luna’s report and set aside test programs that needed more attention.

“You’re happier in the evening, even when Sunburst is busy,” Celestia commented. “I thought it might have been because you just didn’t enjoy working so early, but yesterday you started work late, and you still seemed almost grim when you arrived.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re worried about me not being satisfied with my work,” Starlight declared, frowning just a bit as she set the report aside entirely.

A computer ran the entirety of the ship she’d always lived on, and helped administer all health matters, so she took her concerns seriously.

But instead of Celestia replying, Luna manifested herself in the office space.

She was nearly half again as tall as Starlight, a deep-blue-colored alicorn with a flowing cloud of stars for a mane, and a similar one for a tail. Her eyes, a soft teal, had an intensity that Starlight could barely differentiate from a living pony.

“I believe what my sister is saying, in her own roundabout way, is that you have reassigned every other Programmer to sub-projects and interact with us more often than other flesh-and-blood ponies. There is no doubt that we cannot provide the physical comforts and—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘pleasures,’ Princess, I may just turn off the speakers,” Starlight said quickly.

Luna’s expression did not grow sour, but the corner of her mouth turned up a bit in a wry smile. “I was on the verge of saying ‘magical auras’ but I see now where your mind has ventured.”

Starlight felt her cheeks burn, and she hunched her shoulders to focus on the report.

“Nothing in that report is going to fix your loneliness, Starlight,” Luna said bluntly. “You need coworkers. You are happier in the evenings when you are out among your kind. You may think that to be here alone is more productive, but I disagree.”

“And you know better, because you’re a neural web superimposed on top of the second-most-powerful quantum supercomputer ever made,” Starlight said sarcastically.

“I would debate whether size alone is the measure of power,” Luna said casually, getting a soft laugh from Celestia. “But yes. In fact, my lack of physical form does not make it harder for me to evaluate the effects those things have on those with them. So, Starlight, shall I put ultimatums upon you to spur action, or are you going to isolate yourself even further?”

Starlight glared at her before clearing her throat. “I would like to have some privacy,” she said, voice dripping with venom.

“Of course,” Luna said, and Starlight could swear she saw a knowing smile on her face before she vanished.

The sisters were both programmed to respect privacy, so Starlight knew she had a few hours of it, at least until she called them back. But she had plenty of work to do without their help.

Several hours later, after finishing a remarkable amount of work, Starlight found herself repeating Celestia’s words out loud.

“I’m happier in the evening. Well. Maybe I am. I get to see Sunburst, or I get to be alone, and other ponies are exhausting.” She muttered as she slid a container of sensor boards onto a shelf, putting on a mocking tone to imitate Luna.

“Perhaps you seek your own company precisely because you are inexperienced with the behaviors of others. Making friends could help! Bah. Maybe I’m just naturally like this.”

She paused.

How would she verify that, if she wanted to? She didn’t have a second Starlight to compare, a baseline that would indicate if she was uniquely cursed with loneliness.

But she could make one.